#a great day the navy way

[kazoosandfannypacks]

Oooh, tell me about a great day the navy way, please?

So this is a Captain Swan AU I came up with a while ago!!! It's almost like a roleswap au, but instead it's role share. Emma and Killian are both in the navy together, and then after the dark curse falls they're both bailbondspersons together.

What I have written so far is mostly about Emma first joining the navy, and it's largely a product of my time at the truck stop, a sort of putting her through a lot of the struggles I was going through in my own workplace. I never really got anywhere with the fic though 😅

here, have this!

Men fell hush, then murmured, then whispered to their buddies and pointed and stared as a blonde woman climbed the ladder, and by the time she set both her feet on the deck and saluted goodbye to the soldier who'd rowed her across, the whole top deck was staring in awe- but none more in awe than their lieutenant. "Hang it all!" Killian thought, trying to gather words to greet her. "No one warned me she was going to be gorgeous!"

wip ask game

[corvidaedream]

i hate when old guys at work try to debate me, not about historic perspectives, but about, like, how the boat works.

not the period accuracy of the boat, no. the logic of how it's set up. like at least once a month someone's smug dad tells me that it's stupid that the wheel is at the aft of the ship. there are a few other things they'll debate me on, but the wheel being in "the wrong place" is the biggest one. they want it to be in the front so bad, and I try politely to explain that the wheel is connected by ropes to the tiller and the rudder, which are in the aft, so the wheel is also in the aft.

they will argue with the logic of this in their own varying ways, but always as if they think that putting the wheel in the aft of an 18th century merchant ship was my idea, and if they just explain to me why their ideas are better, i, a tour guide born in the 1990s, will see reason and retroactively change the way boats were made 250+ years ago.

[silknspice]

hockey!vi and basketball!caitlyn decide it's time to stop fighting over you. they'll just have to share!

headcanons, arguing, smut/slutty material (18+ mdni), dom!cait & vi, gp!vi, cheerleader!reader (hardly mentioned), vi & cait r horny and reader's hard-to-get-but-also-horny. wc. 2k

vi's a big, bulky, 'gentleman' of a player. girls come and go from her poster-covered dorm room, and it's fine, because she has bigger things to worry about, until she meets you. the post-game crowd is a chaotic swarm of students, and still, she spots you with ease. you're with a friend that she somewhat recognizes, but the athlete swears on her life she's never seen you. she would've remembered a pretty ass face like that. the two of you are making conversation with one of her teammates, and almost immediately the pinkette's jogging up to the cluster of you and slinging an arm over the other player.

she's decorated with a big fat grin like always, cooing a sexy "hey there," that has her teammate rolling her eyes into the back of her head, but not the way vi intended. you're introduced, a sweet smile gracing your lips that vi wants buried between the flesh of her thighs, lips that she wants gasping for life as she ravishes you, lips that she swears just made her cock twitch.

"you gonna be looking for me at the after party?" she cocks her head in fake innocence. what an asshole. "maybe if you score some more next time," you dismiss her with a tucked away grin, politely biding her teammate and spinning off out of the dumbfounded butch's sight. her teammate sharply inhales, patting the girl who looks like she's just seen a ghost. "tough luck, vi," the athlete starts, "wouldn't have worked anyway, i heard she's messing with kiramman."

caitlyn won the race to your attention. it's one of the many things she adores holding over vi's head when they have their daily bicker-fests over anything and everything related to you. she’d always believed in finders keepers.

the bustling, alcohol scented, dim atmosphere encasing her is completely forgotten as her gaze lands on you, a red solo cup in hand as you make conversation with who she assumes to be your teammates. she squares her shoulders, standing a little taller as her fellow athletes notice the look she's giving you. a predator ready to pounce. little whistles of encouragement fall from their lips as she strides on her mission to you.

the navy haired beauty knows she's hot, knows damn well anyone would slide their way under her as soon as the words of approval coat her tongue, and knows that you'll be one of her most– no, the most rewarding catch she's had. except, her trap seemed to falter.

"you were great today," she flashes a soft smile, attempting to make sure the way she checks you out is subtle, less cocky and more in awe. "watched when i could, i see why they put you in front." "oh yeah?" you hum out, sipping from your cup. it's basic, not giving much for caitlyn to work with, but the glint in your eyes is giving the athlete all too much hope. "yeah," she sounds a little breathless. her eyelids drop and soften to mimick the arousal she's feeling from just eyeing your fuckable face. "must be real flexible to do all that. think you could show me some more?" her prim and enchanting accent is completely contradicting the nasty insinuations falling from her mouth. that has you gently shaking your head and scoffing– albeit, with a smile, caitlyn notes. "you're funny, cait." and that's all you leave her with. that, and the image of you gently swaying your hips while walking off. the image that she'll be replaying in her head as she tends to her needs later that night. it makes sense to her a few days later during practice. when she and her teammates are lazily walking off of the court, one of them explains your oh so suspicious behavior. "heard she's interested in vi. sorry hotshot, looks like you've met your match."

from then on, the two are completely at each other's throats. it starts off small when they bump into each other at the campus coffee shop. they're patiently waiting for their drinks. caitlyn's arms are crossed as always with her hair in a messy pony, and vi's hands keep refuge in her pockets while her shoulders slightly slouch in a relaxed manner. they're completely ignoring the other's presence, until vi physically has to speak up.

"so... ___" she says your name like a child praying to their goddess. caitlyn hums in response. "i hate to be the one to tell you, but she's completely out of your league." "well i don't know what she'd see in a narcissistic mongoose like you," vi quips. cait scoffs. "and i'm not sure why she'd ever give someone as run through as you the time of day... wait, mongoose?"

soon, it's not one that's pursuing you at a time, it's both. at parties, after games, walking to class, even in the library, the two girls are drawn to you like moths to light. and sure, they're still very interested in fucking you senseless if you let them. and sure, they don't know you all too well yet, but something about you is so captivating. whether you'll give them the time of day or not, they crave being in your presence. (the rivalry is making things a little more fun than expected, too.)

you're interested, extremely interested. but these girls are used to getting everything they want in the blink of an eye. you know your worth, so if they want to take you, and not just your ability to walk, they're going to have to work for it. in record time, the university of piltover's finest were wrapped around your dainty finger. so, slowly, you let them into your life.

at first, it's smaller things. in the morning, caitlyn worms her way into the plush seat next to you at your library table. she sets down your coffee order to a T, saying she "had some extra time" (which isn't a lie, she woke up an hour earlier than she already does to make sure her timing was perfect), and she "didn't know what you'd like", so she 'guessed' (that part was a lie, because she fell asleep thirty minutes later than usual stalking your instagram highlights and zooming into the label of your most recent drink). in conclusion, the star player was losing sleep over you, and she didn't know how to feel about that.

then, like switching shifts, vi swoops into the library and whisks you away, but not before making a remark that has the navy-haired girl's brows furrowing.

"i'll take it from here, cupcake. angel and i have a date." the pinkette lifts your backpack from the ground and slings it over her shoulder before you can utter a word. "you're walking me to class, violet. 'ts not a date..." you dismiss the claim, looking caitlyn in the eyes as you bring the coffee to your lips and take a swig. "..yet," you induce some hope and fear into the respective girls. as you coo your mind-twirling sing-song "bye cait," and walk away, vi can't help but snake a hand around your waist before throwing a terribly taunting wink to the bluenette over her shoulder.

eventually, after more interrupted touches and argument after argument, the girls attempt to seduce you on their own turf. after a particularly hard but victorious game, cait jogs up to you. the flyaways of her ponytail are the sexiest amount of messy and the sweat dripping down the side of her neck and rounding towards her adams apple has you gulping. but of course, you hide it. you admit, she's impressed you, and the seemingly suave girl fights the beaming smile she feels sneaking its way onto her face. instead, she thanks you for cheering for her and gently grazes her hand over the hem of your blue and white skirt.

"is this my reward for playing so well?" she grins. "this is my uniform, hotshot."

after vi's hockey game that she insisted you come to, she sneaks up on you after exiting the locker room, capturing your frame from behind with sculpted arms. the two of you stiffle a few laughs before she turns you around, pulling your torso closer to hers.

"how'd I do?" she asks, the neediness of approval hidden somewhere in her tone.

"i guess you were good," you joke, making vi gently pinch at your side. "yeah?" she teases, "how good?" "not good enough, at least I score." caitlyn buts in from 'out of nowhere!' (vi claims), momentarily stunning whatever tension you and the pinkette were building. "i scored three times," the powder-blue eyed girl slightly pouts, sending you into a fit of laughter.

it's vi who steals a kiss from you first. you finally give in after realizing maybe she wants something a little more than sex. it's hungry, slight teeth, lots of tongue, and sloppy hums of pleasure. wandering hands travel to the back of your head, through your hair, down to the curve of your waist, everywhere she can claim you.

caitlyn, when she finds out a day later, is pissed. so when she finally gets her hands on you, she's rougher than she planned on being when she ran this scenario through her head hundreds of times before. she's pushing you against a wall, knee slotted between your legs, and a lanky hand trails up to grip your chin. it's rough, hypnotizing, and you have to stop her before she makes an absolute mess of you.

it's no surprise when the girls text you to meet up a few days later. what is a surprise is the fact that they're together. they send you a selfie from vi's phone in your shared group chat. vi looks delicious in her stupid backwards baseball cap and caitlyn's glasses only enhance that scarily sexy cold look she owns. the picture's lazy, a lower angle of the two looking at the camera with soft grins, but it has your heartbeat racing, and something else pulsing their names.

ice queen: angel come 2 cait's ice queen: we miss you <3 angel: and if I don't? hotshot: you'll regret it. angel: is that a threat? hotshot: jesus, get over here.

caitlyn and vi take turns using you for the rest of the night. they wait for you to make the first move, of course, they have manners. once you're all hot and bothered you hear the clank of their belts coming undone and flashes of clothes being stripped off fill your vision.

cait only spends so long teasing your swollen clit before she's two fingers and three knuckles deep inside of you, teasing your clouded brain about adding a third. the wet sounds your body's making are getting vi the hardest she's been in her life, and she swears she could cum just from the way your glossy eyes look up at her while cait ravishes you. "look at that- i'll be the one to make her cum first." cait taunts, and as soon as you've reached your high the pinkette's stripping you away from her and flipping you onto your stomach.

vi's gentler than caitlyn at first, but her passion and desires enchant her mind and soon she's stuffing your needy hole with her length, face down ass up, while pushing your head into the pillow that captures your lovely noises.

it's not long before caitlyn's sitting in front of you with her legs spread wide, guiding your tongue right where it belongs.

you all sleep in the same bed that night. you in the middle, of course, and your girls clinging to you lovingly. the three of you talk about everything and nothing at the same time, and the silly conversations lull you into a deep sleep.

some day soon, you'll have to talk about whatever this is. for right now, vi and caitlyn relish in the fact that they have you. brain, heart, body and all.

sharing isn't all that bad.

silknspice

[seresinhangmanjake]

Forgetting

Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: Jake forgets to pick you up at the airport because of his ex, and for the first time, you think maybe you and Jake aren't mean to be.

Notes/Warnings: Angst, but ends fluffy. Fighting. Cursing. This was a request that I said I'd have done in a couple days and it took me a week and a half. Sorry about that. Also, please be gentle. I haven't written for Jake in what feels like a millennium.

Words: 2700

Jake Seresin Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

As much as it would kill you to know that he could be hurt, you hope he’s hurt. You hope he’s on his way to the hospital to receive life-saving treatment because if he’s not hurt, if he’s not receiving life-saving treatment, then he simply forgot about you. And that makes your heart want to claw its way out of your chest and scamper across the floor until it’s well out of your range to catch it. 

Your call goes to voicemail for the fourth time. You send your twelfth text: I hope you’re ok. I landed an hour ago. Please call me. Nothing different than the eleven other messages that have gone unanswered. Forty-five more minutes pass of you sitting on a bench by the airport exit before you finally surrender your last shred of hope and call Bradley to come save you. 

Within the hour, you’re sighing in relief, the sight of a friendly face almost bringing you to tears. He approaches you with open arms and you fall right into the embrace, comforted by the hug that should be in your boyfriend’s arms, and the warmth that should be from your boyfriend’s body, and the forehead kiss that should be from your boyfriend’s lips. 

“Please tell me he’s ok,” you say against your friend’s chest. 

A heavy palm rubs up and down your back. “No one could get ahold of him.”

Your head jerks back so you can meet his eyes. “Oh my god!”

“I’m sure he’s fine, kid. Don’t worry.”

“How can you say that? He was supposed to be here and he’s not and–” You pause when Bradley looks away from you, and a hefty stone settles in your gut. You know your friend well. He’s a good man, honest but sensitive, and when that honestly meets that sensitivity, it results in his inability to look someone in the eye if he thinks the truth might hurt them. You’ve seen it a hundred times, but never with you. 

Your posture wavers with your lengthy exhale. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Another great thing about Bradley: he doesn’t make you play any games. You don’t have to jump through hoops. You don’t have to ask the right questions in the right way in order to get what you need out of him, unlike many men, your boyfriend included, who recently has found ways to skitter around telling the full truth. 

“Javy said he saw him a couple of hours ago,” Bradley says.

Your back teeth clench. Your mind shoots to one conclusion. “With her?” you ask. Bradley’s eyes drift from yours again and you nod, a tear at the ready to leak down your cheek. “He forgot about me because he’s with her.”

“We don’t know that for sure, and–”

Your hand scrubbing down your face cuts him off. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose before you suck in your whimper and say, “Rooster, why did he even ask me to come here?”

“Because he…I mean, we thought he–”

“You thought he gave a fuck about me.”

“He does,” Bradley says, stressing his words in an attempt to reassure you. “He never shuts up about you.”

“Sure,” you say. “He gives so much of a fuck that he forgot about me to be with his ex. How can you explain that?”

Rooster sighs. His hands slip into his jeans pockets just to have something to do with them. “I can’t.”

“Exactly.” 

No one can explain it. Not you, not Bradley, not Jake. Everyone you know back home would be telling you to run for the hills right now. They were already wary of this ‘Navy guy’ that they’d only met twice around the holidays, who lives a decent distance away from your entire life and who constantly requests that you be the one to hop on a plane rather than the other way around. 

For the duration of your time together, you’ve been understanding of that sacrifice. You know his schedule doesn’t allow impromptu trips out of state, but that hasn’t made it any less exhausting for you. And maybe that’s a sign. Another sign. A nail in the coffin. Maybe you and Jake aren’t meant to be. And why would you be? You met him on a brief vacation to visit a friend who doesn’t even live in the same town anymore, and somehow, during those few days, he convinced you to take a chance on him. So you took the leap. But being that bold doesn’t guarantee you won’t fall flat on your face, and you think that’s exactly what’s happening. You’ve tripped over a guy only to realize he doesn’t care about you to the same degree that you care about him. 

However, you’re not the type to avoid confrontation. If Jake Seresin is going to mistreat you because of his ex, then he is going to do it to your face. He’s going to look you in the eye when he shows himself to be the liar he is. It may hurt more to go to him rather than get on the next plane home without so much as taking in a breath of fresh Californian air, but you’re too upset to let that thought fully develop, and a moment later, Rooster is following your stomps out the door. 

—

You find him at the Hard Deck, standing at a hightop with a beer glass in his hand that clinks against the one in his ex’s before he takes a sip. Bradley’s comforting hand lands on your back in solidarity. You only met him because of Jake, but the two of you bonded despite their differences, and having him by your side now makes him nothing short of a life-saver. 

He helps guide you through the crowd to the table, and when Jake spots you, he chokes around the liquid going down his throat. His blown-out emerald eyes rival saucers and his mouth gapes like a fish, but then his stare flicks to Bradley, and those eyes shrink into narrow slits. His face heats to a boiling red. 

“What the fuck!” Jake snaps, shocking the composure right out of his ex’s poised stance. Bar patrons close by turn their heads but quickly return to their own conversations. Jake steps away from the table, coming to a halt in front of you and his squadmate. “What the hell is this?”

You figured he’d be bothered if you showed up with Bradley in tow. And good, that’s what you feel he deserves. Jake’s been wary of the other Dagger’s closeness to you for a while, and even though you know—as does Bradley—that it’s an asinine concern, you have no problem using it against him now. But still, the intensity of his reaction manages to surprise you. You didn’t think he would be this angered by the sight of you with another man that it would have him overlooking his mistake of forgetting you.

Your arms cross. “This is your girlfriend and the guy who saved her when her damn boyfriend left her stranded at the airport.”

“Excuse me?”

Jake’s ex’s prying gaze tugs at your attention, but when you glance over his shoulder to catch her in the act, she quickly looks away—just more proof that whatever the fuck she’s doing with your boyfriend is something to be ashamed of. 

Bradley’s saying something. You can’t quite hear him over the anger-induced fuzzing in your ears, but you’re pretty sure it’s a scolding based on the twisting of Jake’s features as he shoots back his own words of aggression. And then your hand is in his and you’re being pulled through the bar, out the back door, and onto the deck where the only intrusive sound is the lapping of waves on the shore. 

“Why are you here?” he asks. 

You scoff to mask the heartbreak that comes with that question. “Because you asked me to be here.”

“Tomorrow.”

“What?”

“It’s Wednesday,” he says. 

“It’s Thursday, Jake.”

“No, it’s—” he freezes, and you don’t know if he’s tipsy or stupid, but it takes him a minute to come to the same conclusion: it is indeed Thursday. “Fuck,” he mutters.

Your lower back meets the edge of the railing, and you sigh, thankfully keeping in the tears. “What are you doing with her?”

“What the fuck are you doing with Rooster?” he returns much more forcefully. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I called, I texted, I left voicemails,” you tell him, “But clearly, she was more important.”

Jake’s hands pat down his pockets, mouth setting in a frown when he can’t find his phone.

“Don’t bother. Phone or no phone, you forgot about me because of her. Last time I was here, you were late for one of our dates because of her. You spent fifty percent of our time together stepping away to take her phone calls,” you say, trying and failing to avoid the bitter taste on your tongue. “Just fuck her, Jake, if you haven’t already. I only came here to tell you that she can have you.”

You’ve never seen him fall apart the way he does. You’ve never seen the blood drain from his cocky face. You’ve never seen his features break and crack and contort into the vision of pure devastation as they do. His parted mouth must’ve gone dry because his next words come out slightly hoarse.

“You don’t mean that,” he says, but it’s more of a plea than anything. “Why…Why would you–” He swallows. A wrinkle forms between his brows and he shakes his head. “You love me. You didn’t mean to say that.”

You do love him—terribly so—but you’re willing to be one of those people who won’t view love as enough if it also means laying you out as a fool. “Jake–”

“Take it back,” he says. His steps are quick, and then you’re trapped where you stand, his hands on either side of your body, gripping the rail. Eyes drill into yours, and for a second, you feel a pang of guilt. “Please, baby, take it back. She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“And I mean less.”

“No!” he says. “That’s not true. You’re everything, ok? You mean everything to me. She was just helping me, that’s all.”

“Helping you,” you mimic with a roll of your eyes. “Helping you what? Get off?”

With a little whine, Jake’s head drops between his shoulders, his blond hair brushing your collarbone. “Please. Please quit saying things like that.” His hands slide closer to your body and land on your hips. You don’t push him away—you can't—and his touch softens you ever so slightly.

“Then tell me the truth,” you say. “Right now. I’m giving you one shot.”

His head snaps up. His eyes flick back and forth between yours, ironically searching for your honesty, as if you’re the liar on trial here. 

“It was a surprise,” he tells you. “She’s a realtor now, and for the last few months she’s been helping me find a new place, one that’s bigger than what I’ve got because I was going to ask you to move in with me.” Your heartbeat stutters. A layer of goosebumps coats your arms. When you don’t respond, he continues, “I hate missing you. I hate how unfair it is that you’re always the one to come here because I can’t fly out at the drop of a hat. I know it’s a big step, but I figured if I had a place, I could show you how great things could be. That’s why she and I came here. We were celebrating because I’m signing on a house first thing tomorrow,” he says. “Well, that’s why I’m celebrating, anyway. She’s probably celebrating because she just made a decent commission.”

It’s almost unfair how that new information doesn’t make you feel any less of a fool. Had he told you that under any other circumstances, you’d be leaping into his arms, kissing him like you’ve been deprived of him for years, repeating ‘yes’ over and over between those kisses, but you can’t. You can’t because his explanation doesn’t fix everything. 

“That still doesn’t change that it’s Thursday, not Wednesday,” you say.

“I know, baby. That’s my fault. I was so excited, and I was thinking how perfect the timing was that I would be able to pick you up tomorrow and drive you by the house now that it’s officially mine, but I fucked it up.”

Jake’s thumbs press into your hips, and you’re instantly reminded of each moment in your relationship when you’ve felt that same light pressure on your skin. A gentle claiming. The same pressure you felt when you agreed to be his girlfriend. The same pressure you feel whenever you’re in bed together. 

You sense eyes on you other than your boyfriend’s, and when you turn your head, you find his ex staring right at you, an expression on her face that you wish you could say wasn’t one of distress, but it is. And worse, it’s obviously not distress for herself, but for Jake, as if she’s hoping she wasn’t just a contributor to a bomb dropping on his life. 

Jake’s busy staring at you despite your averted gaze, and in a monotone voice, you say, “She feels bad.”

He doesn’t follow your eyes. “Because she knows I’ve been doing this all for you.”

You blink. Your hand runs down your face before sifting through the strands of your hair. “You really want me to live with you?”

“Of course I do,” he tells you. He’s shaking his head, but you know it’s because he thinks any idea that he wouldn’t want you to be blasphemous. His hand cups your chin. “I love you.”

With a sigh, you push aside the rollercoaster of emotions, the misunderstandings that lead to frustration and hurt, and look him directly in the eye. And where moments ago you thought you saw lies, you see honestly. Where you thought you saw betrayal, you see love. 

“Can I see it?”

—

It’s small—a two-bedroom with a little driveway, the shingle siding painted a blue-gray shade that is more blue than gray; bundles of flowers bloom in the boxes under the windows; a bay window protrudes from the side of the structure facing the beach. And it’s perfect.

You can imagine building a life here. You can picture a dog that you’ll have to build a fence for and children years later that will have you reinforcing the fence because they’ll probably be like their father, and Jake didn’t choose to be a pilot because of his lack of adventurous nature. You look at this house and you can see the core of a family. A house that, no matter how far you go for Jake’s job, will always be home base.

Jake is leaning around you so you can both watch the house from the passenger seat window. “I’d offer to show you around, but I don’t get the keys until morning.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him. “I don’t need to see inside.”

When you say that, he falls back into his seat. The back of his head presses against the headrest. His fingers squeeze the steering wheel with his sigh of defeat. “You don’t like it.”

Shifting your body to face him, you say, “Jake, I love it.”

Just like that, his eyes brighten like a pouting child who was just offered a lollipop, and you can’t help but chuckle. You can’t help but forget everything that happened earlier in the night, all of it seeming so insignificant now, even though you know it’s not, and you both know that if he ever makes the same mistake again, he’ll have hell to pay. But something tells you that won’t be a problem. 

“Enough to live with me?” he asks.

You nod. “Enough to live with you.”

---

A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments make my entire world, so if you liked it, let me know? Thanks :)

[xreaderbooks]

Asphyxiated | Azriel

Summary: you overhear your mate talking to the inner circle about someone being clingy and annoying, and you decide to remove yourself from the court and your mate to avoid further humiliation.

based on this request

Warnings: language, insecurity, eavesdropping, feeling unworthy, court of nightmares, there's a stalker, some random OC, angst, miscommunication, fluff

Word Count: 2.9k

Azriel Masterlist | Navi | Wattpad | AO3 | Masterlist

"Azriel," You sing his name as you walk into your secluded home. A decently sized cottage to fit your tall, broad, wide-winged mate, that you designed and built together, just outside the city of Velaris. "Look at what I brought you."

You walk into the sitting room where you and Azriel enjoy each other's company in peace, however rare the occurrence. He appears troubled in his sleep as you've found him lying on his back with his wings spread open and a hand draped over his eyes.  He removes his arm from his face and blinks your way, feeling your presence as you enter the room.

"What do you have there?" His melodic voice makes your stomach flutter in a frenzy as it always does and you hope the bond doesn't translate too much to him, or his shadows, the gossipers that they are.

With a bright grin, you bring the box from behind your back and show him a white box with clear plastic for the perfect view of the treats inside. "Cupcakes," You reply cheerfully, awaiting a grateful response. "Went by the river today and Hilaria was working at the shop you like, did you know she found a job? how great for her!"

Azriel grumbles slightly and your smile falters but you don't let it show, opening the box you move to the couch and sit beside him with the room he gave you tucking in his wings.

"You got my favorite," Az murmurs, carefully taking out the beautifully decorated dessert. You take the statement as a note of appreciation for how well you know him, that much was obvious as you've known each other since birth practically, and in love with each other for half of that time.

He bent his neck down to kiss your cheek and muttering a thank you.

"Don't get too excited now, I heard from Rhys about where you're next assignment is gonna be and I expect a little something when you get back," You tease.

Azriel exhales through his nose and it sounds like a small laugh, "I'll be sure to return the favor if all goes well, love."

"What's wrong?" You ask, the energy in the room has been off since the moment you arrived and you couldn't deny it frightened you a little.

You and Azriel have been going through a rough patch, it happens as often as he overloads himself with work but you have always managed to work through it, it's never too serious mostly the both of you missing each other.

Whenever Azriel was working, you were home, and whenever you were working- he was home. You've spoken to Rhysand about your and Azriel's assignments but it wasn't about when he wanted you both to work, it was simply what needed to be done when it needed to be done.

Both of you being spymasters of the night court, it wasn't ideal to send you both on the same mission unless needed. Most of the time, either one of you or both of you were needed in separate places.

On the days, weeks- if you were lucky- months, that you had 'easy' assignments or days off, you spent it together. You and Azriel would spend time in bed or with your family, going on outings, and trying new things to add to the excitement of life. You loved to be together, your relationship being very sacred to both of you.

"Just tired," Azriel shrugs. You know him better though, something was bothering him that he didn't want to tell you.

You felt his frustration through the bond, you wanted to help him but knowing Az he'd tell you when he was ready.

~~~

"-the fucking shop, I mean honestly how close is she trying to get?"

You didn't mean to eavesdrop. Originally you were coming by to talk to Rhys and Feyre about some of the rumors going around the court of nightmares, nothing too concerning but something that needed to be checked on the next visit. When you heard the muffled voices in the townhouse sitting room.

"Perhaps if you spent less time with her?" Mor suggested.

You couldn't think of anyone else Azriel might be spending time with if not for you. Did Azriel want to spend less time with you?

Your brain immediately jumps to conclusions, Azriel has been in his thoughts as of late, and he hasn't told you what's been bothering him. You thought it had something to do with the distance, perhaps a lack of communication. It was putting a strain on your relationship but you didn't think even more distance was the answer.

Azriel shakes his head insistently, "I don't spend time with her, ever. She finds me somehow, it's maddening and I can't tell Y/n to stay away while I figure out how to solve this, she's always just there."

It was like a dagger in your heart. If you were always there it was because you felt like you never spent time together, how were you supposed to have a relationship if you were never together?

You thought for sure, Azriel felt the same.

"She is a bit clingy," Cassian nods. You felt another pang in your chest, Cassian who was your partner in crime, Mor who was your favorite person to talk to about anything, and your mate had all agreed that you were too much.

"A bit is a bit of an understatement," You heard Feyre chuckle.

You almost couldn't believe what you were hearing, your fault for listening to a conversation you weren't privy to you suppose but you would've never guessed your family felt you smothered them.

Perhaps you were too clingy, you were over at their house every other day. You felt like you were dividing your time between the people you loved, maybe they didn't want you there, and you were an imposition on their daily schedule. You felt embarrassed and humiliated that they were in a meeting to discuss what to do with you.

"I can talk to her if need be, brother," Rhysand gives Azriel a reassuring nod.

Azriel shook his head, "No, no need. I will speak with her, it's my relationship, my responsibility."

Cassian snorted loudly, "Your need to fix things yourself is admirable brother, truly. Let us pray that this will not dig you a deeper grave."

You didn't hear the rest, didn't need to.

Silently, you slipped out the doors of the townhouse. You didn't want to lose your friends so if they wanted space- you'd give them space.

~~~

You disappeared for the rest of the day, and the next. You left a note to Azriel so he wouldn't worry- not that he wouldn't appreciate your shared home now all to himself. You still had your apartment in the city that you rented out when you moved in with Azriel.

There were currently no tenants as there were renovations to be done.

You avoided your room at the townhouse knowing you weren't as welcome as you thought. You didn't show up to training with Cassian and Azriel that morning. Instead, you met informants and did some investigating yourself.

You sent a letter to Rhysand with details on the Hewn City problem, told him that he should look into it as soon as possible, and asked if he wanted you to get a handle on it instead.

He replied with a note giving you thanks and telling you that he'd deal it himself but would call on you with the rest of the inner circle when the visit would happen.

Days passed by until it had officially been a week of no contact. Azriel had sent you letter after letter requesting to see you. You denied them all with sweet words to show that there was nothing wrong, that you didn't overhear what they said about you.

Where'd you go - A

Miss you -A

Come back, our home feels empty without you - Azriel

Are you alright? - Desperately need to see you, Az

Several letters with pleading undertones, each one more than the last.

Then letters from Cassian about training, you reassured him that you were following the usual routine. Mor had invited you to Ritas one night and lunch another day- you declined both with excuses of having too much work to focus on anything else. You didn't realize how much they felt it was an obligation to do things with you.

Eventually, the time came, and Rhysand called on you for the visit to the court of nightmares. You were anxious at the thought of seeing them again, maybe as time passed they would feel better with you around now that you gave them space.

~~~

You dressed appropriately for the setting, your leathers, and weapons strapped to your body. The scowl was natural as you hated being here, glares sent to everyone who looked your way, intimidation being the only way to survive this gods-forsaken place.

Bowing in front of Rhysand to fit the narrative, Feyre sent you a curious as you bowed to her, you felt her stroking the inner walls of your mind- a request to enter. You shut her out with strong mental walls, standing once she allowed you, and took your place next to Azriel, slightly behind him and Cassian.

Azriel's eyes followed you, he tried to brush a finger against your hand as you passed him but you clasped your hands behind your back. Through the bond, you felt a sting in your chest. You spared a glance at your mate, you missed him so much your body craved to be near him but you resisted.

It went as well as it usually did, a dramatically villainous speech from Rhys, with some added threats to those opposed to his reign. The High Fae in attendance got drunk on Faerie wine and danced with the whole night ahead of them.

Azriel attempted to talk to you over his shoulder, "Are you upset with me?" He muttered to you with a crease on his forehead.

You shook your head, "No, why would I be?"

"Where've you been?"

With the few looks you've gotten of his face he looked stressed, circles under his eyes, his hands were clenched and you could tell that it was to keep him from fidgeting.

"Now is not the time," You told him, straightening when you saw a reveler get too close to the High Lady.

"We're done here anyway," Rhysand's voice echoed in your mind. You didn't doubt Azriel heard him as well. You took your leave, Azriel right behind you, he caught up so quickly he held your wrist you didn't notice until you felt the world shift and you realized he traveled you both to your cottage home with his shadows.

Azriel had stood in the same spot he landed while you backed away from him a couple of steps.

"You've been avoiding me," A statement. It was heavy with questions, with want of information you didn't want to divulge.

You asked one of your own, "Have you watered the plants?"

"Have I watered the plants?" He scoffed out the last word. "I've barely been able to function without you, Y/n."

You flinched although he didn't yell but the tone in which he spoke felt like he was scolding you.

He continued, "Yes, I watered the plants."

A weak smile was pulled out of you, he probably loved those plants as much as you. You weren't as much a gardener as Elain but you managed a small garden of your own, they were like yours and Azriel's children, something you both grew together. A garden of both of your favorite flowers and fruits and vegetables.

"Seems like you've been functioning just fine," You responded in a smart tone, it just slipped out.

"Tell me what I did, please, it's driving me mad." He stepped in your direction, shadows reaching to touch you, and you saw Azriel forcefully reigning them in like he wanted to reach for you too.

You softened at the sight, "It's not something you did, Az."

"Something I said, then?" He didn't refrain from fidgeting now, in the comfort of the home, he fidgeted with his fingers. "Something I didn't say, I know I didn't want to talk about what was happening before, but I'll tell you whatever you want me to if you promise not to leave again."

You just about melted, you felt yourself wanting to sway at his beseeching. "What was happening before?" You questioned in barely a whisper.

"Hilaria happened. She- Nothing happened- I swear to you, she grew attached. She grew attached to me," He grimaced as he said it. "She was everywhere I happened to be, it wasn't normal, I've warned her off so many times I was glad you didn't notice. I didn't want you to be uncomfortable with her. The moment she got a job at the sweet shop, she got too close, you went there and I knew it wasn't a coincidence."

Azriel had a fucking stalker and you didn't know about it. That was what he was so stressed about. Hilaria- an Illyrian female who had a shitty life, Azriel had given her refuge, because she had no family left to care for her, and a female alone in that camp was no place to be.

You helped Azriel find her a living space, and gave her safety for her to heal from the traumas, she must've mistook that for something else entirely. You couldn't help but to feel bad for her.

"I went to Rhys, he and the others offered their advice and I tried to talk to her about her behavior. She didn't take it well, so we sent her to Dawn court with the assurance that they would do all they could to help her."

"You talked to the others about this?" It all made more sense now. 

He nodded.

"Did Cassian say she was clingy?" You needed to be sure you were getting all the details now.

His brows furrowed, "How did you?"

"Because I was there when you were talking, but I didn't know you were talking about Hilaria." You sat on the couch slowly, forearms on your knees, hands clasped.

You laughed incredulously, slapping your hands to cover your face and running your hands into your hair. "I thought you were all talking about me."

"What?" Azriel's eyes were on you, deciphering your words when he pieced them together. "Why would we ever?"

"You weren't telling me anything about what was going on, I thought I was prying too much, I do spend a good bit of time with everyone, it wouldn't be too far off."

A smile tugged on his lips, one he was trying not to show. He was trying not to make you feel foolish but it was too late. "I love you, but this was not your wisest moment."

You grabbed a pillow from the couch and threw it at him with little force, "Az!"

"You had everyone concerned, they thought they had offended you in some way."

"Of course not!" You shook your head in disbelief, at how easily your insecurity took over.

"Now my family has some attachment issues, you couldn't get rid of them if you tried, you would probably want space from them yourself."

You rolled your eyes knowing them all too well, centuries with them and you still felt undeserving.

Azriel kneeled in front of you taking your hands in his and settling them on your lap then caressed your face in his hands. "I could never not want you near me, you're everything to me, understand?" His hands gave your head a gentle shake in emphasis.

"I don't think you understand where my mind was at the moment," You avoided his gaze. You didn't want him to know, the feeling of not being worthy enough for him, how you compared yourself to everything in his past and it didn't seem plausible for him to accept you. When he did accept the bond, it was the greatest moment you ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Azriel was the love of your life, with and without a bond. It was hard for you to accept that he loved you without it if it wasn't for the fact that you trusted him to tell you the truth. He came to you and confessed his love and then the bond happened. You would have continued to pretend you weren't in love with him, otherwise.

"Do you not understand," Azriel sighed, "Do you not understand my love for you, at all?"

"It was easier to believe that you needed space from me," You confessed, shutting your eyes tight. Warm lips landed on yours, you were startled for a second before reciprocating the kiss.

He kissed you breathlessly, a minute, two or three- you didn't know how much time passed. Your blood pulsed in your ears, or was it his? it was rapid and created an electric current in your veins.

"I want to drown in your love, to be asphyxiated by it until all I know is you, in this life and after. I could never get enough of you." He whispered the promise on your lips with his eyes closed. You nudged your nose against his to open his eyes.

The warmth of his hazel eyes graced you and you murmur his name, he nudges your nose in response. "I love you."

Hours into the late night, after Azriel insisted on a bath together, you had a late-night snack nuzzled on the couch catching up on the lost time. You whispered sweet nothings to each other in bed with limbs entangled, and long-lasting kisses.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | fake marriage au [18+]

in holy matriphony ch6. the in-laws

ᰔ pairing. fake marriage au - neighbor&realtor!gojo x nurse!reader (ft. choso x reader & suguru x reader)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru is your extremely annoying next-door-neighbor who you're pretty sure is the most insufferable man you've ever met. given the fact that you exclusively work the night shift at a chaotic emergency dept, just got broken up with your boyfriend of seven years, and have been taking care of your sick mother ever since her multitude of diagnoses, yet somehow your neighbor is the main source of stress in your life should speak volumes. but when your mother's medical bills start to skyrocket to more than you can manage, and you learn that said neighbor of yours has the best private health insurance plan in the country, you ask him to enter a matrimonial agreement with you for the spousal benefits all in the name of saving a few hundred thousand dollars. but you'll have to see if suffering cohabitation w him is worth any amount of money.

ᰔ genre/tags. fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), annoyances to lovers (that's more like it), small town romance, fake marriage, next door neighbors, lots of bickering, suburban shenanigans, slow burn, mutual pining, gojo likes to play house but you don't, hatred for the american healthcare system, gojo always forgets to mow the lawn, jealousy, an insane amount of profanity, mentions of cigarettes, depression/anxiety; btw gojo in this fic is in his mid 30s n reader is in her late 20s

ᰔ warnings. reader in this fic has a sick mother w alzheimer's & cancer so there is secondary medical angst!!

ᰔ chapter. 6/x

ᰔ words. 12.6k

a/n. hiii my ihm lovelies!! hope you all had a great holiday season. i wanted to get this chapter out as a christmas gift but i failed and then i wanted to get it out as a new years post but failed and then i got food poisoning yesterday and while i was rotting in bed i ended up finishing the chapter LOL. it seems i can only write when i'm under duress? but anywho. hope you enjoy haha and see you at the bottom!

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“Alright, let’s head out,” you hear Gojo say from the bottom of the staircase, followed by the sound of dress shoes on the hardwood floor, and you glance over to see him clad in a navy suit with a white button up shirt that had one singular button undone. He’s messing with the cuffs of his suit jacket as he makes his way over to you. You catch the scent of his cologne, and it’s alarming how familiar it’s become to you.

Days go by shorter lately, mainly because it’s winter, and so the sun has almost fully set by 6pm. The sky outside is a dark hue of purple, seen past the windows of Gojo’s house, and the warm, dim lighting inside makes you feel strangely nostalgic. Like in a way that feels like home.

You tirelessly tousle with your hair at the mirror hanging above the foyer table that was snug up against the wall at the front entrance. Your hair wasn’t cooperating. You attempted to curl it, for the first time in forever given you can’t remember the last time you had enough time to do your hair, so you were out of practice. It was obvious, given the way some strands were curled outwards from your face, some inwards, some straighter than others, some curlier than others, and you were about to have a full blown mental breakdown before you remember your grounding exercises– 1, 2, 3, 4.

You turn to face Gojo, who you saw in the mirror was standing behind you and watching you with amusement, and you breathe in deep. “How do I look?” you ask, petting down the fabric of your dress as you face him. The thought occurs to you–why do you give so much of a fuck how you look right now? It’s just Gojo’s family. It’s not like they’re actually your in-laws. And from what Gojo’s mother had told you, it was just an intimate little get-together with Sana’s family. It’s really not a big deal. Yet the necessity to impress still consumes you.

Gojo threads his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilts his head to assess your appearance, and you watch his gaze trace the frame of you. “Nice,” he says, “you look nice.”

“That’s it? Just nice?”

“Well, I tried to call you hot earlier, but it got me yelled at.”

You roll your eyes and grab your purse off the foyer table, “okay, whatever, I’ll take it.” And then you head towards the front door. You hear the jingle of car keys from behind you as they’re shoved into a pocket.

The outside air is chilly in a way that’s almost sobering. Gojo opens the door for you to get inside his car and the warmth of your peach cobbler in your lap comforts some of the nerves you felt. By the time Gojo clicks his seatbelt into place in the driver seat, you realize you’ve never been in his car before, or driven anywhere by him before.

The interior smells of pine and something more familiar too, with sleek leather seats that are so comfortable they make you feel like you’re floating. You know it’s a Benz, you’re just not sure what year or model, and you’d usually ask most people out of a friendly curiosity, but for some reason your pride always got the best of you when it came to him.

“I seriously can’t wait to eat that thing you made,” Gojo comments after he’s backed out of the driveway, “it looks really nice.”

“Do you have a sweet tooth?” you ask him, glancing over at him, and you try not to stare at the strong one-handed grip he has on the steering wheel as he corrects it. 

“Oh yeah,” he answers, “big time.”

“You don’t seem like it,” you mindlessly say, turning your head to glance out into the dim street, passing by houses that idly sit in this neighborhood.

“Why’s that?” he asks.

“You seem to maintain a steady weight,” you politely comment.

You can hear the smile in his voice. “Is that the closest I’ll ever get to a compliment from you?”

You roll your eyes. “It’s just science. Hard to maintain a build if you eat a lot of sugar.”

He turns onto the mainroad, and you keep your gaze plastered to the outside. “I seem to manage.”

“It’s because you're tall. Tall people get to eat whatever they want.”

You see him nod his head once in your periphery, and you take it as some form of dismissal. “Sure.”

It doesn’t take terribly long to get to Gojo’s parents’ house, just a thirty-five minute drive without traffic. He kept surprisingly silent throughout most of it, and the few moments you did glance at his face, you could even say he looked like he was deep in thought. With a creased brow, a grip on the steering wheel that sometimes faltered, sometimes strengthened, but rarely fully eased. It was all so different from his usual impulse to talk. You know that you often wish for Gojo to shut the fuck up sometimes, but the silence seemed unsettling today.

His parents’ house is large, maybe twice the size of the homes in your neighborhood, but it’s tucked away in a slightly remote area, where the next closest house is about a quarter of a mile down the road. The driveway is long and runs downhill, so you stumble a little on the high heel of your shoe when you step down onto the pebbled pavement, but Gojo holds your elbow so you don’t fall onto your face. And also so you don’t drop the peach cobbler he so desperately wants to try. You’re not sure which of the two was the bigger priority for him.

As you two walk up the driveway towards the front entrance, you hear him sigh behind you. “Just so you know, my mom doesn’t really have any sense of boundaries.”

“Ah,” you comment, “nice to know where you get it from.”

He gives you an irritated look, seen in the corner of your eye, and it’s hard to fight the small amused smile that makes its way onto your face.

He sighs again as you two make it to the top of the steps. “Seriously, though. Chances of you wanting to leave me after this dinner are high.”

“Why? You’ve got a hot older brother I don’t know about or something?”

“I am the hot older brother,” he tells you.

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, and then face him fully. “You’re not the first guy that’s warned me about his parents, okay? I’ll handle my own. What good is life if your in-laws–er, fake in-laws–aren’t at least a little strange?”

He lifts his finger to the doorbell, and just before pressing it, he says, “alright, then.”

It only takes twelve seconds for the door to swing open, the aroma of fresh herbs and something more sultry like vetiver arouse your senses, along with a warmth beckoning you from the inside of the home. 

Gojo’s mother stands at the doorway, surrounded by a halo of warm lighting, and her face instantly morphs into one of delightful glee.

“Oh! My dear, you’ve made it!” she exclaims happily, and just when you think she’s about to pull Gojo in for a hug, she pulls you in for one first instead, which startles you. “How lovely!”

“Oh—” you stutter, stumbling slightly as your nose becomes buried in the fluff of her silk pressed hair, but the delicate fragrance of lilac is somehow comforting.

She pulls you away to hold you by your shoulders. “You poor thing, you’re shivering! Come inside.” She hastily ushers you inside and you can feel the heat from Gojo’s body as he follows closely on your tail.

When his mother closes the door behind you, you find yourself surrounded by the kind of warmth only a house could provide. 

You take a small look around the foyer, noticing that it’s large with tones of deep wood and a bright white and golden chandelier that hangs daintily above in the cavity of the high ceilings. Leather, wood, velvet, silk, these are the textures that you see as you look around. It’s an old-fashioned taste, with a polished grand piano off to the right in the hall and display cases of vintage dolls and porcelain plates. So very different from modern, but it’s comforting. Like a wave of nostalgia, but from something you’ve never experienced before.

“What’s this?” Mrs. Gojo asks with curiosity lilting her voice as she walks up to you and points at the casserole dish you were holding.

“Oh, it’s peach cobbler,” you say, holding it up slightly with a small smile adorning your face, “for dessert.”

“How sweet! You’re an angel,” she coos, then twists her torso towards the kitchen, “honey! Come here, will you?”

Shuffling down the hallway from the heart of the house is, who you presume to be, Mr. Gojo. He’s tall, with his shoulders slightly curved forward as he approaches you all, and you note that he looks more aged than his missus.

“Ah, this must be my new daughter-in-law,” he says, his voice gruff and crackly from years of use. You smell the faintest hint of smoke from his clothing.

You glance at Gojo, who is watching you interact with his parents, an unreadable expression on his face as his hands remain shoved into the pocket of his suit pants.

Mr. Gojo takes the peach cobbler from you and gives you a curt smile before taking it back towards the kitchen.

“Darling, I must say, you have a lovely figure—” Gojo’s mother begins to say, reaching her hand out to hover it over the curve of your waist, but just at that moment, Gojo comes up to stand in between the two of you.

“Alright, what time’s dinner?” he asks.

Mrs. Gojo glances up at him, her face immediately twisting into a frown. “Nevermind that. I want to take y/n with me back to the kitchen to help braise the chicken,” she says, grabbing a hold of your wrist and tugging you towards her.

“Oh—” you stumble slightly.

“Nope,” you hear Gojo say from beside you, and suddenly there’s a strong arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you back to his side, “she stays with me for the night.” You’d remember to blush at the feeling of being pressed flush up against him, but the shock overshadowed.

“Satoru!” Mrs. Gojo exclaims, rather loudly, and she lets out a hmph noise before placing her hands on her hips. “You’re no fun!”

“I’m not gonna let you indoctrinate her into whatever multi-level marketing scheme you’ve fallen victim to this month,” he says, his hold on your waist tightening.

“How petulant!” she says, trying to manage a stern look but Gojo doesn’t seem fazed by it, “quit acting like I’m going to corrupt her! I’m not some witch.”

“Your track record would prove otherwise,” he comments.

“Oh please, the only other time was when you brought—”

She suddenly stops speaking, her eyes going wide, and she glances at you. You cluelessly tilt your head at her.

Ah. The other woman. This mysterious ex-wife. Would you be the other woman in this case? Seeing as to how his entire family seems to walk on eggshells about the subject around you. And they all seem to think that any mention of her would devastate you, when really, you and Gojo aren’t even actually lovers.

But there’s a small part of you,

A teeny tiny part,

Revealed from the way your heart sank at the realization of who his mother was referring to,

That actually does feel some type of way about it.

You want to know who this woman was to him. Does he still think of her? Does he still love her? What happened between them? Was she the one that got away? And how does he feel about the fact that he’s now here with you?

You shake your head vigorously to get those thoughts out of your head.

It was like method acting. You stepped into the role of wife this evening, and now you feel the way that they expect you to feel at the mention of your husband’s ex-lover.

That must be the reason, right?

You slowly push yourself out of Gojo’s hold, and you try not to become hyper aware of his eyes on you as you smooth out the fabric of your dress, then you glance at his mother.

“I’d love to help you braise the chicken,” you say.

There’s a brief silence as you find your voice in this house, and then Mrs. Gojo flashes you a grin.

“Come with me, honey,” she says before wrapping a delicate hand around your wrist and pulling you towards the heart of the house.

There are pictures hung up on the walls as you brush past every hallway, along with peeling wallpaper that is peppered with florals and striped prints, sanded off from years of shoulders brushing against their surfaces in a way that creates an old, dated charm. You learn quickly that Gojo has always been pretty tall, judging from the photo of him standing with, whom you assume are his middle school friends, out on a boat, holding a bass the size of a small child. 

There’s photos of the four of them together, like one professionally taken photo where Gojo and Sana are knelt in front of their parents, and your gaze fixates on the strong grip Mr. Gojo has on his son’s shoulder, digging deep in the bone, creasing the fabric, almost desperately. Gojo looks young in the photo, maybe a recent high school graduate, and his smile is bright but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

And, God, the trophies. The trophies that adorned the surfaces of aged cedar wood dressers, seemingly random in the order they are sprawled across the display yet you know there was intention behind it too. Ballet, soccer, tennis, spelling bee, FRC, even dragon boat racing. 

“Feel free to take any of those home,” Mrs. Gojo says with a teasing tone, “you eventually get tired of staring at them.”

You wouldn’t know. Your mother never had much extra cash hanging around to take you to tennis lessons, or ballet lessons, or SAT prep, or whatever. You were lucky enough that you got into college with the cards you were dealt, but you sometimes wonder what your potential could’ve been if you had parents like Gojo did. Maybe the house you live in would be your own, and not something that your mother has spent the past forty years of her life trying to pay off. Maybe you’d have a freshly renovated kitchen and a pretty boat out on the street. But throwing a pity party for yourself right now wasn’t exactly going to get you through the evening.

Mrs. Gojo finally leads you into the kitchen, and the aroma of fresh herbs overwhelms your senses. 

“Smells wonderful,” you comment.

“I know,” she cheekily comments, “will you turn the meat please?”

You grab a pair of tongs and attempt to sear the cuts that were sizzling on the stove.

“Sooooo,” she coos, wasting no time to playfully bump her hip to yours, “how is married life?”

“Nice,” you respond, your cheeks warming slightly, “it’s nice.”

“It won’t always be that way, you know,” she muses with some underlying sense of sincerity that isn’t lost on you.

When you remain quiet, concentrating on the searing sizzling noises coming from the pan, she decides to keep speaking.

“Eventually, you two will settle in a little too much…start to care less about your bodies…and then, oh gosh, when kids come into the picture, forget about having any time for yourselves,” she continues, “some days you’ll resent him, others you’ll feel like it’s the first time all over again.” She sighs. “Marriage is a funny thing—”

“Mrs. Gojo,” you interrupt her, turning to face her, “I—…I really appreciate you, I do, but, um, I’ve already learned a lot already about marriage from my own parents. Things are fine between Satoru and me.” You look into her widened eyes. “And…if something does happen down the line, and we choose not to be together anymore, then that’s okay too.”

After all, you had to prepare her.

“But that’s the thing!” she chirps, “your generation is too—…too impatient. Unwilling to work anything out! A marriage is supposed to be hard, but also it’s something you aren’t supposed to give up on so easily.”

It’s your turn to meet her with widened eyes in response to her preaching, and her posture immediately deflates before she holds you gently by your arm.

“I’m sorry, honey…I know it’s too early to be saying all these things to you,” she says, managing a small smile, “I always forget that I’m too old to be doting on my children like this anymore.”

Your expression softens and you wrap your palm over her bony knuckles, feeling the thinness of the skin that stretches over them. In a brief glimpse, you see your own mother in Mrs. Gojo’s eyes, something familiar, a universal expression of the love a parent has for their child.

“Well…” you say after clearing your throat, “for what it’s worth, you have nothing to worry about, Mrs. Gojo.” You try to manage a small smile. “I’m—…I’m really happy with your son.”

It was hard to lie to someone like this, especially from the way there’s relief that floods her irises, a genuine feeling that is so hard to come by in these days of false niceties. You often wonder how far a single white lie can stretch before it shatters against its own resistance.

“That’s a relief,” she says, managing her own prim smile, “I’m so glad.”

The two of you finish up in the kitchen, and when you circle around back into the hall, you see Sana standing in the warmly lit family room with Gojo and their dad.

Sana catches your eye, and you purse your lips together hesitantly before walking up to her.

“Hey,” you say softly and she returns the small smile you give her.

“Hi,” she says back to you.

“Um, where’s Juno?” you ask, looking around.

“Oh, she has a sleepover at her friend’s house tonight,” Sana says, “Jun’s dropping her off, and then he’ll come by here later.”

“Ah, I see,” you comment, itching at your elbow from the awkwardness.

“Well,” Mr. Gojo says, gesturing towards the dining room, “let’s eat, shall we?”

The three of you nod at him.

It’s fascinating to watch how the family falls naturally into their chairs, an assigned seating pattern that stays consistent among all dining halls and rooms and tables in the world, one that every family has. Mr. Gojo sits at the head of the table, his wife to his left, his son to his right. Sana sits quaintly to her mother’s left, and you sit across from her to Gojo’s left. The one empty seat is left for the presence of Jun.

“Food looks wonderful, darling,” Mr. Gojo says before leaning over to place a kiss on her bashful cheek.

Your heart does something weird at the sight. A simultaneous twinge paired with a warmer feeling that follows. You hardly witnessed any affection within your household growing up, not between your parents at least, probably because you were young when they got divorced and so the turmoils and tribulations started long before you had any higher order of cognitive discernment beyond the childish interest in Disney princesses and The Backyardigans. For you, the only memories that last of your parents’ marriage are those that feel like nothing more than the frigidity of a business arrangement. Ironically similar to the one you were currently in with Gojo. Except at least yours hadn’t been initially built on a foundation of love and a promise to be there for one another until death did you two apart.

Death was knocking on your mother’s doorstep now. But your father was nowhere to be found. So much for a vow.

Mr. Gojo pours his son a glass of whiskey, single malt as read on the label. Mrs. Gojo pours you and Sana a glass of red wine, and you try to hide the grimace, because you would’ve much rather had the whiskey.

“To y/n,” Mr. Gojo says, raising his glass up into the air, “for being our newest addition to the family.”

You all clink your glasses together, then in a variety of pairings, the last one being the tap of Gojo’s glass against yours, before you all take a drink.

“So…” Mrs. Gojo speaks up, “exactly how long have the two of you been married?”

You glance at Gojo for help, which isn’t exactly an unsuspecting thing to do.

“Four weeks,” he says.

You watch Mrs. Gojo’s eyes twitch. You can understand. Her own son gets married and doesn’t tell her anything about it for four weeks after the wedding. Well, in your case, a courthouse arrangement.

“Where did you two go for your honeymoon?” she asks, and Mr. Gojo clears his throat.

You look at Gojo for help again, and mentally pinch yourself for not being more discreet about how fake this whole thing is.

But Gojo surprisingly looks at ease. “Greece,” he says, and leaves it at that.

Mrs. Gojo’s body language turns to you, clearly irritated by her son’s short and curt answers. “Did you have a fun time, dear?”

“Oh! Yes, it was a very fun time. Definitely did all the newly wed stuff. Just as normal newlyweds do, you know. Because we are newlyweds,” you say through an awkward cough.

“Like…?” Mrs. Gojo pushes, and you can tell that she’s asking out of a genuine curiosity over the itinerary you two had allegedly carried out, but you crack under the pressure.

“W—…We made love,” you say, “we made lots and lots of love.”

The sound of silverware clanking onto ceramic plates startles you out of the blissful ignorance you had to the words that you had just said. Like you were so caught up in your mind about wanting to seem like an actual real life couple to his parents that you almost forgot about the number one social rule when meeting your (fake) significant other’s parents: no references to copulation. 

You glance up to find Mrs. Gojo’s eyes are wide, a slight tinge of pink to her cheeks. The width of Mr. Gojo’s eyes match his wife’s except his expression is also duly accompanied by a furrowed, perplexed brow. Sana looks visibly uncomfortable, shifting in her seat and trying hard to put on a poker face as she pretends like she didn’t just hear what you said.

You finally glance at Gojo, who’s looking at you with the most what the fuck? face you’ve ever seen someone make, and there’s concern on there somewhere too, like he’s not even fully convinced that you’re mentally sane at the moment because why on God’s green Earth would you say something like that at a family dinner table.

Trying your best to laugh it off, you say, “ah…ahaha, d-did I say make love? I meant–I meant that we–”

“Just–” Gojo interrupts you. “Just stop.”

Everyone are still stunned silent and the flush to your cheeks grows warmer. While clearing your throat, you set your lap napkin up on the table and clumsily scootch yourself out of your chair.

“Ex…cuse…me...” you mumble under your breath, knocking the table with your knee on accident, your wine glass almost toppling all over the pretty linen tablecloth but your reflexes catch the stem to steady it. “I need to…use the restroom.” And then you head straight down the hallway without sparing them another glance.

“Use the upstairs one!” Mrs. Gojo calls out to you, “the guest bathroom is under renovation.”

“Of fucking course it is,” you mutter under your breath, but flash them a polite smile before rounding the staircase pillar and then briskly walking up the stairs.

You quickly realize there’s more personality to the house upstairs, with some clutter in the theater loft and mismatching decorations that don’t reveal the careful deliberation of an indoor designer. The master bedroom is directly to the right of the top of the staircase and you glance across the loft at a narrow hallway that leads into the three bedrooms tucked away into the heart of the house.

One foot after the other, you float in that direction as if some force were compelling you towards it. Some trance of curiosity that no human being could ever resist. It’s fine. You didn’t actually need to piss anyways.

The first bedroom you walk past is rather boring, with beige tones all around. Beige bed sheets, beige wall paint, beige lamp shade, beige curtains. But the air smells crisp, and you notice there’s a shelf that has about half a dozen plants lined up in a variety of artistic pots. Similar to the set-up Gojo has in his house at home. You walk inside and brush your fingers across the dresser surface, rubbing fine dust over the pads of your fingers, and with your next inhale, you sneeze.

A guest bedroom, you think to yourself.

The next bedroom you walk past is sweeter, kinder, warmer. There’s pink hues scattered across, the most obvious one being the pillow covers, and there are some shades of a baby blue as well. But the furniture looks modern, sleek, and new. There were two identities at war in the room, like that of a little girl and a grown woman. Neither able to find its voice among the chaos of friendship bracelets sprawled across the desk and the Louis Vuitton purse resting at the foot of the bed. 

Sana’s room, you think to yourself. 

Childhood bedrooms are like time capsules if left untouched for very long. You’ve lived in your room at home for as long as you can remember, only recently having shifted to the master bedroom. The room grew up with you. It had no chance to become some entity of its own. 

The next bedroom you walk by feels familiar, even before you walk inside. There’s a comforting feeling that envelopes just from the lighting alone. You push the door open with a gentle palm.

The culprit of any young man’s room–navy blue sheets. Stretched taut against a made-up bed that has some sort of feminine flair to it, like it wasn’t set by Gojo, but rather his mother passing by his room one day to sit in his absence, only to needlessly mess with the sheets because it gave her a sense of purpose. You go eighteen years pouring blood, sweat, and tears into raising a child, protecting them, nurturing them, being the one they lean on for all of life’s woes, only for them to pack up and leave one day. You suppose that if you were a parent, you would find melancholy in that loss of responsibility too. 

His desk is a large expanse of cedar wood with a desktop monitor and some bookshelf speakers set up on it. The PC itself has collected dust over the years but there’s a small mechanical whirring noise you hear somewhere within. The rest of the desk is mostly empty except for some unopened mail tucked away with some books, the spines creased at the last few hundred pages, but never to the end. 

You pick one of the books up, flipping the pages open, and see sticky notes on some of them. Like English literature notes one would take in class, with studious words that over exaggerate the significance of the prose just to make a teacher happy. Who cares if the curtains were blue? Maybe the author just wanted them to be blue. Why does everything in life have to have meaning?

Setting the book back down with a sigh, you walk over to the bookshelf. There are some more trophies, some sets of comic books, some strange robotic-looking figurines. Small picture frames of foreign scenery are set up in different corners wherever there is empty space, like an afterthought. 

“Hmm…” you hum to yourself, tilting your head to the side to read the vertical spine of a thick black book that was tucked flush up against the shelf's side. 

West Valley High School. Class of 2007.

With your index finger hooking the spine, you slowly pull the book out from its comfy corner. It’s heavy in your hands and you notice that there are ink smudges across the tips of your fingers.

When you open the cover, you’re met with a page filled with a variety of colors and handwriting, and you realize they’re signatures. And to no one’s surprise, most of them are feminine. With hearts, some merely outlines, some shaded in with ink, scattered across the page. Bubbly handwriting, neat handwriting, cursive handwriting, a lot of it in pinks and purples and reds. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think it was like those Valentine’s Day cards all the girls would sign in grade school to pass onto their crush, except imagine if all of them were intended for just one guy.

You roll your eyes as you flip the pages, seeing no end in sight to the signed ink. I mean, come on, how many signature pages does a yearbook even need? This was excessive. And, no, you aren’t bitter simply because your high school yearbook has maybe a max of fifteen signatures (four of which were from your teachers). It’s just frustrating. And confusing. Why does everyone on this planet adore Gojo except you? Is there something wrong with you? Are you the problem?

There are some signatures from boys too, most likely his friends. Otherwise, you’re not sure what random fleeting classmate you’ve only spoken to a couple times would be brazen enough to draw pictures of penises squirting in whatever empty space they could find in your yearbook, if not for his high school friends. These boys are probably in their mid thirties now, just as Gojo is, maybe with wives and kids they’re now responsible for. You wonder if they’d still find the drawings funny all the same today.

You flip the pages more, taking in image after image after image of smiling portraits. ABC…DE…F…ah, G. Hmm, there. There it was. 

Gojo Satoru.

Seems like his high school didn’t allow yearbook quotes, but you try to imagine what his would be. Probably something corny and lame, like See kids? I told you I was sexy in high school.

He looks cute though. With his hair fluffy, boyishly ruffled to pair with a charming smile that’s at ease. He just looks a little younger, that’s all. Not that much different. Perhaps a bit more scrawny, a bit more mischievous-looking. As opposed to his adult self, who appears sturdy. More serious. But you realize that cheeky part of him that comes out every now and then when he’s teasing you or pissing you off is that boy within him that looks exactly like the portrait in this yearbook that you trace with the pad of your finger. 

You close the book, suddenly a little out of breath, and then slip it back into place. Your eyes catch the shimmer of the trophy at the top of the shelf. It was shaped like a baseball glove mitt, and in the palm cup, there is an actual baseball in there with a black ink signature. You gently pick it up and turn it in your palm to try and read the ink.

Ichiro.

Your dad used to watch baseball. You’re familiar. Seattle Mariners, Ichiro Suzuki. The first Japanese player to ever make it to the Major Leagues. Ten time all-star, and tenth member of the Mariners hall of fame. He retired when you were just a little girl, but you still remember the look of awe in your father’s eyes as he stared at the box TV in the living room of your house when Ichiro took his last stand at the plate.

Gojo was also a boy at that time. Living in this house. Maybe his old man was watching that game at the same time. And maybe Gojo was watching the look on his father’s face, too. It’s the romance of life–you look up at the moon in the sky, and you know that there is someone else out there, someone that you’ll meet some day, maybe even someone that will mean the world to you someday, who’s looking at it too. But you just don’t know it yet.

Lost in endless, rather fruitless thought, you continue to turn the baseball in your hand to pointlessly assess the seams, but it slips out of your hand and onto the carpeted floor with a loud hollow thud that startles you, and when you attempt to bend down and pick it up, you accidentally push it with your toe and it rolls underneath the bed.

“Shit,” you mumble, getting down onto your hands and knees to look underneath the bed.

You see the ball rolled a few feet away, and when you reach for it, it becomes clear that you don’t have the arm span to grab it. You struggle and you struggle, the tips of your fingers barely tickling its seam, and the frustration makes you sweat a little.

“Come…here…you…stupid…thing,” you mutter. You’re sure your hair is a static mess now, too. 

You finally manage to roll it towards you a couple inches and then your palm wraps around it before pulling it to your shoulder, but not without something collateral that’s dragged along with it.

A photograph. Printed out, vintage. You pinch the corner between your two fingers and stand back up onto your two feet in order to better assess the image under the light of the floor lamp.

The first person you notice in the photo is Gojo. He looks younger than in the yearbook, but he’s wearing a suit and a tie. It’s a little big on him, ill-fitting as most teenage boys should look in a suit, like a rite of passage. His smile is less warm than the one in the yearbook too, more prim and stretched into a thin line that’s only slightly curved upwards. It’s only then when you notice the slender fingers sprawled across his chest near the collar of his undershirt, black nail polish blending in with the fabric of the suit. Your eyes trail the dainty hand, and your heart skips a beat when you see a girl standing next to him, pressed up against him, her smile much brighter than his. Pink braces line her teeth and her hair is that classic mid-2000s side-swept bang mess, but she’s pretty. Dressed in a pink-ish purple gown that almost looks like a bridesmaids dress, and you finally see the banner stretched across behind the both of them in the picture that reads Homecoming 2005. 

It’s hard to explain it, but you can just feel it somehow. That this person is important to him. Not just some last-minute date to Homecoming, or an old high school girlfriend he’s long since lost touch with. It seems larger than that, somehow. Unlike penises drawn on yearbook paper, this feels like something a person never outgrows.

Of course, people have lived fully-fledged lives before you’ve met them. Just as you have as well. But you’re overtaken by the insane curiosity to want to learn every single detail about this past life that Gojo has lived. Where did he and his friends hang out after school? When did he learn how to drive? When was the first time he got shit-faced drunk? When was the first time he snuck out of the house? And who was this girl in the picture? 

“Find what you’re lookin’ for yet?” a voice calls out, entirely startling you to where you almost jolt out of your skin, and you swiftly turn on your heel towards the entrance of the room. 

You see Gojo standing in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed as he levels his gaze at you. He has a blank expression on his face, although you would say it’s more serious than playful. 

“What–...I–” you stutter, shuffling the picture you were holding behind your back so he doesn’t see. 

His eyes don’t flit to the movement. “You don’t have to tear the room apart to find my illicit drugs. You could’ve just asked.”

 You roll your eyes. “As if you would do drugs.”

“You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“So, then, if you’re not looking for drugs, what are you looking for?”

Your cheeks are warm. “I don’t know. Petty cash? Human body parts? Playboy?”

He snorts. “Playboy? Who still has a subscription to Playboy?”

“Maybe your teenage self did.”

“I’m not that old,” he says, “I was watching porn like the rest of my peers.”

“Ew, you freak,” you say, and you grab one of his pillows and throw it at him.

He lets out a laugh before catching the pillow with ease, and then walks up to you, placing the pillow on top of your head. You half-glare, half-pout at him.

“C’mon,” he probes, “tell me why you’re hiding away up here.”

“I embarrassed myself,” you confide in him with a sulk of your shoulders. “I mean. Seriously. What the fuck was that? What a humiliating thing to say in front of your parents. I just feel so weird pretending like this.”

His expression softens. “Sorry,” he says, “for dragging you into this dinner.”

“No,” you sigh, “I’m the one that did. I forgot you can’t necessarily fake a marriage without…doing the typical couple things.”

“Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm,” he hums as his gaze flits towards the bed, “doing the typical couple things, you say?”

You roll your eyes. “In your dreams.”

“Oh, in my dreams alright,” he says with a grin.

“And if I strangled you? What then?”

“I like that. It’s kinky.”

“And I’m supposed to believe you don’t have magazines lying around?”

“Brown box underneath the bed. You didn’t look hard enough.”

You give him a disgusted look. He laughs.

“I’m joking,” he says, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I’m not convinced,” you say, turning your body away from him slightly to keep the photo hidden behind your back.

He tilts his head at you, gaze flickering down to your other hand. Your heart skips a beat. “I could’ve guessed that.” 

His hand reaches out and you flinch ever so slightly, something he thankfully doesn’t notice, and then he’s grabbing the baseball out of your palm.

“I always thought I could sell this thing for major money,” he muses, throwing the ball up into the air to catch it. And then doing so again a couple times.

“It’s authentic?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

“Oh yeah. I caught it. First ball game my old man ever took me to, and it happened to be Ichiro’s last.”

Your eyes widen. Gojo was at that game. He wasn’t just watching it from home on some TV like you did with your dad. He was living in it.

“Wow,” you say, “must’ve been quite the game.”

“Don’t really remember too much about it to be honest, other than how stoked I was to just be there with my dad.”

“Mm,” you hum, “I’ll have to ask Mr. Gojo more about it when we get downstairs.”

His expression falters slightly, his smile dropping in the most subtle way that you wouldn’t have even noticed if you hadn’t been intently staring at his face. 

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe.”

Gojo continues to stare at the ball in his palm as he rotates it in inspection. There’s an awkward silence that settles between the two of you, and you feel the burden of conversation has suddenly fallen on you. 

“My, um. My dad was a fan too,” you say.

His eyes glance up to meet yours. “How come I’ve never met him?”

The question catches you off guard. “Wh–...I’m sorry, what?”

“Your dad,” he says, as if it was something so casual. 

“That–...well, he’s–...I don’t know, I haven’t seen him in years,” you admit, “not since…not since my mother was diagnosed with cancer.”

He stares at you earnestly, studying your expression, before he decides on saying nothing else except, “I’m sorry about that.”

You sigh. “Satoru, I–” you start, keen on the way his body stiffens slightly when you say his name, “I really don’t have the capacity for much else tonight. I mean, the questions. And the lies. And walking on eggshells around your mom.” 

“Well. I was sent up here to get you,” he says, “and I can’t exactly go downstairs empty handed.”

“Fine. Let’s just get this dinner over with as fast as possible.”

“Sure,” he easily agrees, “I’m with you on that one.”

You take a step forward to head towards the door, but then suck in a sharp gasp when you remember what was being held behind your back.

“Wait,” you say, “look away.”

“...huh?” he huffs, a puzzled look on his face.

“Just look away for a second.”

His eyebrows furrow before he lifts one in a questioning manner. But he acquiesces and turns on his heel to face away from you. “Have I ever told you how strange you are?”

“No,” you say while discretely crouching down, playing along in an attempt to distract him, “you haven’t.” You flinch a little from the sound of your hip popping, but he doesn’t seem to notice and so you bend your wrist in preparation of flinging the photo back to the abyss underneath his bed.

But you stop.

And you take one more glance at the photo.

And your stomach flips the same way it did the first time you saw it.

If you asked, would he tell you?

But the more pressing question is,

Why are you so scared to find out?

You shake your head vigorously to get rid of all your pestering intrusive thoughts. It was the stress, you played it off. A hyperactive mind leads to hyperactive ruminations. And besides, it’s just silly. Sure, there’s your gut feeling that suggests otherwise. But this girl in the photo could really just be an old friend or girlfriend that had no significant impact on the trajectory of his life. Why be the crazy one and lose sleep over this? You’ve lost sleep over plenty of other things in your life, but not stuff like this. It’s just not like you.

You fling the photo across underneath the bed and then stand up just in time for when Gojo turns around to look at you out of curiosity.

“Alright,” you say, dusting your hands off, “let’s go.”

You walk over to where he stands by the doorframe, a slight warmth to your cheeks when he doesn’t move out of your way like he usually does, but instead he leans towards you slightly as you brush past him, and your heart jumps a beat in your chest when you feel his hand gently fall to the small of your back, softly urging you forward ahead of him. A feather of a touch, yet intentional, almost naturally so, like a curious test of the boundary between you two that he’s been dying to understand a bit better. And the fact you don’t turn on your heel to face him with that same undeserved and petty rage that you always do, and instead slightly shudder at the feel of his touch, means that somewhere along the way, you’ve moved the line a little closer.

He’s hot on your trail as you walk down the stairs slowly and when you turn around the post at the bottom then make your way back to the dining room, you see his family staring at you with wide eyes.

His mother stands up. “y/n! Come sit back down, dear.”

You nod meekly, and Gojo pulls your chair out for you to take a seat before he resumes his seat next to you.

The food is slightly cold by the time you finally get to pick at it. It’s not very seasoned, either. Not enough salt for your taste. But somehow Mrs. Gojo having a phobia of sodium is a study of character that makes perfect sense in your head.

Eventually, the awkward silence is too much for you to bear, and you set your fork and knife down on your napkin with a slight bit more force than you probably should’ve.

Everyone looks at you.

You sigh. “I’m sorry for earlier,” you say, “I’m…uh, I’m just not really used to these sorts of dinners…I don’t have much family here in this town, and it’s always just sort of been my mom and me. And I—…I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

Wide eyes blink at you. Mr. Gojo shifts a little uncomfortably in his seat while Mrs. Gojo blinks her long lashes at you. Sana tilts her head, and you have no interest in seeing what Gojo’s expression looks like. You fear it’s the one you’d remember the most.

You were just being honest with how you felt. And it doesn’t take you long to realize something you probably should’ve realized earlier walking into a home like this where everything was perfect and on display with no evidence of the way a true family can crumble on the inside—a house like this does not value honesty. Your mother couldn’t afford you many luxuries in life, but you never felt like you couldn’t be honest in front of her. 

You glimpse up at Sana, and there is some knowing expression on her face. It’s almost sympathetic. As if you two were on the same page about something right now. When you glance at Gojo, you see him staring down at his plate with his brow slightly furrowed.

“It…it’s quite alright, dear,” his mother says through a prim voice, and in an attempt to change the subject, she says, “I do hope you are enjoying the chicken.”

“Ah,” you exhale, “yes. I am.”

“So!” Mrs. Gojo chimes in again as she dabs her mouth to a linen napkin. “Tell me about what you do for fun.”

You blink at her. “Oh, umm…binge watch TV? Occasionally I’ll go for a walk.”

“Ahh interesting! What about reading? Do you enjoy reading?”

“Well, the last book I purchased was a picture book about North Korean missiles…so.”

She lets out a laugh. “And where do you see yourself in five years?”

You hear Gojo sigh beside you before he reluctantly sets down his silverware and then he turns to Mrs. Gojo. “Mom. C’mon. This isn’t a job interview. Just let her eat.”

There’s a slight tinge of pink to the tips of her ears from the interrogation interruption as she glances between the two of you. She looks over at Sana for help but finds nothing other than a gaze tipped down towards a plate full of picked-at food. Mr. Gojo folds a hand over her frail knuckles as if to silently communicate, but Mrs. Gojo retreats her hands to fold in her lap underneath the table.

Feeling somewhat bad for the two of them, you turn the face Gojo’s dad. “Um…Mr. Gojo, Satoru was telling me about how you were a big baseball fan and a big Ichiro fan…do you still keep up with the Mariners?”

The man’s eyes grow wide with a visible confusion and you swear you hear Gojo clear his throat beside you.

“Ah…that’s–” he starts before the sound of the doorbell ringing startles you.

Sana immediately stands up without a word of excusal or a glance in anyone’s direction and she heads straight for the door.

You all look around at one another before Mrs. Gojo says, “must be Jun.”

You were at least glad to find you would not be the only “in-law” at the table full of a tension-laced family dinner, especially given the fact that in most of the cases where you’ve met Jun, his penchant to talk overshadows any other energy.

“What’s up, y/n!” Jun shouts when he waltzes into the dining hall, a few steps ahead of Sana. He throws his jacket over the first surface he finds, body language matching that of someone twenty years younger than he actually is. You can’t tell if it’s overcompensation for something, or if he just genuinely believes he’s still in his twenties. 

To your surprise, he opens his arms out for you to greet him with a hug, and you hesitate before standing up slightly to give him a well-meaning wrap of your arms around him, but it lacks any warmth of familiarity.

“Welcome to the fam!” he jovially exclaims before patting your arm. He then hugs Mr. Gojo, then Mrs. Gojo (paired with those cheek kisses that the French do in greeting), then daps up Gojo (to which you notice Gojo is less than enthusiastic about) before he finally kisses Sana on the cheek and then takes his seat at the other end of the table. Your eyes are keen on Sana now, watching her intently, but she remains staring at the food on her plate. You had a feeling there was someone in this room that didn’t want to be at this dinner even more than you did.

“How was traffic, Jun?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“Oh it was nothing. Took a shortcut. Backroute off of Lake City Way. Full of pot holes though.”

Sana turns to him and scowls. “While you were taking Juno to her sleepover?!”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “Yeah? We were running late.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to take that route to get into the city! Those pot holes are so dangerous.”

“Honey. Chill. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Just last week I saw news of three plot holes on the Mercer Street intersection opened up. Three people were injured, including a young boy.”

“Okay well if I also believed everything I saw on the news was going to personally happen to me too then we’d have never gotten this far in life.”

“Jun,” Sana deadpans.

“W-Why don’t I fix you a plate, Jun? You must be tired.” Mrs. Gojo chimes in. 

Sana breathes in deep and exhales slowly before slumping down into her chair. 

“Thanks,” Jun says, easing his brow as he sits back in his chair nonchalantly, before he turns to Gojo and starts to talk about mundane things like the stock market, the recent election, something about a new bowling record, and this one Thai restaurant he really wants to try on the other end of town, all within the span of time it takes Mrs. Gojo to set a plate down in front of him.

Mr. Gojo jumps in on conversation from time to time. Mrs. Gojo listens idly, sometimes placing a laugh where she feels appropriate. Jun gets particularly animated about this incident he ran into earlier last week when he was dropping Juno off at school, a story that you notice everyone at the table is for some reason entirely intrigued by, but you suppose it’s the most interesting topic of conversation you’ve all had tonight thus far. At certain critical points of the story, Sana jumps in with a that’s not what happened, Jun and you find yourself finally settling in somewhat to the evening.

Just as Jun’s story is ending, you glance up to Mrs. Gojo and find that she’s staring at you with a smile on her face. It makes you jump in your seat a little, luckily unnoticed by the rest of the table because of Jun’s engaging theatrical hand gestures as he attempts to keep his wife, his brother-in-law and his father-in-law engaged. You would’ve expected Mrs. Gojo to avert her gaze the second yours locked with hers, but she doesn’t. She just continues to look at you with a soft smile on her face and a slight tilt to her head, like she’s getting used to the sight of seeing you at this table.

Her gaze flits downwards slightly and you follow her line of gaze, tracing it to the ring that was adorning your left hand. 

Your eyes widen slightly.

“Oh–” you stutter, the words already getting caught in your throat, “I–...I forgot to say, it’s an honor to wear your ring, Mrs. Gojo.” The table suddenly goes quiet, and you can’t tell if it’s because of you, or if it’s because there was no more story left to tell. “It’s beautiful.”

It truly felt like for every two steps you took forward, it was ten steps backwards. Because you watch the way that soft smile of hers entirely drops, her expression replaced with one of confusion, brows knitted together as she looks at you like you’ve just spoken in a language no one on Earth can speak. 

She glances at Gojo, and you don’t have to look at him  to tell that he’s stiff in his seat. You could’ve felt the tension from a mile away. 

Mrs. Gojo looks at you again. “Oh honey, that–” She glances between you and Gojo. “That’s not my ring…”

Your eyes widen, cheeks already flush from whatever’s to come.

But suddenly, and to your surprise, Sana speaks up. “It was our mother’s ring.”

You look at her with confusion. And then you glance at Gojo. And then you glance back at Sana. And then at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo.

“But…” you trail off.

“Sumiko and Daichi are our aunt and uncle,” Sana says with a strained voice, “our real parents died in a house fire when we were younger.”

You blink at her in shock.

“He didn’t tell you?” Mr. Gojo asks.

“I–” You glance at Gojo and see that he’s poking his tongue to the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the glass of scotch he was twirling around in his hand.

“Of course he didn’t,” Sana interrupts, the bitterness in her voice matching the attitude she’s since displayed this entire evening. Her gaze is locked onto her brother’s face, and when his gaze flickers up to meet her eye contact, his expression is set with a tense jaw. “He never wants to mention them. He never wants to acknowledge their life. He never wants to honor them. He just wants to pretend like they never existed.”

“Sana,” he cuts her off, and a chill gets sent down your spine from the seriousness and rigidity in his voice. “Now’s not the time for this.”

“When is the fucking time?!” she spats at him, the simmering tension brewing over. Ah. Yes. The moment you had been expecting. After all, what family does not have its baggage? Sana abruptly stands up from the table, startling everyone with the clanking of silverware and ceramic from the motion. “When is the fucking time for you to admit that you never gave a shit about mom and dad dying? When is the fucking time for you to admit that we moved on to live with these people so fast? When is the fucking time for you to admit how wrong it was for you to force me to call the people here my mom and dad my whole life when they aren’t?” Her voice cracks near the end.

You glance at Mr. & Mrs. Gojo, who both look shocked, hurt, even embarrassed as they gaze down at their food. Your heart stalls in your chest for them.

When you glance back at Gojo, you see that his gaze is hardened even further now. “You’re being rude,” he says, in as steady of a voice as he can manage from the way his brow is creased with disappointment. 

“Yeah, whatever,” Sana says as she wipes at the tears with her sleeves, and you notice that she looks young like this. Younger than the usual prim and proper self that she portrays. Too young to be a mom, too young to be a wife, too young to be an adult. Like someone propelled into a life that she never wanted. “That’s always what you say, isn’t it? No answers, you just claim that I’m being childish and rude.” Jun tries to reach out to hold her hand but she snatches it away from him. Under her breath she says, “I didn’t want to come here. I should’ve just stayed home.” And with a rough swipe of her sleeve across both of her cheeks, she suddenly storms off somewhere deep into the house. Jun immediately stands up to follow her, leaving the four of you here with stale, cold food.

The timer in the oven goes off, the sound heard in the distance like a lifeline, and Mrs. Gojo immediately stands up. “Ah, must be…the roasted potatoes. I’ll be right back,” she fusses, and you avert your gaze from her face so she doesn’t feel embarrassed over the streak of a tear you saw streaming down her face.

“Let me help you,” Mr. Gojo says in a small sheepish mumble before following his wife into the kitchen.

And then there were two.

You only have a moment to process the dramatic outburst and subsequent fall-through before you turn in your chair to face Gojo, your face narrowing in contempt. You see him running a hand through his hair, entirely ruffling out any sort of neatness he had combed it into earlier, and he undoes the top button of his shirt with an impatient thumb like he was letting go of whatever image he had been trying to keep up for tonight, because after what just happened, there was no use. 

“So when were you going to tell me that they aren’t actually your real parents???” you hiss at him.

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “They’ve raised us since Sana was just three years old. I didn’t think it mattered.” 

“Okay well if I had known then I wouldn’t have mentioned the ring??? Now everyone’s left the table because of me.”

“It’s not because of you,” he quickly corrects you, “it’s because of years of unnecessary drama of which I’ve still got no fucking clue why it still gets brough up at every. family. dinner. If you didn’t bring it up, then they would’ve figured out a way to bring it up somehow anyways.”

You blink at him, a little taken aback by how dejected he was by this entire conversation.

“Are you going to go check on Sana?” you ask him.

“No,” he says without hesitation, “she’ll calm down soon enough.”

You press your lips into a thin line, contemplating his dismissal, before you let out a huff of disappointment and disapproval. You pull your napkin off of your lap, setting it up on the table, and slip out of your chair to head into the house in the direction you saw Sana storm off into, leaving Gojo to himself at the table.

As you walk down the hallway, all those pictures you saw hung up on the walls, those photos of illusion that painted this pretty picture of a nuclear family fall apart in the narrow space, those firm smiles and hesitant postures making much more sense to you now. They aren’t even his real parents. Baseball and wedding rings. Those details belonged to a life he never intended on sharing with you. 

You walk past the kitchen, stopping briefly just beyond the entrance before backtracking and you find Sana standing near the sink with her arm across her chest as her other hand wipes at her cheeks. The soft sound of a sniffle echoes in the room and you’re surprised to see that Jun left her alone.

Tentatively, you shuffle your feet across the wooden floor. She seems to make note of you in her periphery but refuses to glance up. 

“Hey…” you start when you finally make it to the space in front of her, your hip leaning against the edge of the sink counter in parallel with hers as you face her.

“I—” she starts, shuffling her palms across her cheeks again. “I am so severely embarrassed.”

Your eyes widen slightly at the honesty. “Don’t be. It’s just family.”

“No but that’s the point,” she says through a crack in her voice, “I’m thirty-one, I’m married, I’m a mom, but they’ll always just see me as some immature little brat because I always behave like this.”

You don’t know what to say. You suppose if you were a therapist, or a priest, or a mentor, or a mom yourself, or any other person with an emotional IQ higher than yourself, you would know the right thing to say to her right now. But you don’t. So silence is all that you can offer her, and you hope that it’s enough.

It seems to work in it’s own magical way, as she slowly opens herself up to you within the next passing sixty seconds. A fleeting glance up to your face. The halt of pointless fidgeting with the fabric of her sleeve. The way she stands up straighter, her hip no longer leaning against the kitchen counter, and you find that you mirror the same movement.

She clears her throat, rubbing her nose with the knuckle of her index finger, her eyes no longer glistening with tears but the corners of them look puffy.

You glance down at your feet for a moment before inhaling deep and making eye contact with her. “Hey, listen…” you say, “I’m—…I’m really sorry…about earlier today. For overstepping about the bullying. Juno’s your daughter, and I really shouldn’t have given her advice before at least running it by you beforehand. Especially for something so sensitive.”

The delicate muscles of her brow lift in surprise at your words, lids fluttering slowly as she processes your words, and the wave of melancholy is contagious as it washes through you as well.

“I’m sorry too,” she says, “for how angry I got with you. It’s just—” she hesitates, and you see that semblance of her that you’re more familiar with. Strict, stern, rough around the edges but for a noble reason. “Y’know, with kids…we tend to get overprotective over them.” Her gaze drops to somewhere beneath yourselves as if she suddenly lost confidence in her train of thought. “I’m just trying to do the right thing for her.”

A silence settles between the two of you before you realize you ought to respond to her.

“I get it,” you finally say. “I mean—…I don’t. Because I’m not a mom. But…I’m sure that when I am one some day, I’d understand.”

She finally offers you a smile in return to your words, polite but genuine nonetheless. And a soft remnant sniffle makes her ruffle her nose.

Her expression softens, and she stares straight ahead to your collarbone rather than your eyes. “She really likes you, you know?” Sana glances up at you now. “Hasn’t stopped talking about your ‘blubbery’ pancakes since last week.”

“Aww.”

There’s a sad glint in her eyes when she turns her torso away from you slightly in resignation before some hint of optimism flashes by in her face and she turns to you again.

“Do you…think you could give me the recipe?”

You want to ask her if everything is okay. But instead, you say, “sure.”

The sound of footsteps approaching is heard near the kitchen entrance and the two of you glance in that direction to see Jun walking in. He offers you a fleeting glance before taking his place beside Sana, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling him towards her before placing a kiss on her temple and saying, “hey honey.” 

You watch as she averts her gaze down to the tips of her toes.

“Feeling better?” he asks her but there’s this lack of warmth you cannot quite discern.

“Yes,” she responds, scratching at her cheek as a discreet way of getting rid of the last remaining wetness that had streamed down her face earlier.

He rubs her arm soothingly and then looks at you with a smile pressed into a firm line. “Doing alright?”

You blink at him. “Wh—…yes.”

“Say, y/n, how’s your mom doing by the way?” he asks.

“She’s…better. She’s in hospice now.”

“Palliative?”

“Well—” you say, “I guess. It’s just temporary.”

He shuffles inside the pocket of his coat and takes out something. A small card with finely printed black ink on it. He hands it to you.

“I can’t imagine how expensive that all must be,” he says, and you glance down at the card.

Carevest Capital est. 2016

Invest in a healthier you!

You glance up at Jun. Sana’s gaze has now shifted to the inside of the sink.

“I started this business,” he says, “where we’re revolutionizing the way healthcare costs are managed. In our platform, we basically invest our clients’ money into the stock market, leveraging our high-reward algorithm to maximize returns. But here’s the unique part: we partner with leading healthcare CEOs who match a portion of the profits as an incentive for stock purchases. Together, these funds go directly toward paying off hospital bills and easing related financial burdens.”

Your eyes widen at his words. The speech was practiced, one you can only assume he has pitched to many potential clientele. But there’s a hint of personable grace to it as well.

“I’m telling you, y/n, we’ve had clients who have overcome six figures of medical debt in just six months,” he says, “and you’ll only need a couple thousand dollars to start yourself up.”

You purse your lips together, your finger pinching the corner of the card. “That’s amazing, Jun.”

He smiles at you, releasing Sana’s waist. “Sorry if this kinda came out of nowhere, but I heard through the grapevine that things have been rough.”

Oh, like how your card has declined publicly at the grocery store multiple times, or how you haven’t been able to afford your insurance deductible to get that chipped off part of your bumper fixed, or the fact you haven’t paid your landscapers in over three months so your lawn now looks like a swamp? It was a small town. And people’s finances were always a topic of interest for most.

“I just wanted to offer any help I can,” Jun says.

“Thanks,” you say, returning his smile, “I’ll, um, I’ll look into it.” You push the card into your pocket.

He offers you that same firm smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes before he pulls Sana to him again, placing another kiss along her hairline and the PDA seems like overcompensation on some front from the way Sana is entirely frigid to his touch. 

Maybe it was a woman’s intuition,

But you felt like something was wrong.

“Kids,” you hear Mr. Gojo’s crackly voice say as he stands leaning against the doorframe near the kitchen entrance, “let’s finish dinner?”

The three of you exchange glances before nodding and heading back towards the hall.

Your peach cobbler was apparently very good, the only thing that seemed to cut through the tension of the night. But that was the thing with family, right? You can yell and scream and cry and lecture and mope and roll your eyes at each other all you want but at the end of the day, they’re still family. Sana still seems slightly dejected though, and you can see Gojo in the corner of your eye at the table glancing up at her every other minute or so. His own way of making sure she’s doing okay, you think to yourself. Sana refuses to meet anyone’s line of sight except yours, however, which makes you feel some slight burdensome responsibility of sisterhood you had never signed up for. Nonetheless, you try to offer her a soothing smile whenever she looks up at you, and it seems to put her at ease.

The news of Sana and Jun moving seemed slightly anticlimactic, as Mrs. Gojo mentioned that they had already had an inkling that Jun and Sana would be moving closer to the city. You briefly wonder if Mrs. Gojo knew all along, but decided to make the announcement into some big affair just so that she could see her niece and nephew over a meal.

You make no more embarrassing comments. Conversation dulls into anything and everything unpersonal to you all, such as the news and weather and gossip of other people. And somewhere along the night, you relax your knee, the ball of it pressing into Gojo’s thigh underneath the table. It was wordless, innocent contact that occurs when two people become more comfortable with one another. Only excusable due to the slight buzz you felt in your veins from the wine. He’s kissed you before, yet somehow the press of his thigh against yours feels even more searing. There’s a point along the night where you tip your head to the right slightly, daringly close to resting your head on his shoulder due to the tipsy dizziness weighing in your head, and it would certainly put on a convincing show of newlywed affection for his aunt and uncle, but you manage to catch yourself. And subsequently refuse any more glasses of wine.

“Thanks for having me,” you say to Mrs. Gojo at the front entrance before she pulls you in for a hug.

“Oh, anytime dear,” she says as she gently pats your back, “please.”

When she pulls away from the hug, she holds you by your shoulders before her eyes glance down towards your left hand and the shimmering diamond that sat on the ring finger. She holds your hand in hers and lifts it to examine the twinkle underneath the lights of the chandelier.

“It really is a pretty ring,” she says, her eyes glossing over. “It looked beautiful on my sister, and it looks beautiful on you too.”

Your breath hitches slightly in your throat. “Thank you, Mrs. Gojo.”

“Please,” she says in response to the title, “Sumiko is fine.” But in less of a way in which she’s relaxing formalities, but rather in a way that acknowledges she never had the sovereignty to be called that in the first place.

You hear masculine voices approaching down the hallway as the three men make their way towards the front entrance as well. Gojo glances at you in the midst of their conversation, and he leaves the two of them to make his way over to you.

“Alright,” Gojo says, turning to face the rest of them as he stands beside you. “We’ll head out now.”

Sumiko pulls him in for a hug, then his uncle, and then obnoxiously by Jun as well. Sana fidgets with her fingers as she remains at the end of the line, and you catch a glimpse of surprise on her face when Gojo pulls her in for a hug too. You see him whisper something to her, and it’s only after she hears what he said that she returns the hug and wraps her arms around him as well.

You’re jolted out of your people-watching trance when Gojo walks up to you and takes your hand in his, shoving his other in his pocket. You glance down at the sight, the way his large hand engulfs your own. It’s warm in a firm hold, delicately squeezing your hand once right before you feel the cold air behind you when his uncle opens the door.

Well, you survived. That’s what you think to yourself as you sit in the passenger seat of Gojo’s car, watching the city lights twinkle as you two drive by. You don’t know what you were expecting. Drama? Ease? Tension? For a piece of the sky to fall and land on the roof? There was a part of you that wanted to impress. You want to be one of those daughter-in-laws that the in-laws just adore. You know, where they’re like, god am I so happy that she’s a part of the family now! The one that the mother-in-law is just so ecstatic to know that her son managed to hold down such a catch.

But any expectations and pressure dissolve with the reminder that this is all fake. Fake, fake, fake. And you’d do really well to remind yourself of that reality whenever you spent time with Gojo. Whenever you find yourself acclimating into his life for even a moment, just remember that it’s fake. Can you have a little fun here and there? Sure. Will you probably find yourself in even stranger situations going forward? Yes, because, well, that’s how life is. But it’s just fake. No obligations, no responsibility, nothing. Nada. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

But as you walk through the front door, staring straight ahead into the dark house at Gojo’s back as he sets down the keys by the foyer table, and even as you follow him further into the house towards the kitchen, that feeling inside you surges. 

A woman's intuition.

That something between Jun and Sana was wrong.

Not just routine marital issues,

Or the occasional argument,

Something worse. Something dangerous.

And it’s not something you would ever expect a man to pick up on, even Gojo.

Because it was from the way Sana’s eyes silently communicated with you from across the table,

Something so subtle, a silent plea across a shared dimension,

That she needed help.

“Hey…” you speak up softly, standing in front of the fridge. 

Gojo glances over his shoulder at you from the other side of the kitchen island, barely illuminated by the moonlight through the windows. He turns to face you. “What’s up?”

You blink at him. 

“Um, I really don’t want to overstep again, but—”

There’s a sobering thought that flashes through your mind when you recall that you have never seen yourself as the hero in anyone’s story.

Simply because you could never, ever, ever trust yourself.

You could never trust your feelings or your decisions.

Because you cosigned on hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical loans. Because you stuck around for five years with a man that didn’t love you anymore. Because you still feel naive enough to believe that your best friend who betrayed you still misses you somehow. Because you still foolishly believe your mother will be around to hold her grandchildren someday.

Because you thought that your best bet in order to pull yourself out of hell was to fake marry a man,

And then act as if it’s all real when his aunt looks you in the eye with bittersweet tears as you now wear her bereaved sister’s ring in honor, entirely unaware it was actually being worn in vain.

How could you ever trust your judgement when you behave this way? 

Never the hero. If anything, the villain.

“What is it?” Gojo repeats when he sees that you’ve been silent for too long. He tilts his head at you, his hair falling over his forehead haphazardly and he runs a hand through it to try to get it out of his face. Even in the dim light, his eyes shine a breathtaking blue.

You swallow hard.

“Um,” you say, and then glance down at the wetness you find at your heel. “The, um, the fridge is leaking again.”

He blinks at you for a solid ten seconds, and then the tension in his shoulders drops when he sulks and closes his eyes with exhaustion and defeat.

“Fuck. Okay.”

.

.

.

[end of chapter 5]

a/n. looool i really keep thinking i can post shorter chapters and them bam they be 10k+ words. but i swearrr it's just cuz i be yapping :(( anywho hope you enjoyed this chapter!! a lot of characters were kinda introduced and mm given a bit more depth in this chapter. sorry there wasn't as much romance or anything in this one though haha there will be more in the next one :0 big big thank you to my lovely ihm beta readers ayelin, jules, leni & mirl for helping me out w this chapter!! i believe i may have mentioned this before but i STRUGGLLEEEE with multi-character scenes (i'm much more comfy writing scenes that just have back n forth between two characters) so this chapter was challenginggg esp the whole dinner sequences and there were also a lot of complicated feelings at play, descriptions, stuff i wasn't sure if it was coming off the right way (and tbh am still not sure haha) but they really helped me work my thoughts out n gave wonderful suggestions too so tysm :'') much loveee!! hope to see you all in the next one <3 - ellie

➸ take me to chapter seven!

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[bangaveragewhitewine]

⋆⁺₊❅ meet the parents

single dad Eddie Munson x single mom Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: For my fourth and final fic of @littlexdeaths The Twelve Days of Promptmas, I bring you a romcom-worthy meet cute! A one-night stand in a small town is always a dangerous game.

Content: Eddie and Reader are both single parents. Modern AU. P in V and oral sex. Too many feelings for a one-night stand. Reader’s shitty ex mention. Small town dynamics. Light on Christmas, heavy on Eddie being a sexy menace. If you see any typos/messy sentences lmk!!

Just an extra little note to say the biggest THANK YOU to @littlexdeaths for putting together these wonderful Promptmas ideas, and for just being completely lovely and amazing too. I have had such a fun few weeks working on writing again, it’s been a crazy few months for me personally so this has been the best way to get back into writing and feeling creative again!! I’ve loved every minute ❤️

✨bang average festive fics✨ Eddie Munson fics ✨Dividers by @strangergraphics✨

It has been quite a few years since you woke up in a stranger’s bed. 

More used to the morning time routine of trying to get a sleepy six-year-old up and ready for the day, or the heartwarming feeling of said six-year-old making her way into your bed to cuddle on sleepy Sundays, you feel a little out of your depth this morning.

And some degree of hungover. 

But it could be worse, you supposed. The stranger’s bed was comfy and he had plenty of pillows for you to sleep on. His sheets were clean and he had not totally smothered you like a limpet all night, nor had he expected you to get up and leave while you were still catching your breath. He was a fairer bedmate than your daughter, and it was pleasant to wake up with the warm weight of his inked arm around you rather than a kid’s-size-twelve foot digging into your ribs, or her hair in your mouth. 

You sink into the comfort of it all, relishing that long-forgotten post-great-sex ache all over and the feeling of waking after a deep and dreamless sleep. You had not been this well-rested in almost seven years.

Next to you, he is asleep on his stomach with his arm across your middle. The room is dusky dark, but you can still make out the tattoos along his pale bare body and the glint of his nose ring, the spill of long dark hair piled up on his head. He is much softer now than when you met in the bar last night, no coy smirk or wolfish grin, no deep dimples on his cheeks. His whiskey eyes are still shut, and you feel warm all over when you remember how he had looked at you like you were the only woman in the bar, in the world, last night. How he had taken you home and taken you apart right here in his navy sheets. 

Carefully, trying not to wake the man next to you, you ease yourself up to check your phone.  It’s far too early to worry about picking Hazel up yet.

Not for the first time, you say a silent thanks to the universe for your neighbour for agreeing to babysit Hazel so that you could have a well-deserved Christmas night out with the friends you had made at work. You will bring her a nice hand-tied bouquet from the shop next week, just because. Without Claudia and her kindness to lean on, you know that going it alone in this small new town would so be much harder. It had been serendipitous really, moving in next door to an older and wiser woman who had been in the very same position as you when her son was not much older than Hazel. You begin piecing together the perfect bouquet for her, eucalyptus and rose and red ribbon, distracting yourself briefly from the dull ache in your head and the dry feeling on your tongue.

He brought you a glass of water before you fell asleep together. It’s cool in your throat, though it barely touches the sides of the discomfort pressing behind your brows. When the glass is mostly empty, you settle back next to him and let yourself doze for a little longer.

Eddie instinctively pulls you closer in his sleep, his warm morning breath tickling your shoulder and neck. You know it is just temporary, he is still a stranger, but let yourself enjoy the fleeting comfort while it lasts.

“Morning.”

His voice is rough and smoky, and there’s a tired smile waiting for you when you open your eyes a while later. You are struck by how pretty he is, handsome and hot but pretty with it; long dark lashes and doe-eyes, cheekbones to die for.

“Hi,” you whisper back. You feel yourself smiling back at him, feeling dreamy and oh-so-comfortable. You stretch your body out, relishing the rush of blood and oxygen to your muscles and your eyes drop closed again at that so-good feeling.

“Sleeping Beauty.” 

When Eddie kisses your hair, you miss how he closes his eyes and savours the moment; you are too busy basking in the unexpected tenderness of this one-night stand, the easiness of waking up slow with a man you met less than twelve hours ago. Even if it is just for this morning, you soak it up. 

“Mhmm. You have a comfy bed,” you whisper, looking up at him again. 

You brush your fingertips along his silver chain before tracing up to his jaw, past the tendrils of hair escaping his scrunchie. You know the feeling of that dark grown-out and nicely-maintained stubble, how it brushed and burned so good on the inside of your thighs, how it feels against your lips. 

Tentatively, bravely, you press your mouth against his and feel his smile. It’s sweet, slow. Intimate and lovely.

“Yeah? M’glad you think so,” he murmurs and steals one more kiss before pulling you against his body. 

Last night as you basked in the afterglow, Eddie asked so quietly if he could hold you and you almost teared up about it. It had been a long time since anyone had held you like that, like he is holding you again this morning.  It has been a long time since anyone has been sweet to you, shared closeness and intimacy like this. Not since the man you loved upped and left, leaving you and one-year-old Hazel with only each other to love. 

You feel the strength of his arms and the softness of his belly. There’s a stirring, hardening interest against your thigh and yet he’s not being too forward or pushy. He’s just holding you, just ‘coz. 

“I don’t… S’a while since I had a sleepover,” he admits, running his blunt nails over the small of your back. “You didn’t hog the covers, and you didn’t sneak off without saying bye…”

Eddie pulls back a little, wearing that small flirty smile that made you swoon last night. His voice is so playful, even though it is deep with morning huskiness. 

“Still here,” you whisper back, “I… It’s been a while for me too. I don’t usually… Yeah.” You shrug, you know he gets it. 

There is a glint of something in his eyes before he looks up at the ceiling. “I’m glad we did. I had fun.” 

The dimple in his cheek is beautiful and bashful, and when he looks at you again his eyes go right to your lips.

“Me too.” You touch his chain again and tug gently to bring your lips together again, putting you both out of your misery.

No one has ever kissed you like Eddie did last night, with all-consuming lust that made you feel electric. He is a blend of rough and smooth, a firm guiding hand followed by a gentle caress. You have never felt so wanted, so craved.

The way he kisses you this morning pushes aside the thoughts of all you need to do today. All you know is want, the cloying feeling of wanting to touch and be touched, craving pleasure. With his hands to guide, you straddle his lap and lean into the feeling of his fingertips wandering past the hem of the t-shirt he loaned you last night. 

Eddie looks up at you like you’re some sort of deity, his eyes and lips shining as you peel off the t-shirt and throw it behind you, leaving yourself bare in his lap. He was not put off by the stretch marks, or the Mom Body you felt so self-conscious about sometimes. Nor was he put off by the fact that you are a Mom. Eddie had simply smiled when you briefly mentioned your daughter, told you he had his own little girl without giving too much away. With that fresh layer of yourselves on show, you could understand each other just a little bit more without going full gushing-parent mode, sharing pictures of your little angels or ranting about who loved Bluey and loathed Peppa more. 

His fingers run over the stretch marks on your hips, starting up a slow grind as he kisses your neck (remembering your ‘no marks’ rule). There is a slight chill in the air to remind you that beyond this liminal bliss, it is a frosty December morning, but Eddie warms you up and distracts you without second thought. 

In the gauzy light, you see touches of fatherhood around his room, easily missed in the passion of last night - a framed drawing on his bedside table, a kiddie hair clip in his ring dish. You smile to yourself and shiver when his warm breath skates over the damp trail of kisses.

“Pretty smile,” he murmurs, needing to taste and feel it again. 

Hands wander and squeeze and you get drunk on each other all over again in the cocoon of Eddie’s bed. You blindly follow his dark treasure trail before taking him in hand, hot and diamond-hard, and savour the taste and sound of his moan. Your aching need for him is tempered and satiated by his fingers and you flush hot all over when he encourages you to scoot up and let him taste you, almost begging for it. Dazed with want, you find yourself clinging to the headboard with white knuckles and his name spilling from your lips. 

Eddie could die a happy man with your thighs bracketing his head. The taste of you makes him feel drunk as you take your pleasure from him; the needy roll of your hips is encouraged by his greedy hands in contrast to how cautious and careful you had been not to trap and tug his hair beneath your knees. 

When you are sufficiently dumb with pleasure, he lays you back against the pillows and lays out his desire for you in between messy kisses, losing his train of thought when you get your hand back on him and whisper back your need for him to fuck you now. Eddie reaches blindly for the (blessedly still-in-date) box of foil-wrapped packets in his drawer, not wanting to look away from you for even a moment.

He holds your hand as he makes love to you and you have to remind yourself not to get too caught up in how sweet Eddie is, even when he his making you feel like you have never been so full; sweetness and filthy words wound together so sweetly. It’s overwhelming and he catches you fighting tears when you feel too good. 

“Hey,” he whispers, wearing too much worry between his brows. “Do you want to stop, sweetheart? Am I hurting you?”

A guy being decent should not make your heart swell like this, and yet it does. You shake your head, tears spill over and he brushes them away with care.

“No, no. You’re not hurting me,” you promise. “I feel really good. S’just a lot.” 

Your voice wobbles and he smiles fondly against your mouth, relieved and happy to be wanted in return. 

Eddie has this magnetism, warm and cloying and a little mysterious; it makes you feel comfortable even when he’s teasing you and making you flush hot all over. 

“Yeah, baby? That’s what I’m here for,” he whispers, and kisses you slowly, sweetly. “Let me make you feel good.” You feel like your heart could beat out of your chest. He can feel it hammering against him as he starts up a slow roll of his hips that fills you completely. 

Your fingers clutch at the sheets as Eddie fucks you into his mattress. Nothing else matters in those moments, only pleasure. You fight the urge to sink your teeth into the meat and muscle of his arm, lick the drip of sweat from his neck. Instead, you taste the way he moans your name and cling to him when you come just moments apart - you first, then him.

He shares his water with you afterwards when he sees your empty glass; you are both damp with sweat and lying side by side with your heartbeats pounding in your ears, the lingering taste of each other on your tongues.

When he kisses you again, his lips are water-cooled and tender.

“Can I make you some coffee? I have to pick up my little terror in a bit…” he says, already cringing at himself. “She’s great, I swear. I promised her diner pancakes for brunch.”

Reality trickles back in, a not-unpleasant cooling off of your morning together.

“Yeah, I should probably not show up in last night’s clothes to pick my kid up. Coffee sounds good.” 

There was always an expiry date on this; the boundaries of a one-night stand were set and familiar, despite how long it has been and despite how easy and intimate this morning has been. You’re both adults, both okay with it. 

“Cool.” He smiles and hauls himself out of bed, stepping into his lost and found again boxers before he doubles back to kiss your cheek. 

When your legs are steady enough he shows you how the shower works, leaving you to it with a new toothbrush, fresh towels and a familiar squeeze to your bare hip. There’s a little part of you that wants him to join you, waste hot water and let him press you against the cold tiles. Eddie wants that too, to delay your inevitable parting of ways and return to reality.

When you look in the mirror, you see a well-fucked woman; kiss-bitten lips and that long-lost post-sex glow. 

“What the fuck,” you murmur to yourself, giggling a little when you think over the last twelve hours. 

You had not gone out looking for a hookup last night, but you made the most of the festive excuse to go for drinks with the few friends you had made since moving to Hawkins six months ago. Catching Eddie’s eye at the bar had been a happy accident. A happy accident that lead to letting him buy you a drink, and then buying him one back. Your friends had wholeheartedly encouraged it, knew him to see around town and vouched for him as a mechanic. Good with his hands, they had teased. Oh, how right they had been.

The water is hot and Eddie’s shower gel is the typical ‘for men’ scented sort of thing. You feel fresh and clean when you step back into the bedroom, finding sweats and an Iron Maiden hoodie on the bed for you, alongside your clothes from last night (which Eddie has attempted to fold neatly, instead of leaving you to pick them up from the floor).

It should not make you smile so much, but your cheeks ache pleasantly as you dress yourself, opting for last night’s jeans with Eddie’s sweater. It’s washed-soft and smells like the detergent you have at home with a hint of his cologne.

You follow the scent of coffee and the sound of music downstairs, finding more traces of parenthood on your way - a purple fairy door on the baseboard,  a washing basket full of clean kids' clothes outside a closed bedroom door, light-up Skechers and silver glitter rain boots in the hall. There is something familiar about them, but brush it aside as something Hazel probably asked for in Target.

Eddie’s unbuttoned jeans hang low on his hips as he makes coffee in mismatched mugs, his hair is down tickling against his bare shoulders and back. There are drawings on the fridge and a Christmas tree peeking out from the living room. It feels like a happy home.

His eyes light up when he sees you, looking as hungry and enamoured by you in his hoodie as he had been when you were wearing nothing at all. 

“Do you take sugar, or are you sweet enough?” he asks, wearing a softer version of that panty-dropper smile from last night. He smells clean, minty and masculine, after a quick whore’s bath in the other bathroom.

“Just one,” you say, resting your hip against the kitchen island while you watch him fix up your coffee. “You’re smooth, huh?”

“You tell me.” He slides the mug across to you before blowing on his coffee, taking a still-too-hot sip that he tries and fails to cover. For a moment, you think he might be doing a bit, alas he is simply endearingly clumsy.

You feel bad laughing, but Eddie only pouts a little bit before grinning at you. There’s a faint blush on his cheeks and he ducks his head to hide behind his hair. 

“Real smooth.” 

Exercising patience, you decide to let your coffee cool a little.

“I’ll give you a ride home if you like?” he says, hoping it’s not too forward. 

He wants to be more forward, ask for your number and ask you out. He likes how his clothes fit your body, and how you looked blissed-out in his bed. While Eddie’s trying not to come off too strong, you appreciate his sweetness and fight your own internal battle of trying not to fall for your one-night stand.

“Yeah, that would be great. Thanks, Eddie. I’m over on Cornwallis, is that out of your way?”

He smiles a little, “I don’t mind a little detour, sweetheart.”

You pointedly blow on your coffee, learning from his mistake, and savour the made-just-right coffee in a Snoopy & Woodstock mug.

Over his shoulder, you spot a photo of a familiar man on the fridge, bookended by two heads of dark curly hair. There’s a handpainted fridge magnet with ‘Fae’ written in childishly charming pink writing, and you feel your cheeks flame.

He watches your face change, looks over his shoulder to see what you’re looking at. 

“Ah. That’s my Uncle Wayne, and Fae. My daughter. she’s six.” He unpins the picture and thumbs over it gently before turning it around to you.

You know exactly who they are, but take it anyway.

When you moved your life to Hawkins, Indiana six months ago, you would never have believed that you would make friends with a grandfather in his sixties outside of Curtain Call Dance Studio while you waited for Hazel. Making friends as a single Mom in a new town was not easy, you had little time outside of work and parenting for yourself, let alone socialising (and god forbid, dating). And then you parked next to Wayne one Thursday. He was a little quiet but had warmed up more each week; now he smiled when he saw you, asked how your job at the florists was and how Hazel was doing in school.

Even though they were in different First Grade class groups at Hawkins Elementary, Hazel and Fae had become almost inseparable in their dance classes and on the playground. 

You knew Fae’s dad worked late some evenings, so Wayne helped him out. Hazel had told you that she had seen Fae’s dad once when he picked her up early to go to the dentist, and that he had hair just like her friend.

“She looks just like me, it’s crazy - poor kid. I can’t believe she’s six. She’s supposed to be three, max. Y’know what I mean?” He says, showing you more of his proud Dad side before realising that your confusion is not because you’re looking at a picture of two clones. “You okay?”

“You’re Fae’s Dad? Fae Munson?” you ask, watching his shoulders tense a little as he nods. “Eddie. Our kids know each other. I’ve met Wayne.” 

He scowls slightly beneath his bangs, confused and a little worried that he hooked up with the mother of one of the kids who was mean to Fae in school, who told the teacher when she was ‘too chatty’ or when she stood up for herself.

The words spill from you untempered, unrestrained to clear it all up. “They’re at dance class together. They’re in the same grade. Hazel and Fae are friends, Eddie…”

He visibly softens, drops his shoulders, and even though he still looks confused he melts even more when an involuntary nervous laugh bubbles from your chest. 

“Seriously? No… You’re Hazel’s mom?” His eyes blow wide. “Fuck.” 

Eddie puts his head on the counter with a thunk, and you’re left with the photo of three smiling Munsons. Fae has her Dad’s eyes and hair, his impish mischief that had endeared you to the little girl. They really are alike.

“Wayne was right,” he says, muffled beneath his hair before peeking at you, “You are cute.” 

It makes you laugh more, though your cheeks feel like the surface of the sun.

“Wayne thinks I’m cute? Huh…”

“No. Nope,” he yelps, head flying up like a wild thing. “Oh my goddd.”

You feel a little spacey as the pieces fall into place. Wayne’s nephew Ed worked at Thatcher Tyre as a mechanic, and Fae had told Hazel her Dad looked like a rockstar. She wasn’t wrong…

“He was totally going to try and set us up or somethin’.”

“He did say I’d finally get to meet you at the Winter Performance…” you say, feeling fizzy-all-over as you come to terms with the shock of it all. “Guess we bet him to it.”

“Told me you were real sweet too.” Eddie smiles, his cheeks are pinker than ever.

Part of your brain berates you for hooking up with a stranger in a small town - a small town where everyone knows everyone else. But when Eddie reaches his hand out across the island and says, “Good to finally meet you, Hazel’s Mom,” with that flirty smile and his whiskey eyes, it melts away and you’re not really that sorry at all.

You take his hand, mug-warmed and adorned with silver rings. 

“Nice to meet you at last, Fae’s Dad.”

Neither of you is too embarrassed by the revelation, though you both circle back to how fucking crazy it is at least twice. Even though you still feel gooey-warm under his attention, you don’t want anything to get in the way of your daughter’s friendship, of your new start in Hawkins, and feel selfish for wanting more than the taste you have already had of Eddie Munson. You both know your time together is drawing to an end, the bubble is about to burst, and a little part of you wishes that the illusion of being strangers could have lasted a little longer. 

With your coffee consumed and your coats and boots on, Eddie takes your hand and pulls you against his body before you step outside of the door together. 

“Hey, gorgeous. One more kiss?” he asks, head tilted to the side. 

You don’t need to think about it, and take his stubbled jaw with both hands as he holds your hips. Kissing him makes all the tension roll away once more, and you hope it is enough to help him remember you as more than just some other Mom in the First Grade Parents Group Chat (which you both have muted). You have to savour it, remember his taste and touch.

Eddie is not shy about kissing you, he slides his tongue against yours and moans ever so quietly when you push your chest against his. He is also the one to slow it down, makes it sweet and tender and you would dare say romantic, even with his hands on your ass. 

“Can I ask for one more thing?” he whispers, nudging his nose against yours. 

Right now, you would consider giving him a kidney or a blow job if he asked nicely. 

“Mhm,” you whisper, giving nothing away just yet. 

“Can I get your number? I wanna take you out properly,” he says, his thumbs play with the belt loop at the back of your jeans. “Like a date.”

Feeling hot all over, you try to play it cool and not nod so eagerly lest you headbutt him and leave him bloody-nosed. 

“Yeah. That would be nice, Eddie.” 

He watches how your teeth sink into your lip and has to kiss you once more, just because. You take his phone and add your number and name, adding a little sparkle emoji before deleting it. Then you add it again and hand it back before you can change your mind.

“Cool. And, um maybe the girls could have a play date sometime? I was gonna ask for your number anyway, so y’know. Two birds, one stone and all that. Silver linings?” Eddie does a jazz-hand-flourish thing before he shakes his head at himself and tucks his phone away. “I had a good time with you. A great time. And I know what you might be thinking, I don’t want this to get between the girls either. But I’d love to see you again.”

You are even more endeared by these glimpses of how sensible he is as well as his goofy awkwardness beneath the leather jacket and bad boy stare.

He is as gentlemanly as he had been last night, opening doors for you, though he is less handsy in the bright morning light (he does give your knee a squeeze at the stoplight). You feel safe with him as he navigates the frosty roads of Hawkins, talking about music, what concerts you had been to before becoming parents, and where to get the sparkly tutus for the Winter Performance. 

All too soon he pulls up outside your house, spotting the red door with the handmade wreath that you had described.

“Next to Henderson’s?” he asks, brow raised.

“Yep. Do you know Claudia, or is this town just too small?”

He laughs, tilts his head against the headrest. “It’s way too small. Her son, Dustin? One of my best friends.” 

You tip your head forward, smiling even as your head shakes. “I’ve heard so much about Dustin. We’re having Christmas dinner with them.”

Eddie's dimpled cheeks crease even more. “Damn. Well, I can’t wait to hear why you picked Hawkins of all places to move to. You can tell me on our date.”

Proud of how that flusters you, he presses a kiss to your hand and winks, “I’ll text you later, sweetheart.”

You want to kiss him again, but you manage to restrain yourself, remembering the nosy neighbours on Cornwallis. Instead, you let the flickering fire inside you flirt back, hoping to fluster him too.

You place your hand high on his thigh and squeeze. “You better, Eddie. Drive safe.”

You can feel him checking you out all over again, the weight and warmth of his gaze, as you make your way up the path to your door. Once your key is in the lock, you part ways with a wave and a wink, lingering just a moment more to watch his car peel away from the curb. 

Left with a fluttering feeling in your tummy and warm cheeks that ache from smiling, you take a moment for yourself in your hallway. 

It is time to go back to being Hazel’s mom. You can’t wait to hear about her sleepover with Ms. Claudia and the cats, bask in her brilliance and take every hug and smooch she will offer you (or let you take for yourself). Inspired by Eddie and Fae’s breakfast date, you think of taking your girl to the diner for dinner later on, maybe watching a Christmas movie before bed. 

In the mirror above your sideboard, hanging above the key dish and the thrifted lamp and a photo of you and Hazel in matching sunglasses, you catch sight of your smiling reflection once more, enveloped in a dreamy daze and borrowed hoodie. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and your smile becomes bigger, brighter, brimming with hope. 

What did you think? Do we want more of these two? 👀 Thank you so very very much for reading! Your comments, reblogs and likes are incredibly appreciated and adored!

Whether you're celebrating or not, I am wishing you the cosiest and most wonderful holiday season filled with peace and love and every good thing you deserve ✨

[planet-hwa]

can i request pervy roommate seonghwa who loves taking upskirt pictures of you and steals your panties. he got caught snooping in your room and you decide to punish him.

a subby seonghwa would be great. reader doesnt have to be dom but hwa loves it when shes mean to him.

thank you for your time! 🫶🏻

୨୧  corrupted thoughts – 성화

summary     although you were no more than roommates, seonghwa was obsessed with you — completely infatuated by your mere existence. along with the pure admiration he had towards you, it also came with the immoral perverted thoughts that filled his mind every time he caught your scent…

pairing     roommate!seonghwa x reader genre     university/college au [only the reader, seonghwa is a few years older], a lot of perverted smut… my apologies word count    3.7k

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   ↳   warnings     MDNI !!  obsessedperv!seonghwa, reader is in a fwb situation, petnames/nicknames, swearing, underwear fetish, panty sniffing, masturbation [masc], voyeurism i think, ruined orgasm, vibrators, pillow humping [reader], caught masturbating, name-calling/degrading, punishment, handjobs, blowjobs, overstimulation, orgasm control, orgasm denial, bondage [masc], dirty talk, crying from overstimulation [masc], cunnilingus, face sitting, face riding, hands-free orgasm

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she lives in daydreams with me, she’s the first one that i see now playing   she ; harry styles

Although you were no more than roommates, Seonghwa was obsessed with you — completely infatuated by your mere exsistence. He couldn’t go a day without thinking about you, haunted by the lingering scents of your sweet perfume after you had left for your classes. Everything you owned and collected through your life was placed decoratively around the house, along with his own collections.

There was no escaping you.

He tried his hardest to control himself, but perverted tendencies drove him in other directions, all of this starting one day by just doing the laundry. While you were at one of your exams, one you had been stressing about all week, Seonghwa decided he wanted to help remove some sort of chores in your life and washed your dirty laundry. 

Little did he know: this would be the worst thing to do.

Sorting through the blacks and whites, he would occasionally come across your underwear, which he had no problem with of course. That was until one pair of your panties, a navy blue pair with small white flowers and a white lace trim, ended up in his grip. This happened to be the pair you had worn last night, laced with your pre-arousal from your very teasing casual hookup, the smell was pungent. The aroma filled the small room and travelled its way into Seonghwa’s nose. He stared at the pair with wide eyes, his thumb tracing over the darkened, now dried, patch of the previous night's intimate moments.

It was as if his mind had lost control of his body, his hands slowly pulling the panties to his face and breathing them in deeply. The fragrance was intoxicating, his mind instantly becoming fogged and heat swiftly rushing through his body, targeting the area between his legs. He had never become harder quicker, his dick twitching desperately in his sweats and leaked with pre-cum — all from one whiff. In desperation, he ran to his bedroom and stripped himself of his pants. Your panties in one hand and his throbbing erection in the other, creating the beginning cycle of perversion.

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Seonghwa tried his hardest to respect your privacy, attempting to block out the sounds of your sexual actions in the next room with his headphones, hands originally distracted by his animal crossing game. But how could he not be distracted, with the beautiful melody of your moans that cracked through the walls. Even knowing they were fake, they were still music to his ears.

You were currently in a friends-with-benefits situation with a guy at your college. He was cute, a good kisser and good at turning you on, but he could never finish the job. Seonghwa didn’t understand why you would still invite him over time and time again, especially with the knowledge that the moment he would leave, your vibrator would be in between your legs to pull you through the unfinished orgasms. That’s how he knew the difference in your moans, fake vs real, he heard both without even touching you.

“Fuuck, right there.” You moaned loudly, the familiar knot building in your stomach as the man pumped sloppily into you. Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa sat in his room listening to your whimpers, secretly praying he was the one driving you with pleasure. His erection tented in his pajama pants, desperately twitching for friction. Fingers grazed over the bulge, fluttering at the light touch before they turned into a palming movement. Lifting the waistband of his pants, he watched as pre-cum dribbled out of the reddened tip. He dragged his thumb over it, wincing at the feeling before he started slowly pumping himself. The sounds of your moans echoed through the hall and into Seonghwa’s room, mixing with a lewd symphony of his own silent whines and desperation to cum. His hand pumped with the rhythm of your sounds, growing faster every time you did. A tension grew in his stomach, a combination of pleasure and guilt. He knew this was a disgusting thing to do, but he physically couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried.

Just as he was about to fall over the edge, the sounds of sex stopped and footsteps fell through the apartment, the front door opening and closing quickly. Seonghwa curiously got up out of bed, taking a peak through the crack in his bedroom door. He watched as you locked the front door and wandered back to your bedroom, wearing nothing but a cropped band tee and black lace panties — corruption bled into his brain as he stared at the panties clenching around your ass, knowing they would be his next victim of fetishising. The sound of vibrations pricked at his ears, whimpers quietly following. 

Tip-toeing through the hallway, he glanced through the open crevice into your bedroom, eyes widening at the sight before him. The bunny vibrator pressing into your clit deliciously as you grind your dripping cunt on a pillow that usually sat on the chair in the corner of the room. Seonghwa watched as you humped the pillow desperately chasing your unfinished business, his hardened erection reminding him of his own. His hands moved down his abdomen and under his waistband, his slender fingers wrapping around the base of his cock and pumping hopelessly — his eyes remained on the view between the cracked open door. Your moans heightened in pitch as you rutted against the pillow, vibrator still tightly held to your puffy clit, you pressed the button to the fastest setting causing your legs to begin to shake uncontrollably. The sight was hypnotic to Seonghwa, his hand pumping to the rhythm of your hip movements. With parted lips, a small whimper escaped them causing him to slap his free hand to his mouth in an attempt to not blow his cover. Thankfully for him, you were too invested in making yourself finish to notice that just two metres from you was your roommate pursuing the same feeling. 

Your belly tightened as your orgasm crashed over you, body shaking hopelessly as you fell backwards, the vibrator rubbing your arousal around your entire core. Your breathing was heavy as you slowed down from your high. Behind your bedroom door, Seonghwa had the same feeling wash over him like a tidal wave. His hand pumped around his bulge with desperation as hot ropes of cum filled his pajama pants, a sticky wet patch now coating the inside of them. He leant back against the wall accidentally causing a creak to rustle through the house. Without hesitation, he sharply ran back to his room and closed the door quickly but quietly, praying that his perverted self wasn’t caught.

The noise of creaking and silent footsteps entertained your eyes, thinking that your roommate had just heard you masturbating, but in your post-orgasm bliss — you didn’t seem to care and ended changing into pajamas and drifting off to sleep.

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Seonghwa searched destructively through your laundry basket, looking for that hypnotic black lacy pair of panties that were clad to your ass last night. Currently alone in the house, with you at your morning classes, he knew you’d be gone long enough for him to relieve himself of his depravity — or so he thought…

Finally, the lace of the panties tickled his finger tips, quickly snatching them up and bolting to his room. The second he entered, his pants and boxers were discarded somewhere on the floor, the loose shirt being his only coverage. He sat up against the headboard staring at the object in hand, observing the previous patch of wet arousal on them. He felt like he could cum right then and there just by the sight, both lips and tip drooling in anticipation. His hand wrapped around his twitching cock, finger grazing over the sensitive red tip and down the underside vein of his length, dragging his pre-cum over it and beginning to stroke.

His grip tightened on the panties as he moved his hand rhythmically, the other slowly bringing the fabric to his face and dipping his nose into it — he inhaled the scent letting it reroute his brain. He whined desperately into the fabric as his hand pumped around his raging erection faster. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer, hips bucking hopelessly into his hand and moaning incoherent mumbles of your name — he had never been this turned on by someone, a person who wasn’t even there. Seonghwa was so caught up in euphoria that he didn’t hear the clicks of the front door, or the footsteps that grew closer to his room.

Classes finished early today, which meant you got to go home and relax after having such a stressful school week. The front door unlocked swiftly and you entered with a huff, throwing your shoes off into the corner and placing your coat over the arm of the couch. Muffled groans filled the apartment, all coming from Seonghwa’s room. You cocked an eyebrow at the thought of him having someone over — you couldn’t judge of course but you had never known him to be one for hookups. Curiosity got the best of you and you tip-toed towards his room, the door left slightly open but not enough to see. You lightly pushed it open, eyes widening in shock at the sight of the man on the bed. His hand wrapped securely around his very hard, very large, dick, moving in a fast rhythmic pattern and glistening with pre-cum. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed and eyes rolled backwards, his other hand covering the majority of his face. As his face contorted with pleasure, you felt a warmth move to your core, something you never thought you’d feel for your roommate of all people.

Paying unnecessary close attention to his facial expressions, you noticed he held something compressed against his nose; quick enough to realise what it was. Slipping on your feet slightly, the door opened wider and revealed your presence, Seonghwa too intoxicated to notice until the sound of your voice penetrated his ears.

“W-what the fuck?” You stuttered, frozen in shock at the sight. “Seonghwa, what are you doing?”

“Oh, oh my god! I’m so sorry!” He jumped, spitting apologies whilst trying to cover himself. You walked up to his bed and snatched your panties out of his hands, putting the pieces together as to why they kept going missing for a few days but showing up suddenly after mentioning it.

“Why do you have these?” You shouted, the stickiness of pre-cum latching onto your fingers, caused by his speediness to cover himself up with his hands. You watched his body tense up, his face was flushed down to his neck, big boba eyes looking at you with fear and guilt.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I thought you were going to be out all morning-”

“I don’t care! Why are you taking my underwear, you perv!” Ignoring the more perverted fact that you were so turned on by the thought of his getting off to you. A silence followed as you both collected your thoughts.

“I’m truly so sorry,” His voice hushed, eyes glossing with guilty tears. “Y/N, please forgive me. I’ll do anything, just please forgive me.”

You brows furrowed in thought, staring at the desperation in his expression; coated with so many guilty and lustful emotions. Although you were no more than roommates and never had been, you could see that Seonghwa was obsessed with you — completely infatuated by your mere existence.

‘Anything’, he said it himself. 

You had complete control right now.

Quietly sitting down next to him, he shifted in his spot as you grew closer, hand grazing his bare thigh. The soft touch sent chills up his spine, his hands still cupping his erection in coverage.

“I just want to know,” Your gaze moved to his face. “Why?”

“W-why?”

“Why do you get off to my panties,” Your fingertips trailed up and down his thigh, growing closer to his hard-on with every line. “When you could just have me?”

His eyes widened as the question lingered in the air, your hand now centimetres away from where he wanted it most. Lips parted and unable to get words out, he watched as your face moved closer to him, your breath grazing against his lips before connecting them with yours. Instantly falling into the kiss, he memorised how soft and delicate your lips were, his hand removing his cover and cupping your face to keep you close. The kiss quickly fell into a passionate mixture of moans and groans, tongues dancing in tangent and twirling around each other. 

Both of his hands now cupping your face, you took this as the opportunity to wrap your fingers around his length. He whined into the kiss as you slowly stroked him, collecting sticky pre-cum from his tip and dragging it up and down his throbbing erection. The kiss was unbreakable, hopeless moans falling in from Seonghwa, his brain unable to process what was truly happening. The tension already began to build in his stomach due to his previous orgasm being ruined. You broke the kiss to look at him, watching as he tried to follow you for more. His eyes were hooded and eyebrows scrunching in different shapes as his orgasm grew closer.

“You know – fuuck – I’ve always dreamt of being with you.” He swore, legs starting to tremble beneath him.

“Are you close, Hwa?” You asked with a sultry voice, melting into his ears.

“Y-yes.” He mumbled, scrambling for words but ultimately losing to the continuous symphony of whimpers that flowed like a river. His hips began to buck into your hand for more friction, understanding and swiftly speeding your movements. You watched as his orgasm sat on the edge; stomach tensed, eyes rolled back, hands clutching at the sheets — a complete moaning mess.

“Y/N, ‘m gonna cum-” Mere seconds before his release, you removed your hand from his leaking tip and listened to him whine in agony.

“You didn’t really think that I would let you cum that easy, did you?” You laughed, his pain serving as a comedy show for you. “You’ve been such a naughty boy, stealing my panties and using them to get off. Don’t you think you deserve some punishment?”

A pout grew on his face, puppy eyes staring at you in despair.

“Unless you don’t want me to touch you at all-”

“No!” He snapped, a usual tone of anger turned into a beg. “Please…”

You smirked at the perverted man, watching as he poured his heart into begging for your touch, smiling once you gave in.

After multiple denied orgasms, Seonghwa’s body was shaking all over, arousal leaking into his bloodstream. His lips were swollen from your kisses, face coloured in a crimson red and sweat beading down his skin. His hands were now tied tightly to the bed posts, a penalty caused by his inability to keep his hands away from his cock every time you repudiated his orgasm — which happened to be four or five of them by now. The tip of his length was a matching shade of red to his face, swollen and oozing out clear liquid that probably couldn’t even be called pre-cum from the amount of times it had happened. Every touch from you caused his skin to burn, a good and bad sensation.

“Pleease Y/N,” He cried, tears welling up in his eyes and piercing the corners as they rolled down his cheeks. “It’s too much now, please let me cum.”

“But I thought this was what you wanted?” You looked up at him with innocent eyes and purred, running your tongue along his slit and wrapping your lips softly around the tip, slowly pushing your head down until his length hit the back of your throat. A guttural groan trembled between Seonghwa’s lips, tears now streaming like niagara falls down his flushed and puffy cheeks as you sucked him in. “Weren’t you the one who said you dreamt of being with me?”

“This isn’t – aahhh – exactly what I had in mind… shit…” His voice vibrated through the room, it was unstable as his sloppy upwards thrusts into your hands.

“Well, I did say you needed to be punished, but…” You removed your hand once more and brought it to cup his warm cheek, his glossy boba eyes staring into yours. He looked so vulnerable right now, you almost felt bad. “I think you’ve had enough, baby. What do you want me to do?”

“Sit on my face.”

The response was instant, almost as if a switch snapped him back on. The words were audible compared to his previous mumbled groans and curses, leaving you surprised. You had been so focused on giving him tortuous pleasure that you were completely ignoring the wet patch that soaked your panties the moment you entered the room, his statement made your body realise that you had silently been torturing yourself as well.

Swiftly discarding your clothes, you straddled his chest, thighs sitting comfortably next to his face and letting your dripping core hover above his mouth. He looked up at you from underneath checking for any uncertainty, both sending each other silent confirmations. He licked his plush lips before sticking his tongue out, waiting as you lowered your weight onto him.

He slid his tongue through your folds in a slow motion, earning a moan from you — music to his ears. As worn out and tired as he was, his energy regained instantly at the small taste of you. He quickly began lapping at your soaking folds, lewdly drinking up your wetness and following the pleasured sounds falling from your lips. Breathing in your scent was intoxicating to him, and finally it was from the source and not a patch of lacy fabric.

One hand grasped tightly at the headboard whilst the other ruffled itself into Seonghwa’s long locks, body jolting at the tip of his tongue suddenly hitting your clit. It swirled and flicked over it at a speed nobody has ever done, already feeling the knot grow in your lower abdomen.

“Fuuck Hwa, feels so good.” You cried, knuckles beginning to turn white from the pressure on your grip. He hummed in response as he continued to drink you up like a starved animal.

Hands still tied to the bedposts, he had no option of burying his slender fingers deep inside of you so instead he began pulsating his tongue in and out of your tight hole, feeling you clench around it which was driving him insane. You instinctively began grinding against his face, his nose tapping your clit with every roll of your hips.

The blend of lewd slurping and desperate moans filled the atmosphere, loud enough for neighbours to hear but neither of you cared. As you bucked your hips against his face, dragging your essence over his nose and chin, his moans shuddered beneath you sending new shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You felt your high building and your thighs began tightening, squeezing around Seonghwa’s face, almost cutting off the circulation. But he didn’t care. Infact, it turned him on even more to know the effect he was having on you. From listening to you hook up with your classmates and hearing you masturbate afterwards, he knew that these moans were real and you were truly enjoying yourself.

“Hwa, m’ gonna cu– ahhh!” In desperation to be washed over by your arousal, he began rubbing his face against your pussy, long tongue still roughly pumping in and out of you and nose thrashing your bud with every move. Both hands held securely onto the headboard as you rode his face hopelessly before your orgasm crashed over you, body shaking harsher than ever before as you layered Seonghwa’s face in your squirted essence.

He whined at the sensations of your juices guzzling down his throat, making sure to drink up every drop. The feeling of your body trembling above him caused his own orgasm to rush through his body. Warm ropes of cum spurted out of his throbbing cock and onto his abs, painting the scene with white cream continuously as his body rid him of all the build up pressure. He moaned into your soaked core and sent a melody of sensations through your body, causing a small aftershock of overstimulation.

Both breathing heavily, you climbed off of him and quickly untied his wrists from restraint, his arms instantly dropping to his sides. His chest fell and rose harshly, still trying to regain his composure back. You hopped off the bed and grabbed a towel from his washing basket, presumably an already dirty one, wiping his tummy clean and throwing the towel away. You stood up once more before a soft grip to your wrist stopped you.

“Where are you going?” Seonghwa sobbed, tear stains very prominent on his cheeks making you realise how far you pushed him.

“I’ll be back in just a second, I promise.” You whisper before wandering to the kitchen and returning with two glasses of water. “Drink this, baby.”

Seonghwa took the glass and gulped it down, watching as you moved around his room collecting items of clothes for him before stealing a shirt of his to wear yourself. Helping him sit up, you gently pulled a shirt over his head and gave him a pair of boxers to put on before he lay back down. You sat on the edge of the bed, guilt fading into you at the sight of him.

“Don’t feel bad,” As if he read your mind, he smiled softly at your concern. “This was everything I wanted and more.”

You returned him with a small smile of your own before leaning in and placing a delicate kiss on his swollen lips. The kiss, so soft and gentle compared to the previous scene, was sending an emotion through you that you hadn’t felt before after sex. A mutual understanding of the need to be around each other, especially following such a tormented situation. You pulled away and watched his facial expressions, not an ounce of regret or disheartment was in his eyes, only love and adoration.

“Do you have any more classes today?”

“I don’t, why?”

“Can you stay with me?”

A question that no guy had ever asked you or expected of you after sleeping with them. You finally understood why Seonghwa was always so caring towards you, despite his perverted tendencies, he was still so gentle with your emotions — he was deeply in love with you.

author's note i hope i did this anon request justice, i didn't add a few things because they weren't working out as well as i wanted them to so i'm sorry for that ;-; i hope that the anon who requested this sees it and enjoys it either way ♡

[playnextdoor]

her lil present

summary: christmas eve plans got canceled, you cheer abby up

cw: domestic abby yesyesyeyeysyseyysehydse, cursing, suggestive material, nipple sucking (r! receiving), readers chest referred to as boobs, this is really cheesy but idc. also the link i put in isnt working, but the lingerie i am referring to is the "adore me gynger dark red bow set".. tumblr doesnt want me to be great

Growing up, Christmas Eve was the heart of the holiday for your family, a night that overshadowed Christmas Day itself. The house would fill with laughter and warmth, friends and family gathering around dinner before the main event: opening presents as the clock struck midnight. Abby had been stunned the first time she attended one of these celebrations at your parent’s house a few years ago, but ever since, she hadn’t missed a single one. Sure, the two of you still joined her family at church the following morning, but this tradition, your tradition, had become her favorite part of the holidays.

This year, however, Christmas Eve looked a little different. Snowed in at your home, over a hundred miles away from the dinner table of your childhood, your plans were canceled along with your flight. Surprisingly, Abby seemed more disappointed than you. She still helped you prepare a modest dinner for the two of you, though, mashing the potatoes with a slump of her shoulders and exaggerated sighs.

By the time evening settled in, Abby had claimed her spot on the living room couch, bundled up in her green buffalo plaid pajamas. Her pout made it clear she missed the usual festivities as she watched some cheesy Christmas movie you put on. As midnight crept closer, you told her to wait for the gifts, teasing her growing impatience. She practically shoved you away as you left to grab the gifts, laughing, clearly amused by your attempt to replicate your family’s traditions.

Deep down, though, a part of you buzzed with excitement. Tonight wasn’t about the usual big gathering, it was just the two of you. Something about that felt... intimate, special. As Abby settled deeper into the couch, you slipped to the bedroom, heart racing.

Rummaging through the pink shopping bag hidden under your bed, you pulled out the surprise, a gift you’d been planning for days. It took some effort to tie and adjust everything just right, but when you finally caught your reflection in the mirror, you couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. She was going to love this. You spritzed on the musky, sweet perfume Abby adored, adjusted your hair a bit, and swiped on a bit of chapstick. Finally, you draped her oversized navy robe over yourself, the fabric nearly grazing the floor.

“All good, babe?” Abby’s voice called out from the living room, startling you.

“Yeah! Just a sec!” you shouted back, your voice a little too high pitched as you grabbed the bag of her gifts and carefully made your way out.

When you entered the living room, Abby’s brows lifted as she took in the sight of you, almost tripping over yourself with the bag in hand. The thud it made on the hardwood floor broke the tension as you giggled, moving toward her. Gently, you nudged her hands aside to sit on her lap, straddling her with ease.

“Don’t say something you’ll regret,” you teased, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her lips. You felt her smile against your mouth as her hands instinctively found your waist.

“Yes, ma’am,” she murmured, a mischievous smirk playing on her face. Her fingers grazed the tie of the robe, tugging it slightly. “What’s this, huh?”

You swallowed hard, suddenly shy. “Your gift,” you mumbled, slithering her out of her grasp to stand, poking your foot against hers. Her eyes stayed locked on yours, soft yet with curiosity, while her hand fiddled with the knot of the robe.

“Lemme see,” she whispered, her voice thick with anticipation as she gave the tie another gentle tug, this time pulling you closer.

“Hold on!” you laughed, swatting her hands away as you stood. Her gaze didn’t leave you, though, if anything, it darkened. Her body language shifted into something more deliberate, predatory even. She leaned back against the couch, legs spread wide, watching you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Taking a steadying breath, you slowly slipped the robe off your shoulders, letting it fall in a pool of fabric around your feet. Beneath it was the lingerie set you’d been eyeing all month, a deep crimson material wrapped so delicately around the softness of your body, complete with a playful bow tied across both your boobs and your ass.

“Do you like it?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as you clasped your hands behind your back, fidgeting with the ribbon. You felt a little silly, standing there so exposed, but the way Abby’s jaw dropped made you forget your nerves.

“I—” she started, but her words trailed off as her gaze roamed over every inch of you. You could practically see the gears turning in her head, her pupils blown wide as she struggled to form a coherent thought.

Your lips curled into a teasing pout. “What about the back, hmm?” you asked, turning around to show off the bow on your ass. You glanced over your shoulder, catching her slack jawed expression. The silence stretched on, and your confidence wavered. “Abby?” you prompted, voice tinged with nervous laughter.

When her eyes finally met yours, they were filled with warmth that sent a flutter through your chest.

"You’re really something, huh?” Abby murmured, her voice low and full of awe and with the sexiest fucking smile. Her gaze dropped, lingering unapologetically on your chest, where the knot of the lingerie squeezed your curves, at your boobs teasingly spilling over. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, and your breath hitched.

Feeling bold, you stepped closer, her hands warm as you guided them to your hips. Straddling her lap, you leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple before whispering in her ear, “All for you.”

Her breath hitched as you cradled her head to your chest, her arms tightening around your waist. You could feel the rise and fall of her chest quicken, her grip turning possessive. You tilted her face up with a gentle tug of her hair, her clouded eyes locking onto yours as you smiled. “All of this is for you,” you repeated, your voice soft yet firm, leaving no room for doubt.

Your fingers slid down to the bow at your chest, the silky fabric cool against your skin as you slowly tugged at the ribbon. Abby’s eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as she watched the knot come undone.

Abby watches, so eager and nearly crying at how beautiful you are and how lucky she is to see you like this. Your skin was warm, the slight tremor of your hands as you tried your best to put up this sexy front despite your shyness. She knows and fuck how good you were doing for her

“Fuuuck me,” she groans, lips finding your neck, nips, and licks trailing to your tits, sucking your nipple into her warm mouth. You nearly double over as she licks and sucks and licks and sucks- quiet groans leaving your mouth. Your fingers run through her loose bun, raking them just right as she whines into your chest. She swallowed hard, her pupils blown with hunger. “You’re unreal,” she whispered, her voice thick.

“Abby,” you gasped, your fingers threading through her hair, tugging just enough to earn a needy whimper. She didn’t let up, her hands sliding to your thighs as her mouth worked tirelessly, the soft groans spilling from you only spurring her on.

“Holy fu-ah, hold on,” Abby gasps as she stops abruptly, the back of her hand finding her mouth as she wipes the lingering saliva. 

“Why’d you stop?” you asked breathlessly, your chest heaving as you cupped her cheek. Abby’s dazed expression, with her eyes half-lidded and lips parted, her breathing uneven, made your heart flutter. She looked utterly wrecked, and you loved it.

“Because,” she rasped, her voice low and sultry, “I need you in the bed. I can’t fuck you properly here.”

Before you could process her words, Abby stood abruptly, her movements so quick that you almost lost your balance. She reached for your hips, her strong hands sliding down to cup your ass as she tried to lift you. Laughing softly, you pressed a hand against her chest to stop her.

“What about the gifts?” you teased, a knowing smile tugging at your lips. You couldn’t resist playing with her just a little longer.

Her head tilted as she gave you that look, her brows lifting in that classic ‘really?’ expression that always made you melt. “You’re asking about the gifts?” she said, her tone dripping with disbelief, though the playful glint in her eyes betrayed her amusement.

Without another word, Abby scooped you up with ease, cradling you against her chest as though you weighed nothing. Her grin widened as she turned toward the bedroom. “Trust me,” she murmured, her voice husky with affection and want, “I’m already holding the best gift of the night.”

a/n: feliz nochebuena/merry christmas eve/happy holiday! this is a quick lil blurb i wanted to write as soon as I saw this set at my local adore me, its so freaking cute. hope you enjoy <3333

[roosterforme]

Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw Part 24 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley intended to take care of a few important things while he had the week off from work, but a quick visit to base brought with it a change of plans.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, adult language, smut, very hands-on Bradley, spanking, 18+

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female teacher!Reader

Check out my masterlist for more! Yours Truly, Bradley Bradshaw masterlist

The following day, instead of dressing in a uniform or flight suit, Bradley pulled on jeans and a tropical print shirt while he watched you get yourself ready for work.

"You look cute," he murmured as you wiggled into a dress and some simple flats. "And I like it that you're officially living here now instead of just staying for a few days."

"The commute is not ideal," you told him immediately. "But this is." You placed your hand on his abs before giving him the sweetest kiss that left him soft inside. "This is ideal."

Fuck. He was so in love it was insane. As soon as he was back in your presence for a few hours, having sex and eating pasta, he could barely remember how miserable he'd been on that deployment. It was like nothing else mattered as long as he kept coming back to you.

"Let me pack your lunch," he whispered, tilting your chin up for another one of those kisses. Then he was on his way to the kitchen before he could make you late for school. Before he got home, you filled the refrigerator with everything he liked to eat, and he inhaled two yogurts and some peanut butter toast while he made your sandwich. 

The notes you opened from the box he sent were on the kitchen counter, and he smiled. Nat covered for him big time on Christmas Eve so he could make that happen. He was excited to get to see her when he stopped by North Island, but he had to get you to work first.

"You don't need to drop me off. It's so far out of the way," you told him as you appeared with your tote bag. "I'll drive myself."

When he pouted, you laughed. "Come on, Gorgeous. I want to. I need to stop on base anyway."

"Oh, can you remind Marty and Nat about Career Day?" you asked, holding your bag open for your lunch.

"Nat's coming, too? You'll have the whole of the Navy there, Baby."

"The kids would love that."

Bradley narrowed his eyes. "As long as I'm still the favorite."

"You're irreplaceable," you promised.

You weren't exaggerating one bit when you said the commute was a killer. Bradley hummed along to the radio and held your hand, barely making it through the Starbucks drive-thru line and up to your school before the last minute that you needed to be there.

"I love you. Bye," you told him, kissing him quickly before jumping out the passenger door and running up the sidewalk with your enormous drink in one hand. He was absolutely addicted to the coffee now as well, and after he was sure you made it inside, he sipped his own cup as he drove back down the highway.

It was strange to be going through the guard gates this late in the morning, and when he approached the hangar in his street clothes, he heard Nat's voice and sassy whistle immediately. 

"Looking good, Rooster. Did you forget to do your laundry? Did you forget what time work started while you were deployed?" she called, and he made a point to mess up her hair when she gave him a tight hug. "You're the worst."

"I missed you too, Nat," he told her with a laugh. "Thanks for looking after my girl."

She shrugged and said, "I'm always in the market for drinking wine and talking about you behind your back. Plus, she's actually great. Hanging out with her is the best."

"Yeah," he replied, laughing harder. "That's why I want to do it all the time. I intend to do it forever."

One of her dark eyebrows shot up, and she smirked as she said, "Like forever, forever?"

He ducked his head and cleared his throat. "Yeah, but engagement rings are expensive." Natasha screeched and punched him in the shoulder. "Why are you like this?" he asked as she smacked him several times and jumped around excitedly.

Bradley was saved from being attacked when Maverick walked in with his familiar clipboard in hand and a frown on his face. "Phoenix, you're supposed to be in the tower. Rooster, welcome back. Why aren't you dressed?"

"My vacation days got approved," Bradley replied as Natasha quietly crept away. "I'm off the rest of the week. Didn't anyone tell you?"

"It's probably in my emails." Maverick's frown faded away as he pulled Bradley in for a hug. "I was a little worried for a minute there that you'd end up back in Norfolk." He slapped him on the back. "If you're off all week, why are you here?"

Bradley chuckled. "I just wanted to see everyone. Like you said, I was a little worried about Norfolk, too."

Maverick eyed him closely. "And did I hear you say something about an engagement ring?"

It wasn't like there was anything to hide. Bradley figured it was pretty obvious to everyone by now that his relationship with you was the real deal. Hell, Maverick even compared it to his own parents. "Yeah, I'm going to buy one this month. I just need to juggle some finances around to make sure I can get her something really pretty. But I'm going to start looking today."

A slow nod turned into a beaming smile, and then Maverick said, "Before you do anything, I have something you might want to know about."

-----------------------------

You were dead on your feet at work. Staying up half the night making love and snuggling left you with a smile on your face, but you couldn't stop yawning. Your students noticed right away as you drained your coffee and groaned when the bell rang signaling the start of class.

"Did you have a hard time sleeping?" Jayden asked.

"A little bit," you replied, remembering the way you had to keep pinching yourself to make sure Bradley's strong arm wrapped around you all night was real.

"Was there a loud noise that kept you up?" Nia asked.

You tried not to snort as you thought about Bradley's moans and grunts in your ear as he fucked you from behind. "Something like that. It's time to review our spelling words."

Even though you insisted that Bradley didn't need to drive you to work, he did, and he promised he'd be back right on time to pick you up at the end of the day. But he was such a liar. He arrived at your classroom fifteen minutes before dismissal time with rosy cheeks and eighteen envelopes.

"Lieutenant Bradshaw's here!" Nia called out when your boyfriend knocked on the door before slipping inside. 

He made a beeline right to you, placing a rather innocent kiss on your cheek. "I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to drop these off," he said, holding up the envelopes. The top one had Jackie's name on it, and your heart soared. Butterflies took off. You had to work really hard not to kiss him again.

"We don't mind," you told him, and you watched him pass out the individual notes he must have written for your students while he was deployed. All eyes were on him as he walked around your classroom, delivering envelopes and answering questions.

"When did you get home from the Atlantic Ocean?"

"Was the food good on the aircraft carrier?"

"Are you coming back for Career Day on Friday?"

Bradley took everything in stride like he always did, but his eyes returned to yours frequently, and his flushed cheeks left you feeling dizzy.

"I got home yesterday," he said, voice deep and commanding as he set the last of his envelopes down on Violet's desk. "The food was terrible. So bad. Nothing like the Pacific Fleet. Nowhere near as good as what you ate on your field trip to North Island. I'm thinking about writing a letter to complain."

"You should," Violet told him seriously. "Yummy, balanced meals are so important."

"You're so right," he replied with a nod. "And yes, I'll be back on Friday for Career Day. Your teacher worked so hard on it, I wouldn't miss it for anything." You were gripping the edge of your desk now as he smiled at you.

"I didn't know you were allowed to wear anything except your uniforms," marveled Oliver.

Bradley looked down at his patterned shirt and laughed. "Should I stick with the flight suit for Friday?"

Then the dismissal bell rang, and your kids started to scramble. You usually had them packed up and ready to go a few minutes early, but Bradley was clearly more exciting than the end of the school day. 

"Don't forget about the spelling test tomorrow!" you called out as they all exited the room in a mass of chaos after high fiving your boyfriend. "Thanks for surprising us," you said as you spun to face him.

"Thanks for being so perfect that I can't stay away from you."

Your cheeks blazed with warmth as you ducked against his chest. Muscular arms wrapped you up in a hug as you muttered, "Did you remind Natasha and Marty about Friday?"

"Mmhmm."

"And did you get to see Maverick?"

He paused before squeezing you a little tighter and kissing the top of your head. "Uh, yes. I did. Now will you let me take you home so I can get back to my busy schedule of eating delicious food, napping and fucking you senseless?"

---------------------------

Bradley spent the following day unpacking more of your stuff while you were at work. You had all these fancy things he needed to make room for. Like an air fryer. And a rice cooker. Things he would have never used otherwise, but he didn't mind having them here now. 

He took breaks to read from the journal you kept while he was away, often smiling and laughing at what you'd written in your daily log. It was no wonder he fell in love with you through your writing; you were just the same as you were in person and so authentic this way. Then he read about the day you helped Edith with some chores, and he sprawled out on the couch with a groan.

You were the sweetest thing in his life. One time, Vanessa told him that Edith was annoying and only wanted attention. He rolled his eyes then, and he rolled them again now. She was elderly. Of course she wanted attention. But Bradley knew she also had arthritis, and helping her with yard work was fast and painless for him. He couldn't imagine you saying anything like that.

Bradley slipped into a hazy daydream, thinking about how he wanted to propose to you as his feet hung over the end of the couch. He wasn't going to last long now, and he knew it. Not with that ring tucked away in a Zip-lock bag which was duct taped underneath the bathroom sink vanity behind the pipes. If nothing else, he knew it was there, and he could rip it down any time he felt like asking you to marry him, but he wanted it to be special. Really special.

Maybe he could write something for you. Maybe he should take you out to dinner again. There had to be a way to make it just right so you couldn't say no.

After a few more minutes of indulging in the fantasy of having you as his wife, he stood up and attempted to use the air fryer to make lunch. Pretty soon he gave up and made a sandwich instead before walking next door to knock on Edith's door.

"Bradley!" she said, pulling the door open for him. "You're home. Your girlfriend told me you were deployed earlier this month."

"I just got back on Monday. A little bruised, but no worse for the wear," he told her with a smile. "I wanted to see if you needed help with anything."

"Oh, your sweet girlfriend already changed my light bulbs for me," she told him. Then she lowered her voice and smirked. "She's a looker."

"Yeah," he confirmed with a nod. "She's Gorgeous. She also moved in with me, so if I'm not home and you need something, you can always ask her, okay?" 

Edith fretted her hands, and Bradley leaned back out the open front door, knowing she wouldn't agree to his help unless she paid him in some way. Truthfully, he really did feel like playing the piano anyway. "It looks like you've got some weeds that need to be pulled, and your downspout is loose again. How about you think of a cool song to teach me, and I'll be back in like fifteen minutes?"

He ducked outside before she could answer, but he could hear her tapping away at the piano keys as he yanked some dried up weeds out of the soft soil. While he worked, he pictured the sheet music that Edith kept stacked up inside the piano bench, and he started to come up with an idea. The more he thought about the pages stacked up in his own house, the more he liked his plan. 

He was all smiles when he sat down for her to teach him how to play a Bob Dylan classic, and he was still whistling the tune when he went to pick you up from work.

---------------------------

On Thursday night, Bradley had you snuggling on top of him on the couch when you should have really been going over your final plans for Career Day. "You are such a distraction," you whispered, arms and legs wrapped up with his to keep warm since you were wearing nothing but his old sweatshirt.

His fingers flexed on the back of your thigh as he smirked and turned his head to face you instead of the TV. "And you're the best for helping me relax all week." His breath was warm on your cheek, and he kissed you there, saying, "Don't stress about tomorrow. It'll be perfect."

You nuzzled your cheek against his shoulder. "I still have to put all of my guests in order. I need to schedule the most impressive presentation last, for the grand finale."

"Okay, so put me last then, Gorgeous."

You grinned and tried not to giggle. "I was actually thinking Marty."

Bradley's hand slid up from your thigh, smoothing over your butt, and you knew what was coming even before you clenched with need. Bradley smacked you one time, and you moaned as he soothed away the sting with his palm. You were instantly aroused, fingers tingling and ears burning. Bradley's dark eyes were wide, searching your face, questioning what he should do next. When you nodded once, he grunted, and that big hand landed on you again, breaking the silence.

"Fuck," you gasped, rear end stinging as Bradley cupped and squeezed you, pulling you a few inches up his body so he could kiss you. His cock was getting hard in his gym shorts, pressing against your belly, driving you wild.

"You like that?" he whispered between heated kisses, but you barely wanted to take the time to breathe.

"Yes," you replied, mouth mashing against his. Both of his hands came up to your waist, yanking the sweatshirt over your head and dropping it on the floor. Then your lips were back on his as you moaned into his mouth.

The sex had been so sweet since he got home, and neither of you could be blamed for wanting so much of it after going so long without. But this was something else. Bradley's fingers dug into your flesh, and his kisses were rough. Demanding. You spread your legs a little wider, arching your back, silently begging for him to spank you again.

He did not disappoint.

You were aching, whining his name, enthralled by the cocky smirk on his face and the possessiveness in his eyes. "You want more, Gorgeous?" he asked, voice dark as his smirk grew. When you nodded vigorously, he kissed your lips so softly before he said, "You'll schedule me last for Career Day? I think it's where I belong, since I'm the most impressive."

Oh my god. He was playing with you now. You knew he wasn't actually jealous of Marty or Nat or any of the classroom parents, but he knew that you knew that your students would always think he was the most impressive. You would, too.

When you tried to kiss him, he pulled his face away from yours as he stroked your tender rear end with his fingertips. "Yes," you promised, "I'll put you last. You're the most impressive."

"Good girl." 

You gasped as he spanked you one more time, then he kissed you before pushing you up so you were straddling his thighs. When he yanked down his gym shorts, you were treated to the sight of his cock, thick and hard, smacking against his abs.

"Clearly I think you're impressive," he grunted, licking his thumb before running it along your swollen clit. It took no more coaxing before you had your hand wrapped around his cock, guiding him right where you wanted. You sank down on him, already a mess as he thrust up into you, hard.

"Bradley!" His hands were on your breasts, cupping you as he bucked his hips up again.

"Look at you," he rasped, fucking you rough while his hands were gentle. You bounced up and down, bracing yourself awkwardly on the too small couch. "Where do you want me to touch you?" he asked, eyes glued on your face and body. "Show me."

Without hesitation, you wrapped your fingers around his right wrist and moved his hand back to your butt. "A little more," you told him, voice shaking as he fucked you so good. Then he spanked you again and again, and you could feel it everywhere as you cried out. 

It was too much and not enough, and you bit your lip as he alternated between soothing you and spanking you until you were shaking, orgasm building. "Baby, you look and feel too good like this," he whined, wrapping his hands around your hips. "I'm so close."

But you were already there. You came as you leaned down and kissed him, those big hands sliding up, stroking your shoulders and neck as gently as you were used to while your ass tingled. You were making some wild sounds as you rode him until he filled you with his cum, then the two of you were panting in unison as your forehead came to rest against his.

You could feel him smiling, mustache brushing your lips as he said, "That was fun. Didn't know you would like it so much."

You moaned and said, "I'm as surprised as you are. And I'll put you last tomorrow. You're the grand finale. Obviously."

"Obviously," he agreed. "Just keep in mind, I'll be more than happy to spank you when you give me a hard time like that again." His lips found the side of your neck, his cock was still inside you as he murmured, "Got it?"

"Oh, loud and clear."

He chuckled, nipping along your skin as your butt throbbed a bit. You didn't want to move, but his stomach started loudly growling. Carefully, you started to sit up, brushing your fingers through his hair as you said, "It's been hours since you ate. Let's find something in the kitchen."

When you stood on wobbly legs, Bradley stayed lounging on the couch, guiding you and turning you so he could place one soft kiss on the spot on your butt where he had spanked you. Then he got to his feet as well, picked up the sweatshirt, and put it back on you.

He kissed the back of your neck and told you he never wanted to leave you again while you made him a grilled cheese sandwich. "Love you too much," he muttered, hand on your thigh as his leg brushed your tender rear end.

You thought about the weeks he was deployed without communication and how awful it was, but this right here was worth it. Making love in bed and rough sex on the couch. Learning what makes each other tick and sharing meals and enjoying how good it feels to have him hold you. All worth it.

When the sandwich was ready, you cut it into four triangles and took a small bite out of one before holding it up for him to eat it. "Thanks, Baby," he whispered, finishing it in one bite before you fed him the second one and then the third in similar fashion. He was finishing the last piece when he wrapped his arms around you and said, "Okay, Gorgeous, now I'm ready to help you get organized for Career Day before bed."

You laughed. "I just need to write a few things down and pick out an outfit."

"Oh. I wouldn't wear anything too tight," he suggested, smirking once more. "You're about to be sore tomorrow."

---------------------------------

Okay, Maverick. Okay. Career Day is up next, and I need something nice to be there for Marty. Thanks @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 25

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[sorryimananti-romantic]

The Leaders | Chapter II

"this is the underworld that no one escapes from."

masterlist

ot8!ateez x f!reader, mafia au

chapter warnings: drinking, smoking, illegal businesses, mentions of gangs, war/military and weapons, hongjoong is the designated asshole in this chapter

chapter wc: 10.9k

chapter synopsis: you learn more about ateez from your housemate, wendy, and from kihyun of mx pharmaceuticals who is also the crescent’s business partner. you get familiar with your new job at the crescent company’s main office and learn about their deal with secretary park. wanting to stop them from that harmful deal, you finally speak up only for the boss, hongjoong, to remind you that you are just a bookkeeper. 

prev chapter recap: an attack on the crescent bar prompts you, the bookkeeper of the crescent bar, to carry out yeosang’s order and flee with the contents of the safe. however, you have discovered a secret package which leads you to a confrontation with the underboss, park seonghwa, who has no choice but to kill you. to save yourself, you reveal that you possess some information about the elites that could be useful to them, and that you are willing to exchange this information for your life. that lands you a job at the crescent company’s main office and you have a rocky first day, getting to know the ins-and-outs of your new workplace and colleagues.

For the beginning of a new chapter of your life, which could take a very sinister turn, it sure was awfully sunny today, the pigeons on your window sill taking great joy in the way you would pause in the middle of getting ready and reconsider all your life choices so far. Their cheerful chirps were starting to annoy you and you couldn’t help but shoot deathly glares in their direction. 

It was your first official work day as the bookkeeper in the main office of the Crescent Company, and you were done getting ready– as ready as you could be with your heart threatening to burst out of your chest. It didn’t help that when you exited your room, you immediately had your housemate’s attention who let out a dramatic whistle at the sight of you.

“Woah. That’s quite a formal outfit for the bar,” Wendy said, stopping in the middle of stirring the pot, the fragrant scent of rosemary and chicken broth filling your nostrils. “Also… why are you still home?”

You turned to the full-length mirror in the living room, inspecting your outfit for the day– a pleated navy blue skirt that reached mid-calves paired with a blue tweed jacket, your feet clad in ivory kitten heels. Just the right outfit to make good first impressions, yet it was a struggle to ignore the urge to go back to your closet and restart the lengthy process of choosing another outfit.

“Uh…” you took a deep breath while tucking the stray strands of your hair back in the half-tied hairdo, bracing yourself for her reaction. “I may have gotten a new job at the Crescent Company.”

The room fell awfully silent and you turned to Wendy, finding her deadpan staring at you.

Odd.

“Something wrong?” You frowned in confusion. 

“The Crescent Company?” Wendy repeated and you nodded. It was strange, the soberness in her tone, when you were expecting enthusiastic theatrical reactions from her. “When?”

“Literally yesterday,” you turned your full attention to her, wondering if she was cross with you for not letting her know earlier. “I start working officially from today.”

“How did you get this job?” Wendy asked, finally doing something else other than assessing your form. She turned the stove off, setting the pot on the table where you joined her for breakfast.

“Well… one thing led to another. Some gang attacked the bar two nights ago and when I carried out my instructions– which were to get the contents of the safe and run– they decided… that I am good at my job and would do better in some other environment.”

“I heard about the attack, yes,” Wendy said, munching on a piece of bread. “But I thought it was a fight outside the bar, not an attack inside. Is that how you got these tiny scratches all over you?” You pursed your lips in answer and Wendy continued. “Are you sure this is the right job for you? Because let’s be real– we all know who Ateez is. You should be avoiding that gang– didn’t you want to lay low?”

Ateez. Known throughout all the eight sectors of Eden and its capital, the gang formed after the Battle of the Eight Hills and played a vital role in the rebuilding of Eden afterwards. Really, you wondered if they had done so much for Eden, why were they feared and labelled as a criminal organisation?

“I am laying low,” you sipped the broth as you said, “It’s just an office job– paperwork.”

“I don’t know, Luna,” she said, clearly worried. “I’m not sure about this.”

“Do you know something you’re not telling me?” You asked but Wendy kept a straight face which meant there was something. “In fact… refresh my memory a little since I wasn’t here when Ateez was at the peak of their career, but who is Ateez? What do they really do?”

Wendy took a deep breath as if contemplating opening her pandora of secrets for you but then she checked her wristwatch to your utter disappointment. “Next time or else we’ll both be late. Just… stay safe, will you?”

“Oh, I will. I keep the gun in my purse, you know,” you smirked and Wendy finally relaxed, smiling back. “See you tonight if you aren’t snoring by that time– my shift ends at the strike of midnight.”

“Heavens, that’s late,” Wendy winced. “What are you doing up so early then? You should have slept some more.”

You should have, but you had a little stop to make before you clocked in at midday at your workplace– the stop being at the office of MX Pharmaceuticals located in the heart of Sector 1 with all the other businesses and offices. It was only the Crescent Office which was situated right outside that hotspot, and you were starting to think that it was a calculated move on their part. With their status, they could be situated in the slums and still be flourishing– the leaders of Sector 1.

It was a bit strange to walk the streets of your block and not allow your muscle memory to take you in the direction of the Crescent Bar. It felt alleviating, even, to not cross the old lady on the pavement selling crocheted goods to make a living. Somehow, she always made you feel guilty about having the privilege of connections. You could very well have been sitting there at the corner of the road instead of her, selling your paintings or embroideries if Kihyun hadn’t helped you land a job when you came back to Eden from Wonderland just a few years ago.

Because your father always made sure you would never be in the spotlight. There was a reason he basically shipped you to Wonderland– though you often wondered if that was justification enough. He claimed that you could study more if you wished to while you looked after your aunt but really… you knew that he wanted to get rid of you because you found out his dark, dirty secrets– things you were never supposed to find out. It was a shame he couldn’t kill his own daughter and bury those secrets along with her. Maybe his humanity awakened when he thought about his children. 

You could spot the MX Office when you took a turn left into the busy, bustling street with corporate slaves ready to sign in for their daily dose of torture. To your demise, you were blending right in. You walked towards the office, which was a brick-coloured building just like the rest of the offices in this street. The guard at the front door recognised you and nodded in greeting, as did the receptionist and a few employees, aware that you had some sort of a relationship with their boss, though no one dared to ask the nature of it.

The boss, Kihyun, was a respectable figure in all of Eden as a powerful businessman and a former gang member. Each connection he made was for a reason, but you were not just a connection. You respected each other far too much to refer to each other as just a ‘connection’. 

You were being accompanied to Kihyun’s room when on the stairs, you encountered Hyungwon.

“Miss Jeon– what brings you here?” He asked. It had been a while since you saw the manager of MX Pharmaceuticals. He was usually found at one of the labs or warehouses that MX owned. “Good to see you.”

“Hope you’ve been well,” you smiled. “I’m here to see Kihyun.”

Hyungwon nodded at the assistant who left and you followed Hyungwon upstairs. “Kihyun just arrived. How has it been?”

“I’m doing good. I got a new job so I was going to tell him about that and discuss a few things.”

“Oh, that’s nice to hear,” Hyungwon knocked at Kihyun’s door before opening it for you. “I’ll send some tea. And you know that if you need anything, we’re here, right?”

You nodded, smiling earnestly at his reminder. “Thank you. Have a good day.”

You entered Kihyun’s room, closing the door behind you. His room was as neat as ever with a variety of indoor plants lining the huge windows that provided a view of Maddox Street. You walked past that window, drawing the cerulean curtains away and Kihyun tsk-ed at you.

“You’re back at it, eh?”

“You need someone who will pull the curtains open every day. I can’t keep doing that for you,” you grinned, joining him at his desk. He was clad in a navy button-down shirt, his hair combed back. “How have you been?”

He spread his arms in answer. “Right in front of you. As good as ever. But I’ve heard you are doing better lately.”

“Heard the news already?” You shook your head. “Once I find your informant, I’m gonna give them an earful.”

“We’re the Crescent’s business partners. I should know the happenings,” Kihyun said, waiting for the assistant to leave the tea for you before continuing. “Tell me… how did it happen?”

“Let’s say I passed a trust test,” you said, adding a sugar in your tea and two in his, just as he liked. “I’m the Crescent’s bookkeeper now.”

“That must not have been easy.”

“Actually, yes,” you took a sip of the black tea. “I almost got killed. I had to win their favour.”

“And how did you do that?” Kihyun frowned.

“I played a few cards,” you admitted and he groaned in disbelief. “It was that or I die.”

“They would not have killed you–”

“They knew we were acquainted, and they were ready to kill me,” you interjected. “I only told them that I’m aware of Assemblyman General Wi’s artefact gallery.”

“Luna,” Kihyun leaned forward, clasping his hands. “You know the game you are playing right now is a dangerous one–”

“I know that I have to keep my identity hidden, and I’m sure they only know what’s on the documents–”

“Let me finish,” Kihyun said in a low voice and you slumped back. “It’s not just about your identity. You know who they are, don’t you? Ateez? They were once a gang, and they always play dirty.”

“So were you, Kihyun,” you reminded him. “Back in your early days, before my father took you under his wing.”

Kihyun clenched his jaw– he did not need to be reminded of his ugly past. “We were not children of war when we were a gang, Luna. The Crescents– Ateez– they are children of war. They served the army when they should have been fooling around with other kids their age or studying. A nineteen year old Kim Hongjoong became a well-known military strategist in the Battle of the Eight Hills. Another nineteen year old Park Seonghwa became a sniper and a medic– a god awful combination, don’t you think? And an eighteen year old Jeong Yunho became an honoured lieutenant colonel, for heaven’s sake. Those are the people you have involved yourself with.”

That was the first time you heard about their achievements during the war and you realised with a creeping dread that Kihyun might be right about this.

“Us? We were just a street gang, Luna. We were kids who rebelled, who got lucky because your father, a politician, saw potential in us and hired us as his informants. Ateez are different, and it would do you better if you stay aware of them.”

You took a deep breath. “Do you think they will dig into my past?”

“I can’t promise they won’t,” Kihyun relaxed, finally smiling and drinking his tea. “But I’ll see if I can do something. Just make sure to stay in the shadows.”

“Until it’s time,” you reminded him.

His expressions didn’t change. “Still conjuring up revenge plans?”

“You know how stubborn I am,” you traced the gold outline on the cup. “I cannot forgive my father for taking my identity and shipping me to Wonderland as if I meant nothing to him.”

“I’m sure you mean something to him. You are his daughter, after all.”

“I’m sure I don’t, and I don’t need him,” you said, looking at the boss of MX. “You are my family if I ever had one, Kihyun. I am in your debt for everything that you have done for me.”

“Nonsense,” he waved his hand and you stifled a smile at the way he always got a little shy when you called him family or brother. “You don’t owe me anything. I would have done that for anyone.”

“You risked your business and your life for me. You don’t do that for just anyone,” you concluded and he smiled in answer. It was a truth that he could not deny. “You can call it whatever you want, but let me feel about it however I want too.”

“I can see how you might have talked them out of killing you, you stubborn brat,” Kihyun said, laughing. He stared into the distance, taking a few moments to think. “I heard you will be answering to Park Seonghwa and Jeong Yunho. That worries me.”

“It is just work,” you told him, though you were wholly aware that it was not just work. “You don’t need to worry too much.”

After a busy midday shift at the Crescent Office with Eunha and Jihoon, you decided to pay a visit to the Crescent Bar– you were free for the rest of the afternoon and could squeeze in a lunch with your friends. Plus, you were not sure that you could do the night shift without some liquid courage in your system. 

The bar was as lively as it could be during day hours, with people popping in from work to get a drink or a meal. The employees– your old coworkers– warmly welcomed you and you went to sit at the counter with Eunbi and Jeonghan, just like the old times.

“How has it been without me?” You teased Eunbi who wrapped her arms loosely around your waist, snuggling beside you. 

“Boring. Jeonghan is always pretending to sleep so I can’t really talk to anyone anymore.”

“I am actually asleep,” Jeonghan raised his hand as a sign that he was alive. He looked like a corpse, actually, if you could put it nicely. Eunbi gave you a pointed look.

“Got a new bookkeeper yet?”

“Not yet,” she said, going back to the cash register when she saw a customer approach. You walked to the staff room, catching up with Yuju who ordered your favourite grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch with Black Shadow– probably the best wine you had tasted in your life, if you were objective. You knew there was a backstory to how Ateez made that wine their staple, but you figured you would hear about it someday later. For now, you had another purpose that led you to Yeosang’s office.

Yeosang opened the door when you knocked, blinking in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be at the main office?”

“Good evening? How have you been doing? How has work been?” You glared at him. “I’m good, thank you for asking.”

Yeosang snickered, letting you in and you took the seat in front of him. You sighed deeply, folding your arms. “I kind of miss this, I won’t lie. I feel like an outsider there, and it’s only my first day. Shift doesn’t start for another hour, by the way.”

“Would you like a drink?” He offered and you shook your head, telling him you just had lunch. “Well, Miss y/n. How can I help you today?”

You passed him the side-eye. “It’s still Luna for you. And I wanted to ask you a few things that I really should have asked before.”

“Ah… is it time for those questions?” Yeosang relaxed back, resting his hands behind his head, his muscles poking out from under the ivory dress shirt. You watched him for a moment, wondering what his accomplishments during the war were. Could he be holding a scary title as well, or was it something worse?

“Yes. You can’t blame me for being curious after the stunt the underboss pulled that night. True to your name, Ateez.”

It was the first time you ever referred to them with their gang name and he only watched you in silence, waiting for you to continue. It irked you that his expressions gave away nothing. Trained to give away nothing, a distant voice in your mind said. 

“Just tell me if there’s anything I need to know for now. I’m reporting directly to Mr. Park and… Mr. Jeong. I really don’t want to make a mistake.”

“You weren’t worried when you started working under me.”

“That’s because… you are you,” you tried to explain, ignoring the faint ache in your heart. “You don’t go around wearing formal suits and looking down on people and being… weird.”

“We don’t look down on people,” Yeosang sighed, though he was smiling at your admission. “Was Yunho weird towards you? What did he do now?”

“How did you– he didn’t do anything,” you told him. It was uncanny how well they knew each other. “I just want you to tell me if there’s something I should be aware of so I don’t make a mistake.”

Yeosang thought it was strange that you were asking such a question. He wished he could ask you what exactly you meant. Just what mistakes were you so afraid to make? Why did you always have to be cautious and walk on eggshells, even around him, even when you claimed that you were comfortable with him?

“I don’t think that you realise that Yunho is the only one of us who will forgive you even if you betray us in the worst possible way– he would still try to understand your reasons.”

Your eyes went a little wide as you let his words sink in. “Lieutenant Colonel Jeong Yunho… is forgiving?”

“I don’t know what you’ve heard about us,” Yeosang leaned forward, speaking gently. “But I can promise you that it’s not the entire truth. We are more than what you people make us to be, if you care to look past the ranks and titles.”

You didn’t understand what he meant by that, and you were too scared to ask. You couldn’t stop thinking about his admission about Yunho. You really couldn’t see it– he always looked so strict, in the traditional sense. Even when he had a hint of a smile on his lips last night, you couldn’t envision him to be someone who could sympathise with the ugliness of the people who were driven into the corner. Perhaps, because Yeosang was his friend, he was able to look past everything and see the lieutenant’s true, unmarred nature, but to you…

To you, he was Lieutenant Colonel Jeong Yunho. And you intended to keep it that way, for everyone’s sake.

Later, when you were at work and taking a breather, having just finished recording the day’s transactions, you reminded yourself that your relationship with Yeosang had turned too casual. Sure, it was the way he was with everyone at the bar– almost everyone. It was different with you, whether you liked it or not. Even though you had wanted to keep a distance from Yeosang, you just couldn’t. After all, you went to him right after hearing about their old gang days. 

You made a mental note to learn more about Ateez and the Crescent Company, and to learn about the extent of their involvement in Eden’s business world. You needed any information you could get your hands on, every detail whether true or not. If you were going to play this game and use them for your goal, you needed to know that the Crescents were not involved with your father and his business in any way. 

You needed to know if what they did was truly moral and right. And if you needed to sneak into places where you weren’t meant to go and possibly risk your life again… you would. 

It took you about a week to fully get the hang of things at the office. While Jihoon was still being an arse– at this point, you were starting to consider that it might be a part of his personality– he never refused to guide you or help you when you were stuck. Eunha was just as helpful and you were actually starting to like her a little. She wasn’t very talkative but considering that she was able to make Jihoon laugh… you were tempted to take pointers from her. Jihoon had worked the longest here and you needed to crack him to get him to talk.

In that one week, you got a chance to go into Mr. Jeong’s room twice, when he was not present to take the report from you himself. You made it quick– unlock the room, unlock the cupboard and place the report inside, look around if you had a few seconds and get the hell out. It was too soon to make a mistake so you only dared to make note of what the office looked like. There wasn’t much to it anyway– just the usual workspace, and it frustrated you that his workspace gave away nothing about him.

Mr. Jeong, you noted, usually came to the office during your shift at the late hours of night, presumably after dinner. You learned that Kim Hongjoong was out of station for some business dealing which was why the office was mostly empty, but also that this was where they usually gathered to meet up and discuss things. This office was sort of a base and if not here, they would be at the bar, though they generally avoided it because of obvious reasons. There was no saying when a drunkard fool, or two, would dare to interrupt them.

Yunho usually locked himself inside his office (Eunha was very suspicious that he usually napped there, claiming to have heard light snores sometimes) and Seonghwa came by twice that week, greeting you and asking if you were adjusting well. Neither of them had interacted with you much during the week but…

You recalled two nights ago when Yunho came back to the office just as it was closing time. You handed him the report and he called you inside his office to discuss a few things. When he was going over the report, he asked you if you had any problems with work recently.

“None at all,” you assured him. “It is manageable.”

He flicked through the pages, the white sleeves of his shirt rolled up over his sleeves, baring his veiny arms. You resisted the urge to trace all those veins on his arms– Jeong Yunho was one handsome man. It didn’t help that he had such beautiful hands either. Why were you assigned to submit him the reports every night? What was this new form of torture?

He caught you staring at his hands but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he finished checking the report and shut the folder, running his hands over the cover once before clearing his throat to get your attention. You met his stare, pretending that you had not been ogling at his hands and arms– or at least, fake confidence that you were normal about it. 

“You were right about the artefact gallery,” Yunho said and you straightened. “It is indeed a money-laundering business. He is an assemblyman, a potential presidential candidate and, well, that’s a bad look for him with the elections right around the corner. How did you know when even his enemies aren’t aware of this information? And more importantly… do you want us to do something about it?”

“How I know does not matter,” you shook your head, adamant to not tell them your source. “It is just a piece of information that might be useful to you later. I am aware that your leader has been well involved with politicians– for connections, to secure deals. If you ever need leverage over General Wi, here is what you can use.”

Yunho took a deep breath at your response. You watched him scan you slowly, his eyes unreadable. “Is your source Yoo Kihyun of MX Pharmaceuticals?”

You looked down to hide your smile. “I have heard that you are well acquainted with him. He was more of a recipient than a source until a few years ago. The tables have turned now, but we still share information, and I was told that you could be trusted with the information I have. Is that still true?” 

He rubbed his chin in thought. “That depends on how useful the information you possess is. And it also depends on how loyal you are.”

“I am loyal to anyone who is loyal to me,” you said with a certainty that surprised him. “I know what it is like to be betrayed by blood and water both. To me, loyalty is the highest virtue.”

“Higher than morality?” He asked with a certain nonchalance, perhaps expecting to pin you in a corner, but…

“And what is morality, in this era?” You mused. “I’m sure you ask that question yourself often… Lieutenant Jeong.”

You seemed to have hit the nail because his gaze darkened. Perhaps, you should not have reminded him of his military rank, but to be Eden’s honoured lieutenant colonel and possess some fair morals? It didn’t add up even after Yeosang had said all the good things about him.

“I know what my morals are, Miss Jeon,” Yunho leaned forwards, locking his eyes with you and you wish some of his dark tendrils hid a bit of his eyes because that gaze was damning. “Do you? Or do you like to make yourself believe that you are the only virtuous one in the room?”

Maybe it was a dangerous game you were playing but you mirrored his position, your clasped hands almost brushing his as you said, “Oh, I have the lowest moral standards. In order to survive in Eden, especially when you’re on your own… you can’t go around possessing such foolish things as virtue, isn’t that so?”

Yunho looked down at your clasped hands, spotting the fading scar that ran along your thumb down to your wrist– one that you had gotten the night you lost everything. 

And then he ran a finger across it, ever so slowly, sending a trail of fire in its wake before getting up and wearing his coat, indicating that the meeting was over.

Damn him. Damn him and his stupid, beautiful hands–

“Goodnight, Luna,” he said in a low voice and you got up as well, gathering your wits before exiting the room.

“Goodnight… Mr. Jeong.”

And that had been the last time you saw him. It was Mr. Park who took the reports from you the day after, and last night you locked the office yourself about half an hour after midnight– you did not know why you stayed waiting for somebody to show up, but you felt a bit stupid afterwards. You should have clocked out on time.

You did not know why you waited.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you almost did not hear the sound of footsteps skittering in the direction of the office rooms. You looked up, gaping at what had to be a fifteen year old considering his scrawny appearance, moving not towards Yunho’s office but Kim Hongjoong’s. You frowned– how did he get past the guard?

“Oi,” you called but when he proceeded to knock at the boss’ door, you decided you had enough and slammed a hand on the desk to get his attention. “Oi, kid!”

“Is the Captain not inside?” he turned to look at you, looking as surprised to see you as you were. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” you beckoned him to come nearer and he obeyed this time. “How did you get in?”

“I have something the Captain might like,” he grinned. “Still not back from his little trip to Edenary?”

So that’s where he was. The Capital of Eden, the land of the elites. “Uh… nope. Why you calling him ‘the Captain’?”

“Because that’s who he is?” He shook his head in disapproval. “New here?”

You scoffed in disbelief. “Kid, if you don’t tell me who you are, I’m going to have to escort you out.”

“No need, I’ll see myself out,” he winked at you and you laughed this time. You had to admit he was kind of cute for a kid even though you wanted to smack him on his head. You didn’t recall seeing him on the streets– his loose flannel shirt and newsboy cap was a look you thought you would have remembered. “I’m Jaemin, the informant. I answer directly to the Captain, so don’t even think about asking me what this was about.”

“You could still tell me, it could be our little secret,” you smirked but he shook his head. You stuck your tongue out at him. “Alright then. He’s supposed to come back tomorrow, I think. Should I let him know some kid was looking for him?”

Jaemin narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t met him yet, have you?”

“No,” you said. “Why?”

Jaemin only smiled condescendingly in answer. “You’ll find out. No need to tell him, I’ll be back soon.”

With that, the kid disappeared downstairs, leaving you wondering why he called the boss ‘the Captain’. It didn’t refer to his military rank because you knew that he was an honoured military strategist and colonel. You recently heard from Wendy that he had played a vital role towards the end of the war before the treaty between Eden and Halaland was signed. At such a young age, it was impressive. He was only a year older than you so he must have been about twenty when he earned that honour.

You distantly wondered if you ever came across him during the war. You had volunteered as a medical assistant– almost a nurse– in the latter half of the war. You had spent two whole years training medically and assisting the doctors and nurses. There weren’t many people in Eden so you might have encountered one of the Ateez men there, though you weren’t sure if you would recognise each other now. 

Moments later, you heard another pair of footsteps coming, this time familiar. Mr. Park, dressed in his usual black three-piece suit, met your gaze and sent a warm smile in your direction before he approached you.

“How are we doing tonight, Luna?”

“Good, Mr. Park. How about you?” You asked, taking tonight’s report and following him to Yunho’s office. “Did you perhaps see a kid leaving the building?”

Seonghwa chuckled at that. “You might find it hard to believe but that kid has saved lives with the information he shares.”

So the kid had not lied. “Impressive.”

Seonghwa waited until you took the seat in front of him. “He is like a stray cat who has marked us as his owners. We cannot take him in– he is too young, and he does not need to share the same fate the rest of us did, yeah? But he is a kid that nobody notices, and he uses that to his advantage. Next time you see him, ask him how he struck a deal with his ‘captain’.”

You laughed softly at that. “I will.”

Seonghwa nodded and started skimming through the reports. You told him that the new batch of liquor– specifically Black Shadow– had successfully been shipped to Mist Island. The shipment of their latest copper bullets was on the way too. You were surprised when you first found out that Mist Island was willing to trade weapons for liquor. Mist Island had a strict liquor import ban so the smuggling was being done secretly from both sides. It was impressive what money could buy.

Silence, Jihoon had told you one day when he was in a good mood. Silence of the police force.

You still hadn’t figured out what exactly they were doing with the weapons– you were aware that a lot of their money was being used in their business partnership with Pledis Manufacturers who were producers of machine parts. Your best guess was that they were involved in the weapons business and doing something undercover. You couldn’t question anyone about that yet. It was too soon.

“Good job, tonight,” Seonghwa said his usual words but this time, he did not dismiss you. Instead, he rested his back on the chair to look at you. “There are a few questions about your background that I must ask you before our boss arrives tomorrow, Luna. I’m hoping you will cooperate.”

There it was. They must have been done with the background check now. You wondered how much they found. “As best as I can while protecting myself, I will.”

Seonghwa smiled at that. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. Neither is it that I trust you already– Yeosang did, but that was different. You are now involved in the heart of the business that the Crescent Company does, so I have to make sure you’re suitable for this job, right?”

You were glad it was Mr. Park who was asking you these questions right now. Something about his presence was utterly calming and you could relax a little while talking to him. If you were objective, you could say that perhaps, it was his strategy to get you to lower your guard. But still… he was always soft spoken and kind. That did not change. 

“I understand, Mr. Park,” you assured him. 

“I could not find the records of your family… Miss Jeon,” he emphasised at your surname and you nodded. “You’re not a Jeon, are you?”

“It is a surname I borrowed around the time of the war, but I can assure you that I am from Eden. I was born here and have lived here all my life, at the Sector 1 border… save for a few years that I was not here.” Almost the truth. You had lived in Edenary, at the outskirts that met with Sector 1.

“And where were you? Where did you go in 1963?”

You exhaled. “Wonderland, to look after my sick aunt and get some further education.”

“Where, in Wonderland? Can I confirm that?” Seonghwa asked.

“The capital, Wonder City” you told him. “I’m not related to that aunt. She’s just an acquaintance who was willing to take me in. I looked after her and she gave me the financial help I needed.”

“Financial help,” Seonghwa repeated, glancing at your pearl ring that you always wore. He had an eye for things, and he knew that the pearl could not be in the hands of someone who was struggling financially. You could not have worn it so proudly if you had stolen it, so was it a family ring? A normal middle-class family could not afford such a pearl.

Just who were you?

“Yes,” you confirmed, willing him to trust you. “I might be wearing a pearl from Maddox & Co., Mr. Park, but that does not mean that I was showered in luxuries all my life. You must have found out that I was desperate for a job when I came back in 1966.”

Seonghwa nodded, swiping his hair back and exhaling. “Alright, I’ll let it be for now. You only need to tell us if you are related in any way to our rival gangs or the Sirens Rebel Party.”

“I am not your enemy,” you confirmed. “I cannot be acquainted with Yoo KIhyun and be in cahoots with any of your enemies. You have the same rivals.”

“Today’s friend is tomorrow’s rival,” Seonghwa mused. “Today’s enemy might be tomorrow’s lifesaver.”

“Then it is up to you, whatever you want me to be,” you smirked. “Rival or friend.”

Seonghwa nodded in thought, a bit amused, proceeding to pour you both some wine. While he downed it in one gulp, you sipped on it slowly, anticipating his next move.

“Do you perhaps have another tip for us?” Seonghwa raised a brow, amused.

“I might have, regarding your latest dealings with General Wi, but I will wait until both sides are clear.”

“Good,” Seonghwa shut the folder in conclusion. “I will take the leap of trust in you, Luna. Maybe you can do the same for us?”

“For you… yes, I can,” you told him. “I have one favour to ask, though.”

“Another one, already?” Seonghwa teased.

“You have a meeting scheduled with Secretary Park Byung Eun on the 14th, right?” You asked, the name leaving the most bitter taste in your mouth.

“President Lee’s secretary, yes,” Seonghwa nodded. “Do you know him?”

“Everyone knows him,” you said. While he was the President's current secretary, his name was well-known before that as one of the most successful businessmen in Eden. “You must be meeting because of a potential pharma-collaboration?”

“That’s right,” Seonghwa frowned, anticipating what was next.

You took a deep breath. “Do not reveal all your cards to that man. Do not let them know what you are up to.”

“Is that your way of telling us to be careful?” Seonghwa snorted. “We never show all our cards in the first meeting, Luna.”

“Neither do they,” you warned him and his smile fell. “Secretary Park’s team has a penchant for tricking you into deals. I’m just asking you to think this deal through. Whatever they are offering you won’t be very beneficial in the long run.”

“And how do you know that?”

“That doesn’t matter,” you told him. “If you need sources, or funds, you don’t need to rely on the Secretary Park.”

“You don’t know what business we conduct here, Luna–”

“I don’t need to know to warn you,” you insisted, feeling that tight knot of frustration build up in the back of your throat now. “I’m only asking you to think this through and take my words into consideration.”

“Your words, Miss Jeon, lack credibility right now,” he stated in a finalising tone, a pang of hurt shooting through your chest for a moment. He was right, though. They had no reason to trust you and to them, you must be seeming like someone who was looking to jeopardise their deal. “If you really want us to take you seriously, you would have to start giving us more.”

“I cannot give you more if I don’t know what you will do with the information,” you told him, sighing deeply. “Forget it, just… can you please let me know what you will be gaining and what you will be losing after your meeting with Secretary Park?”

“You’re assuming we will lose something,” Seonghwa noted. You didn’t answer and Seonghwa scanned your face, almost detecting fear in your eyes. Just what were you so scared of? “Is there any way you can trust me and tell me what this is about?”

“Not so soon, no, sorry,” you smiled sadly. You wanted to trust that man, you wanted to trust someone, anyone. “I don’t know what I’m waiting for, if I have to be honest. I’m probably asking too much considering that I am a mere bookkeeper.”

“We may have ranks here but we’re all equal, in the end,” Seonghwa said and his words tugged at your heart. There was rarely anyone who didn’t bring rank into everything. “I know you have no reasons to trust us either. Let’s work through our differences first before we make such demands, alright?”

You smiled at him and got up to leave. He followed, locking the doors and you both exited the building together. You shivered when the chilly night wind hit you. 

“The weather is getting colder. Bring a jacket or a scarf next time, will you?” Seonghwa said and you nodded. “Goodnight, Luna. I hope we are able to overcome all that is keeping us from mutual trust.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Park. Thank you for taking my words into consideration.”

He nodded, patting your back affectionately before you separated ways. That night, when you went home, you found Wendy getting ready to go to sleep. You didn’t get much of a chance to talk to her the whole week, considering your conflicting schedules, but you needed some answers right now so you sat at her bedside and she groaned in defeat.

“You need to tell me every detail, every rumour you’ve heard or any information you have on Ateez and what they do. Now.”

It was quite the busy day at the Crescent Office today. 

During the midday slot, you were packed with the new reports you had to make regarding the recent trade dealings with Mist Island, and you also needed to compile a transaction history before the Crescents were going to finalise their new deal with Utopia– both dealings happening undercover. You realised just how much work this job was– you had to create a pretty seamless legal report that was going to be used officially and make it seem like all their money was being circulated in their manufacturing business or the liquor business.

Seonghwa and San arrived when your shift was about to end. San waved at you, promising to catch up later and Eunha looked at you with a scandalous smile.

“Do you know the Choi San?”

“I literally worked at the Crescent Bar, Eunha,” you laughed. “I had to work with him.”

“He’s never waved at me like that. I’ve been here for a decade,” Eunha pouted. 

“Maybe you need to work as a cashier at the Crescent Bar in order to earn that privilege,” you told her, though you felt a bit pleased to hear that San had formal relations with the staff here.

Why were you pleased to hear that? You wondered but not long enough to make sense of it, soon getting caught up in more work. 

You went home after your midday shift, hoping to get some rest before your night shift because you knew it was going to be packed. You had no idea when the boss was supposed to come to office but you just hoped you would go unnoticed today– you had far too many thoughts that needed some sorting from everything Wendy told you last night– another reason you wanted to get some rest because her words kept you awake for the most part of the night. 

You made sure to dress properly today though, in any case. The weather was starting to get a bit chilly– summers were usually chilly in Eden. You wore a grey plaid suit that you kept for days like these, when you needed to make a good impression. You had fond memories with the two-piece– it was the first gift Wendy got you and it was more than she should have done, but she insisted she earned enough to buy gifts like these for the few friends she had. That made you wonder why she lived in a lousy shared apartment. You knew that her actual residence was in Sector 8 and she sometimes joked about how she lived here because it was ‘convenient’.

You wore white net gloves over your hands before going out, donning a matching grey hat. Eunha noted the new additions to your outfit and whistled as she shut her registers, groaning in satisfaction when she stretched her back.

“You did right with the gloves, but it’s a shame the boss isn’t here to appreciate them.”

“Eunha,” you glared at her and she giggled. She had warmed up to you– a bit too much, if you had to say, because she made jokes and teasing remarks like these often now that she was comfortable with you. You took off the gloves and spread them on your desk, grinning at her.

“I think they look pretty good from here too.”

You both shared a grin at that and Eunha wore her overcoat, saluting mockingly before leaving. Just before she was about to go downstairs, she turned in your direction, her doe eyes gleaming.  “Luna!”

“What now?”

“If you see the boss… don’t take his words to heart,” she said. “He may sound like a complete arse but he cares for all of us.”

“It can’t be any worse than Jihoon, can it?” You joked.

Eunha was right, though. At around 10 pm, you finally heard a few sets of footsteps ascend up the stairs and you took a deep breath, fixing your gaze on the stairs. To get to his office, the boss would have to walk past you so you fixed your half tied hair and arranged your desk a bit. Yunho’s head was the first to pop up, followed by an unfamiliar man and Seonghwa. They went inside Yunho’s room first, absorbed in heated discussion and you took a deep breath.

It was clear as day who Kim Hongjoong was. If it was not his appearance that betrayed him– dressed in a luxurious three-piece suit with the chain of a golden pocket watch visible, dark brown curls falling stylishly over his forehead– it was his unmistakable aura, the way he carried himself and his confidence. You felt it even if what you got was only a glimpse. 

A few minutes later, the trio popped out of Yunho’s room to go into Hongjoong’s room. You continued scribbling this time. You were going to remain in the shadows and go unnoticed–

“Get me the tax files,” the boss said. “I will personally make sure everything is seamless because I cannot have anyone messing it up– ah. Who is this again?”

Seonghwa cleared his throat. “Miss Jeon y/n. The bookkeeper– I thought Yunho told you already?”

Yunho looked guiltily at Seonghwa and you stood up in greeting, meeting the boss’s sharp eyes and internally gasping because oh, good heavens. He was inexplicably gorgeous–

“Good evening, Mr. Kim. If you need the tax files, I can get them for you.”

Hongjoong’s eyes betrayed him for just a second as he scanned your form, finding something oddly familiar about you. But his steel expressions returned and he shrugged lightly. “Yeah, well. I’ll have Yunho deal with that. You can get back to work.”

With that, he went towards his office and only waited a moment for the others to follow before he shut the door.

What a snob, you thought. His new bookkeeper and he didn’t even acknowledge you. Had Seonghwa and Yunho really not told him about you, or was he above these meagre details? You were aware that you would have to work with the boss now that he was back, but… how? 

Later, you found yourself at the Crescent Bar instead of your room. Perhaps, here you could get something that would make the bitter aftertaste in your mouth after tonight’s shift seem like nothing. Eunbi’s shift was over so you just found an empty spot in the corner and instructed one of your old colleagues to get you some Black Shadow and to make sure no one would bother you. He gave you a thumbs-up and a few minutes later, you were sipping at the rich drink while recalling the events of today.

Kim Hongjoong. Ateez’s boss, the brains behind the entity of the Crescent Company. A force to be reckoned with. A trickster, a manipulator, a true businessman, you had heard a while ago from the mouth of the elites who came here to drink. A man of his principles, Wendy had told you last night. He was rigid with his principles and that was what got him so far. You supposed he had to be all of that in order to survive after coming back from the war. 

Wendy said she wasn’t worried that you were working with him– at some point in this small sector, everyone had or would encounter him at least once in his life, directly or indirectly. However, she was worried that you would catch his eye, because according to her, you did not want to be involved with him personally in any way. He was a calculating and ruthless businessman with an ambition, and according to Wendy, that was something you were better off staying away from.

You considered everything you knew about the Crescent Company now that it had been a week working with them. They had partnered with Pledis Manufacturers to produce machine parts but you now knew that it was an undercover business for their weapons assembling. They had recently signed a new deal with Utopia to export these weapons in exchange for the Utopian wine– Black Shadow–  which was a trademark of the Crescent Bar. 

And it was Mist Island that provided the Crescents with the bullets and some metal for weapons production in exchange for Eden wine. It truly was a well-thought out business.

But that could not be all. You still did not know what the small packet– the powdery thing that got you here– was. Was it just a drug they used for pleasure purposes? You had never seen them in such a state, nor did the Crescent Bar tolerate druggies, though deals happened there, just like at any other bar. Nobody seemed to talk about it, there was no record of such an object being traded or produced– so what was it? Why had they almost killed you when they learned that you saw it?

And if it was a drug, why did they need to make a business deal with Secretary Park Byung Eun and have him fund MX Pharmaceuticals, of which they owned shares of? Kihyun knew that Secretary Park was not a man you should involve yourself with, so was he not aware of this new venture or was he turning a blind eye to it because they needed Secretary Park? Why would they need him of all the people in this world? 

“If you glare at your glass any longer, it will shatter,” a familiar voice said and you looked up, mouth parting in surprise.

“San!” You got up, straightening your clothes. “What are you doing here?”

“Uh, I literally own this bar?” San chuckled, noticing the almost empty bottle. 

“I mean, here here,” you pointed at your table. “I was just… drinking, as you can already see.”

“Long day?”

“Kind of,” you nodded. 

“Can I join you then? I’ve had a long day too.”

“Sure,” you said and he settled down in front of you, tossing his jacket on the other chair, now in a half sleeve black shirt. You poured the drink for him and he swirled it a few times before downing it in one gulp. You filled his glass again and motioned one of the waiters to get you a new one. 

It felt a little strange to have him seated like this in front of you. Sure, you had shared drinks countless times, but that was when you worked here and were serving him. There was also a shift in your interactions ever since that fateful night at the bar– somehow, that had turned your conversations more casual. He caught you staring at him but he didn’t comment on it.

“I’m assuming you met Hongjoong?” San asked and you exhaled, making him snicker. “What?”

“He’s… definitely the boss,” you laughed shortly. “He scanned me once and was like, okay, time to move on.”

“That’s him,” San laughed. “But that little scan he does means that he has memorised who you are and won’t forget. He’s got quite the memory.”

“I would expect nothing less, but San,” you sighed. “I miss being here. Even though I acted all professional here for the sake of formalities, it wasn’t ever suffocating being here.”

San frowned at your admission. “Do you not like where you are now?”

“It’s not that,” you shook your head. “I like the new job. It’s testing my capabilities, and I like challenges. It’s just that… you aren’t there. Yeosang isn’t there. You both are Crescents too. You both are also Ateez, so… how are you two so different from the rest?”

A smile creeped up on San’s lips and your heart did a little somersault– you hadn’t forgotten how handsome he was, but it had certainly been a while since you admired his charms. “Just say you miss us and move on, Luna.”

You laughed at that and San joined, the two of you chuckling for a few moments. “Yeah, I kind of miss being here and reporting all the gossip to you,” you said. “I miss working in silence with Yeosang too– don’t tell him I said that. It’ll get to his head.”

“I won’t,” he grinned. “Shall I tell you the gossip?”

“Oh, please, I’ve been starving,” you said.

About an hour passed over gossip and drinks, switching from wine to plain soda. San told you the latest happenings of the area– they had a little fight with Chan’s gang and had settled the matter about the attack on the Crescent Bar, making them pay for the damages. Yuju had gone to different bars to do a survey of what was trendy and come up with nothing, and you joked about how she was only good at doing what she knew– managing the staff, something she was an expert at. San said he would be sending Jeonghan and Mingyu next– perhaps, they would come up with a better report. 

It was the first time you talked to San as a friend, and though you had always found it quite easy to talk to him, you liked that just like Yeosang, he didn’t make it feel like there was a distinction between you two. Perhaps, you wondered, it was because of the nature of your work- after all, you couldn’t be too formal in a place like a bar. Maybe if there was no Crescent Bar, you really would have found San intimidating and unapproachable, just like people claimed he was. You still couldn’t believe them– not when he had the softest gaze when he paid attention to you, not when his eyes curved into moons when he smiled or laughed, and certainly not when he whined like just another adult with problems. 

When you checked the time on your wristwatch, you whistled– it was almost 2 in the morning. “Well. Time flies.”

“The night is still young, but we’ve both got to get up early, don’t we?”

“We sure do,” you nodded. “Well, this has been… a pleasure, San.”

“Likewise,” he propped his chin on his hand as he looked at you. “We should do this again.”

“Complaining about work?” You laughed. “Complaining about my bosses slash your friends?”

“Oh, so when you do it, it’s complaining, but when I do it, it’s whining? Noted,” San shook his head in disappointment and you grinned. “Can I tell you something, Luna?”

“Sure.”

“The hyungs– Yunho, Seonghwa and Hongjoong… they’re just like me and Yeosang. You just don’t know them yet.”

You looked at him for a moment. “I would have believed you if you had not included Seonghwa in that list.”

“Why?”

“You’re nothing like Seonghwa,” you joked. “He’s far too kind and refined.”

San’s loud laughter filled the room and you looked around, making sure no one was being disturbed. You leaned forward to tap his hand and make him stop laughing.

“I’m not lying, Luna,” San wiped his eyes. “Seonghwa… he may look refined but he can be very playful and childish when he wants to be. Yunho… well, once he warms up, you’ll know that he is the best kind of person you can have by your side.”

Somehow, his words wrapped around your heart like a promise. “You care about them a lot, huh?”

“I do,” he nodded. “They’re my friends, a part of my heart. I would do anything for them.”

“And… Hongjoong?”

“Hongjoong, well…” San smiled. “You find that out for yourself.”

“Not helping, San,” you folded your arms but he shook his head.

“All I can tell you is that if you’re lucky enough to break his walls… if he takes you under his wing, he won’t let anything hurt you. That’s the kind of person he is. He is the boss but he acts like a shield for us, and I wish I could do the same for him.”

You took note of his words. Did you trust San? A bit, yes. If he said all those things about Hongjoong, they must be true– at least according to his perception. But could you trust Hongjoong? Could you act as a shield for them so they could protect you in the future?

You made the decision before you slept that night. 

During your night shift the next day, you waited for the office to get a bit emptier. When there was only Seonghwa and Hongjoong on the upper level, you took a leap of faith and knocked on the boss’s door. It was now or never, and you had to make your move.

“Come in,” Seonghwa’s voice sounded and you opened the door. Seonghwa was seated at the couch while Hongjoong was at the end of the room in his chair, scribbling on paper, not bothering to look at you.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” You asked Seonghwa.

“Sure, have a seat,” he motioned to the couch in front of him and you did, sliding the report to him and glancing at Hongjoong once. “Is everything alright?”

“It is, but… I must warn you of something. You cannot proceed with the deal you’re making with Secretary Park Byung Eun.”

Seonghwa settled the pen he had been playing with on the table, taking a deep breath. “What is this really about?”

“Secretary Park is aiming to become the Minister of Health, isn’t that right? All of the ex-president’s team has either retired or left their posts, replaced by President Lee’s people,” you said. “Is that why you need Secretary Park? Because you have no other option?”

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes– how did you find out that he was aiming to become the next Minister of Health? It wasn’t publicly announced yet– he had yet to sign up as a candidate for that post. 

“You must have one hell of a source,” Seonghwa looked amused, glancing at Hongjoong who was smoking a cigar and now looking at you with mild interest. You gathered your nerves before continuing.

“He is not a good candidate for the position, but that is not what matters right now. I would have gone to Kihyun but I decided to confirm with you first because I’m not sure if he’s aware of your plans, but… you must need Secretary Park to approve some drug in the future, right?”

Seonghwa’s brow rose ever so slightly and you jumped a little when Hongjoong slammed the pen that he had been holding on the table. He cocked his head as he glared at you. 

“Miss Jeon,” he said in a warning tone. “If you don’t stop talking in circles right now and tell us what this is about, I’ll have to deal with you myself. You don’t want that.”

You gritted your teeth, unafraid for the first time in a while. “Do you want this business deal with Secretary Park to be legal? Just answer my question first, Mr. Kim.”

“That’s right,” Seonghwa answered for him. 

“You should know that Secretary Park already has some business deals with Strictland officials going on,” you said in a low tone and the two looked at each other in surprise, clearly unaware. “You know how it will look for you if word comes out– Strictland is already an occupied state on the verge of military dictatorship. You can try to verify it for yourself if you want, but whatever deal Secretary Park has going on with Strictland… it’s not legal in any sense, neither is it moral.”

Seonghwa took a deep breath. “Our meeting with Secretary Park is scheduled for tomorrow.”

“And I thought you should be aware of this before the meeting,” you locked eyes with him, hoping he could see the desperation in them. 

“Jeon y/n, was it?” Hongjoong called and you looked at him. He was squashing his cigar in the ashtray on his desk. You nodded and he finally smiled, though it looked almost devilish. “Why would you care to tell us this information?”

“You must have heard from your underboss,” you said. “I am willing to trade information with you in return for protection.”

“And power,” he pointed out the missing part. “You mentioned power.”

“I only desire power in order to survive in Eden,” you said.

“So why protection?” Hongjoong asked. “You can’t be a powerful figure in Eden and not have everyone targeting you.”

“Being a part of the Crescent Company is protection enough, I suppose,” you rested your hands on the soft material of your black pants, subtly wiping the sweat off. 

“Protection from whom?” Hongjoong asked, his gaze set on you. You found it overwhelming almost to the point that you considered answering– he had a commanding presence. 

“I… can’t say. Not yet,” you said and Seonghwa shook his head, having already known your answer. “I don’t expect you to tell me what the deal is about– after all, I’m only a bookkeeper. But I can give you better options– ex-president Mr. Son, for instance, or Assemblyman Kim Jooheon.”

“Assemblyman Kim is a nobody in the political scene if we are being objective,” Seonghwa said. “I don’t think he will have much to offer to us.”

“He will have something to offer to you if you give him something in return– maybe something that pulls him out of the shadows and into the spotlight of the political scene,” you said, recalling how the politicians in Edenary always thought Assemblyman Kim had the potential but lacked the resources. 

“Why would Mr. Son ever associate himself with us?” Hongjoong got up from his seat, slowly walking towards you, hands in the pocket of his striped black suit. “We may be owners of a legal business company now, but everyone knows of our mafia ties and background.”

“You are an honoured military strategist who played a vital role to end the war, isn’t that true?” 

Hongjoong chuckled at that, nodding slowly to confirm that and settling down next to Seonghwa. “Not everyone is aware of that, Miss Jeon. I don’t like people talking about it.”

“But Mr. Son was the president at that time, and he honoured you with a badge,” you kept his gaze. “I think he will agree that a person who did everything in their power to end the feud between two nations would not be making a deal that would harm his motherland and its people… don’t you agree?”

Hongjoong stared at you while considering your words. “You have a lot of audacity to come in here and make claims about a business you are not a part of, and people you don’t know enough about. Possessing such audacity is what almost cost you your life that night, and what is tempting me to retract the deal my partners made behind my back.”

And there it was. A stark reminder that you may have struck a deal with the queen, but you were still just a pawn in this game of chess where the king ruled. Weak and expendable– that’s what you were.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa began but Hongjoong raised his hand in the air to stop him from speaking further, his eyes still locked with yours. You didn’t feel shame nor fear in that moment– just regret that maybe you had trusted the wrong people.

“You are a bookkeeper, and you can remain so. Goodnight, Miss Jeon.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in and then you got up, bowing in greeting. “Good night, Mr. Kim, Mr. Park. Thank you for hearing me out.”

With that, you left the room and Seonghwa looked at Hongjoong. “You did not have to put it like that. I know she got you.”

Hongjoong slumped down on the couch in front of Seonghwa, cracking his knuckles while he thought about his next move. “Is there any way we can verify the information about Secretary Park without anyone getting a whiff?”

“I don’t know,” Seonghwa admitted. “I’m wondering how she knows that– if that was the truth. If Secretary Park really has a business deal with Strictland officials… I don’t think even his wife would know about that. If anyone gets a whiff of that, it could cost him his position and cause President Lee significant harm too, since Park Byung Eun is his secretary. You know how Strictland is still a sensitive topic after the war.”

“Then how does she know?” Hongjoong looked at Seonghwa. “Is she a spy?”

“She can’t be,” Seonghwa shook his head. “Luna worked as the bookkeeper at Crescent Bar for two years–”

“Luna?”

“That’s what everyone calls her,” Seonghwa said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

“She could be a mole, then,” Hongjoong sighed. “But no. Even a mole could not possess this information. What do we do?” 

“Kihyun was Secretary Park’s former business partner. I’ll ask Yunho to check with Kihyun and confirm if Secretary Park is the right man for this deal, but that means we will have to let Kihyun know that we are intending to make such a deal.”

“We were going to tell him anyway, let’s proceed with that plan. And Seonghwa?”

“Yeah?”

“Contact the RV spies and get any information you can on your little bookkeeper.”

next chapter

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[steddielations]

nsfw, actor eddie, hair and makeup artist steve, sub top

The downside of Eddie having a bunch of tattoos is that he has to sit in the makeup trailer longer than anyone else getting them covered, along with his character’s makeup. 

The plus side is he gets more time with Steve. 

They have this game. It started on Eddie’s first day. He was all wired up with nerves because it’s his first time in a lead role on a big production like this.

Every nightmare scenario of how he could screw up was running through his mind. He couldn’t sit still enough for Steve to give him the wavy hair and facial scars that his character has. 

Eddie kept apologizing and Steve was great about it. He asked Eddie about the heart on his arm with “Wayne” across the ribbon and distracted Eddie from over-practicing his lines, busy telling Steve all about his uncle who raised him and where they’re from. 

Eddie killed it on set that day, and pretty much every day since then. He loves acting, he loves fully immersing himself in the story he’s telling. This role is the biggest of his career so far, but it’s not even about that, he loves the character he’s playing, he meshes well with the director and has chemistry with his co-stars.

But Steve is his favorite part of this whole deal.

Eddie ran out of tattoos for their little game of telling Steve the story behind a different one every day. They never ran out of things to talk about though.

But Steve takes his job seriously and he’s good at it. He explained once why he likes doing this. It’s an art, getting the right look for the right character, or the right person, connecting with and taking care of whoever’s in his chair.

He explained it all while he was running his fingers through Eddie’s hair in those perfectly practiced strokes. Steve’s very good at his job, that’s why it feels so nice when he touches Eddie, even if it’s just work, because Steve cares about this. That’s why it’s easy for Eddie to be lulled into bliss when Steve’s fingers are so gentle on his scalp.

And, okay Eddie’s not made of stone, and he has eyes so he has a thing for Steve. A crush, but there’s a line there. This is work. They’re co-workers, despite how many pretty smiles and lingering looks are exchanged. Eddie won’t cross that line.

Until he does. 

It’s an accident. He never would have done it on purpose. 

Steve’s fingers are just so talented. Eddie’s eyes are closed, he was having another fit of nerves earlier so Steve took extra time with his hair. It put Eddie in a space so relaxed that he feels like he’s floating when Steve’s hand twists in his hair with the perfect amount of tension. It feels so intentional. The moan just slips out.

Eddie apologizes like crazy afterward, he feels terrible. Steve is a picture of professionalism, he’s charming and fun but he runs the makeup trailer like it's the navy and he takes his shit seriously and Eddie crossed a line. 

But Steve just shushes him, guides him to sit back in the chair and says it’s alright. 

Eddie blinks in disbelief but Steve just looks at him. 

It’s a look. 

A look that Eddie can’t stop thinking about for the rest of production.

It’s a look he sees again on his last day on set.

Eddie already shook everyone’s hands and said his goodbyes. He's just stopping by his trailer one last time to make sure the assistants got all his stuff cleared out. 

When he opens the door, his stomach flips, finding Steve waiting inside for him.

“You wrapped filming today,” Steve says in place of a greeting. But his smile and the way his arm is languidly stretched over the back of the couch is inviting. 

Something tells Eddie to lock the door before he goes over to sit next to Steve.

His gaze is even more intense up close. Eddie feels Steve’s eyes on him everywhere, like he’s just eating Eddie up. 

“Yeah, I did,” Eddie says, a tad nervous.

He doesn't want to make a move he can’t take back in case he’s wrong about why Steve’s in his trailer looking at him like that. He doesn’t want to be one of those douchebag movie stars that assumes everyone wants him and he has a free pass to hit on the crew. He’s sure Steve’s had enough of that bullshit.

“We don’t work together anymore,” Steve simply states.

“I know, it sucks,” Eddie laughs a bit sad because he really is, “Sorry if it’s weird to say, but I’m gonna miss you.”

Steve’s eyes shift between Eddie’s and then down to his lips, making his heart stutter in his chest.

“No it’s a good thing,” Steve says and Eddie’s brows knit in confusion. “It means I can do this finally.”

Eddie thinks he’s watching his daydreams play out the way Steve starts leaning in. 

It’s only real when Steve’s lips press softly to his.

Just once, so light, long enough for Eddie to catch on that it’s happening, then Steve pulls back before Eddie can reciprocate.

Steve chuckles faintly at the dramatic frown Eddie’s pulling. 

Then Steve’s hand cups Eddie’s cheek, his thumb stroking Eddie’s face as he tells him, “We can stop there and keep it professional and say our goodbyes. Or I can climb on your lap and give you something to remember me by.”

Eddie gulps. Steve’s offer and his silky voice and his perfect touch that Eddie’s already so addicted to is such a heady mix, making it hard to form words. “Yes, climb me— I mean, option B.”

“Yeah, honey, you want that?” God, Eddie always blushed hot when Steve called him that casually in the makeup trailer, now he’s melting hearing Steve say it like this. “Well, go on and take your pants off for me.”

It happens in a syrupy warm blur. Eddie sheds his jeans and underwear like he’s told and he’s rewarded with a gorgeously naked Steve Harrington in his lap. He’s allowed to touch, only after Steve has threaded his fingers through Eddie’s hair more reverently than any time before, like something precious in his hands, and kisses Eddie deep and hard. 

Then Eddie gets to nuzzle the chest hair that’s been driving him crazy peeking out of Steve’s shirt every time he leaned over. Eddie gets to touch Steve’s soft strong thighs, feeling the smatter of hair leading up to his ass that’s been driving Eddie even more insane trying not to stare at. Then he slips his fingers in and moans into Steve’s mouth when he feels the hard bulb of a plug nestled inside Steve.

Steve pulls back from the kiss, smiling and smearing his thumb over the spit on Eddie’s lips. “Yeah, I’m so ready for you, Eddie, baby, you have no idea.”

Eddie’s practically drooling watching Steve take out the plug and get a bottle of lube from between the cushions and a condom, oiling up his hand. When his fist wraps around Eddie’s cock, Eddie helplessly bucks into it, but Steve’s solid thighs pin him down. That makes his mind lust-foggy and his eyes flutter up at Steve, who bites his lip watching Eddie as he lines up to his hole.

“Mm... you know how bad I wanted you?” Steve sounds relieved as he sinks down on Eddie’s cock. “You know how bad I wanted to climb on your lap when you were sitting in my chair. You know how starry-eyed you get when you’re drifting? Just from me touching your hair, so fucking cute.”

Eddie’s just a mess of moans, Steve is so hot and tight around him. It’s too much with all the sweet praise to really comprehend that Steve knew all those times he was getting spacy.

“It’s so easy to put you down.” Steve’s breath comes harder, not letting Eddie move as he starts to roll his hips. “Such an actor, high strung all the time but that’s okay. It’s your passion. That’s sexy. Been dying to hold you down and ride you until you can’t think about anything but me, though.”

Eddie gasps out a groan when Steve tugs sharply on his hair, being right about everything that Eddie’s into so far. It’s no secret that Eddie’s intense, just a different kind of intensity in the bedroom than with his craft. 

Steve seems to get it, seems to know that Eddie needs everything hard and relentless with the way he’s bouncing on Eddie’s dick. He can feel the strength in Steve’s hips, dying to feel them fucking into him too, mouth watering at the sight of his thick cock jumping with all the movement.

“You’d let me tie you down and use you, hm?” Steve asks, drawing Eddie by the hair into a biting kiss that just barely grazes the surface of what Eddie would let Steve do to him. “I know. I’d fuck you up so good if we had time, baby.”

“Steve, holy shit,” Eddie practically sobs, fingers digging into Steve’s ass.

“You close, honey?” 

“Fuck, yeah.” 

Steve suddenly cups his face, just a tad rough and Eddie thought— hoped for one hot moment— that Steve was going to slap him. Just the thought is enough to make him do what he's supposed to, “Can I?” 

“Mh-hm just keep looking at me,” Steve strokes Eddie’s face as he circles his hips and takes Eddie deep. “Wanna see those pretty eyes when you come inside me.”

Eddie does as he’s told, his gaze falling half-shut as he lets go, spilling into the condom like he’s pumping Steve full.

It’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him, followed by the second hottest thing when Steve kisses his slack mouth as his warm heavy spurts of come land on Eddie’s belly.

While Eddie’s coming down, he lets Steve shift him onto the couch. He gets some tissues and then pulls Eddie to lie on his chest because of course he would, he’s Steve.

“Was that enough to remember me by when you get all big and famous?” Steve asks after a while, trailing his knuckles down Eddie’s bare arm.

Eddie looks up, seeing the first glimpse of hesitance in all of Steve’s practiced smoothness.

So Eddie leans in and assures him between pecks on his lips that slowly turn to smiles pressing together. “Nope, think we gotta do it again. And again. And again.” 

[badninken]

Scary Warlord of the Sea - Trafalgar Law

I want to talk about Law's introduction on Punk Hazard, and the fight that follows. Starting with this moment:

It's been an eternity since Law's last appearance in the story when this takes place, and it's the first time he shows up after the time skip. Last time he was seen he was a sleepy-faced dude with a polar bear friend who saved Luffy's life. A bit weird but not very intimidating. This Law though, is first seen skulking in the shadows, offering to help the local villain take care of a notoriously "insane, cruel, and merciless" bunch of marines that's come knocking.

Is Trafalgar Law a villain now? Is he in charge of this very evil-seeming science facility??

Well, he sure looks shady enough to be a villain, and the notoriously merciless marines seem scared out of their fucking minds to see him.

This scene is shorter in the manga but I love the way the anime drags it out by having Tashigi name-drop other Warlords to put his new title and status into perspective. The marines are literally screaming, crying, throwing up over how scary he is, retelling the story of his 100 hearts delivery, all while Law just stands there, smiling.

And that's the thing I wanna talk about. The standing and smiling and how he acts throughout this whole encounter. The way he's leaning against that wall just like he's leaning on his own reputation to do all the work for him. His job in this situation is to scare these people away without letting them know what's going on behind those doors.

If it weren't for Smoker standing his ground, the marines might have simply turned to flee at the sight of him, without Law even having to lift a finger to encourage them. Smoker seems to be having a hard time getting around Law's arguments too. They're both working under the government here and Law doesn't offer any outright hostility or threat for him to act on. Because Law is smart.

Law is handling this navy problem non-violently with minimal effort and it seems to be going according to plan.

But then the Straw hats happen!

And also giant abducted children used for science experiments he had no knowledge of what so ever because he's been minding his own fucking business.

And now he has to deal with taking the blame for horrifying child abuse AND looking like he blatantly lied about the Straw hats and also looking like he's incompetent enough to let all those dirty secrets pop out right behind him in a rain of fucking confetti at the worst possible moment.

(does not deny this)

He looks like he just aged ten years out of pure 'what the actual fuck'-stress. Like, where does he even begin with this situation? He's not responsible for any of that shit. He's just there to destroy some other evils, as discreetly as possible, but now he has to silence an entire unit of marines, just so the mess other people made won't ruin his own plans. Plans that's he's worked on for 13 years. Sounds like a typical Trafalgar Law day.

So he apologizes for saying something that wasn't true and then he handles the problem by causing massive property damage.

While not causing any lasting harm or even pain on a single one of his opponents.

The thing I think is so interesting with looking at Law's behavior in these interactions, is how he plays a role the entire time. He is not a villain, but he deliberately lets people believe that he is capable of great evil and cruel acts for his own gain, because that's his defense. It's a deterrent and a warning. His yellow black patterned coat fits that strategy perfectly, like the message of a wasp or poison dart frog. I can kill you, stay clear.

He keeps the cold, creepy act up the entire battle and makes it known that he could kill everyone there. Easily. He's never even close to trying though, and when he takes Smoker's heart he keeps it safe.

Law has no problem letting people believe horrible things about him if it can get him where he needs to go, but he's famously got a bunch of problems with people thinking he's a good person. I think that plays heavily into why he falls to being Doflamingo-cruel verbally to Tashigi when she goads him to kill her, but there are too many layers and things to say about that particular exchange so I'll save it for another time.

At the end of the day, it's all about this I think:

Law hearing people call him a creepy freak madman vs hearing Luffy say he's lucky to have met him.

[mochiwonz]

─── SMILEY EYES ୨୧

PAIRING. fem!reader x jake sim CONTENT. strangers to lovers , fluff <3 , cursing , vv cute :3 NOTE. jake's smile is so so beautiful but what always stands out to me is the way his eyes also smile when he is really smiling > < so ofc, i had to make thisss !!

[ 💬 ] ... ️ when you're in love with the stranger that always comes to the cafe !

7:45 am. Monday. The start of another long, tiring, and boring week.

Yes, you hung out with your friends sometimes, but you spent most of your time working at the cafe. Working at the cafe has always been unpleasant, however there was one amazing benefit.

You always got to see him, that cute smiley guy with his even cuter smiley eyes.

lt may seem silly to say this, but he was the sole reason you hadn't quit yet. Your manager sucked, your co-workers did basically nothing, and you had to do most of the work.

You memorized everything that you could about this cute smiley guy. He always arrives 10am and orders an iced americano or a vanilla latte with half sweetness. He had an accent, one that you would assume was an australian accent. He also has a habit of biting his lip and tends to smile with his eyes a lot. That was something that you adored about him.

One problem though, you didn't know his name.

Whenever you ask for the name for his order, he always says "J". Like, literally just "J".

You secretly hoped that one day he would give you his name, or even his number. You definitely wouldn't complain.

Today the weather was gloomy and cold, 69 degrees. What a great start to the day!

On the way to work, you spotted a couple sitting on a bench with their dog. They were just cuddling. They looked so full of warmth on this cold day.

Finally, you arrive at the cafe. Your shift starts at around 8:30am, so you have some time to kill. But instead of doing something useful, you ended up daydreaming about all the possible scenarios with him, cute smiley guy.

The sound of bells is what wakes you up from your daydreaming and oh shit. It's already 8:32.

The first customer arrives and then the second, and then the third. You're really just waiting for him to arrive.

Luckily, you hadn't had a grumpy customer yet- thank god.

You don't know exactly why you feel so attracted to him. It's like he has this energy that literally makes you feel so much happier, especially when he smiles.

You feel your heart literally melt into mush every time you catch a glimpse of him smiling. The way his eyes also smile makes you want to sob. You've truly never seen such a beautiful and radiant smile.

9:50am, ten more minutes until he would usually be arriving. You could already feel your excitement.

He came every single day of the week, and this made getting through work so much easier for you. Of course he didn't know that but you're very very thankful.

"okay, your order will be out shortly! feel free to take a seat anywhere you'd like" you tell a customer while looking at the time.

9:58, two more minutes.

In those two minutes, you spend your time making a matcha latte for a customer and excitedly daydreaming about him.

"order 56 for ____!" you call out, and hand the drink to the customer.

You quickly drink some water and nervously wipe the sweat off of your hands.

*Ding!*

He's here.

You look over at the front door and not to your surprise, it's smiley guy. Sometimes he'd come with his friends, but today he was alone. He looked so good today, his hair was fluffy and he was wearing a navy blue hoodie with a white shirt underneath and some baggy jeans. God, you could already feel the hearts forming in your eyes.

pull yourself together.

"goodmorning! please take your time and let me know when you're ready to order" you say, trying not to sound awkward or nervous.

He nods and smiles at you in response, still looking at the menu.

No, why did he have to smile?

You felt your heart melt and your palms start to get sweaty. You were definitely going to embarrass yourself now, fuck.

"can i get an iced americano, large, with matcha cold foam on top?" he asks while looking at you, holding eye contact.

Of course, there was no way you could hold eye contact with him. You'd probably shit yourself.

So, you just nod and put his order in the tablet.

He giggles and fuck, he definitely noticed that you couldn't hold eye contact with him. You were so fucked.

"anything else for you today?" you ask while nervously smiling, still not looking up at him.

"yeah, just one more thing" he says.

"okay, what would that be?" you respond.

"your number perhaps..?"

Was the daydreaming taking a toll on you or did smiley guy just ask you for your number?

"wait- what, huh? you want my number???" you say, obviously sounding a bit confused.

"mhm!" he says while nodding and flashing you his cute smile.

You can't help but just stand there and stare at him. You might just vomit due to how confused, nervous, and overwhelmed you are right now.

This beautiful man that looked like he was a model, was asking you- an average cafe worker, for your number?

"uhm yeah of course, here-" you finally say in response while writing down your number on his receipt. "here's my number and oh, i need your name for your order?"

"the name's jake" he says while smiling, but this time with his cute smiley eyes, too.

You can't tell if you're red or glistening from your sweat, but you nod and write down his name.

"what's yours? i've just been calling you pretty girl in my head but uh, yeah, what's your name?" he asks, and yeah- you're definitely red now. he found you pretty?

"i'm y/n" you tell him shyly while grabbing his drink and handing it to him.

"okay well then y/n, i'll text you soon!" he says happily while walking away, and you're still in shock.

Maybe deciding to work at the cafe was the best decision you'd ever made.

pls reblog if you enjoyed :D my other works here if you want to check them out <3

© mochiwonz ― all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, or translate my work.

[hsunrry]

princess // one shot

harry styles x fem!reader

summary: he loves to spoil you.

|| masterlist ||

words: ~1,2k

warnings: smut18+, daddy kink, unprotected sex, cumshot, praise, size kink, dom!harry, tying up

a/n: it’s based on this request, since some of you seem to like the previous one!

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

“you look beautiful, princess.” he smiled when you came out of dressing room. of course he took you to harrods, at this point you really thought it’s one of his favorite places to buy anything. he told you that you look beautiful- honestly, he’d tell you that even if you put a garbage bag on yourself, but you didn’t mind it at all- he was treating you good and you loved him.

“i don’t know babe.” you said, looking at your reflection in the mirror. “you think that navy blue is good choice?” he went behind you, putting his hands on your shoulders. he leaned down, placing soft kiss on your neck.

“i think it’s great choice, highlights the color of your eyes, i absolutely love it.” he grinned against your neck. “besides, i have a suit in similar color, so we’ll match.”

“okay, can you help me unzip it?” he nodded and when you turned your back to him, he slowly started to unzip it. he froze mid-length. you looked at him over your shoulder. “what?”

“you don’t have a bra on.” he muttered, touching slightly your bare back. you smiled to yourself.

“is that a problem?” you felt him unzipping it all the way down. he kissed the nape of your neck.

“go change before i take you in this dressing room.” he whispered into your ear, making you shiver. you both know that in place like that you just can’t do that, but…

“so how about i’ll quickly change and we’ll head back home?” you turned around, looking up at him. he clenched his jaw.

“i’m going to pay, be ready.” he walked out of the dressing room and you quickly changed to the dress you were earlier in. you walked out, spotting him paying for the dress. he grabbed shopping bag with new dress inside it. when he approached you, you pecked his cheek and whispered against his skin.

“thank you, daddy.” he exhaled heavy, looking down at you.

“you’re gonna regret teasing me like that, princess.” he licked his lips slightly, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers. when you made it to the car he opened passenger door for you, as always. he placed shopping bag on the backseat. you saw him sending quick text before taking a seat on drivers side. “buckle up.” he started the car. you smiled, quickly doing it. he grinned to himself, placing his hand on your thigh while driving. “good girl.” you placed your hand on his. after good 30 minutes he parked in front of the house. he went to open the door for you, offering his hand to help you. he also grabbed shopping bag from backseat, going with it in one hand and with your hand in the other. when you walked further into the house, you saw big bouquet of navy blue tulips and your favorite bottle of perfumes on the dining table.

“you’re the sweetest baby.” you smiled, looking up at him. he cupped your cheek, leaning down to peck your lips. he whispered against them.

“go to our bedroom and undress, i’ll join you in few minutes, i have a surprise.” his thumb caressed your cheek and you only nodded. you went to the bedroom, undressing completely. you laid against the headboard, waiting for him. after few minutes he walked into the bedroom with his hand behind his back. you sat on the bed.

“what’s behind your back?” you smiled, watching him approaching you. he looked down at you.

“remember how we were talking one day, that you’d look lovely with your hands tied up to bed?” you nodded. “give me your hands, your eyes on me sweetheart.” you quickly obeyed. you could feel your wrists getting tied together. quickly after that he made you lay down on bed, attaching your hands above your head to the bed. he pecked your lips, undressing himself completely right after. “you think you can handle me without foreplay, princess?” you licked your lips nervously, because he was big. like, literally huge. you nodded. “tell me if it hurts.” he went on top of you, positioning his cock at your entrance. he pressed only tip inside at first.

“fuck.” you moaned, feeling him stretching your walls already. when he saw it’s okay, he went fully. your breath was heavy and loud whine escaped your lips at that. he nuzzled his face into your neck, groaning.

“you feel so good baby, so fucking tight.” he pulled out from your neck, looking at your face. he placed his hand on your cheek, stroking it with his thumb. “you alright, princess?”

“yes.” you smiled, feeling him moving slowly. your elbows went up, since it was the only move you could do when tied up. he grinned at the sight, grabbing your hips and moving faster. your back arched. “fuck, Harry.”

“yes baby, taking me so well, such a good girl.” he panted next to your ear, moving faster. you could feel every vein on his dick inside you. his grip on your hips tightened, making you arch your back even more.

“oh my god, just like that.” you could feel your wrists hurting from trying to pull them, but you couldn’t care less right now. his one hand went from your hip to your neck, pressing in right places. you moaned, tilting your head back to give you better access. “fuck, daddy!”

“my pretty girl, looking so beautiful while being fucked by her daddy.” he gasped. he knew by your body language that you were close, so he went even faster.

“Harry-“

“i know baby, just a little longer.” he panted, tightening his grip on your neck. his lips kissing your jawline and his breath hot against your skin. your eyes rolled back and your legs shaking.

“jesus christ!” you almost screamed, squeezing his cock with your inner walls while coming. he let go of your neck, fucking you rough through your orgasm. he pulled out, going to kneel down next to your head.

“open wide for daddy.” he licked his lips, stroking himself fast. you opened to take his load to your mouth. he pointed his length to your open lips, looking down at you. his hand working fast, shooting hot sprouts to your mouth after few seconds. he moaned loudly. “fuck, good girl.” he stopped, putting his tip inside your mouth for you to suck him clean. he gasped when you did that, caressing your hair. his wet from sweat hair sticking to his forehead. after everything he untied you and laid down next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist. you massaged your wrists.

“i’m gonna be sore tomorrow.” you chuckled softly, turning on your side to face him. he pecked your lips few times.

“i’m gonna take good care of my princess then.” he smiled against your lips.

[noctiva]

Sweet Thing [PT. 1]

Toby Rogers x f!reader (NSFW)

-

-

WC: 10.2k

Summary: Church on Sundays, a quiet daily life on your family’s farm, and the chirp of crickets to lull you to sleep every night. You had a nice, simple life. That is, until you found yourself entangled with a miscreant from another state. You should’ve listened to mama.

CW: 18+ content, mentions of religion + religious imagery, questioning faith, descriptions of violence and gore, alluded sexism, americans written by a canadian lmaoaoao, female masturbation, manipulation, sort of toxic relationship, loss of innocence, loss of virginity, explicit sexual content, corruption, salirophilia, unsafe sex, semi-public sex, dirty talk, oral sex (male + female receiving), first time blowjobs, pretty plot heavy - you gotta suffer a bit before Toby makes an appearance, but once he doesss, LORD

Part 2 (link will be added once it’s up)

Reminder to separate reality from fiction! Some of the acts written here are definitely not recommended to imitate. Be safe!

-

NSFW under the cut! Minors do not interact!

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“Did ya’ see? The old fence out front got knocked down again.”

Sat at your family’s wooden kitchen table, you push around the scrambled eggs on your plate absentmindedly. It’s a morning like any other. The sun just barely peeking over the horizon, illuminating the dew drops on the crops outside. A crisp chill in the air before the sun warms up the sky.

Your father sits in front of you at the head of the table, dressed and ready for the day like he always was - complete with his suspenders and hat, dirtied blue jeans stuffed into his work boots. Your mother sat next to him, looking lovely - as expected. You sometimes wonder how early she truly woke up, with the way her hair was always perfectly curled and her makeup was spotless before the day had even started.

Your brother sat next to you. Jameson, or ‘Jamesy’ as everyone called him - your family’s crown jewel. He was strong, capable, and smart enough that he really could’ve done something with himself if he really wanted to, but he didn’t. He chose to stay here, much fonder of the smell of dirt and manure than that of gasoline and city smog.

It wasn’t much, but it was comfortable. Easy. For you, at least. Your father and Jameson tended to most of the farm work - harvesting and replanting crops, milking the cows and slaughtering the pigs. All you had to do was collect the eggs from the chicken coop in the mornings. And all your mother had to do was homemake and look pretty (which, truthfully, was probably a lot more difficult than you were giving her credit for).

It was all you had ever known, ever since you were a little girl, but you were content with that. You doubted it got much better than this anyway. Even if it did, the cost was probably far too great.

“Again?” Your mother frowned, polished pink nails clinking against her coffee mug as she raised it to her lips. “That’s the third time this month, ain’t it?”

“You bet.” Your father huffed back to her, lips twitched down into a scowl you had learned to look past. Downturned lips under a bushy greying moustache, you couldn’t reminder the last time his face had changed. Maybe it was stuck that way. “I’m gettin’ damn tired of fixing it.”

You watch as he stabs a few pieces of fresh made sausage onto his fork, before shovelling them into his mouth.

“I fixed the fence last time, Pops.” Jameson pipes up as he leans back in his chair, the old wood creaking under his weight. He crosses his arms over his chest, the navy blue flannel he was wearing rolled up to his elbows.

It was such a run of the mill, mundane conversation, that you were barely even paying attention. The words were more so floating around your ears than actually entering them - the food in front of you going cold the longer you pushed it around. You could name countless other days that has started just the same as this one.

That didn’t mean it was bad, just… Growing stale. After nineteen years on this same old plot of land, everything was. Jameson had his driver’s license and ventured out often, spending nights god knows where only to return with a stupid grin and a flush on his cheeks. You… Well, you didn’t go anywhere. The farthest you wandered was to the old willow tree just outside of your family’s property. Any further, and you’d get an earful from your father.

Which was strange, because you were the eldest, but you suppose that’s just the way life is. Maybe one day you’ll turn out just like your mother - continuing to never wander far, dedicating your time and energy to make some regular farm boy happy. That’s probably the plan.

“Yeah, because I just said - I’m damn tired of fixin’ it!” Your father drops his fork back onto the table with a clink. His plate was clean. Just like your mother’s. Just like Jameson’s. Unlike yours. “I didn’t spend two weeks breaking my back putting that thing up just for it to be knocked down every fuckin’ Tuesday.”

“Language.” Your mother chastises in a soft hiss, shooting your father a narrow look out of the corner of her eye. The pearls hung around her neck showed their lustre the best in the morning sun, as did the absolute rock placed in the centre of her wedding ring. With her fingers clasped around her mug, she lets out a sigh before continuing. “I reckon it’s that new family that moved in at the end of the road. You know, the Rogers?”

Finally, your interest is piqued, and you look up from your plate to gaze curiously at your mother as she rambles on. “None of these things were happening before that lot showed up, and I heard their boy is a real piece of work. They only moved out here to try and keep him outta trouble.”

“Yeah? Where’d you hear that?” Your father asks, voicing the question you had been silently wondering yourself. You watch with interest as your mother takes a sip of her coffee before answering - steam billowing up from the mug.

“Word gets around. Saw Darleen when I was runnin’ errands at the market.” She hums softly. “They moved in right across the street from her and Tommy.” She sets her mug down before standing up and pushing her chair in. She picks up her plate, then your father’s, then Jameson’s. When she reaches yours she eyes it quizzically, obviously taken aback by how little you’ve actually eaten. “You’re not done, are you darlin’? You’ve barely made a dent.”

Your eyes widen a little as they lift to meet hers, before you sheepishly brush a few strands of hair off of your shoulders.

“Oh, I’m just not hungry today, mama.” You answer back softly, giving her a little smile. “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed I suppose.”

She raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow at you, studying your face for a few moments. Probably to try and determine whether or not you were lying. You weren’t. You knew better than to try and slip a lie past her.

“Alright.” She breathes out, before collecting your plate as well. “But you’re not skipping supper. Can’t have you going all frail on us.”

You watch as she carries the plates towards to kitchen sink, setting the three empty ones on the counter before scraping yours into the compost under the sink. You can’t help but feel just a little bad about it, knowing that she had been the one to get up early and cook it - only to end up shovelling it into the waste bin. “Anyway, as I was sayin’-“ She however, doesn’t seem phased. But then again, she never did. “The Rogers, they’ve been all over the place because of that boy of theirs. Darlene says he’s got a whole shopping list of medical problems, so they’ve been flying state to state ever since he was a baby to try and get him patched up.”

The faucet squeaks as she turns it, warm water gushing out and starting to fill the sink. Then she turns, grabbing her apron off of a coat hook next to the fridge before fastening it on. “Don’t know what he’s got, but it doesn’t really matter. Apparently he’s been a bad apple ever since he hit puberty. Lyin’, stealin’, the whole lot. Lived in Colarado for a little before he stole a cop car. Paid his bail and moved him out here.”

“You sure love your gossip, don’t you, ma’?” Jameson snorts, shooting you a look out of the corner of his eye that has you letting out a soft giggle.

“It’s not gossip, Jamesy.” You mother sighs. She picks up his plate, and rinses it under the warm water. “It’s talk. Everyone talks around here. What else is there to do to pass the time?” The same thing is done to the other three plates before she’s pouring soap onto a sponge. “Besides, it’s good to talk. Keeps you aware.”

“Aware of what?” You ask, your eyes following her hands as she scrubs grime from the dishes. Just like she had done every day since you could form a memory. Your father’s calloused hands had never even touched a dish in his life. You didn’t even have to ask to be sure of that fact. Which, again, was just the way things were.

“Of what’s going on around us.” She hums softly, not sparing you a glance as she worked. “Of the people you don’t wanna mix with.”

“Well how can you know you don’t like them if you’ve never even met ‘em?” You question again. Where this boldness had come from, you weren’t entirely sure, but questions just kept bubbling up in your mind like popped corn. You suppose you should just keep all these thoughts to yourself, but then where was the fun in that? You needed something to keep your mind lively, even if it was just a hoard of ‘what if’s’ and ‘what could be’s’

This tidbit about some family of strangers was the most excitement you had gotten in weeks.

Your mother’s hands still, and then she’s pausing at the sink to look at you. And that’s all it takes, one look to know you’ve taken a step too far.

“I know enough.” She answers back to you, with a tone of finality in her voice that immediately shifts the atmosphere in the room. You can feel it, and so could your brother, if the way his shoulders tensed up was anything to tell by. “I know enough to know that I don’t want the likes of them hangin’ anywhere around here. Anywhere around you, specifically.”

“Me?” You ask, still pressing through you know it’s a dangerous route. Her warning though, just had your imagination running even more rampant. “Why just me? Jamesy’s the one always goin’ out at night. For all you know he’s probably already met the kid.”

“Have not.” Jameson snaps back immediately. He turns his head and deals you a warning glare, probably a suggestion to not throw him under the bus again. “Rogers is weird. You’d never catch me hanging around him.”

Oh?

“That right?” You push, narrowing your eyes right back at him. The calm morning vibe had long since diminished, leaving plenty of room for something much more volatile. “And how would you know if you’ve never met him?”

You watch as Jameson’s eyes widen a little, his fingers twitching into fists once he’s realized his fatal slip up. Got him, you think, as your lips stretch up into a sly smile. Somehow, the look in his eyes only grows colder, before he’s looking away from you with a scoff.

“Alright, damn, I’ve met him before.” He confesses with a huff. “But don’t worry ma’, I don’t pass the time with him. He’s…” He pauses for a moment, struggling to come up with the right word. “Freaky.” He settles on. “The typa guy that your gut just tells you to stay far away from.”

Your mother hums in satisfaction at the answer, resuming her previous actions as she rinses off soap in the sink. “He’s a gnarly lookin’ fellow too. Face all scarred up, practically torn to shreds on the left half of it.” He turns to look at you again, and then raises finger to point square at your face. “Bad news.” He snaps. “That whole damn family. Ma’s right, and you should listen to her. You’ve got no business bein’ around him. I can’t think of a single intention he could have that would be good.”

“Alright, Jamesy, gosh.” You finally concede, crossing your arms over your chest. Unable to conceal the frown twitching at your lips. “I wasn’t gonna, anyway. Was just curious.”

“Like hell you were ‘just curious’.” He snorts, giving you one last warning glance before standing up. “Curiosity turns into ideas, and ideas turn into actions.” He pushes his chair in. “Ain’t that right, pa’?”

“Right on the money.” Your father hums. He looks to you, meets your eye, and you know right then that this little fight is over. You could argue with your mom, and you could bicker with Jameson - but you knew better than to fight with your dad. So you zip your lips, give him a curt little nod of understanding, and the matter is dealt with.

The curiosity, however, lingers.

Breakfast is finished with, and after helping your mother wring out the fresh washed clothes, you pin them up to dry outside. The sun has finally made its full appearance, painting the whole world gold and blessing your skin with its warmth.

A soft, cream coloured maxi dress hangs off of your body - lacy, flowing, complete with bell sleeves. It was the type of thing that showed off the fact that it wasn’t you who got your hands dirty. Your hands were soft and nimble as they pulled your hair up and off of your neck, pinning it in place with a claw clip. You pull a few strands out to frame your face, before turning to look at your mother. She was just finishing hanging up the last few articles of clothing, dressed in something rather similar to you - though hers boasted a robin’s egg blue tone.

“You look lovely today, mama.” You tell her as you take a few steps towards her, bare feet pressing into the soft blades of grass below you. She looks up to meet your gaze, and you smile to yourself when you catch the way her eyes softened. She always looked so much younger when she smiled. It was like a glimpse at the young girl she used to be - the one who giggled softly and blushed at compliments.

“Thank you, darlin’.” She hums, lips curved upwards minutely. Once the last garment is hung, she wipes her damp hands against the front of her dress. “Why’re you kissing up? Trying to make me forget about the stunt you pulled at breakfast?”

Well, yes, but you didn’t think you were that obvious.

“I didn’t pull a stunt.” You laugh softly, clasping your hands behind your back. A soft breeze blows by you both, tousling the hair you had just made presentable. “I really just wasn’t hungry. Promise.”

“Oh, that’s not what I’m talking about.” She places a hand on her hip and cocks her head to the side. She had this way of peering into your very soul when she looked at you. A result of being born from her very flesh, maybe. Or perhaps you were just too much like her. “Got Pa’ and Jamesy all riled up. A woman’s got to realize when to bite her tongue sometimes, you know.”

“I was just askin’ questions.” You huff, lips tugging into a pout as you gaze up at her. “It’s not often someone new comes around here, can you blame me for wanting to know more?”

It’s silent for a moment as she studies you, her eyes narrowing minutely.

You can see it in her eyes as a million different thoughts pass through her mind, before she’s letting out a huff and settling on one. Closer, she approaches, until she’s standing right before you. Then, she reaches a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear gently. Her fingers are soft, yet so cold.

“Listen to me, okay?” She breathes out. You can tell that she’s trying to keep her expression neutral, but you can still see it when a crease begins to form between her brows. “I know you’re at the age where you’re startin’ to want things, growing up into a woman right before my eyes.” She pinches your cheek gently and lets out a little sigh. “But you’re still my little girl. I’ll be damned to hell if I let you run off with some miscreant.”

“I wouldn’t, mama.” You frown, eyebrows scrunching up at her words. Despite that, you reach up to touch her hand softly with your own. “I just wanted to know more about him. I don’t have many friends around these parts, you know.”

“I know, baby, and I’m sorry for that.” Mirroring your own expression, her lips twitch downwards. “But you don’t need to be friends with someone like him. You’re a sweet thing. You need someone who matches that.”

She pulls away and purses her lips, before crossing her arms over her chest. “If you don’t believe me, trust Jameson. He’s met the boy.” Somehow, neither warning is swaying you. You weren’t one for rumours. Would much rather see the horror for yourself and be the judge of it, than just blindly abide to hearsay. For all you knew, he might just be a little off kilter, but a notch too far for your tight knit community to accept.

Maybe, he was just as lonely as you were. Maybe, he also just needed a friend. “We all just want what’s best for you, okay?” Your mother continues when she notices you’ve gone silent - getting lost in a mind that she just knew was growing more and more dangerous with each passing moment. “You need to listen, just this once. You’re a smart girl, act like it.”

Act like it. You’d sure as hell try.

By the afternoon, you’ve finished up lunch and were slipping on a pair of sandals by the back door with a wicker basket hanging from your arm. It was a lovely day outside - all blue skies and warm wind - so it was much favourable to the stuffy quarters of your family’s little homestead. Besides, you really felt like you needed a little time alone after being hounded for the greater half of the morning.

“Where are you goin’?” Your father asks, sat at the dining table with a newspaper in his hands. An ashtray sits in front of him, packed with ash with a smouldering smoke rested precariously on the edge.

“Found a patch of lemongrass out by the willow.” You hum back to him, offering a smile once you’ve fastened your shoes and stood up straight. “Last time I was there it was just shy of being long enough to pick. I think I’ll be able to grab some today.”

“That so?” He reaches forward and picks up his abandoned cigarette, slotting it between his teeth before settling back into his chair again. His calloused fingers rub against the thin paper in his hands as he turns to the next page. “Ma’ would probably like that for the roast shes cookin’ up tonight.” His gaze floats over to you once more and he lets out a soft huff. “Don’t dirty your dress again. Got an earful from ‘er last time she had to scrub grass stains from the knees.”

“I won’t.” You laugh sheepishly, but it’s a half-baked lie. You never try to, but somehow you always find yourself coming home with dirt on the hems and moss caked into your knees. You had an affinity for lying beneath the old willow, sinking into the soft patch of grass below whilst sun shone down on you through the gaps in the branches. Nature wasn’t as gentle as you were though, and always left you sullied by the time you walked back through your front door.

But that was alright. You’d just have to do your own laundry next time. Surely that would make up for it.

The sun heats your skin once you step through the door and skip down the steps of the back porch. The gentle sound of wind chimes meets your ears, a soft melody that brings a smile to your face even as you drift further away from the source. The wind carries you as you pad through the soft grass that made up most of your backyard, bordered with a slew of different crops.

Tomatoes, peppers, sweet peas - basically every vegetable your mother wanted constant free access to. Your favourites, were the potatoes- a variety spanning from golden russets to deep purple yams. It was simply the most fun, on the rare occasion that you’d convince your father to let you slip into a pair of Jameson’s old overalls and pluck each nugget from the ground with your bare hands. Dirt under your fingernails, mud on your elbows, sinking your hands into the earth that kept you fed and provided for.

You make a mental note to try and get him to let you next time. You pass the vegetable crops and venture out further, through the plowed land that served as a home for your father’s pride and joy - his corn field. Spanning acres, what felt like miles and miles of husks waiting to be peeled, the scent so fresh and sweet as you trudged through it. If there was an easier route to get where you needed to be, you didn’t care. Wading through the leaves and stems was a simple pleasure you wouldn’t deny yourself. It tickled as they brushed against your bare skin, stray hairs from the cobs catching in your hair and being carried away by you.

It’s a trek for sure, but it was the length of the journey that calmed your mind. The distance from your home that freed you, at least for now.

By the time you get to the willow tree your shows are caked with dirt, and the bottom hem of your dress is dusted brown from the earth it dragged against. Predictable. You have to hop the small fence that serves as the boundary line for your property, and once your feet land on the other side your heart feels lighter.

You had just barely left home, and yet you felt so far away. It was a euphoric feeling, to be all on your own.

Walking closer, you drop your basket on the ground before sinking into a crouch then flopping onto your back. You hadn’t lied to your father, there was a patch of lemongrass close by that was probably ready for picking, but that was your secondary motive in all honesty. The primary motive, was this. Lying beneath the willow with weeds in your hair, moss staining your dress, dirt sinking into your stockings when you slip your sandals off.

The breeze is warm, and the air is warmer. When you close your eyes and stretch your arms above your head, you feel like a cat stretching out in a spot of sunlight - relaxed, content. Free. You could spend hours like this, and you have before. Lying here until the sun went down and sent a chill through your bones. Sinking into the earth, letting it claim your body as its own for a few hours.

Whenever you die, you wish to be buried here. To have the roots of this tree wrap your corpse in an everlasting embrace. Keeping you close. Winding into your ribs and filling the space where your heart once was. It had been there when others hadn’t. It had watched you grow up, and absorbed your tears into its bark. You were one. A piece of you wound into each ring in its trunk.

You stretch your limbs, then bringing a leg up to bend at the knee. Your dress rises dangerously high, lace against your thigh. Exposing skin never seen, to air that would never speak of it. You bring your hands up to your face, cheeks rosy from the sun, and you hold them there. You can feel how warm you’ve become. How the sun has blanketed you in its heat, providing you with the comfort you so deeply craved.

It was times like these, that you felt guilty for calling yourself lonely. You had the sun, and the earth, and the willow that stood sturdy no matter what storm ripped past. You had all these constants, and they should be enough.

But they’re not. Not even close.

You want the warmth of hands. Hands, that loved you and held you close. Hands, that brushed upon places you had never shown another, imbuing you with a heat you couldn’t produce yourself. You wanted breath that brushed against you softer than the breeze did, causing goosebumps to rise despite the temperate nature of it.

You wanted arms to snake around you like these roots would when you were long gone. Curling around your body, constrictive yet grounding. Tight enough to make your breath shallow.

You wanted a man.

A real one. One who knew what you wanted, and abided to it. One who would kiss the souls of your feet, just to make sure every step of yours was blessed by his protection.

You wanted to feel, taste, love someone who held you just as dear.

But it was slim pickings, in a place like this.

You reach into your cleavage, fingers clasping the warmed metal of the crucifix that rested there. You knew it was sin, but was it not also human nature? Were we not born to crave one another? How else would this species live on?

How could one live, without the embrace of another? How could one die, never experiencing it? You wondered sometimes if you would. If you’d take after Mary, and leave this earth as a virgin unsullied.

Your pastor would probably say that was a blessing of the highest honour. You would call it punishment.

You needed it. Craved it like a starving dog craved a bone to slobber on. You could only imagine how it would really feel, but you were sure that your mind didn’t come close to reality. You didn’t have enough information to accurately picture how calloused palms may feel against your soft skin, or how blunt teeth may feel as they bite into your neck.

The crucifix feels hot in your palm, almost like it knows it’s in the grip of a sinner. But you just hold it tighter, like strengthening your grasp may make up for your lack in faith.

Forgive me, Father, for I am just a woman. Your other knee comes up, bumping into the one next to it. Your hair splays beneath you, like a halo surrounding this fallen angel. Is it truly so wrong, to want to be loved in the highest form?

You feel the breeze hit the backs of your thighs, exposed with your legs drawn close. You wonder if the soft tickle is similar to how it would feel if it were someone’s fingertips instead. Your thighs twitch just from the thought.

Would they touch you like you were something holy? Would they whisper your name in your ear like you were gospel? Would they take you apart, just to remake you in their image?

Would they love you? Truly?

Could you find love in a place like this?

You aren’t even thinking as the cross slips from your fingers, in favour of trailing your fingers against the exposed neckline of your dress. Across your collarbones, yours fingers sweeping over the swell of your chest. With eyes closed, you sink into it, grass in your hair as the pads of your fingers skirt against your warming body.

You were a woman, but were you? Were you not just still a girl, blind to the pleasures hidden from you? You could touch yourself all you wanted, but would it ever be the same?

You wouldn’t know until you felt it for yourself.

You rest your palm on your stomach, right over your womb, curling your fingers gently into the soft material of your dress. You wouldn’t dare venture lower - not with the cross hanging around your neck. You would press your thighs together though, as if it were less of a sin if your hands left the ordeal unstained. You press them together tight, shifting, trying to generate any form of stimulation to placate you.

It works, a little. Enough to send tingles up your thighs. Enough to make your stomach flip. It was just shy of pleasure, so it couldn’t truly be wrong, right?

You shift again, rubbing your thighs together more as your fingers grip the fabric between them tighter. You can feel it. The heat, just barely brewing. So close, but just out of reach. You could have it, if you just slipped your hand down lower.

No one was watching. No one would know.

God would. But would he turn a blind eye, just this once?

You had always, always been good. Would one sin damn you? If so, where was the fairness in that from a god supposedly so compassionate?

If you repented, would it all be erased?

Even if you didn’t, what was the difference? You knew it was wrong either way.

(Or did you?)

You’re just taking the bait, slowly sliding your hand down lower, lower - towards the hem of your dress. Towards a place that was simply a gateway to hell if you laid your fingers on it. You were just about to give it all up, succumb to your desires and worry about repentance later. But then-

“A-Ah, shit. I didn’t expect to see anyone a-around here.”

Your entire body jolts, eyes flying open and being temporarily blinded by the sun. Before you even look at who’s just spoken to you, you’re sitting up and tugging your dress back down to your ankles. It didn’t matter who it was, that voice was a man’s. Low, gravelly. Soft, and wracked with stutters, but a man nonetheless.

A man who had just undoubtedly seen you, mere seconds away from indulging in your wicked desires.

Once you’re completely sure that any bare skin is far out of sight, you finally look up, and immediately your eyes widen.

It’s a man alright, just five feet away (give or take). He stands tall, or maybe it’s just an illusion because you’re still sat on the grass. Brown hair, fluffy and unruly - visibly knotted even from the distance between you. Honey brown eyes, freckles spotting the bridge of his nose and trickling down his cheeks. A bandage on the left side of his face, placed right next to the side of his mouth.

You’re speechless. Speechless as you look up at him. Speechless as he takes a hesitant step forwards. Cautious. Restrained. Like a person approaching a scared animal. Maybe that’s exactly what you were.

Baggy jeans hang off of his hips, ripped at the knees and visibly well worn. A slate grey shirt hugs his torso, covered mostly by the dark brown flannel shrugged over top of it. A black baseball cap completes the look.

The look of trouble. You can sense it before you even open your mouth. Or, it could be that you were just being presumptuous, considering that this was the first man who had spoken to you (besides your father, Jameson, and your preacher) in years.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone here.” You murmur back once you’ve found your voice, sitting up more as you eye him curiously. You just can’t tear your eyes away from him. Away from everything that makes him so much different than you. The wrinkles in his clothes, the stubble on his jaw. The way he carried himself - shoulders square with his hands tucked into his pockets. “This is my tree.”

“Your t-tree?” The man laughs and raises an eyebrow, taking another step forwards that has your entire body tensing up. Not that close in the grand scheme of things, but far too close for your comfort. “I didn’t know people c-could c-claim trees around here.” He tilts his head to the side. “B-Besides, isn’t this unclaimed land?”

“Technically.” You narrow your eyes up at him, trying to gauge his intentions. He looked harmless, but was he? Was anyone? “But I’ve been coming to this tree for years and never had another soul wander close.” You cross your arms over your chest. “Therefore, it’s mine.”

“Y-Yeah?” The man shifts from one foot to the other, and you’ve noticed that he’s rather fidgety. Shifting, twitching, like something inside him was trying to burst free from his body. “I-I’ve been coming here too though, and I-I’ve never seen you.”

“You have not.” You argue back immediately.

“I ha-have too.” He laughs softly, eyes warming at your immediate defiance. It was cute, how something that looked so sweet seemed to have so much bite. “C-Come here all the time when home gets buh-boring. Have since I m-moved in.” You watch curiously as his shoulders jolt, a strange sudden motion that had you raising an eyebrow.

“No you haven’t.” You press as you cross your arms over your chest. You’ve never seen this man, not even once. You knew that it wasn’t possible for you to keep an eye on this place all the time, but the chances of never running into him? Slim. Incredibly slim. For all you knew, this was all just a ploy to gain your trust. “I’ve never seen you ‘round here. I’d know it if I did.”

“Oh, s-so you’re here 24/7 then?” He snorts, rolling his eyes minutely. He takes another step closer, then another, so quickly encroaching on your bubble of personal space. “Or, w-what? You g-got cameras set up?” He makes a show at looking upwards and peering through the leaves, sarcastically scanning the area. You narrow your eyes.

Before you can say anything else, he’s already crouching down before sitting against the grass next to you. Still with a few feet in between, but the action makes your eyes widen nonetheless. You can observe him so much better now. How his eyes looked so dark until the sun hit them, and suddenly they were transfiguring from molasses to pools of honey. The slash in his eyebrow, a scar that left a permanent gap between the hairs. His eyelashes, quite long for a man you thought, fluttering against his cheek every time he blinked.

He smelled like pine and tobacco. It wafted over to you, like a beckoning call to get closer. You wouldn’t. “Can’t we share?” He asks you, leaning back on his palms and turning his head to the side to meet your gaze. You avert your eyes immediately. “I th-think you’re being selfish, keeping something so nice all t-to yourself.”

“And I think you’re being entitled.” You mutter back to him, lips twitched down into a frown.

You watch as he lets out a snort of laughter, a sound that caused his expression to crinkle. Little creases appearing at the corners or his eyes and the bridge or his nose.

“M-Maybe I am.” He shrugs. He tilts his head back, fluffy brown strands of hair falling into his eyes as he looks up through the leaves to the blue sky above. “Or, maybe I just want some c-company. It’s lonely around he-here.”

And for the first time during the conversation, you feel like you can’t argue. Because he was right. It was lonely around here. Agonizingly so. Bringing forth the type of loneliness that sunk into your bones like rot, festering more and more each day. Until one day, the sun rose, and you were completely infected. Numb to the melancholy around you.

That day hadn’t come upon you yet, but you feared you were close. “Y-You got a name?” He asks when your response is mere silence, and your eyes flicker up to meet his.

You know you shouldn’t tell him. Names… They held a lot of power. Transformed strangers into acquaintances. Opened a door that couldn’t easily be shut. If you told him, you couldn’t so easily brush him off if you ever saw him again.

Your name was a snippet of who you were. Something not to be taken lightly.

And yet, you find yourself uttering it out anyways. Soft, carried away by the breeze around you - but he hears it. He hears it clear as day.

“Puh-Pretty.” He hums back to you, lips twitched up at the corners in a way that made your heart flutter. A feeling so foreign to you, that it immediately elicited panic in your mind. “Suits you. Y-You’re a pretty thing.” Again, your heart skips a beat. Were you dying? Your pulse has skyrocketed and was doing flips in your chest. Surely, you must be dying. Before you can attempt to get a word out in response, he’s speaking again. “I’m T-Toby.”

Toby. It’s a nice name, soft and boyish. You mill it over in your brain a few times, imagining how the syllables would taste on your tongue. The craving is too strong to stay silent.

“Toby.” You murmur back to him, testing out the sound as it leaves your mouth. You like it, you decide. “Is that short for somethin’?”

The man - Toby - raised an eyebrow at you and lets out a soft chuckle. It’s a nice sound, deep and smooth, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Very quickly, the distain you had felt for him when he first approached was fizzling away. Even if your mind was on edge, your body was so clearly craving the presence or another. Still a few feet between you, but now you were itching to minimize the space a little. Not enough to touch, of course not, just enough to… Observe him better. Your curiosity was, once again, getting the better of you.

But how could it not? The man beside you was a bundle of unanswered questions, just waiting to be dug into. This was just the excitement you had been looking for.

“I-If you must know…” Toby answers with a dramatic sigh, making your lips twitch as you try to contain a smile. You fail, and his grin only widens when he sees your lips curve. Got her. “It’s short for T-Tobias. Tobias Rogers.”

You can practically hear the glass break when the light atmosphere is shattered.

Rogers? Like… Rogers, Rogers?

The very same that your entire family had spent the greater half of the day warning you to stay far away from? The criminal? The ‘bad news’? The ‘freak’, as Jameson had so eloquently put it?

Toby sees it when your lips part in shock, and the colour slowly begins to drain from your face. Rosy cheeks swapped for a shell-shocked pale tone. It’s staggering, how quickly your mood flipped just from the mention of his name alone. He furrows his eyebrows, and tilts his head to the side a little. “D-Damn, is it that bad? We can just stick to T-Toby then.”

You swallow thickly and take a breath, your eyes locked on his face - practically impossible for you to tear away. He couldn’t be the same person, right? You were being presumptuous.

Jameson had described him as a ‘gnarly looking fellow’, and he didn’t look like that to you. There were a few little scars here and there on his face, but nothing enough to warrant such a grim description. Your eyes drift, catching on the bandaging covering a solid portion of the left half of his face. You wonder what lay beneath it. Was it ‘torn to shreds’ just as your brother had said?

“Why are you all bandaged up?” You blurt out, unable to contain yourself. You just had to know. You felt like you may burst or you didn’t.

You watch as Toby’s lips tug even further down, his eyes flashing with something you couldn’t quite describe. The closest match would probably be shame.

“Manners, much?” He mutters as he catches your eye. “That side of my f-face ain’t pretty. I’d rather k-keep it covered.” He pauses for just a moment. “Especially around s-someone like you.”

You hum softly in response, but you’re nowhere near satisfied by his answer. You needed proof. Proof that your luck truly was laughable, and that sheer coincidence was making a fool out of you. If it was true, and this was who you had been warned about, it’s almost funny how you didn’t even need to try and seek him out. He found you.

Was that fate? Was it God delivering him to you?

And if so, could he truly be that bad?

Unless-

Toby watches you, waiting for your next move as he reached up with his left hand to absentmindedly pick at his bandage. His hands were littered with scars too, the skin on his fingertips red and raw. Nails bitten to the bone. You wonder, against yourself, how they would feel against your skin. They looked so much different than your own soft, unmarred hands. Rough and worn. Battered to such an extent that left you wondering how they had become that way. Not even your father, a man who worked the farm day in and day out, had hands like that.

Would his touch be as rough as he looked? Or would he be gentle, so to preserve your fragility?

-Unless it was a test of faith.

“You can show me.” You speak back to him, pushing your hair over your shoulder as you lean to the side a little. Just barely bridging the distance between the two of you. Testing the waters. “Promise I won’t make fun of ya’.”

That earns a snort of a laugh out of Toby, before he’s shaking his head softly in disbelief.

“I’d sure hope n-not.” Toby chuckles, then pulling his hand back down in favour of leaning back against it once more. “Not today though, darlin’. You’re j-just starting to used t-t-fuck! -to me.” You watch curiously as his shoulders jerk, his head cracking to the side in a way that both looked and sounded painful. Of course, he catches onto your worried gaze pretty quickly. “S-Sorry.” His face crinkles up in embarrassment. “It’s, uh-“ His hand lifts up to wave around absently. “This thing I got. T-Tourette’s.”

And suddenly, you get it. You don’t think a place like this would take kindly to someone like him, regardless of what his true nature was. He was different. Different in a way that wouldn’t so easily be glossed over by people who had been set in their own ways for far too long. Barely any outsiders were accepted warmly into your close-knit community, and so one that was so clearly a contrasting force? Not a chance.

But you weren’t put off. Weren’t scared or disgusted like every other member of your community seemed to be. If anything it made you angry at them. For being so unforgiving, though forgiveness was the very thing they nodded along to when the pastor preached about it.

What hypocrites.

“S’Not a problem.” You wave him off, offering him a kind little smile. He deserved it, you think. Everyone deserved to be treated kindly, but him especially. You could just feel it in your bones, that compassion wasn’t something Toby was often dealt. He was probably far lonelier than you. You don’t suppose you can blame him, for trying to find a connection with someone else, though he had startled you at first. At the end of the day, that’s all you wanted as well. “Don’t gotta be sorry about it. ‘Specially if it’s something you can’t control.”

You shrug softly, then meet his gaze as a gust of wind sent your hair into a flurry.

And though you didn’t know it, that would be the exact moment when Toby fell for you.

You were… So kind. So kind, gentle, and sweet. And so pretty too. The way the sunlight was hitting you right then made it look as if you were glowing - golden rays hitting your unblemished skin like the sun was created simply to shine a spotlight on you. You looked like an angel. Maybe you were. With your sparkling eyes, fluttering lashes, and flowing white fabric draped over your body, the only thing you were missing was a pair of wings.

His fingers curl into the grass beneath him, accidentally ripping out a few blades in his grip as he tries to reign in his thoughts. How could someone so lovely live in this place? Riddled with bigotry and sour expressions. How had they not tainted you? And did he even deserve to be in the presence of your purity?

Probably not. He met your eyes again, so warm and inviting. Definitely not.

“Y-You’re a sweet thing.” He mutters softly, tilting his head to the side a little. “Has anyone ever t-told you that?”

“My mama, sometimes.” You giggle, now fully scooting closer though you can so clearly hear the words your mother had spoken to you just this morning. ‘You’re a sweet thing. You need somebody who matches that.’ Grass smears against your dress as you shuffle towards him, leaving lime green stains against cream fabric. Sorry mama, for more reasons than one. “Y’know, she warned me about you.”

Toby’s breath hitches in his throat as he watches you approach him, finally eliminating the space he had created to be courteous. He could smell you now - fresh linen and lavender - and he could pick out all of the tiny features on your face that made you… You. He could see each little flyaway strand of hair that went into a frenzy whenever the breeze hit you. He could imagine the warmth of your skin when his eyes fixated on the rosiness to your cheeks.

He’s so caught up in how dizzyingly beautiful you are up close, that he nearly misses what you say completely. When the words do register though, his eyes are flicking back to meet yours as a frown tugs his lips downwards.

“W-Warned you?” He raises an eyebrow. “‘Bout what? I didn’t d-do nothin’.”

“Didn’t you?” You giggle softly and narrow your eyes at him playfully. Even if he was trouble, it was so fun to talk to somebody that wasn’t directly a part of the circle you had grown accustomed to. It was exciting. So many unknowns that it made your blood simmer with the need to dig in deeper. “It’s a small town y’know, people talk.” You pull your knees up to your chest and rest your forearms on them as you gaze up at him. “Locals are sayin’ you’re a criminal. And my daddy’s convinced you’re the one who keeps knockin’ down our fence.”

You nod your head in the direction of your property, to which Toby’s gaze follows. Immediately, his expression morphs into one of sheepish realization.

“Hmm… Y-Yeah, that might’ve been me.” He laughs softly, a cocky little smile playing at his lips. “Tell your ‘daddy’ he built his f-fence too close to the- the road. Pretty easy to lose control on g-gravel streets.”

You snort out a laugh and roll your eyes. You’d probably spit in your father’s face before ever criticizing one of his creations. Still though, the thought is funny to you.

“So it was you.” You grin up at him. “Are the rest of the rumours true then? Did ya’ really steal a patrol car?”

His eyebrows shoot up immediately, a look of bewildered amusement coating his expression.

“Christ, country folk are s-scary. How’d you know th-th-“ He draws out that first syllable for a couple seconds, like the word is hard for him to form. After a couple tries, he gets it. “-that?”

“I told you, people talk.” You laugh softly as you lean back on your hands. Your shoulder brushes against his just minutely, but it’s enough contact to raise goosebumps on your arms. “So is it true?”

Toby scoffs softly, before glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. You’re so close now. Welcoming him into your personal bubble so easily, looking up at him with those sweet doe-like eyes. For just a split second, his eyes flicker downwards towards your cleavage - smushed together from the way you were sitting leaned towards him, presented so beautifully in that silken white fabric.

He just knew that you had to be so soft. Could already imagine what your breasts would feel like against his palms - cushy warm flesh, yielding to his hands. He could only dream of what you would sound like it as he did it too. With a voice so soft and lovely, you’d probably sound like heaven itself as you breathed out little whimpers and moans.

He bet that you’d be shy about it. Refusing to meet his eye, flushed pink and pretty as you tug at your bottom lip to try and keep all of your noises at bay. But you wouldn’t stop him. No… You probably look up at him with both desperation and embarrassment clouding your eyes, before you hesitantly tugged him in closer.

Maybe he’d make you beg for it, just to see you squirm. Just to see your eyes shine with tears of humiliation.

He could imagine how your thighs would quiver when he gently pushed them apart. How you’d gasp when he touched you for the first time. How pretty your skin would look, with splotchy red marks and indentations from his teeth.

He could imagine ruining you. Tearing off your wings with his bare hands.

You were a sinful temptation, and you didn’t even know it. Looking up at him like he was the perfect picture of a good man. He wasn’t.

He was rotten. Had been since birth, most likely, because he couldn’t remember a day in his life where misfortune didn’t follow him. He was careless, impulsive, brash, and short-tempered. He would taint you the second you touched, infecting you with the decay hollowing out his bones.

He wanted to do it anyway.

“A-And if I did?” He asks with a sly smile, leaning into you with full intentions - just to see how you’d react. He’s delighted when you don’t move away, but he does feel how you instinctively tense up at the pressure of his shoulder pressing against yours. So timid. Had you ever been touched? “Would it ss-scare you off?”

You can feel his warmth through your clothing. The contact point where his shoulder meets yours being so warm in comparison to the rest of you. His bicep presses against yours when he shifts a little, and you can feel the lean muscle hidden under his flannel. What would it feel like to really touch him? To feel his muscles flex under your grip?

It’s barely anything. Just the slightest contact, but your head was already spinning. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to a man, and your body was very clearly elated by the prospect. Hormones? Human nature? You weren’t sure what it was, but you were absolutely captivated by every little thing about him. You were trying to stay restrained, but these depraved thoughts just kept worming their way into your brain and speaking louder than the rest.

Would it scare you off? No, you knew that it would only entice you. You could feel it, how the idea of his misdeeds was only making him seem that much more desirable to you.

Trouble. Bad news. Then why did it seem so exciting? Why did he set your mind alight?

Maybe his natural charisma was a trap. A trap that you were so easily falling for, like a mouse too fixated on the prospect of cheese to see the danger.

“No.” You hum, tilting your head upwards to look at him better. He was very handsome. Sharp features but soft eyes. Shaggy, unruly hair, and yet it looked so silky. Stubble on his chin and along his jaw, framing his already captivating face. You were already in too deep. You could tell. “I’m not so easily scared. I’m not some delicate flower, y’know.”

Toby raises an eyebrow at you, clearly not convinced. And though he really was trying not to scare you off, the urge to push just a little bit further was getting harder to ignore. He could see it in your eyes, how receptive you were. Skittish, a little shy by nature, but clearly still wanting more. If you didn’t, then why hadn’t you moved away? Why were you the one to close the distance initially?

You were prodding at his personal space like a scared little kitten. Curious, but still on guard. Could he break down your walls a little? Would you let him get closer?

Toby lifts his hand up, his moments fluid and confident as he reaches down towards your face. Your eyes widen immediately, breath catching in your throat as his hand approaches you. Gently, like he’s scared to break you, his fingers brush the skin of your cheek before he tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Your cheeks heat up immediately, momentarily frozen in placeby the tender contact. It’s like he’s cast a spell on you, and only once his hand leaves you does it break. Still though, you’re left shell-shocked with shaky breathing as his touch retreats.

“Aren’t you?” Toby asks, leaning back on his hands once more. He can’t hide the smile on his lips as he observed you - so flustered by the smallest touch. You were definitely innocent. From that reaction alone, he’d be surprised if you’d ever been kissed before. Just like that, his mind started whirring with images or what if would be like to do so. Guiding you, slow and gentle. Showing you the ropes. “You sure l-look like one.”

You feel dizzy. Your skin tingling like he was setting you on fire with just his eyes alone. He was looking at you in a way that made your lungs feel tight. Amused, and yet tainted with something deeper. Something darker. Something you had never encountered before. Heady. Carnal.

You couldn’t quite tell if you were intimidated or enraptured.

All you knew, was that your heart had never beat quicker than now. “But… Yeah, I m-might’ve done that.” Toby continues, knowing you’re probably too ruffled to respond properly. “Among other th-things.”

Trying to regain your composure, you swallow thickly and take in a shaky breath. You didn’t want him to know just how easily he was sending your mind into a frenzy. Little did you know, he already did.

“Why?” You ask softly, eyeing him curiously. What did he want from you? What did that expression mean?

Toby hums softly, reaching up to scratch the stubble on his jaw before answering.

“For fun, I g-guess.” He breathes out, sending you a playful grin that made your stomach flip. “Mostly just t-to- to piss my dad off.” You watch his hand as it moves, your skin still tingling where it had touched you. You wonder if he’d do it again. “He moved me out h-here hoping it would calm me d-down, but it just made it all worse. It’s so boring out here, I’m more restless than- than ever.”

He tilts his head down, smiling down at you. “What do you do around here f-for fun?”

You’re a little caught off guard by that question, and it’s hard not to shrink under his gaze. If he really wanted to, it would barely take any effort to close the rest of the distance between you. That possibility, is enough to make you squirm.

“For fun?” You repeat back softly. “Um… Come here?” You laugh sheepishly and look up towards the leaves above you. An easy escape from his paralyzing gaze. “Water our crops.. Read, help my mom sew up old clothes.” You shrug. “Not much else.”

“Really?” Toby asks incredulously, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. That sounded like such an agonizingly boring life, it nearly made his skin crawl. “You don’t d-do anything else? G-Go anywhere?”

You shake your head, before looking to him once more.

“Nah. My daddy doesn’t like it if I wander off somewhere he couldn’t easily find me.” You shrug. “That fence right there is our property. This is as far as I go on my own. Mama takes me to the market sometimes though, and my whole family goes into town for church on Sunday.”

That just makes Toby’s frown deepen. It seemed to him like you were being kept on a leash, hidden away from every interesting thing that life had to offer. How were you not so incredibly restless? Had you lived your whole life this way? Confined within the fence posts of your family’s property.

“That’s… Not right.” Toby speaks back to you slowly. “There’s a whole world out there. D-Don’t you want to see it?”

“Well, of course.” You murmur softly, gaze dropping down to where your hands were folded on your lap. It was strange, having someone agree with what you believed were just troublesome thoughts. Thoughts that had been shot down since you were a child, never once indulged in or encouraged. “But it’s not what you think… They’re just trying to keep me safe.”

“I think it’s exactly w-what I think.” Toby argues back, his eyebrows furrowed. “They don’t want to keep you safe, they want t-to keep you- you- fuck! -contained. Controlled.” His words make your shoulders tense up. “You’re an adult, r-right? Why’re you letting them treat you like a kid?”

“I’m not.” You frown, to which Toby merely scoffs.

“You are.” He protests. “It’s your l-life, you know? Not theirs. Y-You should live it.” He leans his head down lower, practically caging you in as he encroaches on your personal space. “Or are you t-too scared?”

“I ain’t scared.” You snap back at him, eyes narrowing up at him.

“No?” He laughs, eyes crinkling in amusement. You were so cute, it made his chest feel tight. He could definitely understand the need to protect someone like you. God forbid you fall into the clutches of someone like him. “T-Tell you what,” He grins down at you. “If you’re really not scared, l-let me take you out tonight.” Your eyes widen, and you just look even cuter. “I’ll pick you up in my truck. D-Drive you around. Show you a bunch of places I think you’d l-like. How’s that sound?”

Scary. Perfect. Dangerous. Exhilarating.

Like a recipe for disaster.

“I… I dunno if that’s a good idea.” You mumble. “I’d have to sneak out. And… If my daddy saw you trying to take me away he’d probably shoot ya’.”

Toby barks out a laugh, tilting his head back and taking in a wheezing breath like you had just told him something hilarious - and not a threat against his life. A few more giggles slip past his lips before he’s able to contain himself, and he lets out an amused sigh before looking back to you.

“I’m sure h-he would.” He chuckles. “But I’ll take that risk.” His laugh is so warm and addictive, it’s hard for you not to break into a grin as well. “S-Sneak out after he’s sleepin’ then, if you’re so w-worried about me. And I’ll pick ya’ up here, just to be safe.”

He really didn’t quit, did he? His insistence was more charming than anything else though. The idea of him wanting to spend more time with you this badly, was something that made your heart skip a beat. “If he somehow still manages t-to catch you, and he d-does put a hole in my head, I’d still say it was worth it.”

You want to. You really want to. And how the hell are you supposed to stay rational when he’s staring down at you with the warmest brown eyes you’ve ever seen? You’re trying to fight it, but it’s futile. You know you’re going to say yes. It’s a golden opportunity. When’s the next time you’ll be offered freedom like this?

“Okay.” You find yourself muttering out, the wind whistling in your ears and rising goosebumps on your arms. Or was it because of him, and how his aura was so effortlessly subjugating? “Okay.” You repeat, louder this time, almost like you’re trying to convince yourself that you’re truly giving in.

But the smile that Toby gives you in response? It makes all of the apprehension dissipate. He smiles at you like you’ve just offered him the world. Eyes gleaming, expression wrinkling with elation.

“Yeah?” He grins, then nudging your shoulder lightly with his own. “I’ll show y-you a good time, p-promise. And I’ll get you home safe. N-No one will be the wiser.”

“You better.” You giggle. ““I’m taking a big risk for you, you know. Never done anything like this.”

He bet you hadn’t. Bet you wouldn’t know a good time if it stared you in the eye. He could teach you so much. Teach you everything, and more. And maybe, if you liked him enough, you’d let him keep you.

Maybe you’d let him get you out of here, show you what life’s all about, as if he knew. You could figure it out together.

“And for that I-I’m grateful.” He smiles, leaning into you a bit more. “I’ll pick you up a-at midnight, right here.” He was already practically buzzing with anticipation. “Y-You better not stand me up.”

“I won’t.” And you’re leaning right back into him, because it just feels right. Feels like something you need.

“Good.” Toby hums, feeling so satisfied with himself he almost feels guilty. Almost. It’s hard to really, when he’s got someone like you sinking into him so easily. He knew he couldn’t give you what you deserved, but he was sure he could give you something better than you were accustomed to.

That was enough, right?

You probably didn’t even know what a good man acted like. “Then I’ll see you a-at midnight. Wear somethin’ warm.”

You would, though you weren’t sure if you would even need it. Just being around him seemed to make your skin heat up.

Your brother was right, he definitely was trouble.

But maybe that was exactly what you needed.

—————————————————————————☆

getting part one up then working on asks!!

I’ve just really been wanting to get this one out here,, everyone say thank you to ethel cain for placing this idea in my mind!

part two is where all the goody goody will be, and I’m hoping to get it up by next week maybe?? Idk we’ll see

thank you for reading! and thank you to all of my new followers who have been so kind <3