#although she's barely built?

[carrotcouple]

@rest-in-bees and I have a weekly ritual where we fight Scara's weekly boss even though we don't need his drops (because he's my favorite little meow meow)

[gravegoer]

i humbly suggest pirate sevika in small letters

thank you for your service

Sail the Seven Seas ☠︎︎

i had this in the works ! you read my mind, we have cowboy sevika, but we absolutely need pirate sevika, i did a little "how you met" before the hcs ! also ill greatfully take any other requests for pirate sevika i love her sm (i hope you appreciate the pirate hat i edited on her lol)

She found you when her crew was raiding a ship, you were kept prisoner in the dark dungeons below deck after the pirates robbed a bar.

Sevika was inclined to leave you there, as she was in a rush. But your pleading eyes convinced her.

She told you to back up and pulled the flimsy metal door right off the hinges. Your only experience with pirates was your former kidnappers.

They were ruthless and had not a care in the world. They were greedy enough to pat you down even though you cried and insisted you had no form of money on you other than the jewelry they had ripped from your limbs.

But after she ripped the door off, she simply walked away, not sparing you a second glance. She set you free, but now what? Were you supposed to swim to land?

You hesitated before running up the old wooden stairs, the faint moonlight beamed on your face. It smelled fresh on deck, no longer having the musky odor of mold and wood filling your nose.

You were also greeted with the sight of the woman that freed you, her back facing you and pointing to crew members, yelling orders. She must be the captain, signified by her detailed hat and especially the way the crew listened to her.

People scurried under her gaze almost cowardly. Boxes were being hauled onto a much bigger ship (which you assumed was hers) over a wooden plank.

She was tall and obviously built. You could tell even though she was adorned with many layers, straps, and belts accentuated her curves and edges. She had a metal prosthetic that looked dangerous. Not only that, but a gun and two swords hung from her waist.

You approached her timidly, the floorboards squeaking under your bare feet. When you sat a hand on her arm, urging her to turn around, she put a larger hand on the hilt of her sword defensively and spun to face you.

At just the force of it, you stumbled back. She was strong. Your eyes widened at her hands, hovering over the holster of her weapon. She spoke, "What are you trying to do?"

Her voice was gruff and demanding, leaving no room for questions. "I don't have anywhere to go," you stated honestly.

"And what do you expect me to do about that."

Although she put on the front of a rough demeanor, her eyes scanned your frame in curiosity. Worn clothes hung from your body, hair a mess, and despite it all, you were quite pretty.

She knew she couldn't take you on a ship with a bunch of men. In her eyes, it was almost as dangerous as leaving you on the ship to fend for yourself.

Almost.

She took you onto her ship with the promise that at the next stop they had, she would drop you off there. Whether or not you knew where you were.

Having no better option, you opted to go with her. She didn't shackle you up or restrain you, knowing you could do little to no harm to her or her crew.

She refused to put you in the berth with other pirates. It was stuffy and cramped, and all in all, no place for you.

So you had a room next to her (and an odd blue haired girl). She said it was fine because it's temporary anyway.

She gave you some clothes that fit, and a pair of shoes to put on your feet. And the room was more than you could ask for. It was spacious and contained a lavish bed.

You assumed it was someone else's room previously as it was already decorated. (Plus, she told you not to meddle in any of the stuff)

Sevika didnt expect you to do anything, thinking you werent fit to operate on a ship so, you were not asked to do any work. In all your boredom you found yourself roaming around the ship, looking at the stuff that was collected in each corner. Some trinkets, belts, broken weapons, etc.

Sevika watched you closely, making sure you didn't have any ulterior motives. Eventually, she realized that you were nothing but curious.

Then she watched you closely to make sure you didn't fall overboard.

At meals, you stuck close by her side, not really knowing anyone on board yet. She gave you things off her plate, saying you looked starved. And you didn't complain. You weren't really fed in the dungeons.

She started to show you around the deck, answering your questions about the sea and her ship. When you started to ask too many questions, she sighed and shook her head, wandering off to attend to her duties.

She was truly a mystery to you, not being able to read her gaze or body language. But what you did know is that she was a ruthless captian. Always having something for her crew to do and ordering them around with her loud, booming voice.

She was intimidating in theory, yes. But towards you, she seemed a bit more.. lenient?

Nontheless, in a few days, you finally arrived at their next destination, and you stepped off the ship with everyone. Taking in the way the ground felt against your feet, no longer swaying from side to side.

You had no idea where you were, and even though it didn't seem like a bad place, you couldn't just start anew again. I mean, how were you supposed to rebuild your whole life?

Sevika sensed your anxiety as you wandered through the streets with her crew. She saw your eyes flick side to side, looking at the buildings and people.

She might regret it, but she couldn't just leave you here.

You were growing more worried by the hour, and when night fell and everyone started back to the docks, you felt lost. You stayed behind, watching them load back onto the ship when you felt a warm hand on your shoulder. "You coming?"

Looking up, you locked eyes with Sevika, her brow was cocked and her lips slightly upturned. "You're letting me stay?" You questioned, in shock.

"Well, the ship is leaving soon, so only if you can make it." She teased.

You hugged her tight, wrapping your arms around her large frame. Her eyes widened in shock, not returning the hug before you ran off to the ship.

HC time !!

Now that you were deemed officially a part of the crew you had work to do, scrubbing the deck was a daily task. Even though other crew members seemed to dread it, you enjoyed smelling the fresh ocean air and feeling the wind on your back.

Sometimes you could feel Sevika's eyes on you as you cleaned, she sat at the helm, supposedly watching everyone. But when you turned around you would lock eyes with her and she would smirk.

When she sent the crew out on missions you grew to never be afraid, picking up on how to use weapons easily and fight alongside other people.

She almost admired this about you, it was like you were a natural. Like you belonged on her ship.

You didn't know what was on her mind most of the time. She was always closed off and didn't converse with anyone on ship except for Jinx, who was obviously closer to her than the rest of the crew.

But one fateful night you ran into her when you couldn't seem to get to sleep

You approached the bow of the ship, watching the moonlight reflect off the waves, and the clouds move with the wind. It was quite beautiful at night even though there wasn't much to look at other than water.

Hearing footsteps behind you, you put a hand to your holster but spun around to see Sevika. Seeing her in this light reminded you of the day you met her, but now you were in front of her, compared to the day she found you.

"Up so late?" She questioned, her voice indicated she had waken up recently.

"Yeah, I couldn't fall asleep," You let your guard down again and leaned against the wood, hand cradling your face as you stared back into the sea.

"Y'know.. I didn't think you had it in you." She commented.

"Had what in me?" You chuckled, "The guts to be a pirate?"

You talked for a long while after that, the sun hit the horizon by the time you said your goodbyes. You had a feeling that Sevika wouldn't be a mystery to you for much longer.

Eventually, she would come around to teach you how to fight properly, as you mostly fought based off of what you saw others do. She held your body close to hers, helping you mimic her movements. Feeling the buckles of her belts on your back, the coldness of her metal arm on your waist.

As a matter of fact she taught you a lot of things, like how to steer the ship: putting her hands over yours, pointing in the direction of where to go. Teasing you when your hands got tired, and taking over for you, letting you stand between her and the wheel.

She joined you in the crows nest, sitting beside you on the railing with a hand on your back, making sure you didn't fall. She would direct your telescope to look at nearby land or into the horizon.

You had a lot of talks up there.

Sometimes, the crew wondered what was going on between you two, as you were practically always together. (She denies all allegations.. for now)

She taught you how to wield a sword and fought with you for fun. Letting you win from time-to-time, you knew she let you. I mean, there's no way you'd be able to pin Sevika to the wooden deck without a struggle.

You would catch her sleeping on the helm, her feet kicked up on a chair and her hat on her face. As punishment, you would take her hat and keep it until morning. Then, prancing around the next day with it on, commanding the crew jokingly, pretending to be her.

When she finally caught you, she would sweep you up and take the hat right off your head, chuckling at your mischievousness. Sometimes, she would let you wear her hat, only if you promised not to lose it.

After particularly stressful missions, the crew would throw a small party for their winnings, needing time to wind down. You grew accustomed to the crew, even making a few friends with unlikely people.

You and Jinx drank a bit together and danced around on the table, singing sea shanties loudly. But eventually, Sevika would catch you all. And make you clean up. (But not before having a drink herself)

And it was almost a nightly routine to go up to the deck and talk once everyone was asleep, gazing into the moon with her. It felt natural. You felt like you belonged.

God i love her, i dream about her I swear. I love pirates... and I love sevika, pls send in more pirate sevika asks i wanna do a siren one too ngl maybe how Sevika isnt drawn in by your siren call because the captain is a woman AUGHHHHH

[allurilove]

Yandere Mob Boss x you

*This is inspired by the show called My Sweet Mobster! And this is just a short little drabble! I just quickly wrote this, so if there’s any mistakes, I am probably going to fix it.*

Synopsis: You’re a mommy blogger who shares your life on the internet, and unbeknownst to you, a terrifying and dangerous mob boss starts to watch all of your videos.

He just wanted to wind down for the day. There was nothing more tiring than coercing information out of stubborn little fuckers—people who were a huge threat to his empire—and ending up with nothing when they succumbed to their wounds from hours of torture. He sat in his huge California king bed with the softest sheets known to man, the air conditioning blasting at the perfect temperature for the room, and he scrolled through his YouTube recommendations.

He used the remote to flip through all the channels he had previously watched and liked. But one really caught his interest. He first rolled his eyes when he realized it was one of those mommy “bloggers” who just boasted about how their lives were better than everyone else’s, and how they conveniently got a pass to post the craziest and most intrusive things about their children. Kids getting exploited wasn’t something he wanted to watch, and he was surprised to even see your channel show up on his flat TV screen.

The yandere mob boss mostly watched primitive cooking videos or those men who went out into the wilderness and built houses from the ground up. Although, he was too lazy to click on a button to skip your video, so he decided to give you a shot instead.

You were perfect. Too perfect. It was hard for him not to get sucked in and binge-watch every post you had made. He was absolutely enamored at the sight of you and your adorable children. He barely blinked whenever you came on the screen, and his eyes tried to get a good look and memorize your face completely.

You were just talking about how you liked to make things from scratch, how you kept a little garden in your backyard, and how you got the kids to help you out as a fun activity. He learned that the father of your children was a deadbeat who never wanted to do anything with the kids and left the moment he could. Judging by your frustrated tone in your ‘Get to Know Me’ video, you were upset that he had left you so soon and suddenly. It certainly wasn’t easy for you at first, and you talked about how you wished you had a mentor to help you. Thus, this channel came to be. You wanted to help other women and help all the families that were going through the same thing as you. You were an amazing person, mother, and you gave helpful advice to all the new parents out there.

You were the total opposite of him. You were better.

You wouldn't kill people, you wouldn't threaten and torture them to the brink of death, and you were sickly kind and sweet to everyone. It was nauseating for the man to even think about dealing with hate comments (he got them daily from the news outlet), to edit and figure out what to do for each video, and you started to open his eyes and made him realize that you were practically superwoman.

The yandere mob boss was so grateful that you had posted about a hundred videos on your mommy blog. A hundred videos for him to see a glimpse into your life. There was nothing safe about how you were so open and honest, and certainly, you should have kept your mouth shut about the new place you were about to move into.

For someone who was a YouTuber, you knew nothing about internet safety. He took a mental note of how the interior of your new house looked, and you even showed a bit of the exterior and the neighborhood. He wrote down in his notes to remind himself to look for the exact house on Redfin or Zillow.

The yandere mob boss knew your two children’s names: Lila and Finn. Lila was the youngest of the two; she didn’t look anything like you, which meant she looked like the baby daddy. It was a shame, really, that the cute small girl had to end up with genes from the horrible parent. The eldest stuck to you like glue. He clearly held a candle for his father still, and was having a hard time adjusting to the new lifestyle. Despite that, you continue to push on.

And so did he.

Yandere mob boss binge-watched all of your videos to the point where he knew everything there was to know about you. He knew all the schools you went to, all the partners (you were willing to share) you had previously dated, and he could feel his cold exterior start to crack when he let out a genuine laugh at your witty jokes. He spent hours, weeks, and now months watching your channel flourish and grow.

He smiled when you did. He too let out a sigh of relief after you saved your kid from tripping. He laughed, cried, blushed, and got angry when you did. The expressions and emotions he was feeling were all controlled by your content, and by you personally. You truly had him in the palm of your hand.

[wandaslovey]

𝒽𝒾𝒹𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑒𝑒𝓀

➺ mommy!wanda x reader

not my gif

wc ~ 1.9k

cw: fluff that turns into smut, mommy kink, cunnilingus (r receiving)

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

you have your hand clasped over your mouth to try and silence your breathing. you inhale slowly through your nose, willing yourself to get a grip on yourself.

“5…”

“4…”

“3…”

“2…”

“…1”

you hear wanda reach the end of her countdown, her voice raising half an octave as she calls out the number one.

“alright little dove, here i come..” she calls out in a sing song voice. her tone was tantalizing and teasing, only heightening your excitement and adrenaline as you hide in the big cabinet built into the kitchen island.

“now where, oh where, is my little one hiding…”

you can barely hear her footsteps as she walks through the first floor of the house, her voice sounding a little muffled and far away from where she was currently standing.

“are you going to make it harder for mommy this time? you know it’s never very fun when you just let me win,” she taunts, her voice sounding a little bit closer than before. you hear her throw open the pantry door, her first guess as to where you might be hiding. she makes a small noise that sounds like approval. “oh good, not here in the pantry. looks like you learned your lesson from last time… although, i think you wanted me to catch you in there.. you didn’t even struggle, not even a little.” her voice was wicked and teasing. she loved to taunt you. you hear her walk closer to your hiding spot. you hug your knees tighter against your chest, your heart running a hundred miles per hour.

“are you in.. here?” she calls, opening the door to the supply closet adjacent to the kitchen. “hmm..crafty little dove. i swore i heard you here rustling around.” she shuts the closet door. you breath out a small sigh of relief, thinking maybe you really did outsmart her this time. you lean your head back, miscalculating your position inside the already small space, the sound of your head hitting the wood resounding through the otherwise quiet kitchen.

you hear wanda make a mock gasp of surprise and you instantly straighten up in your hiding spot, your arms wrapped so tightly around your legs as if you hugged them tight enough, it would protect you from being found.

she walks around the kitchen island, chuckling to herself as she kneels in front of the cabinet you were hiding inside. “malen’kaya ptichka…nowhere to run, my darling.” she pauses and then all at once, throws the cabinet doors open, a victorious grin on her face. “aha! there you are.. how did you fit inside here malyshka?” she marvels, looking around the enclosed space that normally houses the pots and pans. you look at her, your expression that of a bashful child who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

“i..i moved them..” you stutter out in a small voice. your were a bit breathless, your cheeks a little flushed from the adrenaline currently coursing through your body.

“oh? before we even started playing? you sneaky little thing… you planned this didn’t you?”

your cheeks blush a deeper shade of pink as you nod your head, a cheeky little smile threatening to crack across your face at your own innovativeness.

“hmm, very clever little dove.. but it’s time to come out now. mommy’s found you, and now she wants to claim her prize…” her voice is alluring and for a second you contemplate obeying, but figure it would be more fun if she forcibly removed you from your hiding place. you make a show of resting your back against the wall of the cabinet, settling yourself as if to get comfortable in your spot. “don’t want to..” you say stubbornly, your chin jutting out.

“what do you mean ‘you don’t want to’? .. you’re really going to make mommy pull you out?” her eyes glaze over with a mixture of amusement and sternness. she always did find your cheeky attitude endearing, but she also had to keep you in line. she wouldn’t ever let you forget your place. you nod your head in silent response to her question, your face fixed in faux determination (it was really just stubbornness).

“oh really? you’re not going to like it if i do..” she warns, scooting her kneeling form closer to the opening of the cabinet. even though it was futile, you try your best to worm your way back into the corner, scooting away from her small advance.

“did you just scoot away from me? you’re such a brat. come…here,” she grunts gently as she reaches in and pulls you out of your corner mid sentence. as she drags you out, she picks you up, intent on setting you on the countertop. you fight against her hold half-heartedly, not really trying as you wanted to get caught in the first place. “it was a clever spot, i’ll admit. but don’t think you won’t have to put all that kitchenware back after i’m done with you.” she ignores your protests and sets you on top of the counter nudging your thighs open so she can stand between your legs.

“mommy wants easier access,” she offers as a brief explanation. “access to what?” you ask meekly, feigning ignorance as you easily slip into your roll as her innocent little girl. “to what?” she echoes, her voice dropping an octave. “do you even need to ask, milaya?” she then leans in, capturing your lips with hers as she plants not one or two, but three chaste kisses on your lips, humming against them as she does so. her hands resting just above your bent knees slide up your naked thighs, pushing your already short dress even higher. you squirm under wanda’s attention, which doesn’t go unnoticed by her.

“mm, someone’s getting a little squirmy.” she pulls back briefly, admiring the sight of you already slowly unraveling. she leans back in, kissing you again. “fuck, you taste good,” she moans softly into your mouth, one of her hands squeezing your soft thighs. you whimper, your panties quickly becoming wet with her ministrations. she tuts and pulls away.

“awwh, what’s the matter sweetheart?” you whine at her feigned ignorance, your legs kicking out petulantly. “you’re being mean..” her face twists into a fake sympathetic frown. “mean? i have no idea what you’re talking about. you like mommy’s kisses, don’t you?” her hand then slips under the very bottom of your dress, her fingers grazing over your panties. you frown, wriggling backwards away from her as she continues to tease you. she chuckles at your silly little attempt to escape her, her hands already hooking under the backs of your knees to pull you closer to the edge of the countertop. “come back here..” her eyes were darkening, flecks of green only visible here and there between the blackness. you can feel your own slickness now dripping onto your thighs, your panties already soaked through. with your legs open around wanda’s frame, you could both smell a hint of your arousal.

“don’t think you’re going anywhere.. mommy played your little game and found you, and now.. mommy’s..going..to..devour you…” she speaks slowly, emphasizing each word as she leans down until your lips are pressed together. she kisses you passionately, her desire for you evident in the kiss. her tongue slips into your mouth, forcing it open as she dominates the kiss. her teeth then bite into your bottom lip, her fingers hooking onto your panties. you moan, feeling her teeth tug on your bottom lip before releasing it. she fights with the material of your panties for a moment, your position on the counter making it difficult to take them off. she groans in frustration before bunching the material together at one side and ripping them off forcefully. you gasp in surprise, her sudden roughness catching you a little off guard. she quickly discards the soiled material, tossing it to the side. your legs press against her sides, your cunt dripping and aching for her touch. she mashes her lips against yours once more, her fingers dragging along your inner thigh before sliding to your core to feel your wetness. she hums her approval, the vibrations lightly tickling your lips. her thumb swirls around your clit a few times as two more of her fingers tease your entrance, gliding up and down your opening. she pulls away from your lips panting, hardly taking a second to breathe before she’s leaning down and her mouth is on your cunt. she licks a firm stripe up your dripping slit, her mouth closing around your clit as she sucks it into her mouth. you moan, your body arching into her face as your hands desperately grasp at the edges of the countertop. your legs threaten to close at the sudden intense stimulation. “nuh uh, you be a good girl and keep these legs open for me, hm?” her tongue swirls and prods at your pussy, never letting up for a second no matter the volume of your squeaks and whimpers. she then thrusts her tongue into your hole, effectively fucking you with it. she occasionally abandons the motion but only to swipe her tongue back up to your sensitive little nub. she shakes her head back and forth, all but moaning into you as she, well… devours you.

you feel that familiar coil in your belly, your hips steadily rutting against her face. her hands hold your hips firmly, her fingernails sure to leave crescent shaped marks once she finally lets you go. “ahh- mommy! i’m gonna cum! fuck- i wanna cum! please!” you whine, your hips bucking more wildly as you chase your high. she chuckles darkly against you, the sound muffled with her head stuffed between your legs. you can hear the embarrassingly wet sloshing sounds as she laps at your drenched pussy. she ignores your pleas, knowing you won’t cum until given permission. “mommy- mommy please! let me cum!” you could feel the coil about to snap and you knew that unless she stopped, you were going to cum without her permission. “cum for me, pretty girl. cum for mommy.” she encourages, her hands still squeezing your hips to try and still your erratic movements. at last, you allow yourself to fly over the edge, the coil finally snapping as you cum all over her pretty face. her hands hold you firmly, her tongue not letting up until she was sure she dragged out every possible morsel of pleasure from you. you whimper and whine, her tongue slowly licking up your now overstimulated cunt. “too much mama…too sensitive,” you mewl, your hands gently pushing against her head.

she hums, placing one final kiss on your clit before taking your hands in hers and kissing them both. she straightens up, standing before you with a satisfied smile on her face. she places a quick kiss against your lips before helping maneuver your body so you dress was back over your bum, now covering your unclothed center. “thank you mommy..” you murmur gently as you wrap your arms around her neck, pulling her close. “for what, honey?” she tilts her head, unsure what you were thanking her for. “for loving me like you do..” you smile cutely at her, your head slightly bowed as you peak up at her through your lashes.

“oh detka, we’re just getting started…”

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

(seven) days a week, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: It only takes seven days (a week) for Jeon Jungkook to get you in his bed to fuck you right. And showing up in weird places. And kissing in the rain. He's crazy. Okay, it's kinda complicated.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language (reader swears a lot); strangers-to-lovers; vague allusions to a loveless childhood and bad parenting (no specifics); JK might be insane and you do tell him that he is; slight crack; fluff; smut (fem reader, fucking with clothes on and off, m and f-receiving oral, light hair pulling, fingering, nipple play, choking, penetrative sex, handjob); non-idol!BTS – persistent!Jungkook x noona, def tsundere!reader lol ft instigator-cupid!Park Jimin setting them up

this directly follows Jung Kook's 'Seven' MV, so make sure to watch it (although I'm sure you've seen it if you wanna read this lmao)

--

monday.

“What? Something on my face?”

You stared at him and he stared back. Wide eyes, slightly parted lips, the look of caught prey and all. You had your hands in front of you, long fingers laced together, elbows on the table. You probably shouldn’t have scowled like that. That was a bit rude, especially to someone you didn’t know well, but this guy had been staring at you all night and barely speaking to you, even when prompted, so you were getting both impatient and annoyed at accepting this invitation.

“You wear… a lot of jewelry,” Jeon Jungkook said out loud, with awe.

You looked down at your hands. Well. The rings, the bracelets, even the earrings on both your ears, all sterling silver or white gold. You had even swapped out the lower lobe piercing for a pair of dangling dice earrings with grey freshwater pearls. You liked the cooler tone to bring some death to your warm-toned skin.

“Yeah. Is that a problem?” Your low voice had an edge of guarded to it.

A quick, nervous head shake. “No. No, it’s cool. I’ve never seen a girl wear so many chunky rings like that. I didn’t think I’d like it either, but then I saw you.”

You opened your mouth to snap out a comeback and then his words hit you.

There was no doubt that Jeon Jungkook was cute. Black-brown hair with a lustrous quality. Bright, expressive dark brown eyes. Slightly rounded cheeks with a distinct jawline. He said he had, and you could see, tattoos and piercings, something you quite liked but not a requirement. Built body, in the way that people where when they were committed to taking care of their physical appearance. Not so much in vanity, but in the way that matched how they felt that they should look in their head. Respect for that. But, in this chance that was what you had expected to be his, Jungkook didn’t taken it.

He looked the part.

Didn’t act it, though.

Black blazer, matching trousers. White t-shirt. Dressy but not too much. To be honest, the outer appearance didn’t matter much to you. It actually mattered the least. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Really. You were often told that you had too little patience for people, but, come on!

This conversation was awkward.

Hah.

You turned as you sensed a lively presence re-entering your icy atmosphere. Hmph. The actor playing Cupid in the instance. He looked the part too. Baby blue dress shirt with the top buttons undone. Ivory slacks, neatly pressed. Black hair perfectly curled over his forehead, framing an angelic face. Full lips forming an infectious smile that made his eyes disappear as small hands folded away the receipt and tucked his card back into his wallet.

“Ah, the waitress and I had a cute little chat,” flirty Park Jimin chuckled, giving you a little eyebrow wiggle. You rolled your eyes at him. “Did you guys have a nice talk while I was gone?”

“Um…?” Jungkook started, nearly afraid to glance at you for some support.

You gave Jimin a deadpan stare. “You trying to get her number?”

“Me? No, no!” he waved his hands, sitting back down to lean in. “She gave it to me anyway though.”

Figures Park Jimin would introduce you to a guy and also get the number of someone else in the restaurant. You deliberately hadn’t answered Jimin’s question, but he hadn’t noticed.

Jungkook, however, did.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him deflate a little and you winced in unease, not sure if you should have avoided it, but at this point the waitress had returned, lashes aflutter and gushing about how they just had to try to fried ice cream and it was on the house, as long as Jimin promised to come back, right? Right?

Jimin promised of course, of course, with a big smile.

You completely ignored him and picked up one of the pieces of fried ice cream – mango, it seemed, by the color – and placed it on one of the small plates before setting it right in front of Jungkook.

He perked up and gave you these big, hopeful eyes.

You didn’t say anything but felt your cheeks flush and your gaze shift, putting on an expression of reluctant apology. After a half second, you bowed your head just a bit, shaking off the moment and serving yourself before serving Jimin.

What?

Damn flirt didn’t even notice.

-

tuesday.

“You didn’t like him?”

“I mean, there’s nothing to like or dislike. He barely said anything. Also, Jimin, I told you, I’m not really a relationship person,” you sighed into your phone, walking quickly to the train station. “I don’t want to give this guy the wrong idea about me. He didn’t really strike me as a fuck-around-and-find-out kinda guy.”

“You said you would change your mind for the right person though.”

Sometimes you thought Jimin argued with you just to argue.

“Yeah, and I don’t even know what kind of person he is because he didn’t say shit,” you barked back to that snippy tone on the other side of the line. Some idiot honked at you and you resisted the urge to flip him the bird. Maybe he wasn’t honking at you. The hanging out the window and catcalling could be to the couple walking next to you.

You highly doubted it.

Also, maybe you just wanted to give someone the middle finger because you couldn’t show Jimin right now how much you deeply appreciated him.

“Jungkookie’s just super shy, but wait a minute and he’ll make you his.”

You rolled your eyes. Damn bad habit that you were forming ever since you became friendly with this mildly infuriating angel. “He’s not making me do anything.”

“I’m telling you; he suits you perfectly. You’re being stubborn and not giving him a chance. Anyway, I gave him your number, so don’t worry!”

“Wait, you did wha–”

The roar of the subway train below cut you off.

“Oop, you’re at the station. You’re breaking up! Can’t hear you, byeeeeeee!”

You twitched as Park Jimin hung up on you.

Asshole.

You pulled your phone away from your ear and pulled up the app to pay for your ticket. Paused for a second. New message, unknown number. Then it was your turn, so you hovered your phone screen, heard the beep, and hurried to the correct train line, finding the one to take you home. It was hectic even now, still within the dregs of rush hour, so you didn’t even think to check for the content of the text until you sat down with a big sigh, somewhat of a fwump with your distressed bomber jacket and baggy cargo pants, both made of thick black fabric. The side of your jacket slid off, exposing your bare shoulder and tight white tank top.

The guy standing about a meter away from you snuck a glance in your direction.

You tucked your tongue in your cheek and yanked your jacket back in place with the hand that was holding your phone. Noticed the screen flash, reminding you of the notification.

Fuck it.

Pressed your thumb and your phone unlocked.

Hey, it’s me. Jeon Jungkook… I wanted to say that I’m sorry about not talking that much last night. I was really nervous because you were so pretty and self-assured. I was so impressed that nothing I could think of seemed like a good thing to say, so I blanked out. I’m very sorry. I hope it is okay for me to text you like this.

An essay.

You paused for so long that you felt your cheeks heat.

The fuck?

You frowned at yourself. For some reason, even though he hadn’t talked much, you could hear the text in your head as if Jungkook was speaking to you directly. Sense the anxiousness in the typed words. See those big eyes gazing right at you with a mixture of curiosity and wonder and what-ifs. You sighed, feeling defeated. It would simply be rude to not reply.

I apologize for being too intimidating.

You sent it before thinking. Aw, shit. That was a bit short, wasn’t it? Damnnit. You saw the sending quadlet of dots spinning slowly, struggling due to you being underground. Fuck. If you sent another message now, it might be out of order and that would just get confusing. And what else could you add? Oh, geez, you didn’t even confirm it was you. The conversation with Park Jimin must have scrambled your egg brains.

The train roared out of the tunnel.

All of a sudden, the message sent and a reply instantly popped up. Actually, a serious of bubbles, rapid-fire like bullets. The confirmation must have lagged.

You’re not intimidating at all! Well… not in a bad way. In a sexy way. I mean, in a good way! In a cool way, like you’re not afraid to say what you wanna say. I really admire that in a person, so I really admire that in you. Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it? I made things weird… ㅠ.ㅠ

You blinked slowly at the messages. It was pretty clear Jungkook had sat there and pondered over the first message for quite a while and these subsequent ones were stream of consciousness spewing. Honestly, kind of funny. Heh. You could sort of imagine it. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to respond right away. Hm, you wondered if he had hoped you would. He really was trying hard, huh. For what? What was the reason?

You tucked your tongue in your cheek and responded anyway.

Oh, you’re definitely weird, but you never know. I might like that. What’s the outfit of the day, Jeon Jungkook?

Were you fishing for a photo? Of course. He would probably scramble to put on a good outfit to impress you. To your surprise, the downloading image icon popped up instantaneously, spinning, spinning. You tilted your head, surprised at the prompt obedience. He must have snapped a pic right away when you asked. It was taking time to load though. You saw some people getting off the train and looked up, checking the stop. Oh, yours was next.

You took care not to look directly at anyone around you, keeping your sling bag in your lap.

Then you looked down to the inquisitive dark brown eyes of Jeon Jungkook with messy black hair and a black leather jacket. White t-shirt. It was a selfie, so you couldn’t see the pants. It was something borderline vain about the angle, but also a seek of approval in that parted mouth, silver ring and stud dotting the edge of the right side, flash of white teeth and slight bite of the left side revealing a small mole at the center underneath his lower lip.

You twitched.

Bold, wasn’t he?

You weren’t sure if you liked it – well, you didn’t mind it, you just weren’t sure if you like-liked it, what was he trying to play at here, trying to get your heart to beat fast or something, hmph – and you clutched your phone pointedly, your rings clacking as you prepped your fingers to type back… something, be honest here… and your fingers wavered.

Shaking a little.

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you had been holding.

Oh, the pants are blue jeans, but I’m out right now so there’s no mirror to show you.

You heard your stop being called and stood up automatically, filing behind other people getting ready to step off, the train slowing down, everything slowing down, finding yourself staring at Jungkook’s expression in the photo, why were you staring, shifting your eyes quickly, then back, it wasn’t like Jeon Jungkook could see you, ugh, this was so annoying.

Do you want to see? I can take another photo when I get home.

You let out a frustrated exhale that no one else around you could understand. Maybe not even those closest to you would get it. But you knew what it meant, and knowing also frustrated you.

Being self-aware was a bitch.

You finally sent your answer.

I much prefer this look on you than the blazer. Is this your normal fashion style?

You had worn a flowing white blouse and floaty black skirt the night before at dinner, but it was not your typical style. Well, it was, but it was one of your work outfits since you had come straight from the office. Something you wore to not get in trouble with the dress code and knowing you would have to meet up with people later. Sometimes you were a little riskier if you were feeling frisky, but Jimin had told you to look nice for the friend he was introducing you to.

But maybe it would have been better to look more you.

Then again, the restaurant was pretty high end. They might not have let you in.

Oh. Yeah. Hahaha, I wore the blazer because Jimin-ssi told me to look nice for you. I guess this is street-style? I don’t know… I’m not fashionable, I only wear what I think is cool or comfy. What about you?

You strode out of the train and briskly walked to the elevator, muscle memory already knowing where to go, typing back. Pausing when you saw the vending machine. A green tea would be nice right now.

You veered off course and headed to stand in line.

I think my friends would describe my style as dark and strong. They’re always telling me I should dress more feminine or at least in less black, but one of my core traits is not listening to shit people say. And swearing.

You tapped your card and made your selection. Waited out the whirr and clunk. Didn’t pay much attention to the world around you. It was a typical day, people passing by, no warning feelings. And, besides, your phone was much more interesting right now.

You did not just think that.

You scowled at your reflection in the glass of the vending machine before picking up your drink.

I hope I get to see you sometime soon so I can appreciate it. :)

You raised an eyebrow at your phone as you ticked open the can and started walking again, taking a crisp sip. It was slightly irritating that he was better at flirting over text than in person. Or maybe it had just been the circumstance. Come to think of it, it would have been weird if he did with Jimin right there, although you were sure Jimin wanted to be there to witness whatever unfolded. The awkwardness was probably just as entertaining to him as it would be if Jungkook had been more forward.

Hmph.

What was more irritating was that you weren’t instantly annoyed by it.

Hmmmmph.

Are you saying you aren’t intimidated by me, Jeon Jungkook?

You hurried home, following the streetlights, breathless, not because you were running, but because you wanted to be home so you could be alone with…

I’m saying I like feeling your effect on me in person.

Him.

-

wednesday.

The next time you saw Jeon Jungkook, you were groaning and setting your forehead on the edge of washing machine, screaming internally. Would have banged it against the metal if you weren’t going to lose a substantial number of brain cells. You were going to pay cash because you wouldn’t get that card surcharge if you did but, of course, of course you had accidentally shorted yourself and pocketed the wrong amount.

Fuck!

Now you were already at the laundromat. Walk back home and lug your shit to and back to get the right amount? Or just forget it and pay the extra charge? You had already put the detergent in. Fuckity fuck fuck. Technically you could go home, it wasn’t that far, but, ugh, it was extra annoying today because you had slept late and now you were grumpily doing your life responsibilities. Come back a different day? No, you had specifically told yourself to get off your ass and get that pile washed. Damnnit, if you hadn’t slept late and scrambled your egg brains, this wouldn’t have happened!

But you had been talking to Jeon Jungkook.

Ending the conversation had been more difficult than you expected. You gritted your teeth, feeling stupid for pulling such a teenage move. Still young, huh? Young and stupid.

Grr.

You heard the metal slide of the money drawer being closed and then an approval ping!

You jumped back, freaked out at the thing you hadn’t done, and then snapped your head to the sudden presence next to you. Dark blue jeans with giant holes at the knees. Gray hoodie sliding off a built right shoulder. White ribbed tank top. Messy black hair. A piercing, no, two on the right side of open lips.

Big, round, dark brown eyes.

You noticed he was wearing a few silver rings himself.

“Um… hi? I noticed you were short a little so I just…” Jeon Jungkook trailed off, giving you a hopeful look.

You gawked at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Ouch. A little too snappy. Jungkook faltered, those peepers shifting. “Ah… well…”

You bit your tongue and reeled it back. “Sorry. I didn’t expect to see you, is all. Obviously, you came here to wash your clothes like everyone else.”

He reached up and scratched the back of his head nervously. Wait. Why was he looking at you like that?

“W-Well, actually… Jimin-ssi told me you normally come here on Wednesdays to do laundry and I was nearby so I figured., maybe, I’d just check if you were here…”

You stared at him.

“You’re stalking me?”

“N-No!” Jungkook sputtered, waving his hands frantically even though you hadn’t raised your voice.

There was a bristle to your tone though. Indignation and frigidity you couldn’t hide. You frowned, narrowing your eyes, cornering him with your gaze. There were only a few people on this slow day, which was why you picked Wednesday to do laundry, but all the patrons had AirPods or other earbuds in, busying themselves with their shoving of clothing in and out of the washers and dryers. No one was going to interrupt anyway.

Not their business.

“I… I…”

“And how did you recognize me anyway? My head was down,” you remembered, advancing on him, and Jungkook took a step back, swallowing hard. Your outfit was baggy too, dark denim jacket and jeans, the tight black tank hidden by the bulk.

“I couldn’t forget how beautiful your hair is,” he mumbled out quickly, looking a little too mesmerized by your fierceness. Forget that. “And your hands were on the edge of the washer. Your rings. The star chain bracelet you wear. I…”

He was fixated on your collarbones and the thin black choker around your neck.

Or lower.

“Oi! My face is up here,” you hissed, snaping your fingers and making him jerk his head. He had stopped backing up though. You pointed at him, somewhat rudely. Actually, very rudely, but whatever. “What do you mean, check if I was here? And who told you? That idiot. I’ll kill him.”

And why was Jungkook looking at you like that?

Like he thought you were hot when angry.

He better stop that shit because you were losing your irate demeanor for some fuckin’ reason.

“I texted you almost all night. That wasn’t enough?” you half-growled, half whispered.

A tiny head shake.

Ah, shit.

You deliberately did not think that was cute.

“I liked it so much that I…” Oh no, oh no, not that honest tremble and deep gaze into your eyes. “I was hoping I could talk to you again, in person, more bravely this time.”

You opened your mouth to sink in that verbal bite and nothing came out.

The entire laundromat could flood right now and you wouldn’t even notice because you were staring at Jeon Jungkook and wondering if this audacity was freaking annoying or freaking impressive. Not this damn guy within two days leaving you speechless. Well… actually, no, never mind the technicalities.

“Are you even thinking before you do things?” you grumbled, not yet backing down.

Jungkook stuck his hands in his hoodie pockets suddenly. Hm? Nervous and shaking? You couldn’t tell, but you watched him closely, observing his body language, your eyes following those lines.

“Mmmm…” He bit the left side of his lower lip. “No?”

You strongly resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

Shy smile greeting you, accompanying the lip bite.

“I’m just listening to my heart.”

Now you visibly cringed. “Don’t say stuff like that.” Looking away slightly, somehow unable to meet those honest eyes.

“Why? You don’t like it?” Genuinely curious.

“You don’t mean it.” He did mean it and you could see that he meant it but you did not want to admit that you knew that he meant it. Yeah. “You barely know me. We only talked over text.”

“But you gave me thoughtful, frank answers. I don’t believe that you were being dishonest,” Jungkook protested, following you over to the tables a few steps away from the washing machines. You dragged your laundry bag with you and kept your voice down.

“I told you, I’m a straightforward an honest person. I won’t lie to you. And I won’t hesitate to cut you off if you lie to me,” you reminded him.

He nodded. You wanted to shake him and yell at him to stop giving you those eyes. “So I just decided to do what I wanted to.”

You cocked your head at him in disbelief. “You didn’t think you went too far?”

What was with that mischievous smile? “I’m the all-in type.”

You let out a puff of air.

“Also, you haven’t told me directly that you don’t like it,” Jungkook pointed out, leaning toward you, smiling.

You gave him a deadpan stare. “You don’t get me,” you said back flatly.

Those dark brown orbs sparkled. “That’s okay. I don’t have to get you to think you’re cool, clever, and stunning.”

Your eyebrow twitched.

“And why do you say that? Because you see how people look at me? Because you enjoyed my useless facts and tangents last night? Because you think with your dick?” You added the last question with bite, leaning forward too, having enough of this, not really him but…

The fact that you didn’t want to tell him to fuck right off.

Silence.

Jungkook was staring into your eyes.

“The shape of your eyes is so… perfect.”

You felt your ears heat.

He raised a finger and traced the air right in front of your left eye, the scent of his clean cologne drifting in your direction. “The way they sharpen in the inner corner, like a bird of prey… And your irises are so dark and striking…”

You grabbed his finger out of the air.

“Don’t be… weird.”

Why did you pause? Hello? No way you’re being like this over this guy right now.

You pointedly pulled his hand down, pinning it to the table. “Pay attention.”

Jungkook was giving you this dreamy, hazy expression. “Huh? What were you saying?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You can’t even listen.”

He leaned in closer and you caught a whiff of that delicious cologne again. “Sorry. I will. Say it again, please. I’ll listen carefully.”

The fuck were you saying again? The lights of the old laundromat flickered but you barely noticed. A common occurrence in these ol’ mom-and-pop places. And, besides, you were staring at this determined, patient smile and mentally shoving down those butterflies that you definitely weren’t feeling, nope, violently compacting those distracting internalizations into a tiny, windowless box.

“You don’t seem very good at listening,” you finally said, tight and even.

“I am,” he insisted softly. “I promise.”

“I’m too much for you.”

Or was Jungkook too much for you?

“I’m offering all of me,” he whispered to the shared air between you and him. “It might not be enough so I’ll be to work hard and do my best.”

What was he so earnest for? You hesitated, the edges to your hard demeanor softening. You didn’t want to trust stuff like this. It was so easy to get burned and you wanted to be the one to do the burning. And how could you trust people? Even you didn’t say everything out loud. Some things you could say and some you couldn’t say. It was too much trouble to believe in someone.

You had never received unburdened kindness when you were younger.

“We’re not on the same page.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Aren’t we? But you’re reading me easily and I’m doing my best to learn about you too.”

Your shoulders released the tension. “Don’t pretend with me. It’s clear you’re a relationship kind of guy. And, while I’m not against them, I can’t deliver the same kind of devotion you are willing to give. Can’t you see that?” You removed your hand from his, not realizing it was still there.

His fingertip traced a line on the back of your hand.

Sparks raced along the base of your head.

You remained stern, feeling heavy and hot in your clothes.

“Why do you say that? You don’t think you’re loyal?” he asked very sincerely.

Your eyes narrowed. “Of course, I am. If I like you in that way and you asked me to bury a body, I’d already be digging the grave. But I’m not a flowers-and-chocolate kind of girl. That’s not how I show affection.”

You had no idea how far your clothes were in the cycle. The whole world could crash down and you would still be staring at Jungkook and his body language. His shoulders slouched a little more so he could look up at you with those pleading eyes.

Inhale still in your throat.

“Then, do you not like me?”

Say something.

But you didn’t say anything at all, gazing down at Jeon Jungkook and wondering why you couldn’t get through his thick skull that you were a bad decision. Honestly? Honestly, fine, it was because you grew up with parents that never liked each other nor their kids. Honestly, it was because you grew up too fast and with too much independence to not see the filthiness of the world. Honestly, it was because you saw the finicky innate nature of humanity of never devoting themselves to anything, much less anyone, and why would they?

People were crazy.

Call it personal experience.

You sighed.

“Jungkook, I’m not gonna lie to you. I fuck before I care about anybody. I’m only living to get my pleasure and not take care of anyone, okay? I’m barely keeping my own head together. I’m blunt. I don’t need or want romantic gestures. I just want dick. There. I’m not a good person.”

He was smiling.

Aw, shit.

“I must be favored to know you.”

You twitched, tucking your tongue in your cheek to avoid scowling, which was pretty much scowling anyway, so you failed spectacularly.

“Also, you haven’t said you don’t like me,” Jungkook pointed out. Infuriatingly. “Because it’s not true and you don’t lie. Right?” He said your name with a little too much sweetness and knowing.

You yanked your hand out of his and shoved his hard, muscular chest. He bounced back, grinning a little too happily. You told yourself to hate it and you didn’t. Fuck. “What are you even still doing here? Gonna fold my clothes for me or something?”

The energy at being offered a household chore was disturbing. “Oh! I can! I’m very good at doing laundry. And washing dishes. And cleaning. I like doing that stuff.”

“Sure, you do,” you puffed sarcastically,

“I do,” Jungkook insisted, coming around the table. “And I’m good at it.”

You scrutinized him up a down. “Yeah? Because you don’t know where else to put all that energy of yours?”

His lips parted but all he did was gawk at you. Oop. Right on the money. You were liking this expression a little too much. Maybe it was time to lower these walls a bit. After all, it didn’t seem like Jungkook was going to go away any time soon. He was pretty harmless anyway.

“I could drain you in a night,” you chuckled, smirking.

The tips of his ears were getting red at your lowered tone.

“You think you could keep up?”

-

thursday.

Ugh, it was one of those days that fuckin’ suuuucked.

Woke up late and had to rush to get dressed and bounce, then got to work and some shit was going down about missing documents and people moving papers they shouldn’t have, forcing you to play manager because everyone else had no goddamn spine to fix anything. This department would be a disaster without you. To top it all off, you had people stalling, keeping an irrelevant conversation going, leading you on a wild goose chase with no funny honking – turns out the documents were in some random copier right behind you, for fuck’s sake – and you had a very strong inkling it was because of what you looked like.

Which was fine.

Unless you were actually trying to do your job.

Then, one of your side dishes you had brought for lunch had gone off, so you ended up slightly less full than you wanted to be, and you forgot your jacket at work, leaving it hanging on the back of your chair in your rush to leave, and the train halted several stations before your stop because there was some emergency maintenance or some shit.

Fuckity fuck.

It wouldn’t be so annoying it if wasn’t so windy, but it was and you were wearing a sheer sweater with splashes of jewel-toned colors and a longline black sports bra under it – you had worn your jacket half-zipped until your boss had left in the middle of the day and your co-workers didn’t care how you looked, the dress code was stupid anyway – and black jeans, mid-rise. The rules were more about being covered up rather than being professionally dressed.

The job was primarily sitting at a desk and sorting documents, did it matter how you looked?

Or maybe you just broke the rules a little because you were a rebel.

Your stomach growled angrily and you told it to shut the fuck up.

You stood on the corner halfway between work and home, debating on whether or not to do some damage. The problem was you didn’t have any of the usual bad habits most people had. You didn’t drink, so getting stupid drunk and getting thrown out of the noraebang was out of the question. Also, you couldn’t sing. But, anyway, you barely took medicine, let alone know where or how to procure the illegal fun stuff, so that was also out. You didn’t have a sweet tooth either so you couldn’t down a whole cake with gusto, although that sounded like a great way to go.

You sulked.

You had an addiction, but you just stared at the names in your phone and felt guilty. Guilty! For what? For some guy you met literally less than four days ago? Ugh, no, this couldn’t be you right now. Seriously? Seriously? You crossed and stalked up the block, not yet deciding what to do so you kept walking until you figured it out during this internal battle. You had to keep this guy at a distance. Okay, yes, you could admit you liked him.

And that was the problem.

If you didn’t really like him, you could just fuck him and establish those hard boundaries. No issue. You had been in love before but that was a long time ago and ultimately you ended it because it wasn’t right and you weren’t good enough to be devoted to.

You breathed out hard, the unease spilling out of your insides.

It was definitely easier to not expect anything from anyone. You had spent a lot of life not having and, ultimately, not needing to rely on others, both out of necessity and simply having too much to work on by yourself. Years of fighting off bitterness that you had always tasted, years of letting go of important moments realizing that supposedly important people in your life would never be there for them, years of lashing out and becoming the shadow of the abuse you endured. Eye for an eye and all that. Keep the cycle going, until you had that moment in the eye of the storm to get hit by lightning and realize that this wasn’t right.

It wasn’t any particular thing.

Just finally accepting the creeping self-awareness that you had been miserable and were making other people miserable on purpose because you tore them open and took their hearts to find yours.

Metaphorically, duh.

So now you sort of did this martyr shit of being there for people when you could and not asking for anything back. Especially not a relationship. Intimate to heal a heart and then give it away, which totally worked if they weren’t into you, just into what you could do.

You didn’t really feel it yourself but you did get sex out of it.

Bad addiction, yeah.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket.

You ignored it.

Stepped into a chicken place and stood in line, feeling the weight of your world on your shoulders. You brain tried to reason with you that it was Jeon Jungkook’s own fault if he got hurt. He was the one who chose to spend all that time sitting at the laundromat with you talking about random shit. Your favorite video game – Persona 5, excelling in your top three most important things about a video game: music score, gameplay, and art style. Your favorite American rapper – Ludacris and the way he could rhyme the weirdest words. Your favorite movie genre – surrealist psychedelic drug movies, which earned you a confused head tilt. You had asked Jungkook what he liked. Mood lamps. Singing. Watching cooking videos on YouTube.

Had asked him if he believed in soulmates.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you ordered at the kiosk and paid.

You don’t think I could have met you in another life?

You stood with the other waiting patrons, ignoring everybody and your phone thrumming against your hip, thinking about last night.

I probably broke your heart.

Thinking about that smile with two piercings and a lip mole. That smile didn’t trust your answer at all.

Maybe the universe is giving me another chance to make up for my past mistakes. I can’t give up.

You made a face at past Jungkook’s answer, too taken aback all those hours ago to scowl properly. Maybe you had been too tired. Too worn down by his earnest nonsense to fight it properly at that moment. Your hand hovered over you hip, wondering if you should check it. Then dropped.

What, did you need to see him every day or something?

Your name was called and you stepped up to receive your order.

Oh, fuck, you miss him.

You yanked your phone out of your pocket and stared at it as you walked out of the restaurant, only to get plopped by a fat raindrop on the lit-up screen. You looked up to the gray sky and let out a hiss.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You turned around and sat down, grumbling as rain poured down and you replied to Jungkook’s texts.

Stupid.

Not him. Just you.

-

friday.

“What are you trying so hard for?” you snapped.

“Why aren’t you trying hard enough?” Jeon Jungkook shot back.

It was going really well.

Clearly.

You let out a hiss and flicked your hands as if you were trying to physically get rid of his reply. Argh, this… man! The thundering rain was pouring down, down, and you were both standing under a bus stop with no intention of taking the bus. You bit back the volume of your sudden anger. There was no need to yell anyway. No one was coming out in the thick of this monsoon.

Only you and crazy-ass Jeon Jungkook.

Switched tactics. "And what makes you think your virgin ass–"

"I'm not a virgin!"

"You are here!"

And you jammed two fingers into that very muscular chest, right next to the left side of his sternum. Too fast to be stopped. The shove actually made him stumble. Or maybe it was the utter shock of the verbal and physical double jab combined with the deep growl that your voice had suddenly become. His racer jacket and black hair were slick with rain. Half of his white t-shirt soaked. Even the front of his blue jeans drenched.

You panted hard after your outburst, the anger draining away all in a flash of lightning.

Jungkook stared at you with stricken eyes.

The rain pelted down, down, beating into the silence.

“How did you know?” he breathed out.

You didn’t but somehow you did, feeling something inside of you break. Not afraid of the world. Never, never again. No, afraid of what you could do, afraid of breaking something this pure, because you broke your first love too and that past guilt still lingered. Not that you thought Jungkook loved you. He couldn’t This was only the fifth day of him knowing you.

The fuck is going on?

“I see your type all the time,” you sighed, your damp hair all over your face. “Looking for light in black holes instead of stars.” The rain had slipped off your black leather jacket. Your cropped band shirt wasn’t wet, but your black cargo pants were sodden knees down.

This coldness, however, didn’t come from the rain.

“You really should stop. For your own good.”

You looked away from him, feeling as if your own words had pierced bullet holes into your walls. Dark sky, never-ending rain, cars struggling to drive, people running with umbrellas and ponchos, arms huddled close to their bodies, and here you were just standing here in the rain, the world acting out your mind. How nice. You thought you had come to terms with everything, but obviously not. Somehow once you saw Jungkook again, once you felt his presence again, the pull was even stronger and the storm was even more intense and the worst part was that you didn’t want to leave.

You heard Jungkook’s soft, silvery voice through the gray rain.

“Why are you blaming yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened yet?”

You turned your head to look into those pleading brown eyes.

Lightning shot across the sky.

Thunder followed seconds after, eating up the night.

“W… What?”

He shook his head, dripping water.

“You haven’t hurt me. You don’t mean to, either.”

That smile, his hand extended, the inked snake on his wrist showing.

You stared at Jeon Jungkook with droplets beading on your skin but those goosebumps weren’t from the weather. Jerked your head away. What is with this gentleness? How could he know anything? He couldn’t know anything. He was just an airhead who watched too many dramas and made others believe that they could be real.

“Noona?”

You whipped your head to Jungkook, shocked at his use of the honorific. He only used it when Jimin was at the meal. Afterwards, the conversations had been clearly directed at you. Not completely informal speech, but sometimes you slipped and he did too. You never corrected him because, well.

You slapped his hand away.

Nothing was going to happen.

You closed the distance and grabbed his head, pressing your lips to his shaking ones.

It was going to be terrible. Cold. Wet. Acidic from the lingering feelings. There was no way that this kiss could be anything else with this setting.

This was real life.

Not a story.

Your hands cupped his cheeks and you sunk into his kiss. The hard edge of his jewelry and the softness of his breath, caught by your mouth, your eyes already screwed shut, nothing to do but feel, feel the way he instantly pressed back and set his hands on your elbows, pulling you closer, shuddering as your forearms pressed to his chest. A weird feeling, like two fires melting together, prickling racing across your skin, no, deeper, past your ribs and into your heart.

The storm raged on.

You snapped out of the kiss, nose to nose, water trickling in places it shouldn’t, over your eyelashes and down your neck, feeling fingers graze across your elbows. Slipping under the leather. Droplets soaking into your shirt and then warm hands lingering at the curve of your exposed waist.

Tracing your lines.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

And you kissed Jeon Jungkook again.

-

saturday.

No, you didn’t take him home. You’re reckless, yeah.

But you knew how that would go.

Not that Jungkook didn’t try. Maybe you would have done it, if you weren’t the equivalent of wet cat and equally torrenting emotions. His hands around your waist, pulling you closer, heat blossoming between layers of rain-drenched clothing, kiss after kiss, your hands in his hair, tangling those dark waves into wilderness, getting more and more breathless, heady with a feeling you knew but didn’t want to believe in.

For someone who hated lying, you sure enjoyed lying to yourself.

You had reasons.

How could this time be different if it was just following the same trajectory that you always followed?

You had to pry yourself from him, lips tingling, tongue curling, feeling your blood course through your veins and your heartbeat as loud as thunder, opening your eyes to his blissed-out expression, his own eyes still closed, pressing his lips together to savor your taste.

Damn.

You had wanted to tell him to stop it, stop it with all this falling, you were being dragged down by his vibe, clothes feeling heavy, desperate to be stripped away, but you kept your hands along the sides of his head, your exhale escaping but giving you away like a bad con artist.

Those shimmering dark eyes had opened, following Jungkook’s smile.

“You’re a great kisser, noona.”

His hands stayed on your waist, drumming his fingertips on your skin, tangible kisses creating invisible but no less real electricity.

You scoffed, corner of your lips rising.

“Shut up.”

Tendrils of his black-brown hair clung to his forehead. The rain drummed but it had lessened a bit. You had looked back to his eyes, defeated.

“Shut up so I don’t miss you more.”

One last, drawn-out kiss, tongue to tongue and you had broken from him, warning him sternly.

“Don’t follow me.”

Ran all the way home, face burning, not even feeling the rain even though it was still falling.

Now, present time, you sat at this boring farewell party in some fancy hotel with the sun blaring outside. Figures the nice weather would come out when you would have to stuff yourself in a fitted blazer dress and pretend to care about your boss’s boss retiring. Black, of course. For the formal occasion. Sadly, no one was dying except this old coot’s career.

Maybe you were a little salty that you couldn’t retire yet.

You looked down at your phone, which was on silent, noticing you had a new message.

ㅎ.ㅎ

O… Okay. Whatever that face was supposed to mean. You didn’t even bother to answer. Couldn’t, anyway, forced to plaster on a mildly interested expression as your boss gave a speech that you zoned out of. There were multiple large circular tables in the hotel ballroom. Outside the ballroom was an outdoor area with the buffet. Everyone had served themselves before sitting down, but, first, a few words.

A few was turning out to be too many and your salmon was getting cold.

Employees had been allowed to bring plus ones. Wives and husbands. There were a few empty seats, and a few significant others popped in mid-speech, trying to be quiet and politely bowing in apology. Of course, they weren’t required to be on time, having other obligations and such.

You twitched.

Was that why this was dragging on? So everyone could eat at once? For fuck’s sake, who cared if they were late. Then you noticed your boss’s wife stepping in, looking pretty and put-together in a forest green high-necked dress, holding the small hand of a kid in a lopsided children’s tuxedo with an equally confused expression.

Oh.

Come on.

You suddenly felt a disturbance in the Force.

“Excuse me. Sorry, sorry.”

You whipped your head around to see Jeon Jungkook in a black pinstripe suit cha-cha sliding in the empty chair next to you, picking up your black velvet purse and holding it out to you with a grin that made his large, dark brown eyes light up.

You gawked at him.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” He added your name politely and with affection, smooth as butter, criminal undercover. Even the honorific, oh, shit.

The blood drained out of your face and you tried not to think about how your co-workers sitting at the table were staring at you and him like you both had three heads. Of course, no one was supposed to be talking, so no one asked questions yet, but that was definitely going to start the second your boss was finished with his sentence.

You took your purse without another word and glared at Jungkook with such fire that you hoped he burned alive at the spot. Oh, this could turn into a murder and a funeral real fucking fast. All he did was give you those shining big peepers that made you want to strangle him. In an unsexy way.

For now.

You leaned over as the clapping started. He caught on and delicately leaned over, offering his ear to your lips.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Jungkook turned his head so only you could hear his whisper.

“I was nearby, so I figured…?”

You stared at him, plumb slack-jawed at this audacity.

He closed the distance and gently kissed your cheek. You ticked your head almost robotically, piercing eyes following his playful ones, and now you wondered if Jeon Jungkook was truly not right in the head or perfect for you.

Well.

You weren’t right in the head either.

You did text him earlier this morning that you needed to come to this party at this hotel to send off this important retiree. If you missed this, then it would have reflected poorly on you, especially when you wanted to keep your job, so, yes, it was part of the reason why you had not attempted to convince Jungkook to sleep over – not that he needed any convincing whatsoever – and the other reason was to get enough sleep so you could tolerate socializing. Did you think Jungkook was gonna finesse his way into the seat next to you? Hell no. Did you think he was gonna dress smartly and with his black hair parted neatly in the center, fuckin’ black tie pressed and collar pinned? Fuck, no.

Did you think you would like it?

No!

“How did you get them to let you in?” you hissed under your breath.

Jungkook was clapping like a seal because everyone else was. A champagne bottle was being popped. He looked systematically impressed and awed. Amazing acting. “I just said I was with you.” Glanced at you and grinned, the silver piercings on his lip gleaming. A hoop and a stud. “Aren’t I, noona?”

The urge to growl at him to shut the fuck up was silenced by your brain reminding you to be safe-for-work.

You felt a poke at your sleeve. Your co-worker sitting at your left, bleach-blond and with the curiosity of a child. Full of sudden comments and questions too, just like a kid.

“Oh, oh! You never mentioned anything about a boyfriend!” Because you didn’t have one until right now, apparently. “So handsome!” Yes, he was. You had taste. “How did you meet?” Circumstances beyond your control.

“Through a… friend.”

That was a very generous word for instigator Park Jimin.

Jungkook poked his head past you and waved. “Hi! Nice to meet you.” He was using you as a shield to avoid directly interacting with these people he didn’t know. Just chiming in with polite nods as you introduced him to the table and sitting back to let you have this uninvited spotlight that was burning you like the sun did to vampires.

Pretty close, in all honesty.

���Aw, what a sweet guy. It’s nice to meet you too. I didn’t think your type was so young and cute.”

You almost made a face of distaste. “You thought my type was old and ugly?” Oop, there goes your sharp tongue.

“Nooo.” You tried not to flinch at the playful slap of your arm. “More mature, maybe? But this is better. You don’t have to be so serious. Look at his smile! I bet that’s what drew you in.”

You glanced at Jungkook and he appropriately smiled big at the right time. Somehow, he had obtained a plate of steak. How, you didn’t care. You narrowed your eyes just a sliver. Jungkook did not stop smiling but there was at least an iota of fear in those big brown eyes. Speaking of vampire, maybe you should suck the life out of him because he was being too fuckin’ much.

“Well, he was persistent to put it lightly. Might as well give him the chance to win me over.”

Jungkook beamed like a billion-kilowatt lightbulb. Or a crystal chandelier. It depended if you wanted to say the light came from his white teeth or sparkling eyeballs.

Fuckity fuck.

You wanted to rub your temples but refrained.

You would never recover from this.

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook asked you later.

Oh, now he wondered if you’re mad. You didn’t even look at him, dragging him away from the crowd by the elbow. Hopefully you had stayed long enough but there had been so many of the same questions that you were either getting dizzy or murderous. Hm. Why not both?

“I’m not mad at you,” you muttered.

“You kinda sound mad.”

“I’m not mad but I’m gonna get mad if you keep saying I am,” you warned. “Don’t start a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“A what?”

“Where did you park?”

His voice became small even though he was right next to you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

The sun was blaring down on the open parking lot, it was annoyingly humid, you were socially drained, and this, not this. You spun abruptly, too much crashing down too fast, flinging Jungkook’s arm from you.

“No,” you hissed out. “No. Don’t you dare take it back. You wanna be crazy and drive me crazy, fine, do it, keep doing it, don’t stop, but own up. I’ve got enough push-and-pull jammed into my head and I don’t need you adding to it.”

It was so easy to simply give in to the rising anger, but you found yourself locked into Jungkook’s wide, taken-back eyes, drowning in them, deeper than the ocean, seeing how rueful he was.

“Don’t do that to me,” you sighed.

At least your voice didn’t crack. You didn’t want to be angry anyway.

You raised your hand to cup his cheek but paused, not knowing anymore what was what. Always been so sure until the world started getting flipped upside down by Jeon Jungkook. You always knew all of the things to do to make someone interested, all the things to say to make them swoon, and now you didn’t know anything at all because this guy showed up and jumped right in, not even caring about the damages, the fine print, or the past that lingered.

Why are you blaming yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened yet?

Jungkook leaned forward and completed the curve of his cheek into your hollow palm, now looking at you eye-to-eye with a curious expression.

The corner of your lips curved upwards.

You leaned forward, saying your next words very seriously.

“You. Are. Crazy.”

-

sunday.

You sat against the window, waiting for the document to print out.

No one was in the office. You had rolled over here out of sheer boredom, looking up at the gray-blue sky and watching shafts of sunlight phase in and out. Overtime to prepare documents for Monday. You hadn’t bothered to follow dress code, but there was a breeze today, so you wore brown plaid trousers and an old vintage t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. The faded album cover of Papa Roach’s Infest. Your oversized black leather jacket was on the back of your office chair once again.

You spun in your chair, the print job long done.

Thought back on the week.

Day one, awkward dinner and the start of a rollercoaster.

Day two, clutching your phone and waiting for replies due to the spotty service of the subway.

Day three, washing machines and dryers and long conversations.

Day four, shitty day with a nice ending to more texts. Better service too.

Day five, cold rain and warm lips.

Day six, surprise! You have a boyfriend and everybody knows!

You got up and wandered to the copier. Stacked everything up and clipped the right parts together, setting it on your boss’s desk. Glanced at the time at your computer. The blank screensaver abruptly appeared, showing you your blurred reflection.

Your fingertips lingered on your chest, the soft, worn fabric of the shirt reminding you of night after tumultuous night of the past. Time that made you, you. Scars you made by holding on too tightly to pain others gave you. The thought of scars in others that you started and they held on to. Repenting, in a way, healing the hearts that came in your path with intimacy and the passion you were afraid to show Jeon Jungkook because what if, what if…

What if it actually matched well?

“You,” Park Jimin had said to you months ago, “You need someone who thinks of you as their whole world.”

“I don’t want that.”

“You don’t want it. But you need it.”

You didn’t have Park-Jimin-being-right on this year’s bingo card, fuck.

You clocked out and collected your stuff, turning off the lights as you left the office, black boots the only solid sound around you, pulling out your phone to check the address one more time.

“Why are you wearing clothes?” you asked accusingly.

“Um…?”

You gripped the sides of the denim jacket and yanked it off his shoulders, pinning Jeon Jungkook’s arms to his sides. He immediately yelped but you silenced him by stepping through the door and pulling him to you by the button placket, tracing the edge of his open lips with your tongue.

“W-Wait, noona, the d-door…”

“I don’t care.”

Kissed him, deeply.

That now familiar scent, closer, slipping your tongue between his lips, succumbing to the flutters. In, out, feeling him collapse under you and moan in his throat, hard body stumbling into yours, hand haphazardly smacking the edge of the door.

It closed behind you.

You rolled your body into his, closer than close with too many layers in between, tangling his arms in his own jacket, swallowing his gasp and feeling him wiggle determinedly to free his hands and then they were on your face, strong fingers fanning out over your jaw, his jacket falling to the floor, hungrily following your tongue and lips with his own.

Something addicting about the addition of metal to those soft mouth.

This was your forte, the ability to make fantasies come true, and you took it seriously, throwing your bag onto the table by the door and shedding the protective layer of leather. Pressed chest to chest, holding his head and tracing his lips, slow fucking them, running your fingertips over the curve of his ears and making him shiver, noting the three hoops along his left ear.

Pressed your hands down his chest, over the smooth ribbed white tank molding to his muscular torso, down, down, kissing past his lips, to that mole underneath, down his chin, his head tipping back, your name drifting above your head as you kissed down his neck, the sharp clean scent of his cologne getting stronger.

“I thought… we were… o-oh, g-going out…”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” you breathed into his collarbones, hot and low, nicking his skin with your teeth and making him shiver. “Right now. Tonight. Maybe tomorrow too.” Undid the button of his jeans with some effort, yanking him towards you again and molding your hips to his, thighs to hard thighs, and that stiffness wasn’t only a sturdy zipper. “Tuesday as well. Fuck it.”

“The whole week,” Jungkook gasped as you unzipped his charcoal jeans.

“Yeah, good, you’re keeping up,” you murmured and grabbed his head again, catching a fistful of his black hair, kissing him hard with your other palm pressed to his hardness. Your tongue tracing the edge of his lips, breathing into his mouth and swallowing Jungkook’s wanton moan, intoxicated by the moment.

You pulled back just to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it to the floor.

It took longer for it to float down than for you to get on your knees.

“Woah…!”

Hooked your fingers on the elastic waistband of his Calvin Kleins and tugged them down, exhaling over that thick length that popped out. He smelled clean, like he had just showered, and you half-smiled, approving, closing the distance to curl your tongue around hard taut skin.

“Ooooh… fuuuuuuuck…”

Tightly taking control, using only your tongue to scoop around his girth and flick against his balls. Kisses, licks, flutters of breath, all of it, sensation after sensation, layering on the heat, adding sweetness to the obscene, his twitching cock hitting your cheek as you pressed kisses to his balls.

“Let me show you something,” you hummed and swallowed his pride.

Jungkook gasped so loud that his hands shot up to his mouth, fingers laced over his moan, one inked arm and one tan one, tilting his head back as your lips closed around him, softly, your tongue cupping the head, caressing the underside, the slit, letting him throb against wet muscle. Pushed him up to the roof of your mouth and slowly, in and out, rubbing the base of the head against your lips every time you ascended, fanning your fingers over his crotch to hold the base and cup his balls in between your index and thumb. Steady and consistent, sucking him off with deliberate precision.

You had a lot of fancy skills to show off but, for this first time, might as well give him the stripped-down version.

Heh.

So you blew Jungkook at his front door in your bra and pants with his clothes half-on and struggling to breathe.

“A-Ah, so s-soft… and so tight… h-how…”

You didn’t speed up. Didn’t put in more force. Used your whole torso, not just your head and neck, to avoid strain, holding his hips to take him deeper but at the same pace, letting the orgasm build with his heart rate, running your thumbs over his balls, a gentle caress, closing your eyes to savor it. Hard and twitching, but you didn’t let him disturb what you had going on, extending out the minutes, saturating every second with flowing, unavoidable bliss.

What?

You could match his vibe with your kind of romance.

You heard Jungkook’s pitch hike and the muscles under your fingers all tensed up. You spared a look upwards, but he wasn’t looking at you, shoving his hands into his messy black hair, displaying his prominent triceps, and moaning to the ceiling, dragging his bangs over his eyes.

“Oh my God, I’m cumming, fuuuuck…!”

You pillowed your tongue around the head and his salty orgasm flooded your mouth, spilling out and down your throat, but you cupped what you could and coated the sensitive head, pleased to hear Jungkook’s shudder and whimper of ecstasy, gripping his hair and pulling. The close-fitted nature of his tank top left nothing to the imagination, the aftershock rippling up his chest, even his hardened nipples poking against the fabric.

You swallowed.

Jungkook moaned and his head fell back again, his eyes probably rolled back.

Gotta finish him off right.

You licked around him carefully, cleaning him off and keeping him hard.

“You…”

Cocked an eyebrow as you shifted your eyes up, his cock buried in your throat, pulsing your muscles around his length. His chin was on his chest, wayward dark curls hanging down, shaking wide eyes watching you with fascination, his shaking voice full of awe.

“You know… how porn calls it a mouth-pussy? I really thought that shit was fake and sounded stupid, but… you have a mouth-pussy.”

You blinked at him and tried not to snort out in laughter.

You just raised both eyebrows and flicked his balls with your tongue. A few seconds later, you pulled back and countered with, “Really? Mouth-pussy? That’s how you show gratitude for the best suck of your life?”

“B-But it’s true!”

You shook you head and waved a hand at him.

“Clothes. Off.”

Every hour, every minute, every second.

Full of sex.

Jungkook wasn’t lying. He wasn’t a virgin. He was a little too good at fingering to be a virgin. Well, you hadn’t had his dick yet but it was pretty obvious with the slow circles on your clit and the kissing of your collarbones. Clothes didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Most of them were left by the door. Your shoulder blades and ass touching the bed, his other hand along your back and tracing your spine as he kissed across your breasts, shyly shifting his gaze back to your face to constantly check if you were enjoying it, not quite confident that he was making your heart flutter. You smirked back at him, taking his hand and pressing his fingers to your wet slit, pushing them in yourself.

He breathed out with you, watching your face as the pleasure snaked out from your core.

Two of them, taking it slow, but you shook your head and pressed his down, your hard nipple against his lips, and he followed your lead, faster, harder, your inner walls clenching around him, sighing deeply as the pleasure flowed, soft licks and tracing tongue. You let him have it, the slower, more romantic pace, spreading your fingers over his sheets and thrusting into his hand, adding to the pleasure, and Jungkook’s eyes glittered, kissing from one nipple to another with a smile.

“Harder?”

“And faster,” you agreed, licking the air between you and him.

Hey, you weren’t a virgin either and you liked it rough.

He kissed you first, entranced by your tongue, harder, faster, your hips following his hand, entangled in this beat, and then it was back to your nipples, kissing sucking, sparks of sensuality over your skin, your hands diving into his hair. Heat. Roughness. Passion, catching your breath and your head falling back, inhaling his scent and the clean sheets, the orgasm flooding through you, delicately forming his name with your lips.

“Ah, Jungkook…”

You didn’t let it stop there though.

His hand moved to pull out and you clutched his wrist and pushed him back in, your nail catching his ring finger, collecting it too, gasping at the added fullness, and you pulled his left hand out from under your back.

Jungkook watched you curiously as your rode his right hand and turned his left, thumb down.

You fitted it around your neck and positioned it correctly, grinning devilishly at him.

He got the hint.

Slightly unsure at first but you built his confidence, comfortably laying back on his bed and spreading out your fingers, moaning softly for him, rocking your hips into his hand, climbing to the high again, stronger his time. His fingers pressed inwards and you breathed out, savoring the choking, the way time slowed down, the way the sensations heightened, your spine arching, low gasp like heavy smoke, immortalizing the moment in his memory, black pupils blown out in those beautiful dark eyes, leaning forward to run his tongue over your nipples.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, thrusting into his fingers harder.

Lids heavy, drowning in the pleasure, his tongue, his hands, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world, the tension between you and him, sweet and intense and overwhelming, just perfect, your exhale only a thin wisp now, closing your eyes and moaning to the ceiling as you came.

It was a hard, thundering pulse, much more powerful than before, your shivering pussy gripping his fingers and your hips bucking. Thighs snapping closed, whining as you felt the hardness of his tattooed forearm, your head snapping to the side the second he released you, the rushing blood knocking you down and making your nerves sing, strong flinches across your arms and torso. Gasping to catch your breath.

Wasn’t his first time choking, but maybe the first time he got really turned on by it, because Jungkook was ogling you like a three-star Michelin meal.

It was like that all night.

From the first time he entered you, one condom wrapper the start of many, biting the left side of his lip and shuddering – “H-How are you so tight…? I just f-fingered you – oooh!” – and you wrapped around him tightly, smirking a little too smugly, one arm around his neck and one leg on his shoulder. Your fingers petaled around the base of his head, cupping him in the flower of your touch. Your thigh against his hard chest still trembling from your kisses. You angled your hips and he slipped in deeper, groaning in disbelief, his brows furrowing at you.

“H-Hey!”

Your tongue pocketed in the side of your smirk and you fucked him right.

“Gah!”

Jungkook, too, fucked you right.

You lead the pace so he could bring the force of his hips. Ah, fuck, right there, like that, and you let him know, the cries tumbling out and mixing with his, rushing wave after wave pressing into you, filling you with his girth and his power. You brought the intensity, the flint to his flame, the break in his pride and Jungkook was looking down at you, shoulders flexed, jaw tight and eyes hazy, clear emotion swirling within them and you saw your own gaze fixated on him, wanting him more than you wanted the sex.

Oh.

Shit.

You gasped and dug your nails into his scalp, grasping the pillow and throwing your head back, not expecting the suddenness of your high, injected into your heartbeat and pushing all the air out of your lungs, veins ablaze with heat as your core clenched, inner walls throbbing all around him. Jungkook groaned, biting his lower lip and thrusting hard, the small mole underneath shaking just as hard as his shoulders, but he couldn’t hold back any longer, squeezing his eyes shut, muffled scream as he came, his head falling back, two tones the start of an ongoing, wanton melody.

“Holy… fuck…”

Well, more like unholy fuck but you didn’t correct him.

You kind of expected him to pull out and leave, but instead his head snapped back and he dived down, catching your lips and dripping sweat on you, making you both laugh. Kiss after kiss, all over your face, and you could barely sputter out – “Oi, you’re sweaty!” – but he didn’t care, kissing all over your cheeks and down your neck, your chest, slurping at your nipples, you narrowed your eyes at that but those playful eyes just sparkled with deviousness, trailing down, down.

Slowing.

Jungkook pressed his lips to your waist, looking up at you.

Your heart thundered against your chest and sparks danced over your skin.

Somehow at ease.

“What?”

You smiled down at him.

“I don’t ever want to leave your side.”

Your lips parted to give him a snappy comeback, yeah, well, I gotta go to work, but nothing came out.

Jungkook grinned, his whole face lighting up and dove between your legs, biting and kissing the inside of your thighs, attacking them with his menacing mouth.

“Hey! Oi! I’m sensitive, f-fuck!”

Even planting a fat wet kiss on your clit for good measure.

“Ah!”

Shoving his tongue in your pussy.

“YO!”

You gawked at his audacity, twisting away from him. Infuriatingly, he followed, scrambling for your ass.

“There was just a condom in there!”

“Ah, who cares,” said the one that clearly didn’t. “Kiss me.”

“Hell no!”

After cleaning up and pinning him down on his own bed and thoroughly scolding him, somehow you ended up making out with Jungkook and his fingers were in your pussy again. It sounded very wet and squishy down there, probably because you showed Jungkook just now much you liked kisses under your earlobe. His tongue against your skin, teeth nicking, sucking hard and making you moan and grind on his hand, pressing against his chest.

“Sit on my face,” he whispered in your ear.

Which was know you ended up grasping his headboard and his tongue between your legs, the piercing pressed against the left side of the outer lips. You kept your weight on your knees, but Jungkook grabbed your ass and tipped your hips at a different angle, your clit right on his tongue, his nose against your crotch.

“Fuuuuck, you smell so good…”

You could barely hear him but you felt him speak, gasping at the strange sensation of hot breath and swiping tongue, his lips wrapping around your most sensitive nerves. He had a much softer tongue, but there was consistency there and plenty of gusto. It helped, actually, to have his hands gripping your thighs, adding the amplifying pleasure of restraint. You rode his face, matching the movement of his tongue. One of your hands left the headboard. Trapped your nipples between your fingers and pulled at them, making Jungkook’s eyes go wide and watch eagerly, licking and sucking harder.

Layered and intricate, full of sensation and emotion, gazing down at him and smirking as the sparks turned into lightning and you soaked his face, shivering, tipping forward at the flinches of climax, swearing under your thin breath, panting, snapped tension draining you and wetly sticking to his lips, his tongue, his cheeks.

He shoved his tongue into your quivering pussy and you sucked in a breath, feeling your inner walls pulsate around his curling muscle, his low, gravelly moan filling what little air there was between his mouth and you, his satisfaction vibrating through your body and mixing with your afterglow.

You slid down his chest and kissed him again, tasting your subtle sweet-sour on his slick lips.

He wanted you to jack him off hard and fast, the fingers of your other hand splayed out over his chest, forgetting about anything else, time only a construct, your phones discarded by the door, and here, in this bed, there was only Jungkook and you, his cock pulsing in your grip, your foxy expression to his desperate one, his eyes rolling back in the intensity, biting down hard on the left side of his lip, the small mole underneath shaking in anticipation, the tendons of his neck popping out.

You raised your free hand and gently stroked his cheek with your knuckle as you punished his cock.

His lower lip popped out of his mouth and he groaned, rough and breathless.

“A-Ah, fuck!”

A hot stream of liquid dripping down the back of your hand, drenching you and him in the strong scent of sex. Thick and potent, and you leaned forward and kissed him deeply, tightly holding his jerking cock and squeezing it all out of him.

“You’re amazing,” Jungkook panted, even after getting up – once again – to attempt to clean up your collective mess.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sitting beside him. He was radiating heat. “I was never worried about that.”

“Hah… You’re… You’re crazy…”

You had obtained your phone and just now sent a message to your boss that you would be taking a sick day on Monday. You have plenty of those. “Speak for yourself.”

“I mean, you’re like… um… uh, oh! A semen demon…”

“What?”

You almost threw your phone in laughter. Actually, you couldn’t even hear Jungkook’s explanation for what the hell he meant by semen demon because you were laughing too hard, barely able to breathe. There wasn’t a normal explanation anyway – how could there be? – and you kept inelegantly snorting afterward at inappropriate times. Jungkook, for his part, seemed proud for making you laugh so much.

“You look so beautiful laughing.”

Your response was quick, immediate, and lighthearted.

“Shut up.”

He snuggled his still too warm head into the crook of your shoulder.

“Will you stay?”

You gave him a look and then showed him the sent text message on your phone. There was something special and perfect about the smile that lit up his face, clearly showing his devotion and clearly seeing yours.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

Jungkook skipped work too. Both of you ended up sleeping in.

--

masterpost

[satorusugurugurl]

My Wedding Date is an Escort!

Summary: When invited to your best friend's wedding, you panic. One of the groomsmen, Toji Fushiguro, is your ex-fiancè. Not wanting to deal with probing questions and the embarrassment of being single, your friend Haibara recommends using an Escort! Taking a leap of faith, you book one my, the hottest one. Gojo Satoru is hot, sweet, and funny! The package deal! Men and Women pay thousands to go on a date with him (even more, which he doesn't do often). So when your request comes in, the desperation and pleading tone of your voice. Gojo’s heartthrobs, even more so when you tell him you don't want to have sex.

Pairing: Escort!Gojo x FAB Reader

Word Count: 4,782

Warning: cursing, asshole Toji, mentions of blood, physical altercations—👀

A/N:The long-awaited part five! This was so satisfying to write. I hope you all enjoy it!! I think we have maybe one part left, maybe two. Omg! 🥹💚, If you want to be in the tag list YOU MUST HAVE AGE LISTED! Thank you!!

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Red. Red was the only color Satoru saw as he dragged his suitcase. He'd never felt so angry! Hurt! Betrayed! The emotions swirled and festered like an infected wound.

He'd let his walls down with you. A mistake he would never make in his life ever fucking again. It didn't matter how desperate a voice would sound on the phone. And it wouldn't matter if he genuinely enjoyed talking to the client or if they gave him the butterflies.

Gojo Satoru would never allow himself to be put into a situation like this again. One where he got hurt. Where he mourned the loss of a girl he barely even knew. A girl that left a scar on him no one would ever see.

The thoughts continued to swell and build up in his mind as he bought himself a hotel room next to the train station. They built up like a typhoon, threatening to destroy everything in its wake, all the way to his room, where he collapsed on the bed. Satoru didn't like feeling this suffocating pain. He needed to distract himself, to talk to one of the only people he trusted in this world.

He needed Suguru.

With a few taps of his finger over his phone screen, Satoru stared at himself, praying his best friend was still up. Which he was. Satoru sighed in relief as Suguru’s face took up the screen. His best friend was propped up in bed, his face dimly illuminated by the lamp on his nightstand. He took one look at Satoru’s face and cocked an eyebrow.

“What happened?”

Satoru chuckled, covering his eyes with his elbow. “Is it that obvious?”

“You just called me three hours ago. You said, and I quote, ‘You’re going to love her. She's got the prettiest eyes. Her skin is fucking flawless. I wanna put her mouth on my mouth.’ end quote.”

“I didn't say that last part!”

“You didn't have to say it, Satoru.” Satoru didn't argue with that. “So, are you going to tell me what happened??”

“I—” he groaned, sitting up, “we, well, ya’ know—”

“Fucked?”

Satoru glared at his only best friend. “No!” Suguru narrowed his eyes. “Well, we didn't go all the way.” God, he wished it had, but he was glad it hadn't.

“Okay? So, did she give you major blue balls? This isn't helping me decipher what happened.”

Although the pain was fresh and stung, Satoru rehashed the night's events. The kiss at the bar, you calling him after Toji showed up, and everything after. From your sudden confidence to the gentle caresses to the intense intimacy between you both. It had been so fierce, raw, and real. Satoru had never experienced kisses and caresses like yours; hell, your touch still lingered as he lay in bed ranting.

All of the chemistry he felt didn’t change the fact that he’d been hurt. He thought you were genuine, that you didn’t want to sleep with him just because of his good looks. Maybe, just maybe, you wanted to sleep with him because you felt the same spark that he did. A spark that would lead to sex, but from there, it might grow into something more! A relationship, the possibility of a future together.

But those stacks of cash changed it all.

The possibilities Satoru had been fantasizing about, wanting, came crashing around him when he counted the bills. You had been so unfazed by it. All you did was check your wallet before pulling out the bag with condoms in it. Your pitiful face when he asked about the money flashed in his mind. You had been incapable of telling him why you had all that money; you just stared blankly at it like you were trying to put two and two together.

Playing around like you didn’t know what was happening had set him off. Why would you have that much money in your purse? Conveniently, it was also the exact amount that he charged for sexual services. Services that Satoru didn’t typically provide. He had been honest with you. He didn’t like having sex with people that he didn’t know, so for him to find all that money, it set him off.

Satoru finished up his story, rubbing his hands through white hair. “So I left, and I missed the last train out. Could you pick me up in the morning? I want to get home as fast as I can.” His blue eyes darted towards his phone screen, where Geto was staring at him like he was an idiot. “What?” Satoru asked, looking at himself on the smaller screen. “Do I have something on my face?” His best friend let out the most extended, most profound sigh in the entire world.

“Are you a fucking idiot?”

“Huh?!”

“I said, are you a fucking idiot?”

Satoru’s eyes narrowed, eyebrows pinching together. “Why the fuck are you asking if I’m an idiot? Are your gauges too big? Did everything I say go through them and not into your ears?” He watched as Suguru rolled his eyes. “I just told you I found all that money in their bag! Right before we did the nasty! I confronted her, she couldn’t explain. That, to me, screams that she’s guilty, Suguru.” He gestured with his hand in front of him as if motioning toward the evidence before his face.

“Did you ever stop and think maybe she couldn’t answer because she was just as confused as you?”

“What?”

Suguru shifted, dark hair falling over his shoulders as he sat up. “Satoru,” he purred, “think about it. She left her bag where anyone could touch it while you two were—preoccupied.” Well, when he put it like that. “And how would you react if you found that much money in your wallet that wasn’t there before?” Satoru remained silent, not saying a word. “You claim she looked guilty because she couldn’t explain it. But what if she truly couldn’t? And you left before even giving her a chance to explain herself.” Yeah, he did; he left you crying at the inn.

Thinking back to how you ran after him, grabbing his arm, stumbling over your feet, would someone guilty do that? Try to explain themselves, beg for him to stop and listen.

“I-I don’t know how it got there, Satoru! Please! Please believe me!”

Your tear-filled eyes, the shuddering tremble in your voice, and the blatant way he’d coldly dismissed your attempts to clear things up had his stomach twisting. The fury that had been fuming deep at his core had blinded him. He didn’t even give you a chance to talk, to explain what had happened.

“I’m so fucking stupid.” He mumbled out, putting his phone down to scrub at his face. “Why didn’t I stop and listen?!”

“Because you like her.” There was something in the tone of Suguru’s voice that had Satoru glancing at his phone. “You genuinely like her Satoru, so when you assumed she just wanted to fuck you just as an escort and not as a potential lover, that broke your heart.” Satoru opened his mouth to argue. “Don’t try to deny it; you just bitched at me for like an hour like some school girl who just got dumped.”

”Fuck you,” Suguru chuckled, knowing Satoru’s words held no heat in them. “So what do I do now? Run back over there, tell her how sorry I am?”

”Well, honestly, if I were in her position, I would slam the door in your face. The whole ‘consider the orgasm, payment for the cancellation of my services’ was fucking harsh.”

”Yeah, not my finest moment.”

“Well, use that Gojo Sator charm and make it up to her.”

After hanging up the phone with Suguru, Satoru plopped down on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. That red-hot rage had faded into regret. He should have listened to you; he should have stopped the second you grabbed his arm. Instead, he pulled away, refusing to listen to what you had to say.

He made you cry like you did when you told him about Toji.

Seeing you that upset had made him sick to his stomach. He thought, what kind of dick makes a girl cry like this? He hated people like that, people that were so cruel. Now the tables had turned, and he was the dick.

God, what are you doing right now? Were you still crying? Maybe you were pacing the room, thinking about what you would do since your wedding date just up and left you. How were you going to explain this to your friends and family? Or were you dreading the pathetic, woeful faces that would be on the faces of your friends and family when you told them he left? You had hired him to make this wedding easier to attend, but he had turned it into an even worse experience for you.

Gojo had been right about you crying. You were curled into a ball on the futon that still smelt like him. Your chest heaved as you screamed into his pillow, gripping it as you let the waves of anguish wash over you, pulling you deeper and deeper into the suffocating waters of despair.

You cried yourself to sleep, waking up with a numbness in your chest as the flashbacks from the night before plagued you. It had been perfect, too perfect. The butterflies, Satoru’s kisses, the pleasure. You felt so good about him, about the two of you, about yourself, to have it come crashing down around you in seconds.

It hurt being yelled at and screamed at and blamed for something you hadn’t done. The rage and betrayal in Satoru’s eyes burned into your mind, and his words sliced so deep into your skin that they touched your soul. You hadn’t been hurt like that since Toji broke up with you, and that had nearly destroyed you. You ran away from the pain, refused to talk to anyone, and stayed in bed for days. Your heart had been broken into a million different pieces, and it took you so long to put it back together. To allow yourself to live your life.

Luckily, your heart was stronger now, scarred and rough. The pain that it had undergone a year before had made it more durable and harder to break. This heartache was not going to destroy you this time around.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you exhaled heavily through your nose before pushing your hair out of your face. You could do this. You didn't need a wedding date to survive the next two days. You were fully capable of getting through this by yourself.

You put on a smile and got ready for your day. Everything hurt, but you would be able to get through it like you had done before. This heartache would not hold you down. You headed into the kitchen, greeting your family as they cleaned dishes from the morning breakfasts that had already been delivered to guests and discussed preparations for the next two nights.

Their voices were white noise as you pulled a bowl of peaches from the fridge. They asked if you were okay if Satoru felt okay since he wasn’t with you. Hearing them say his name stung, but it didn’t stop you from moving, washing peaches, and peeling them as you preheated the oven.

”He left.” You told the truth, not the whole truth, but you weren’t ashamed to tell them he left you. Their reactions varied from confusion and anger to stunned silence and disbelief. “I’ll be okay.” You assured all of them, urging them to go about preparations for the wedding. Right now, all you wanted to do was be alone, to bake the anger and sorrow out of your system.

They granted your wish, leaving you alone in the kitchen. The atmosphere was drastically different from the night before. You giggled and smiled as Satoru stood by your side; those beautiful, captivating blue eyes wandered, watching your hands move. The heat from his gaze alone had the kitchen so hot you thought every oven had been on when they hadn’t. Now, the only warmth that flooded the space was from the oven and stove as you cooked down the peaches in syrup.

You moved unthinkingly, cooking butter into three trays, before setting the stew pot of peaches off to the side. Mind and body numb as you focused on mixing your flour, sugar, and milk in a bowl, you never heard the footsteps behind you. It wasn’t until the timer on your phone went off that you turned, running into a firm chest. You knew the smell of fresh linen masked with musk, and it made you want to throw up.

Satoru rubbed at his neck, glancing down at you. Dark circles were under his eyes as he placed his sunglasses on his head. Even when he looked exhausted, he was still handsome, which irked you.

“Hey.” He spoke softly, like his voice alone would shatter you as if you were a porcelain doll. You said nothing, stepping to the side to turn your timer off. “Can we talk?”

You ignored him, taking out the trays of melted butter from the oven. You put cinnamon, baking powder, and salt into your batter before whisking it bitterly. Satoru moved, gently grabbing your elbow and stopping you from running further away.

“Please.”

“No.” You snapped, pulling away so you could continue to construct the dessert for the rehearsal dinner tonight.

“Sweetie, please.”

“Oh my god!” You slammed the bowl down, turning to shove at Satoru's chest. “You fucking left! You left when I wanted to talk last night!”

“I know I did.”

His eyes never left your face, and his undivided attention only pissed you off more. “Well, guess what? I don’t want to fucking talk now.” Despite your dismissal, Satoru didn’t move. He stayed near your side, watching as your hands moved, putting the peaches on top of the batter. “Don’t you have a train to catch?”

“No, I have a wedding to attend—“

“The fuck you do.”

“You paid for me—“

“And you canceled your services!” Satoru grimaced as you all but threw the trays into the oven. “You paid me with an orgasm, remember?! Because I remember!”

He followed you as you headed to the sink with your dirty dishes. His hand gently grabs your elbow. “Look! Please listen to me.” He took the dishes from your hands, placing them in the sink. “I was an asshole last night, whatever this,” his finger gestures between your bodies, “it’s new and raw and real.” You barked out a laugh. “Stop, please. I messed up; I know I did. And I’m sorry for flipping out on you. But this is worth fighting over; I want to be with you.” His words were regretful; his face matched the panicked pain behind his voice.

That didn’t change the fact he’d hurt you. “Gojo.” The use of his last name had his heart crushed. “You did mess up, you hurt me.” You stepped back, crossing your arms over your chest. “Let’s be honest, this.” You mimicked his finger, gesturing between you. “This is never going to work, not after last night. I had my heart broken once after I was intimate with someone, and you knew that. You knew I didn’t want to have sex. I specified that several times. I put myself out there, out of my comfort zone, because I genuinely liked you. Now, well, let’s be honest: my heart has been broken twice now. So I’m going to ask you to leave.” Satoru swallowed hard, removing his glasses and putting them on the counter.

“Please don’t say that, please.”

“Go.” You pointed to the door, fighting back tears. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

He grips the counter before lifting his head to meet your teary eyes. “Okay,” he reached out, gently brushing away a stray tear, “I’m sorry for breaking your heart.” His gesture had your breath hitching as he turned, heading out of the kitchen with his hands in his pockets.

The moment you were sure he was far enough that he couldn’t hear you, a shaky cry left your lips. You stumbled, your legs no longer wanting to hold you up. How dare he come back and apologize after breaking your heart the night before. If he didn’t apologize, things would have been so much easier for you. You could have grown to hate him, but seeing how upset he looked hearing the pleading tone in his voice, made you want to throw your resolve away to chase after him.

But would a relationship with him work?

He was an escort. People paid him to go out with him. Could you date him, knowing that’s what he did for a living? To be the woman waiting at home for him to come back?

He said he wanted to fight for this, for you and whatever this strange relationship was turning into. He wanted to be with you. So, did that mean he would give up on being an escort? Would he be okay with that? The questions flowed like a steady river through your mind as you sat on the kitchen floor. These were questions you would never get the answers to, all because you sent him away.

Footsteps entered the kitchen as you stared at the floor. You perked up, clenching your fists tight, digging your nails into the palms of your hands. Did Satoru come back? You tilted your head up, tears streaming down your cheeks, to find Toji smirking down at you. The last person on the planet you wanted to see.

”Why are you on the floor?”

”Why won’t you leave me alone?” You snapped as you pushed yourself off the floor.

Toji hummed, leaning over the counter as you went to the sink to clean your dishes. “Because I want to talk to you. But you keep avoiding me.” You threw the whisk into the sink, whirling around.

“You wanna talk? Fine, let’s fucking talk, Toji!” You shrugged a shoulder. “Not that there’s much to talk about, seeing that you’re the one that broke up with me. And last night, you made it painfully obvious that you didn’t want to be with me. So please tell me! What. The. Fuck. Is. There. To. Discuss?!” You screamed, putting both hands on your hips, glaring daggers at the first man who broke your heart.

“Fuck.” He laughed, his eyes trailing up and down your body. “You got feisty in the year that you’ve been away.” When he saw how you glared at him, he held up a hand. “Right, right, fine, I’ll talk.” He straightened his back. “But first, did you enjoy yourself last night?”

His words had your heart dropping into your stomach. “I-I’m sorry?” You asked, hoping that you heard him wrong.

”I asked how your night was. Finally, get dicked down?”

”What?”

”Oh, right, you didn’t know.” He strode forward, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefingers, forcing you to look into his dark eyes. “After you left, I got a job. I’m a PI, the best in the business.” You felt goosebumps rise against your skin as he leaned beside your ear. “I did a little research into this Gojo Satoru, heir to the Gojo business. It took a little digging, but I eventually found his profile in Escorts4you.com.”

You were frozen in shock and fear. “You knew?” Of course, he knew; he knew something was up the first night.

“To think my ex-fiancée hired a fucking escort to be her date to a wedding. I had a good laugh over it. But when I saw the prices, oof, I know you,” toji squeezed your cheeks, “a pathetic baker from a cafe could never, ever afford to get fucked by a pretty boy like him.”

“W-Wait—“your head spun, “wait, it was you; you put the money in my bag?”

“Ding-ding-ding,” He reached into his pocket, holding another wad of cash towards you. “¥480,000, the money you used to cover rent when I was out of a job.” He put the money on the counter behind you. “I’ve been wanting to pay you back. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“You put—you put the money—“

“But seeing that you were able to buy a high-end escort for an entire week, I figured that maybe you wanted more. So I figured I’d give you half to get the full escort experience.”

“It was you—-“

Toji smirked, gently patting your cheek. “Yep, I found your bag in the kitchen last night. Put half the money in there.” Your ears started ringing as he pulled back. “So tell me, did he fuck you as good as I did? Did he make you scream and cry like me~?” He pulled back, smirking down at you. “Or have I ruined all other men for you?”

Ruined? The only thing he ruined was what you and Satoru had. He fucked this up! It was all because of him!

“You son of a bitch!” You screamed, slapping him across the face. Toji stumbled back, grunting as he cupped his cheek in shock. “Do you know what you did!?” You slapped him again, harder.

“Ow, what?!”

“You ruined everything!” He took several steps back as you grabbed the plastic flour container, throwing it at him, which he dodged. “Yes! I hired Satoru! But I wasn't going to sleep with him!” You tossed a spatula at him, trying to close the distance so you could hit him some more. “But what was supposed to be a job turned into something more! I liked him! I liked him, you asshole!”

Toji dodged a cookie tray, “Well, tell him that!” You rushed forward, slamming your fists against his chest.

“He found the money! And he assumed I was going to pay him to sleep with me!”

“Stop it!” He snarled, grabbing your wrists, forcing you to cease your assault. “Look, I didn’t know you legitimately liked the guy!”

You snapped, yanking your wrists free before kneeing him in the crotch. Toji gasped out, hands reaching down, cupping himself as he stumbled. Vision blurring with tears, you weakly slapped at his shoulders.

“You’re always ruining everything! You broke my heart! I didn’t get to pastry school, and I lost a nice guy because of you!” A gut-wrenching sob made its way through you. “Did you stop to think that maybe I was happy?!”

Your heart was pounding, thundering in your ears as you cried, and cried, and you kept crying as Toji straightened. “Look, I didn’t know it was serious. But if you keep hitting me, we’re going to have a major fuckin’ problem.”

He hissed his vague threat through his teeth. Hearing that only pissed you off more. So you did what anyone else would to the man who broke your heart and kept butting in your life. You pulled your hand back and slapped him as hard as you could. He winced, bangs shielding his eyes as he growled.

When he snapped in your direction, he received another slap. It was when you went in for a third slap that Toji’s hand flew up, grabbing your wrist and squeezing it. He crowded you against the wall, scowling down at your smaller form.

“I told you to stop fucking hitting me!”

“I hate you! Let me go!”

“Are ya’ going to stop hitting me?!”

“No!”

“Then tough shit!”

You kicked at his shins, but he easily avoided you. You were going to kick his ass, beat him into a bloody pulp—once you freed yourself. But all the fight vanished as you saw two ivory fingers tap Toji on the shoulder. He turned around, only to be knocked back by a powerful punch. You stared at Toji, who spit out blood, his gaze locked on the man standing at six-three. Satoru shook his hand, fingers brushing over his knuckles as he glared.

His lip twitched, revealing sharp canines as he stepped forward. “Oh, you think that hurt? Wait until I get a good hit in.” He clenched his fists into tight balls, continuing to close the distance between them.

“Oh, you don’t wanna fuck with me. I’ll fuck up your face so bad you’ll never get a ‘client’ again.”

“Why you—”

“Wait!” You yelled out, jumping between the two men and holding your arms out. “Stop! Stop it!”

Satoru looked down at you as if you’d lost your mind, his momentum stopping. Toji kept moving until your fingers grazed his chest. With a deep sigh, you looked up at Satoru, giving him a gentle smile, one that had his cheeks flushing.

“I got this.” the softness of your voice was the only convincing he needed. With a curt nod, he crossed his arms over his chest as you turned to look into Toji’s eyes. “You have fucked with my life for the last time.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep!” You grinned wide and warmly before punching him directly in the nose. “Try that shit again! I dare you! I fuckin’ dare you!!”

“Oooh!” Just as you went in for another punch, you were picked up, and Satoru carried you out of the kitchen. “Easy there, I don’t want you getting arrested.”

You flailed in his arms, “I’m serious, Fushiguro!” Your ex groaned, cupping his hands over his bleeding nose as you jammed your finger at him. “That was the last time you’ll ever interfere with my life!” You glanced over your shoulder, watching Satoru grab his forgotten sunglasses off the counter before heading down the hall.

“Oh!” You heard your mother squeak out as Satoru passed them. “What’s going on? I thought you said Satoru left!”

Satoru grinned, turning to face her as he passed. “Me leave her?” He shifts, throwing you over his shoulder. “I’m not making that mistake again.” You squeak as he bounds down the hall.

“W-Wait, the cobblers! Mom, take them out of the oven!”

The halls were a blur as Satoru carried you to the room you both had shared. Only once inside, he gently places you down, taking several steps back, giving you space. You remained silent, nursing the hand you had punched Toji with.

“Do you want some ice?” Satoru said softly, eyes following you as you sat down on the futon, thumb rubbing over your red knuckles.

“No.”

You could hear him wince at your stiff tone. “Are you sure?” He slowly approached you, not moving too fast, as if you would bolt if he did. “It could make baking hard if you don’t take care of it.” Your heart slowly crawled up your throat as he sat before you, crossing his legs.

“You know what I want?” Satoru inhaled slowly, holding it for the briefest of moments before exhaling.

“No, what is it you want?”

You slowly lifted your head, eyes locked on his. He was stiff, pulse visible in his throat as he waited for you. Seeing him like this, like a child waiting to be reprimanded, had you swallowing hard as you opened your mouth, the words leaving Satoru’s eyes wide as he rocked back at your request.

“You want what?”

Tag List/ (AGE MUST BE IN BIO)

@arminloverlol @jamzywiththejam28 @gojoful @maskedpacific @ahseyy @kash77 @sadmonke @ari-maccha @sugurubabe @hyori2 @bluechocolatemint @itsinherited @dellappatca @therealestpussyeater @dead-at-tokyo @nvrgojover @drakenswifeyy @nealeart @yunho-leeknow @fire-child-kira @faeryminnyx @tqd4455 @harmonyflora @volkins181-blog @noukstmblr @lovley212 @stinkinstuffie @desihopelessromantic @witchbybirth @sonicsolos @lilbiguy @supsiii @rentheannihilator @bloopsstuff @pepepepepopopopo @pandoness @sw33cadav3r @rixo-19 19 @meguvmii @sxnkuna @mmeerraa @lemonintrovert01 1 @bunny-lily @kibananya @kamastar39 @rjreins @lzaj19 @tiredflame132 @manyno @oliiper @rengokushair @simp-plague @matchalatte06 @haesify y @majanggeum

[tevanbuckley]

some low points from the ry*an g*zman interview because i need you all to feel my pain.

when talking about his celibacy (yes he uses that word): "I haven't entertained any interactions with any other females" — gave me the ick 0/10

uses the phrase "a woman's touch," to explain why women are inherently good at interior decorating(?) and that this skill is how women are able to enrich a successful man's life — side note: at no point do they talk about how men enrich women’s lives.

immediately after this the religious imagery takes a left turn and exits my frame of reference, bc instead of just asking "do you think you still have things to work on?" like a normal person, the host says "I want to know what one Thorn is in your flesh." — someone raised more religious than i was needs to chime in on if this is normal christian doctrine or a sign he might be in a cult. (is it a reference to the thorns in jesus' crown?)

ryan makes a weird comment about how "you've seen civilizations built on [a man in love]" — genuinely idk what the fuck this means — but it leads into a tangent about like, men as providers and how "I would do anything for my women."

"peace is key yeah we got enough problems in the world outside the house and so long as I come back to the house and I get peace," — maybe i'm being pedantic but the way he keeps framing woman as belonging in the home is 🚩🚩🚩🚩

"for the next woman I would have in my life I can see that they navigate their their problems and still offer peace to their men." — again 🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩

surprisingly claims he has been to therapy, which assuming is true, idk it worked.

the host: "women may be fighting internal battles you know kind of themselves do you believe that a woman still fighting those battles are able to still bring peace" — because remember ladies, no matter what you're going through your job is to bring peace to your man's home.

there's some more brief gender essentialist bs where ryan talks about how men "like to fix things," but are bad listeners, and how "problems within women are so specific to women that I wouldn't even try and and say that I have a grasp on them."

then the host randomly asks him if he thinks men need to be financially stable before entering a relationship or if dating a broke guy is a way to "present loyalty."

weirdly ryan actually kind of dodges this question, but ends up suggesting social media is a good place to get "great examples of what does and what doesn't seem to work." in relationships — and no. no it isn't.

oh and then he starts talking about conor mcgregor for some reason? and how it's bad he disrespected his wife by stepping outside their marriage — and i mean sure, although infidelity feels second to the rape accusations??

says it's harder for a woman to come into a man's life when he's already established because "now the man has proven to himself that he never needed a woman." — which, interesting given how later he talks about how women need to stop trying to do the independent woman thing.

he also gets weirdly possessive over his daughter at one point. does the classic "God forbid I find out that man disrespects my little baby." — idk, on the surface he talks about how he wants her to know her value, but it seems like he has a pretty limited view of what that value is.

the host drops lore about how she moved out of her parents house at 14/15 and how she had to "stop thinking like a woman and start thinking also like a man," but stay feminine and "know what a man wants and how to cater to that but also still be soft." — i mean good lord, i don't even know where to start 🤢.

this btw is the preamble to ryan's rant about "independent women."

and god the more i read the more i am deeply concerned about the woman hosting (i saw someone earlier say she's 21). this woman is barely an adult and has so much internalised misogyny, talking about how "us women don't know how to direct our emotions." and "in today's generation a lot of men are deprived of even the small things because a lot of women are takers."

this whole interview is utterly bizarre and i feel like it's taken years off my life. like i said earlier, this isn't a normal podcast he got weird on, this is straight up christian propaganda

[writing-mlm]

The line we toe

Summary: Why can’t you ever just have Clark? Why is there always a reason he’s only there in your memories and why did he have to ruin your birthday? Pairing: Clark Kent x NFL!Male reader Wc: 14.5k tags: hurt/comfort, not enough Clark groveling IMO, mutual masturbation, needy!Clark, dry humping, reader is also a witch, religion but its not negative, homophobia but its a misunderstanding

If there’s something small towns were known for it's their churches. They held out hope for their religion, spending every weekend in their Sunday best, listening to the preacher go on for hours. But Smallville was different, it always had been. 

Church for the town wasn’t some big event where you come in button-ups, slacks, and polished shoes. Most dressed however they pleased, saving their good clothes for special events. It didn’t go on for hours, one and a half at most. It also wasn’t every weekend, although the priest always went, no one was shunned for not going. No one spoke in whispers because they missed their Sunday service. 

But for most, the service provided the calm that they needed. When business got tough, when the farms didn’t provide enough crops, and things seemed bleak, the pews filled townsfolk. 

You sat in the front, messing with the cross on your rosary as your father preached. Your mother and sister sit next to you; your mother's floor floor-length black dress sweeps over your shoes and her white lace gloves holding your free hand. You don’t know what he’s saying, you never have but you don’t like being alone in your home

so you go to church with them. 

Your connection with God isn’t one you understand through words or through the scripture. It’s more… Flyleaf’s All around me than shouting and claiming you can hear someone speaking to you. Your faith is one to yourself but you can appreciate the church's amens and their hymns. Admittedly you like the hymns, even if they’re different from the ones you’re used to, often lacking the umph you’re used to in New Orleans. 

When church ends, you stand with your mother and find him in the crowd of people deciding if they want to leave or talk to your father. You find him easily, standing with his parents as they head out of the church, smiling as he talks to one of the older men about helping with their yard. Clark Kent. You’d always been drawn to him, somehow you’ve always been in the same class as him. He’s always the first person you see at school. 

Ducking your head, you grab ahold of your sister and head outside through the back door. The field behind the church has a small playground that she and the other kids tended to frequent during and after service. It’s nothing elaborate. A sandpit, swings, a jungle gym, a seesaw. Your father and uncle had built it one summer after he noticed some of the families couldn’t have a good time when their kids wouldn’t sit. 

“Good,” Your older brother groans as you get close. “I’ve had to piss for an hour!” While he heads inside, you see Clark getting into the family truck. His eyes catch yours and he smiles, giving you a small wave. You wave back, your hand barely higher than your hip as the truck pulls off. His blue eyes imprinted into your mind and his smile—

Holding your cross again, you stop the bubbling feeling in your stomach. Instead, you focus your attention onto the kids playing until it’s time to go home. 

At home, your parents start dinner while you finish up your homework. Your brother runs his drills in the backyard while your sister watches, he gives her a whistle so she can feel useful but you think she likes the power the whistle holds. 

“Hey, hun,” Your father enters your room and you look up from your textbook, the cross falling from your fingers and into your chest. “Dinners ready if you are.” He holds onto the doorknob as he smiles. Outside of church, he’s relaxed, more often than not he’s walking around in a white tank and old sweatpants that are probably older than you are. 

“Okay,” Getting up, you see your mother calling in your brother and sister, rushing him into the shower. He runs past you, nearly knocking you down the stairs and you hold onto the banister, glaring up at him. Feeling the cold metal against your fingertips, you continue into the dining room.

The table isn’t set yet, your mother is finishing up her tarot reading and your father is adding the final touches to the dish. Your mother tsks as she flips the final card, the reversed death. She holds the deck in her right hand and you watch as the cards fly into place before it zooms through the house and into the barn. 

It’s probably some lame joke. A priest and a witch getting married on a rainy day. But by the way your father wears her protection spell jar you know their love isn’t a joke. 

She smiles at you, the tension in her face dropping as you help your father set the table. The placements find their spots as you carefully recite the spell, your sister watches through giggles, touching the sparkles that encase your spells. “You’re getting better,” She smiles, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Remind me to add more spells to your grimoire.” You nod and settle down in your seat. When your brother comes down from the shower, everyone starts to eat. 

“I think I’ll make quarterback this year,” Your brother announces as he piles the chicken alfredo onto his plate. He’s mostly been a running back but he thinks being a QB in his final year will help with scholarships. Besides, he’s been encouraging you to be the running back but football isn’t really your thing. But you’ll try out to make him happy. 

“I don’t doubt you,” Your father grabs the garlic bread bowl and takes out two pieces. “Hey, why don’t you and your brother run through old plays before school tomorrow? Get him ready for the season.”

“Sure,” Looking at your brother, you wonder if it’s illegal for someone his size to be a quarterback for a high school team. 

—

“Hey, you okay?” Clark catches up to you as you rub your shoulder on your way to your shared first period. You nod, still rubbing it. Tracing sigils, you feel the pain starting to go away.

“I was running drills with Angel,” You explain. “He wants me to try out for the football team.” Clark smiles at that and you look away from him, grabbing your cross again. 

“You should. I bet you’d make the team.” The way his voice carries such hope, not an inch of taunt in it makes you sick. That stupid feeling in your stomach rises again. “I’m actually the assistant coach for the team.” He continues when you don’t say anything, the awkward pauses feeling like torture for him. You probably shouldn’t try and make the team, then. 

You stare at your classroom door as the halls clear out, not knowing what to say. “Cool, I guess I’ll see you during tryouts.” He smiles, walking away with a pep in his step. Watching him leave, you tear your eyes away as the bell rings. Still fumbling with your rosary, you enter the classroom as the lights in the hallway blow out, sparks flying about. 

Sinking into your seat, the teacher checks the hallway and rushes to pull the fire alarm. Apparently one of the sparks had caught onto a banner that quickly spread to the other posters and banners. 

“Way to go,” Angel punches your shoulder as everyone stands in the parking lot. “Totally missing out on a test cause of this,” Out of three children you’re the only one to have manifested powers. It’s a gene that skips a kid every time and you picked the winning straw by being born second, lucky you.

In the corner, you see Clark covering his ears as the fire alarms continue to blast and the fire trucks approach. He has to walk away, still plugging his ears as the sirens only get louder. No one else notices, watching as the fire ravages what you think is the math room for 11th grade. You haven’t even had that class yet and you destroyed it. Great. 

As far as first days go, this isn’t the worst. Classes still continue and you’re eventually dragged to tryouts by Angel. He forces you into the gear and lugs you the whole way to the field. Coach and Clark are standing next to each other, Clark’s eyes light up when he sees your heels dragging into the turf. 

“Hey, rosary!” Coach calls and you stand up straight, grabbing the rosary you’d tucked into the pants of the uniform. “Give it here, the boys will rip it apart.” Nodding, you hesitate before giving it to him. The cold metal slips from your fingers and you’re suddenly antsy. Bouncing between the balls and heels of your feet, your eyes dart across the field. 

Older kids play tackle each other and toss the football between themselves. Your brother talks with his friends and the freshmen awkwardly stand to the side. You don’t have any football friends, but you know them through your brother. “Rosary, get on the field!” Rushing over to your brother, the coach laughs while Clark offers you an apologetic look. 

Coach runs a test game and you stand behind Angel, wiping your hands on the pants before the ball flies to him. You run ahead and he tosses the ball at you, catching it, you look for a second before you remember. Running back. You gotta run and he points in the direction you go as the others head towards you. You manage a couple of yards before you’re eventually tackled to the ground. Your head bounces and your teeth clamp together as you roll onto your back. 

“Hey, need a hand?” Clark asks when your eyes open. Accepting his hand, he pulls you up and you stumble forward. He catches you with a chuckle. “That was good, you have a good chance of getting on the team.” That’s not what you wanted to hear, but your brother clasps his hands on your shoulder and cheers. According to the others, you made it a good distance. 

Try-outs continue for another hour before it’s time to go home. Your brother takes a shower first but you’re not so sure you want to shower with a bunch of men and get in the bed of your dad's pickup truck. While you’re waiting, Clark rushes over and leans on the edge. 

“Uh, between us, you made the team.” He smiles and then shakes his head. “But I came here to ask if you wanted to come to a Soul Asylum concert? Me, Pete, and Lana are going. Thomas was gonna go but he got grounded and I noticed the patch on your bag.”

Lana. His girlfriend. The thought makes your throat tight and you cough into your fist. “Um… I’ll have to ask my parents. But… I’ll let you know what they say.” 

“Cool… er… here, take my number.” He digs through his bag for a piece of paper and one, scribbling the house number to the Kent’s on it before folding it and handing it to you. “It’s next weekend, we’re meeting at Lana’s at six.” Taking the paper, you thank him and watch him leave. As he’s running away, your brother runs over and slaps the side of the truck. 

“Pop! He’s totally making the team.” Angel climbs into the truck, his praise dying as the door slams shut. The truck starts and you jerk as it moves forward. Riding in the bed isn’t anything new, your father even built-in handlebars for when people do. You catch your father looking back at you after every turn, making sure you’re still on the truck. 

When he parks the truck, you head upstairs to take a shower before joining your family in the living room. Your mother is wrapping her sage bundles and you happily join her as you talk about school. 

“Oh, Clark Kent invited me to a Soul Asylum concert,” The smile that graces your face makes your mother smile. “It’s next Saturday and they’re meeting at Lana Lang’s place at six. I think Pete Crushing is going to drive.” Your parents exchange glances for a minute, their conversation unknown to you and Angel.

“Okay.” Your father nods. “No drinking, no drugs, and you’re tending to the farm this weekend.” The farm has a variety of crops and an apiary with nearly a thousand bees, it’s mainly so your mother and you have easy access to materials for spells and such. Agreeing to the terms, you shake on it and you’re off to your room. 

—

At five forty, you make it to the Lang’s place inside of the town. Your mother does a quick protection spell over you and slips a protection sigil into your jacket pocket before you’re able to leave. She didn’t tell you at the time but she’d done a reading for the night and something was going to go wrong. But she knew you were going to be okay, so she still let you go. 

“Hello,” Clark and Lana are waiting in front of her place. They’re holding hands and your jaw tightens at the sight. “I’m glad you could make it.” 

“Had a weekend of farm work, but yeah.” Laughing, you join them and wait for Pete to arrive. The whole time the two giggle at each other and you try your best to ignore it, messing with your rosary. 

“Oh, right. Congrats on making the team,” Lana smiles over at you. “Clark says you’re an amazing running back. Must run in the family, right?” 

“Yeah,” A car pulls up and you nearly sigh in relief when it’s Pete. You take the passenger seat at their insistence and listen to the latest Soul Asylum album. It’s nice. And when you get to the venue Lana runs ahead, already scanning her ticket. 

“Right, here you go,” Clark hands you the spare ticket, his fingers brushing against your own. You snatch your hand away and thank him. He just smiles and meets up with Lana, leaving you with Pete. You get it, they’re a couple.

After the concert, you’re drifting off against the window when the car swerves off of the main road. You shout, gripping your seatbelt when you see that Pete had outright knocked out behind the wheel. The car careens and you close your eyes, scrambling for a spell and haphazardly spitting one out. Feeling yourself on the grass, you open your eyes and see the car smush in a ditch, Lana and Pete waking up beside you and Clark rising to his feet. 

A car stops and you turn, seeing it's a state trooper radioing for an ambulance and backup. Clark explains what’s happening as you grip your cross, heart beating out of your chest. The car is wrecked beyond recognition, tipped over, and bent under its own weight. 

When the ambulance and another cop come, you’re all driven back to Smallville where your mother is waiting on the porch with a blanket and cup of warm tea. 

“Hello, ma’am,” The cop nods his head. “Your son was in an accident coming back from a concert. Glad to report there are no injuries.” She pretends to be shocked as she pulls you in for a hug, stroking the top of your head. 

“Thank you, officer,” He nods and leaves, taking Clark back to the Kent’s farm. “Hun, are you okay?” Nodding, she checks on the protection charm and finds that it’s cracked. It did its job, good. “Come on. I made you grilled cheese and tomato soup.”

— 

In the weeks after the accident, Clark constantly checks on you and somehow you’ve been indoctrinated into his friend group. It’s nice since your old friend group has been slowly moving away since middle school but you don’t like being around Clark. He’s nice but he makes you nervous. You know why. But you can’t bring yourself to admit it. 

You love your parents, truly you do, but you don’t think they’d love you if they knew the truth. 

“I saw those damn two again,” Your mother sneers as she does your sister's hair for school. Your sister simply watches the Land Before Time DVD for the hundredth time while eating bits of granola and honeycomb.

“Jane and Betsy?” She groans at the mention of their name and you hide in your cushion. Jane and Betsy are the town's black sheep, they live together in a one-bedroom apartment and Jane has a clean-shaven head. Betsy has an assortment of tattoos and they don’t hide the fact that they’re not roommates but lovers. 

“Honestly, they need to hide their activities from the youth.” She continues on. “Forsaking the rest of us to see them. You know I talked to the Williams and they said they’re planning on opening a business.” Your father makes sounds of disapproval and you head upstairs to continue packing your bag. 

When you go back downstairs, you meet Angel and his friend in their car before heading to school. Once more Clark is the first person you see, although you see Lana not far away. They’re making a point to not look at each other, which makes it a bit awkward when Pete calls out for both of them. Lana looks at Clark before scoffing and walking towards Pete. 

“Hey,” Clark jumps, turning to see you. 

“Hey,” He doesn’t smile as he greets you, but he tries to. “Hey, um… I’ll see you during football practice, yeah?” Nodding, you watch as he walks away from the school. Sighing, you head in for your first class of the day. It’s not like you don’t have the same exact classes. Right. 

Clark doesn’t show up for practice that day or the next day, he’s barely in class but then he shows up and pretends as though the past couple of days hadn’t happened. 

“Want to be partners?” He asks, setting his lunch box in front of you. Choking on your water, he laughs and apologizes. “For the science project.” He clarifies, opening the box. “I know you’re pretty good with bees and stuff, I’m surprised no one has snatched you up already.” In truth, they had but you’d planned on working on the project alone. At least until he asked. 

“Yes. Yeah, sure,” Capping your thermos, you glance around. “So, we’re doing it on bees?”

“If you want,” He adds. “I just figured since you know bees and I’m good with football plays we could do some sort of… bee football game. Now that I say it out loud it does sound stupid.”

“No, it sounds nice. Unique. Uh, do you want to work on it at my place or yours?” 

“My parents are going out this Saturday to prepare for the Harvest Festival, so it’ll be quiet at my place.” He offers. 

“Sure, sounds like a plan.”

Saturday rolls around and Clark lets you inside, his hair pulled into a pigtail at the base of his neck but some pieces had fallen out and blocked parts of his face. It basically begged you to fix it. But you don’t, instead, you take your shoes off and follow him up to his room. You’d expected to work in the living room, maybe the dining room but being in his room was new. Intimate in ways you didn’t like. 

“You can sit on the bed,” He laughs when you stand at the door, messing with your rosary. Sitting on the bed he laughs again. “Get comfortable, you’re about to fall off.” He drags you back but forgets his strength and suddenly you’re on top of him. He’s still holding your wrist, his barely there grip makes goosebumps run down your spine. Naturally, his other hand had found your back, keeping you in place while you held onto him, clutching his sides. With wide eyes, you scramble off and apologize. 

“It’s okay, it was my fault. Let’s just… get started, yeah?” Waving his notebook you agree and the two of you begin to work on opposite ends of his bed. Eventually, there’s a call from the house phone and a knock on the door. 

“It’s probably my folks checking on me,” The two of you head downstairs and you open the door, finding your mother with a solemn look on her face and her death shawl over her shoulders. At the same time, you hear the house phone drop, clattering on the ground, and Clark staggers into the dining table. 

She drives Clark to the hospital to see Mr. Kent before it’s too late. She told you in the car he only had three hours left, that death was already in his hospital room waiting. She was right, of course. Mr. Kent is pronounced dead three hours later. 

The funeral is held at your church and the entire town attends wearing black. Mrs. Kent and Clark sit in the front, you’re a row behind them listening to your father talk about the life Mr. Kent had lived. His legacy. His family. Eventually, the procession moves to bury his body as it begins to pour down. 

Shifting your grip on your sister, you watch as your mother talks to Mrs. Kent and your father talks to Clark. You don’t know where you fit in all of this. What you’re supposed to do, if you’re supposed to do something. You’re Clark’s friend, his only friend since Lana and him broke up and Pete is trying to pick up where they left off, you should do something. Right? Talk to him at the very least. 

Passing your sister over to Angel, you start towards him. 

“I need some space,” He tells you when you get close. He walks away and you stand there, watching as he walks down the muddy road back towards his house.

—

Some time later and it’s summer break and you’re invited to a bonfire that’s being held by one of the cheerleaders. Angel quite literally drags you along by your neck, tossing you into his friend's car kidnapping style before they speed off. 

Once you’re there, your gaze naturally finds Clark’s. Following the funeral, he hadn’t spoken to you for two weeks. Not even for the project because the teacher automatically passed the two of you due to Mr. Kent’s passing. It was two agonizing weeks where you spent most of the time hating yourself for being upset he wasn’t talking to you. Hating yourself more because he was in your dreams and in them, you were more than friends. It made the silence and the guilt in your body all the more painful. 

You were back to normal now, well as normal as Clark could be following the death of his father and as normal as you could be after having fourteen dreams where you kissed him. 

“I didn’t think you’d come,” You admit, taking a seat next to him. He shrugs, looking at the fire in the trash can. Clarks never really gone to one of the parties but you’ve been to nearly all of them since you entered high school. Even if it is to just be a wallflower the entire time and so you can sober Angel up when it’s time to leave. 

“Ma thought it would be a good idea to get some air and I figured you’d be here,” He pushes his shoulder against yours and you nudge his back. “Can I ask you something?” Nodding, you watch as his eyes dip down to your rosary. “I’ve never seen you take it off, why do you wear it? You said you don’t like church,”

“I’m still vaguely religious.” You shrug, holding the cross. “And it was a gift from my aunt. She makes rosaries and made this when my ma was pregnant with me. It just means a lot to me, I guess,” Your hand drops and you see his hand begin to hover. “You can touch it, you won’t burn.” The two of you laugh but he grabs it, gently rolling his thumb over the intricate metal. Gulping, you watch him, eyes darting between his own before he drops it. 

“It’s pretty,” He says after a minute and looks towards the party. It’s loud, speakers all around, and shouting teenagers always makes Clark wince. 

“If you wanna go somewhere more quiet, there’s a creek some ways behind us.” He takes the offer and you guide him towards the creek beyond a small clearing of trees. 

The two of you settle on top of a rock. It’s clear that someone had already been there because there’s a blanket and two empty cans of beer below the rock. Neither of you mind as you flip the blanket and settle down, now sure there’s no bodily fluids touching your pants. “I’ve never been here before,” He said after some time had passed with the two of you spending it watching the water. 

“I come here every bonfire. It’s nice. Most people go the other direction to make out and stuff.” Kicking your foot, you see Clark turn his head towards you. Looking at him, your heart races. Even with the shitty flashlight at the bottom of his rock, you can see his stupidly pretty blue eyes and his smile that he’s slowly getting back. “Not what we’re… gonna… make out,”

He chuckles, looking to the creek for a moment before looking at you again. You’re still dumbstruck, staring at him and his eyes dip to your slightly parted lips. He hears your racing heart pick up when you notice and look back at you, your eyes darting between his. “Forgive me if I’m reading this wrong,” He mutters and leans in. His lips brush against yours and you lean in, closing the little distance. 

Your chest does tricks as you kiss— it feels so right that this couldn’t possibly be wrong. There’s no way this isn’t what you’re meant to do, that this is the wrong path. It’s new but it feels so familiar, kissing him. Across the creek a tree breaks but neither one of you seems to care, you think Clark doesn’t even notice. But when you hear a twig snap you pull away and jump down from the rock, holding your mouth. Clark frowns as he watches you mess with your rosary, hearing you muttering prayers. 

“Ready to go?” Angel slurs against a tree. You basically run to him, dragging him away from the creek. 

“Yeah, let’s go.” When you leave, you don’t look back at Clark but he hears your heart hammering and the way your rosary beads hit each other when you kiss the cold metal he’d touched.

—

That Sunday during church you’re watching the children, listening to the sermon through the open windows the parents use to keep an extra eye on their kids. You’re still thinking about the kiss, hating yourself for how you let yourself fall into temptation. Biting your tongue, you fix your clothes for the umpteenth time and pace about. Angel isn’t there to help, he’s gone off to college to play football across the country. Not that you mind, he’s gotten into a D1 on a full ride. Besides, at least he’s doing better than you are.

In the distance, Clark watches you. His mother had started going to service more often since his father's passing but this time he’d ask to go. You hadn’t talked to him all week, not answering the phone, your mother said you weren’t home whenever he asked but he knows you were inside of the barn with your father. He saw you. Heard you talking about keeping the bees safe for when the cold starts to come around again. This was the only place he could think of to talk to you. 

He excuses himself during prayer, it’s easier to leave that way and heads out towards the playground. You’re helping one of the boys learn to swing when Clark makes his appearance. “You’re a good teacher,” He nearly gets kicked by the boy and takes a comically large step back. You blink, not looking at him as your heart rate increases. “Can we talk?”

“Sorry, I’m busy.” Walking away, you stop a disagreement about toys before going to the edge of the playground again. He follows, dodging running children and stray toys. 

“I just… I’m sorry,” He says once he’s close enough. Your breath hitches and you inhale. 

“We were intoxicated, it’s fine.” Never mind the two of you hadn’t even had a sip of water. Not a pill, not a drink, nothing. Solemnly, he agrees to the lie and walks away. You watch him with a heavy heart, holding your cross as your chest tightens. You want so desperately for things to be different, for this feeling to go away. 

But you can’t. You return to watching the children, the ache never leaving.

That behavior continues as school comes around again. You feel bad, of course you do. It wasn’t a mistake, you’d wanted to kiss him. The issue is you liked it and you want to do it again— Clark liked it and he wants to do it again. He tries to talk to you time and time again but you’re fast and somehow manage to evade him every single time. It’s hard, considering you’re never not around him. 

He continues to show up during church, helping with the kids even when it’s only your sister playing around. She likes him, says that he’s the best at her tea parties that you’ve started to refuse to play whenever he’s around. Clark doesn’t mean to ambush you every Sunday but it’s the only time he can hear your voice. The only time he can be around you for longer than a second before you run away. 

And it’s slowly chipping away at your resolve. 

One day he’d tried seven separate times and you’re glad when you’re home. Angrily kicking your shoes off you turn to head upstairs when you see your parents talking on the phone while holding a card. You recognize their voices, they’re friends from when you lived in New Orleans, and they used to attend service. 

“You’re right on time!” Your mother smiles as she beckons you further inside the house. “You remember Mickey and O’Neil, right?” You nod and your father smiles. It’s nice to be remembered. “We’re planning on flying back to New Orleans for their wedding, they want your father to officiate it, do you want to come? I know you’re back on the football team and everything but I know you miss it there.” 

Your eyebrows cross as you look at her, a wedding— a gay wedding that your father approved of? Your chest tightens as your world spins. You can’t manage a single word as you nod. What was different about them and Betsy? Did they not like gay women? 

“I thought…” You trail, lips pinched shut. “They’re homosexuals.”

“Surely are,” Your father smiles. “Unless one of them transitioned and we haven’t heard yet.”

“You don’t like gay people.” Sharing a look, your parents turn to you. Your chest rises and falls quickly and they can hear you breathing. 

“Honey,” Your mother's head tilts as she grabs your hand. “Why would you think that?” She pulls you down onto the couch and you thread your fingers over your hair. 

“You always talk about Betsy and Jane and how they’re bad people.” Your face twists as you try to understand what’s going on. What are they talking about?

“That’s because they tried to burn down the diner.” Your father explains, the diner your father owns. He does church on the side. “Jane got fired and the two of them decided to try to destroy it. It’s why Mr. Leon is in the wheelchair.” Your shoulders slump as you realize their hatred was never centered around who they loved. 

“So, you don’t hate gay people?” The waiver in your voice carries the pain you’re holding and your parents' hearts ache for you. 

“No, honey. Love thy neighbor. Only God can judge,” Your father presses his lips to the top of your head as you begin to cry. The two of them hold you as you cry, clutching their clothes for reprise. The floors shake as you cry and their grip on you tightens. “We’re sorry that you felt any different.” 

After some time, you pull away and wipe your face. They’re hesitant to let you go, but slowly they unwrap you from their arms and let you stand up. You feel like a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as you walk away. They watch as you go, squeezing each other's hand as a silent promise to each other.

Halfway up the stairs, as all of this dawns on you, you remember. 

Clark. 

You huff a laugh and turn around. Running down the stairs, you stuff your feet into your shoes and run the distance from your house to the Kent’s. 

Your feet bash against the dirt road, ignoring the pain in your calves and the cold air invading your lungs. You’re laughing the whole time, skidding to a halt when you see their mailbox. The lights are on and you see Mrs. Kent in the kitchen. 

Running up to the door, you’re panting as you knock on the door. Mrs Kent opens the door for you with a smile, wiping her hands on a dish towel. 

“Hey, sweetie. What’s going on? Is something the matter?” She asks and you shake your head, holding your knees. 

“Hello, ma’am. I’m here for your son,” You struggle to get out but she lets you in without any fuss. “Thank you, ma’am.” Taking your shoes off, you climb the stairs two at a time before opening his door. He’s on his bed, doing homework, and sits up when he sees you. He doesn’t notice the door closing on its own, not when you’re smiling like an idiot while rushing towards him. 

“I am so sorry,” You say before kissing him. He smiles, holding you close as you continue to kiss before needing air. Holding his face, you can’t stop smiling and admiring him. 

“What changed?” He doesn’t want to ask that, to ruin the mood but he needs to know. It’s been two months of this cold shoulder, of him doing everything short of coming to your home with flowers and screaming your name to the heavens. 

“I might’ve assumed my parents were homophobic,” You laugh, pressing your forehead against his. “Can we start over?” He nods, leaning in for another kiss, lowering himself onto his bed when his mother walks in. 

Jumping off of Clark, you stare at Mrs. Kent with wide eyes while Clark hides his embarrassed face. You peel yourself from him, sitting on the edge of his bed while pinching your lips closed.

“Let me know if you’re staying for dinner, sugar,” She smiles at you. 

“No, ma’am. My parents are expecting me back soon,” She nods and gives Clark a look before leaving. The door stays open and he starts laughing. 

—

Being a witch, you have certain little traits. You mix cinnamon into your coffee filters on the rare occasions that you drink it, you always have your mini grimoire on hand, and as of late, tracing protection sigils into Clark’s arm. 

You’re at your place after football practice because despite your brother no longer being there to drag you to tryouts, you’ve found you do enjoy the sport. Continuing your role as the best running back with Clark’s plays. 

You and Clark are in the living room under the blanket watching a movie he’d picked out. He’s no stranger to your home, so much so your family has gotten used to finding his shoes neatly placed next to yours. But they’re all out of town picking your brother up from the airport, so the two of you are free to do whatever for the next… you squint at the clock, three hours. 

Sometimes you think about telling him but your mother didn’t tell your father until they’d been dating for three years and it sounds like a solid plan to you. Besides, it hasn’t even been seven months of dating. You’d be foolish to tell him now. Especially when things are going steady. 

Sometimes you worry he’s going to wander into the barn or the basement, finding the assortment of items, and run for the hills. He has this weird way of always knowing where you are when he’s around. Pinpointing you in the crowd as if you’re the only person around. 

“Do you believe in aliens?” He asks as the movie credits begin to roll. 

“I’d be stupid not to,” You hum, turning the TV off. It’s too much work to pick out another movie. “Do you?” With a nod, he sits up and lays on his back, staring at the ceiling. He’s cut his hair, it rests around his ears nowadays but he keeps the front longer so there’s one particular curl that rests in the center of his forehead. It’s cute. 

“What if we could travel to outer space? See the stars and the planets like the astronauts do,” His eyes are still cast to the ceiling, darting about as if he’s imagining it. “Would you like an alien?”

“Whaddya mean?” Shifting, you sit with your legs tangled with his. He looks at you, leaning up on his forearms. 

“Would you date an alien?”

“It depends,” You grin, tugging at his pants leg. “Are they as cute as you?” He laughs and lays down again. 

“You hungry? Ma made lasagna last night.” Despite it being your offer and your house, Clark drags you into the kitchen and tosses the dish into the oven. Had he been someone with less restraint he would’ve heated it up himself but instead the two of you sit in the kitchen. You’re on the counter while he’s between your legs, staring up at you. You’re talking about anything and nothing, planning dates for the winter lights show a town over, talking about how much work your teachers had given for the winter break. 

Once the food is reheated the two of you eat like that. Still talking as Clark does the dishes next to you. You cringe as he does them wrong but he looks so happy so you let him. He eyes the bundle of spices above the sink and you try to see if you’ve left anything notably witchy out. Your tarot cards are still on the dining table and you send them down to the basement before he turns back to you. 

He wipes his hands on your sweater before you lean down and kiss him. He holds your legs, pulling you closer and the door opens. This is the fourth time the two of you have been caught, you’d think you would’ve gotten better at hiding it. 

“Woah!” Your brother shouts when he sees you two. Groaning, you look over at him. “Ma, you let them kiss in the house?” Clark dips his head down as you get down from the counter, crossing your arms as they all head inside. 

“Stop teasing your brother,” Your mother shakes her head. “Hi, Clark.”

“I gotta go…” Clark trails. “It’s getting late and my mom—“

“It’s okay, want me to drive you back?” 

“No, it’s okay. It’s only two miles.” He kisses you, a quick fleeting kiss that makes Angel snicker. “Er… see you Mr and Mrs (L/n).” He gathers his stuff and leaves, giving you one last wave before the door closes. 

“Come on, Angel!” You groan, tossing an apple at him. He catches it and takes a big bite before he farts and goes upstairs. “You know, the month before he left he’s the one who spilled all of moms homemade tomato paste.”

“You snitch!”

—

All good things must come to an end. 

Two years, well almost. You started dating in eleventh grade and now it’s the summer before college. The two of you knew that this was going to go one of two ways, long distance or breaking up. You’d gotten into the same D1 college as your brother and Clark was going off to Metropolis to pursue a journalism degree. What you didn’t think would happen was Clark having a completely different opinion from yours.

“There are phones and I have a car now,” You ramble, looking between his bleary eyes and red nose. “There are holiday breaks and long weekends. I’ll be traveling for games and stuff. We can make it work,”

“I can’t.” His lips wobble as he looks away and your breathing skips. “You deserve someone who can be there for you.” Lately, he’s been bailing, leaving dates early and sometimes he doesn’t even show up. Sure, but you’re sure there’s a reason for that. You’re sure of it. You’re willing to put in the work to keep the relationship going, you don’t care. You just want him. And for Clark, that’s the issue. He’s becoming Superman, he’s going to be unavailable and that’s not something you deserve. 

“Please,” Your voice cracks, holding your cross. “I want to be with you, I don’t care—“

“I’m sorry,” He stands and you follow him, desperately reaching out. “This is for the better.” 

“Don’t leave me,” You beg, watching as his jaw tightens. “How can you leave me— us? It can’t be that easy!” You reach for him but he moves away, his eyes flickering to the ground as he apologizes but stands firm on his decision. Clark leaves and you turn around, heading into your house with a heavy heart and a tight chest. 

That night your father holds you as you cry, riding out your first heartbreak while your sister calls your brother; telling him everything. 

Clark doesn’t see you when you leave for college, you don’t expect him to. Considering he’d left the day before. Mrs. Kent apologized for him, explaining that he was having some emotions he needed to process. It didn’t help you, not one bit. 

You spend the flight to school doing readings and getting strange looks from the old man next to you. Each one only makes you more and more frustrated, all of the signs pointing that this is the best course of action. This is how it’s meant to be. You’ve never doubted the cards before, especially when each reading is so similar but you explain it by assuming it’s because you’re so high up. So, you do one as you’re in the car with Angel. 

It’s the same fucking thing. 

“Stop doing those damn readings,” He huffs, waving his hand over the cards but he doesn’t touch them. “Clark broke up with you, so what? You’ve gotten a full ride to the best football college in the nation! You’re a witch! That fuck ass country boy will come crawling back when you’re in the NFL, trust me.”

“I miss him,” You frown, packing the cards back into the tin. Angel groans and smacks your head. 

“You’re not gonna miss him when you see the guys at college; there���s a bunch of Clark Kent’s in this world.” He says that as you look out the window, doubting his words. There is no other Clark Kent. “Even so, I know a couple gay guys. They’d be your type.” 

—

College football, ranked third most popular sport in the US after professional football and basketball, is an extremely taxing thing. Your days start early, running before the sun is up, drills, training until you can’t anymore, ice baths that you’re sure will kill you one day, practice, going to away games on top of maintaining a good GPA. 

You’re running in the cold, wearing shorts as you see your breath leaving your body in a foggy smoke. But hey, Angel was right. You had a couple of flings during college. A couple of DL’s, of course, maybe a single relationship that lasted a month but nothing of substance. You hate that you’re still hung up on Clark; it's ridiculous. You dated for less than two years during high school. He’d gotten over Lana in less time and you’re sure he’s off at school getting with some girl or whatever. 

“Happy birthday!” Angel shouts as the team all sit in a restaurant slash bar, celebrating the fact that the season is over and your school has won nearly all of their games. Plus, one of the guys' birthdays. You’re old enough to drink, but you stick to your water all the same. It’s a bad look for a star athlete to be caught drunk, which is why the team hadn’t gone to an actual bar as intended. 

Your eyes flicker across the restaurant and you catch a guy sitting at the bar. He’s drinking something brown, not even letting the ice have a chance to melt, and pretending he likes his drinks watered down. His eyes catch yours and he grins, turning in his seat to stare at you. You smile and look away, returning to your conversation. 

Sometime later, a waiter comes by and hands you a glass of… something brown. 

“I didn’t…”

“It’s from someone else,” She explains before walking away. Immediately, you find the guy and he raises his glass. Raising yours, you take a sip and you’re pleasantly surprised that it’s just sweet tea. Your brother snickers and nudges you out of the booth. The other guys encourage you and you agree, taking a fry before heading to the bar. 

“Hey,” You smile, slinking into the seat next to him. “I’m (Y/n),”

“Bruce,” He responds, shaking your hand. You shake his hand as you take him in, deciding to pursue whatever it is with Bruce. Even if it’s just because he’s nearly identical to Clark. 

Things with Bruce didn’t last long, sadly. Only around six months. He went awol after a bit but you weren’t angry by it. He was nice enough, and surely spoiled you a bit, too. Angel loved that part. 

“Get up,” Angel grumbles as you’re lying on the couch, staring at the Metropolis news channel, waiting for him to appear. His eyes move to the TV and he grumbles, snatching the remote away before changing the channel to ESPN. You grumble back and sit up, watching as he plops himself down, his girlfriend shyly waving at you. You wave back, resting your head on the armrest. 

“Ignore him,” He stage whispers to his girlfriend. “He’s moping about a boy from high school.” She wants to laugh, you can tell, but doesn’t for your sake while he sure enough does. 

“Eat a dick,” You reach behind her and smack his head before heading into the kitchen. 

“Why don’t you hit up that guy from that English class you had? With the red hair, he was cute.” He calls. 

“‘Cause,” You shrug, grabbing a bottle of juice. “Last I heard of him it was because people around campus got crabs from him. It was like thirty people,”

“Oh my god,” She gasps. “James? James uhh… Richmond?” She snaps her fingers and you nod.

“Yeah,” You laugh into the rim of the bottle. “I knew him before the crab's thing, still got tested, though.”

“This is the first I’m hearing about this,” Angel sits up, looking between the two of you. 

“Because you’re not on the men's side of school drama.” You shrug. “A lot of guys on campus get passed around. Especially James,”

“No, yeah, it was gross. My friend hooked up with him. It wasn’t just crabs.” Her face scrunches and you make a similar one. “He also gave her brother crabs and gono.” Tossing the now-empty bottle into the trash, you shake your head. 

“That’s so…” Walking away, you flop onto your bed and pretend to do homework. Instead, you spend your time doom scrolling on your phone. Facebook sure is a strange place.

—

You’d been there when your brother got drafted to the Kansas City Chiefs two years after things ended with you and Bruce. You’d watched from the waiting room as he stood on the stage, accepting the draft pick and getting the jersey number 55. Of course, he became the star quarterback by the time the season was over, cementing his spot on the team. 

This year it was your turn, you’d gone through the NFL combine, painstakingly trying your best to reach the qualifying numbers before getting confirmed you were going into the draft. That in itself was such a relief you literally collapsed onto your bed and cried. Currently, you’re sitting with your family minus your sister in the waiting room, your leg bouncing as you watch the other teams pick their drafts for this round. It’s still the first round of drafts and there are three teams left, so you’re not nervous that your name hasn’t been said yet. 

But man, are you terrified that your name hasn’t been said yet.

Angel laughs the more antsy you get— he thinks you got this in the bag, your father prays next to you and your mother rubs lavender lotion onto your hands. 

The commissioner heads to the stand as the Chiefs lock in their pick in record time. 

You listen as the commissioner reads from the card, your jaw drops as your brother jumps up and cheers, punching the air as your name rings through your ears. You stand, hugging him tightly as your parents join the hug. They damn near suffocate you before your brother pushes you towards the stage. 

Wiping your tears, you rush up and take your jersey, bouncing around with it as people cheer. The announcers talk about the fact that your brother is on the team as he rushes out and tackles you once you get off of the stage. 

“You fucking did it!” He shouts, crying. He pulls you close as you both stumble about. There are some technical difficulties as your excitement reaches the peak but nothing anyone could bring back to you. You don’t doubt someone had managed to get that on video, though. 

That night you sit awake, wondering if Clark had been watching. What would’ve happened if he was there at your side. How he would’ve held you; kissed you. Maybe he’ll text you, you haven’t changed your number since you’d gotten it. Your Facebook is the same, too. You’re still friends on there, he likes your posts sometimes. You look at his but you never interact with them.

But he doesn’t. He reports on the picks because it’s his job, you watch it with headphones on because somehow Angel can always hear when you listen to his reports. The way he says your name crushes you, he says it as if he doesn’t know you, as if you hadn’t spent years together and Angel shouts that you’ve blown out the lights again. He takes your phone away because he knows the lights are always a Clark issue. 

—

After four years of being on the team, you head back to Smallville for Christmas. You’d missed Thanksgiving due to the games (which you of course won) and are more than ready to lay in some snow for a while. Not to mention finally being home for a holiday.

You’re in town, doing some last-minute grocery shopping alone when you see him. He’s in the section of the store you absolutely need to go to, with your brother's wife pregnant she’s been craving nothing more than bacon-wrapped hotdogs dipped in Rotel cheese with pickles. It doesn’t sound half bad, so it’s a family food now. 

You stare at him, taking in his appearance for the first time in eight years. God, eight years. Angel is right, you should be over him by now. But you take him in as your walk slows until you’re standing behind him. He’s bulked up since the last time you saw him, he stands taller too. That shirt looks awfully tight around the arms and when he reaches up to grab a pack of meat the shirt tightens around his back. 

You blink away from him, looking down the empty aisles before you put your big boy pants on and continue to the meat section. Walking next to him, you grab the first three packs of hotdogs you see and turn to leave when he grabs you by the elbow. He softly calls your name and you stop, turning to face him. 

“Hey, Clark,” You greet, your heart pounding in your ears. He says your name again and it falls so nicely that you swear you almost crumble right then and there. 

“I’ve seen your games. You’re amazing,” He smiles, pushing his glasses up his nose. Never mind the fact he’s gotten tickets to six of your games and flown over two others. Not to mention he’s put himself in charge of all football complications at work. 

“Thanks. I heard you’re at the Daily Planet now,” Heard. You found out the day he posted it. Stalking his page like a madman between drills and games. Your TV’s default station is the Daily Planet and you have a monthly subscription to their newspapers. 

“Yeah, it’s great.” There’s a silence that hangs and you go to walk away but he stops you again. “Can we meet up soon? I’m free tomorrow if you are.” The hope in his eyes almost makes you give in but you pick yourself back up and grab another two packets of hotdogs. God, do you even need five packets of hotdogs? Probably not, but you can’t just put them back. It’ll look weird. 

“Maybe,” You shrug. “I’ll see you around, Clark.” Rubbing his face, Clark decides to keep on shopping; his ma doesn’t need much else anyway. He passed you at the checkout. You have all five packets of hotdogs, a gallon of eggnog, various snacks, and about three boxes of Rotel cheese. He doesn’t know it, but you spent extra time getting items hoping you’d see him again. Although he’s ashamed to admit it, he waits in the sky as you leave the market and get into your car, following you the entire way home while you listen to whatever the radio is playing at the time. 

He watches as you enter your childhood home and slowly drops down, standing at the window as you hug your parents. His heart nearly drops when he sees a pregnant woman hug you but he’s relieved when Angel kisses her cheek and she kisses him back. Your head begins to turn to the driveway and he takes off, leaving his footprints in the snow as the only proof he was there. 

You blink at the driveway, sure that something was watching you but your father calling your name drags you back into the house. 

You don’t bring it up when you get back to your family home but your mother knows something is up. Of course, she’d done a reading. But she doesn’t mention it. There’s other topics to talk about, like her upcoming grand baby, your sister making the debate team, your father's retirement, and your latest games. 

Spending time with your family is nice but you’ve spent the entire time thinking about him. How his hair looks better in person, his stupid glasses that kept slipping from his face, his fucking smile. You go for a walk after dinner, not wanting to blow up any more lights than you already have.

You walk behind the barn and stare at the vast spread of land your parents own. You know you’d hidden something somewhere along the property but it was so many years ago you’ve since forgotten. You hope it wasn’t something awfully important. 

“Hey,” Angel calls as you're walking aimlessly in the snow, hoping to remember the spot. “Ma’s worried about you getting sick. Come inside already,” Noddining, you take one last look out before heading inside. 

—

Week eighteen, the final week for the NFL season. It’s the last game before the Super Bowl in February, although you already know you’re a shoo-in for it. You’re up against the Dallas Cowboys, sitting in the locker room laughing and joking before pre-game interviews happen. 

You’re next to Felix Anudike-Uzomah, talking about something that happened in a previous game where Leo Chenal tripped over thin air and went flying into the coach. Leo, somehow hearing from across the locker room, sucks his teeth and tosses a towel at the two of you. 

“Interviews,” The coach announces, entering the room. Everyone settles down, watching as a group of five reporters and five cameramen walk inside. There’s a pair from NBC, Fox, CNN, ESPN, and the one that makes you and Angel look at each other, The Daily Planet. 

Clark stands in the most dorkiest outfit you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing him in. A red bow tie, a pressed blue button-up under a darker blue vest, brown slacks, and a nice pair of loafers. His glasses are resting on the tip of his nose and you can tell he’s put in extra time doing his hair. 

A light blows out above him and Angel smacks your leg, silently warning you to get a grip.

“You’re booked for Rosary,” Coach tells Clark after reading from the chart. Your heart skips a beat and you look at Angel but he just sighs, holding his head. Clark’s eyes find yours easily in the crowded locker room that suddenly feels so stuffy. 

No. You’re upset with him. 

He’s just another reporter you’ll talk to for five maybe ten minutes. Not the guy you’ve been practically obsessing over for eight years. Highly embarrassing for a grown man who pays taxes and has constant offers from very handsome men who would worship him. 

Never mind that, you’re plastering a smile as you shake hands with Clark. No introductions are necessary, but you do meet the cameraman. Clark says he’s working as a fill-in for the usual cameraman, his friend, Jimmy Olsen. He waves, shouldering the large camera on his shoulder. 

“Big game today,” He smiles, the microphone in his hand doing nothing to obscure that bright smile he puts on for the cameras. “How are you feeling about it? You don’t seem nervous.”

“Yeah, sure is.” You nod, looking just under his eyes. It’s less intimate that way. You can’t see his stupid eyes that way. “It's always a bittersweet moment with the guys before the last game of the season. But, you know, we got this in the bag so I’m not sweating it.” He laughs, nodding. Shit, you hadn’t heard that laugh in years and it makes you weak in the knees. A light blows out and Angel looks at you from where he’s being interviewed, you look down to avoid his gaze. 

“Clearly, you haven’t lost a game in nearly thirty games. That’s impressive, recording breaking, in fact.” He says and you swear for a second, his eyes meet your lips. You look away, nodding. He’s making the interview so difficult for no reason, absolutely no reason at all.

“That’s such a blessing. I don’t want to say too much about it, I don't want to jinx anything.” He nods.

“Me neither,” He smiles. You stare at him, waiting for the next question but he just stares for a second before he inhales and composes himself. “There’s a rumor you’re settling down, is that true?” Oh lord, you pocket your hands and shake your head. This time you don’t look at him as you answer the question.

“Definitely not settling down. Maybe put on babysitting duty but nothing personal. I’m not rushing anything.” 

“Taking things slow,” He nods and you nod back. “Well, I think that’s everything. Good luck, (Y/n),” Jimmy puts the camera down and goes to clean the lens but Clark doesn’t stop smiling at you. He doesn’t even walk away.

“It’s nice seeing you again,” He says and you clear your throat, looking along the room. “We didn’t meet up last time.”

“No,” You agree. “We did not. I wasn’t free.” That’s technically the truth, your sister-in-law had given birth and then there were some personal issues you had to attend to. 

“How about—“

“I think coach wants to talk to you. Probably your next interview,” You interrupt and he looks like a damn picked puppy it makes you feel bad when he leaves. 

“You’re a lost cause,” Angel sighs upon seeing your crestfallen expression. You shove him and leave the locker room to get some fresh air. 

“Wait, (Y/n)!” Clark follows after you, his microphone and Jimmy left inside the locker room. You pretend to not hear him, choosing to wander the cold and damp hallways of the stadium before he catches up to you. “Please.” He whispers, unaware he’d caged you between himself and the wall. A corner, at that. 

“What?” You ask. 

“I just want to talk,” He promises. “One conversation. Ten minutes,”

“The game starts in five,” You point out and he huffs, checking his watch. “Bullet points?” His hand drops back to your forearm and he thinks for a second before he smiles. 

“Just this one.” He breathes and kisses you. 

You feel like a fool when you kiss back without any hesitation. There’s not even a seconds delay as your lips move with his, your hands finding his hair and his hands finding your thighs. His fingers press to them in this nearly bruising pressure and you get the hint easily enough. 

While, sure, you’ve kissed plenty of men. You’ve taken men to bed and they’ve taken you to bed. But you’ve never had a guy lift you up before and you imagine if they had, it wouldn’t have been as easy as it was with Clark. 

He holds you in place so well, so secure, that you’re sure he has an insane workout routine. But when you feel his muscles, you know that for sure. His bench press but be insane. 

God, you’re thinking about working out while making out. 

His blunt nails dig into the tights of your uniform and you hiss, opening your mouth in his. Gripping his well-groomed hair, your fingers thread in the dark strands before there’s a throat clearing from the end of the hallway. 

The two of you break apart like magnets and you stare at Angel. 

“Dude,” He sighs and you have to blink in the darkness to see him properly. “Come on, we gotta be on the field in three.” Nodding, you don’t look back at Clark as you run back into the locker room, fearing the earful Angel is going to give you later on. 

To say you won the game would be an understatement. You absolutely demolished the other team on their home field. It was such a sweep that you stopped playing halfway into the game and just had fun with the guys. During every break you’d see Clark in the press pit, watching you with a soft smile. 

“C’mon, gay boy.” Angel grabs you by the helmet and pulls you into the locker room while some teammates do their post-game interviews. It’s empty when you get inside and he’s thankful for that. 

“Making out with Clark is such a low,” He says, holding a hand up before you can start talking. “I get it; first loves are hard. But he dumped you and didn’t even say goodbye. It’s embarrassing that you’re won back so easily. Did he even say sorry?” His foot taps as he waits for an answer but you’re sure he already knows. 

“No…” You trail and he scoffs loudly. “He wanted to talk but I said the game was about to start.”

“Oh, so you skipped the apology and shoved his tongue down your throat?” He scoffs, crossing his arms. 

“I didn’t mean to!” You shout. 

“You didn’t mean to wrap your legs around him and hold his head? That seemed pretty intentional to me!” He shouts back. 

“Angel,” You huff, head in your hands. He sighs and sits next to you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

“I get it, you’re a big boy who can make big-boy mistakes. This is a pretty big one, though. It’s just you’ve spent years trying to get over him and he’s sucking you back in. I don’t want to see you crying over him again, 'cause next time he does I’m getting ma to put a hex on his ass.” You laugh and shake your head. “I’m serious!” He laughs, knocking your head with his knuckles. 

“Just don’t do anything stupid, yeah?” He asks, his hand running over your shoulder to hold his own hand. 

“I won’t,” You promise. “It was just… heat of the moment.”

“Good. Now let’s go, we have a victory to celebrate!”

—

Heat of the moment— you’re a fucking idiot to believe that. To have believed that even, for a split second, that you weren’t still absolutely enamored by Clark Kent. Like some stupid, hopeless, idiot. 

Following the game Clark had messaged you on Facebook— a simple text, a simple congratulations text. You kept it to yourself, texting him on and off as the weeks progressed. Texts turned into photos; nothing scandalous. Pictures of food, selfies showing off his friends at work, your treadmill— simple things. Photos turned into calls. Maybe five minutes long, nothing of substance. 

Five turned into twenty, turned into an hour and suddenly your text and call logs were filled with C.K. 

Ashamed, you didn’t mention it to Angel. You don’t live together anymore, he lives in South Carolina while you moved to New York, closer to Metropolis than to Gotham, though. 

Even more ashamed, you noticed how even through your hundreds of hours talking, there was never an apology. Never an explanation. Nothing. You felt stupid every time you hung up, every time you replied so fast to his text only to be left on delivered for hours at a time. 

So, you started agreeing to dates. Your friends, teammates, and even Angel and his wife would set you up with guys. They were nice enough. Kind men who definitely made you happy, never too eager for something you didn’t want, never too fanboy, and you thought, for a while, that you could be happy with one of them. 

It was six months with him; a great, long six months of getting to know Thomas. He was a little older than yourself, in his mid-thirties. He was absolutely useless when it came to football and you loved trying to teach him. 

“Babe,” He called one day, in a tone that made your heart sink as you rose up from the kitchen island, ignoring the tomatoes that needed dicing. “There’s flowers for you.”

“From who?” He stands at the door with a vase filled with elaborate flowers, colors so vibrant you’re sure it’s fake. He grabs the card and flips it open. 

“I know it’s early, but I’m hoping this gets to you at midnight. Happy birthday, I’m sorry I missed the last eight. Expect more. Love, Clark. Who’s Clark?” He turns to you, shoving the vase into your arms. 

“An old boyfriend,” You blink, setting the vase down to follow after him. 

“You’re seeing him?” He asks, arms crossed, the card between his fingers as he reads over the words. “Expect more, Love, Clark.” He repeats and you sigh, running a hand over your rosary. 

“No! I haven’t seen him in like eight months. He’s a reporter and he came to a game and interviewed me. I haven’t seen him since high school.” 

“So, he’s just some stalker then?” Thomas asks and you bite your lip.

“No,” You drag out, wanting to be open with him and he goes to turn away but you quickly add. “I haven’t spoken to him since our first date. Honest, you can check my phone.” Taking what you say at face value, he puts the card down and purses his lips. 

“How does he know where you live?”

“I actually don’t know,” You admit. “I mean, he could’ve asked my mother. But, I don’t know.” He inhales and then caresses your face, his knuckles brushing against your jaw. 

“Okay,” He smiles and kisses you. “But you’re not off the hook. You didn’t tell me your birthday is in an hour!” You laugh, resting your forehead on his shoulder. 

—

“How’re things with Tommy boy?” Angel asks, pulling you aside as your birthday party rages in your backyard. It’s the day after your birthday and despite yourself, you didn’t cancel the already existing fake surprise party they’d planned for you. 

“He…” You sigh. “We broke up yesterday.”

“He broke up with you on your birthday?” He echos and you nod, eating a piece of cake to drown your sorrow. “Why?”

“…Clark,” He gives you a look and you snort. “Clark kept sending me gifts throughout the day, I kept telling him that I haven’t spoken to Clark in months but he stopped believing me after Clark sent me a signed jersey from that hockey player I like.”

“You only just started getting into hockey, though.”

“That’s what he said; so he thinks I’m still texting him. Broke up with me,”

“I hate to ask,” Angel trails off, face twisting with guilt and you huff, setting the plate down. 

“I haven’t said a word to Clark in ages. I don’t know how he got my address, how he knows these things— I… I don’t know but he just ruined my first good relationship since him.” 

“You think he’s stalking you?” 

“I’ll check later today; I asked mom to help with a reading and then a protection spell. But I really want to get drunk right now.” 

“I was hoping you’d say that, let’s go! Aunty Tiff brought her special punch.”

—

Magic is… finicky. Especially when you’re bordering on black-out drunk, stumbling into everything in your bedroom after Angel and forcibly brought you there. The party had since ended, everything was cleaned up and most people went home. 

You stayed up, embarrassed to admit you were drunk texting (and calling) Thomas that nothing was happening between you and Clark. He ended up blocking you and you just laid down, wallowing in your own self-pity before getting up and going for a walk. 

You don’t remember thinking about that teleportation spell, but you did remember suddenly being in the snow, barely able to stand up until you got the alcohol out of your system with another spell. You recognized Smallville and walked around for a bit, you could use the fresh air anyway. 

You don't realize that you’re at the Kent’s until you see the red barn. It just makes you angry and you brush your cold hands against your face, wiping away the angry tears. Turning around, you jump when Clark is in front of you. 

“Can we talk?” He asks. Dressed poorly for the weather, you stare at his red nose and then his eyes. It’s always those damn eyes. Blinking, you look out to the sky and then back at him.

“Fuck you,” You spit, brushing past him before you spin around and shove him. “How’d you get my address anyway? Know about that hockey shit?” 

“I asked your mother and I saw you’d posted it last month,” He explains, eyes flickering between yours. “Was I not supposed—“

“I got dumped on my fucking birthday because he thought I was cheating with you! With you! Oh my god, why can’t you just leave me alone, it’s been almost a decade and you’re still here!” 

“Ma lives here…” He trails and you shout, running your hands over your hair. 

“Here!” You wave your arms around and it clicks for him. “I finally stopped thinking about you and you just swoop back in, ruining everything, again!” 

“I didn’t mean to, I just wanted to show you that I still care.”

“You should've left me alone. You should’ve declined that interview, you should’ve left me alone when I walked out of the locker room. I should’ve ignored your texts and your calls.” You ramble. 

“Is that what you really want?” He asks, standing tall and you mimic his stance. 

“It’s better than whatever the fuck this is!” You shout. “You leaving without a trace and then reappear without an explanation. Expecting me to just go along with it and I fucking do because I’m holding onto some stupid childish hope that maybe you’ll change. Like this is some stupid story!”

“Let’s talk then,” He suggests. “I’ll explain everything— everything. I’ll answer any question you’ll want me to. And if you still feel like that then I’ll leave you alone.”

“Fine.” You huff. He smiles and takes you into the barn. To his credit, it’s incredibly warm inside. The Kent’s don’t own any more animals since Clark left and Mrs. Kent couldn’t tend to them anymore so it’s void of the animal smell you’re used to. 

He closes the door with a gentle thud while you lean against a pillar, watching as he walks in front of you. 

“I’ve wanted to say this since the day we broke up,” He starts. “I love you. I haven’t stopped. But…” Your heart drops as his face falls. “At the time I was coming into my own shoes. It took up my entire life. And it wasn’t going to be fair to you, you don’t deserve a back-burner relationship.”

“Were you doing drugs or something?” You ask, honestly confused out of your mind. This is fucking Clark Kent, a resident good boy who became a reporter. Not Timmy who tried to make meth in the chem lab a week before graduation. 

“No… I—“ He takes a step back and removes his hat. “I wanted to tell you so many times. But I was afraid,”

“You know I don’t like these cliffhanger conversations, spit it out.” You groan and he laughs before clearing his throat. 

“Fine.” He stands up tall. “I’m Superman.” Squinting, you make a noise. You have no idea what he’s talking about. Great. His biggest secret and you’re clueless. “The hero…?”

“Oh!” You gasp and nod. “The one from Metropolis?” Since graduation, you’ve been busy with football. Embarrassingly, you get your news from his Facebook and Angel. 

“Yes, that one.” He chuckles, watching as your face goes from one of realization to shock.

“You have powers, too?” Spluttering, he blinks. 

“Too?”

“I'm a witch,” You trail. “Not nearly as cool as being an alien, but I have cooler powers. So you dumped me to become a hero?” Looking between his eyes, he shakes his head and then nods, unable to form a proper sentence. 

“It’s complicated. But let’s get back to your thing. You’re a witch? Your dad is a priest!” He takes a step closer while your back is still to the pillar. 

“And my ma is a witch. We're from New Orleans, that’s a pretty common pairing. You’re the alien! Are the Kents also aliens?” 

“No, I crash-landed here when I was an infant. Your mother is a witch, too?”

“Yes, it’s a family thing. Your folks hid this for years!”

“You hid this for years!”

“Because it’s a family secret!”

“So is mine!”

The two of you pause, staring at one another. Holding your cross, you don’t know where to go from here. Sinking to the floor, you stare up at him while he slowly gets to the ground too. 

“I don’t want to lose you again,” He grabs your hand. “Please, can we start over? With everything on the table, no more secrets. No more running.” 

“Clark,” You wince and he falters. “I can’t go back to us if you’re going to run away again. And I really liked Thomas.”

“You said you liked him,” He grins as though he’d discovered the secret loophole in destroying the bad guy. “Does that mean you’re over him?”

“It’s been a day, asshole. And you didn’t respond to the first part.”

“No-no! I won’t, I promise. We can start slow but I’ve spent nearly a decade missing you. I just need to be close to you.” He pleads with this desperate look on his face that makes you melt. All of your resolve goes flying through the window when your eyes dip down to his lips, red from the cold. Leaning in, you kiss him. 

You’re not clear-minded, this is the years of missing him coming back. It’s because you don’t like being called a liar or being dumped on your birthday so you might as well kiss Clark now that Thomas is gone. You’re acting without thinking, even as he kisses you back and holds you so tenderly. 

He climbs on top of you, caging your legs between his thighs, and keeps you close. Licking his bottom lip he doesn’t waste time in opening his mouth, moaning at the feeling of your tongue touching his. Gripping his head he hisses and pulls away, fumbling with your jacket. You follow his lead, maybe stupidly because you’re eager to get him out of his jacket and then his shirt. He tosses his plaid shirt to the ground and realizes his lips have been off of yours for far too long. 

“Shit,” You hiss when he slams his head into yours, pushing your head against the wooden pillar. He apologizes but you hardly hear it over the kissing and him damn near dry-humping against your stomach. You can feel the wetness through his thick jeans and it gets to a painful point where he takes off his belt. Technically, he rips it off, snapping the belt into two, and undoes the button in a blissful haze.

He shifts on your lap, putting one of your legs between his, and grinds down. His knee presses against your own and you suck in a breath, holding his thighs to keep the pressure there. 

“Can I- fuck,” He pants, moving his hand to his boxers, palming his erection. “I need you,” His eyes find yours, the glasses barely hanging on the tip of his nose. His face is a rosy pink, and flushed and his eyelashes wet. Taking his glasses off, you send them onto the tractor and move your left hand from his thigh to his hard-on. 

“Like this?” You ask, touching him through the wet fabric. Your thumb moves over his tip, using gentle motions that make him whimper against you. His head drops to your shoulder and his hips buck into your hand. 

“Please,” He whimpers, his shaking hand grabbing your own. “Touch me, please.” Shoving your hand into his boxers, he crushes a part of the pillar behind you when your hand wraps around his dick. It splinters and you mutter a spell to fix it while taking care of Clark. 

He’s huge, unnaturally so, it’s probably why he wears such baggy jeans now that you think about it. Smearing his precum against your hand, you start to stroke up and down the shaft. Your other hand starts to work on your own pants but he shakes his head, fumbling with your pants. In his haze, he rips your jeans open and you huff a laugh. 

He apologizes before kissing you, his moans dying inside your mouth while you feel his hand working the outside of your boxers. Your dick twitches in his hand and he uses his free hand to move your waistband low enough that your dick springs out. Glancing down, he spits onto his hand and starts jerking you off. 

“Clark,” You moan, head tilted up while he starts kissing your neck. The noises in the barn are pornographic, the slicking sound of the two of you working on each other, the loud kisses he’s leaving across your body, and the moans you’re both doing nothing to hide. He says your name as his eyes squeeze shut, his hips bucking erratically. 

“I’m close,” He heaves. “Keep doing that, please,” Working his dick, his hand slips from yours but you’re focused on him. Focused on the way his chest rises and falls with each moan, how you can see his moans mixing into the air, how his face is red and his hair is starting to stick to his forehead. He leans back, staring at you as he cums. It sprays, landing on your hand, chest, and neck. He continues to shoot weak spurts that slide down your hand and his dick, coating his boxers and pants. 

But his dick doesn’t go flaccid. 

“‘M sorry,” He pants, watching as your eyes close when he returns to your dick. “It’s the alien DNA… it doesn’t— just let me take care of you,” Nodding, you focus on the feeling of his hand working your dick, how he squeezes every so often and peppers soft kisses against your neck. It doesn’t take long before your back arches and you spill onto his hand. 

Coming down from your high you watch as Clark cums again, this time into his fist. The two of you pant, staring at each other before kissing again. He wipes his hands on his jacket before guiding your hands to his hips.

Yeah, you definitely needed this. 

He walks you home after sneaking you into the house to clean up. You teleport back home, Clark still attached at your hip but a little woozy from the reporting. The two of you catch up while not quite holding hands. It’s a ridiculous sight between two twenty-nine-year-old men but, hey, no one is around to judge. 

“You remember when we went to the Soul Asylum concert?” He brings up when he’s about to leave, finding excuses to stay close to you. 

“Yeah, I saved us,” You nod. He stops walking and you look back at him. “I said a protection spell.”

“I pulled everyone out of the car.” He tells you. You squint. 

“I said the spell first. Maybe it compelled you to pull us out,” You shrug. 

“A spell didn’t compel— yknow what? You’re right,” He kisses the top of your head. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“We’re going to Smallville to see the lights at six tomorrow,” You offer, barely hiding your smile.

“It’s a date.” Watching as he flies away, you laugh and head inside. 

“You fucked Clark Kent?” Angel asks once you’re inside the house. Your parents, niece, and sister are already upstairs asleep, it’s just him and his wife watching Hallmark movies. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” You shrug, leaning against the archway frame. 

“Really? Because you left this house with white a t-shirt and your pants are open,” Looking down, you see the blue jeans with a busted button and plaid button down you’d grabbed and licked your teeth. 

“Maybe you forgot what I was wearing,” He inhales, leaning back on the couch. 

“Mm, so we won’t be seeing Clark around?”

“Who knows,”

—

The next day you meet Clark in town, he not so subtly walks up behind you and places his hands on your hips to get your attention. You smile but don’t look away from the lights and squeeze his hands as a form of recognition. Your folks notice but don’t comment on it. 

The light show is lovely and you don’t blow any of them up by accident. Which your father thanks you for just before you leave with Clark. 

“So, this is real?” He asks, eyes darting between your own. He bites his bottom lip as he waits for your response and you nod, rolling your eyes when he cheers and leans in for a kiss. He peppers kisses along your face and you laugh, holding his neck with your eyes shut. “I promise I won’t hurt you again.” 

“You better,” You sigh and cross your arms. “I heard Superman is allergic to magic.” 

“Maybe a little,” He whispers, forehead pressed against yours. “You’re my weakness, huh?” He chuckles and you snort, pulling away from him. Holding your cross, you find your family walking along the stalls but your brother keeps an eye on you the whole time. 

Clark grabs your hand, lacing your fingers together and the two of you enjoy the lights and the food for the night. At some point, you end up back at your church. It’s the same as it was when you left, although there’s a pride flag hanging off of the window. Your parents didn’t want anyone to get the wrong message ever again. 

Heading inside because your father never locks the doors, you and Clark settle in the pews and you lay your head along the back of the pew, staring at him. 

“What’s it like? Being an alien?” You ask. “Have you seen the stars?”

“I have,” He smiles, brushing snow from your shoulder. “And it’s… I don’t really feel different. Aside from the x-ray vision, heightened senses, heat vision, and other stuff.”

“Are you a Martian? Is that racist to ask?”

“No, it’s not. I think— I’m the only alien I've ever met. But I’m a Kryptonian, my planet blew up and my birth parents saved me.” He explains. “I’ve never known anything other than Earth, but…” His eyes light up as he realizes something. “My pod had this… crystal and I discovered so much about my heritage. It’s around the time I started pulling away. I have this place in the Arctic, if you’d like to see it.”

“I would,” You nod. “We should go soon, before I have to head back.” He agrees, removing his glasses now that he doesn’t need to keep up appearances. It's more than the glasses, he’d later tell you. Superman stands taller, speaks with more authority than Clark Kent, and a host of other minor differences that add up. It sounds horribly complicated. 

“What’s it like being a witch?” He asks and you huff, staring up at the ceiling. 

“It’s such a process. Did you know— I know you don’t, don’t worry— that every single witch has a prophecy?” You laugh. “My mother was that she’ll become the reason the wolf becomes victorious.”

“The wolf?” He squints. 

“The Chiefs mascot is a wolf,” You explain and he laughs. “Yeah, her prophecy is the reason I’m in football. Her brother's prophecy was he’d become a zookeeper. Some of them are really mundane.”

“What’s yours?” He asks and you shrug. 

“Something about becoming a red witch. I think it was a rose, or maybe a scarlet. I’m not sure. It’s been years since I’ve read it.” 

“What’s a red witch?”

“Honestly, I have no clue. But, when it happens, I’ll know.” You wave. “It’s probably harmless, the Chiefs are red, so I guess it’s that. I dunno. But aside from that being a witch is cool. I have all these powers that I can do whatever for,”

“I hate to ask,” He cringes. You huff, knowing the question. 

“No, I don’t use them to play football. Only a minor protection sigil so players don’t get injured. It’s engraved on their helmets.” He nods. “Don’t go reporting that, though.” You tease.

“It’s off the record,” He laughs and it slowly dies out. “What about us?” Us. There’s an us now. You stare at him and shrug, slowly smiling as an idea creeps in the back of your mind.

“It would be cool if we announced it at the next Superbowl. Like I win and run and kiss you.” You laugh. “Or you’re interviewing me post-game and we kiss.”

“That’s so corny, we should.”

[wandagcre]

Hii! How you doing?

I just read your drabble about mob!Sam reaction to reader asking for a divorce.

Could you do one were reader thinks the only way of getting away from Sam is being dead so she tries to k!lol herself and Sam finds her and she gets really scare because she might lose the love of her life, so after that she does everything to be a better wife for reader

if i break | sam carpenter 🔞

(Mob!Boss Sam Carpenter x Fem!Reader)

You didn't know how much those four words would affect the following days for you and Sam. With your deteriorating mental state, Sam's punishment, and out of control aggressiveness, you're backed up in the corner, completely stuck.

WARNING: making out, suggestive content, groping, spanking, mild torture, conditioning, self-harm, suicide attempt Words: 2.5k Note: you can read this as a stand-alone bc it's an alternative scenario to the drive you mad series but those previous parts can give u better context! reminder to not actually put yourselves in this situation guys this is all (an unhealthy) fantasy

[ series masterlist ] | [ masterlist ]

One would say you shouldn't be ungrateful—a roof over your head, jewelry and clothing that could solve a block's poor demise instantly, and a food to eat on your plate is the least of your worries. There's acres of space, just for you and your wife.

Sam provides everything imaginable to your heart's desire.

Yet, you feel yourself wither each day.

You've been punished by Sam that very day, when you courageously asked her for a divorce. You felt ridiculed for a short and humerous answer of the woman whom you've loved for a while. But even that couldn't sustain the foundation you built with Sam alone.

That same night, you found yourself being spanked and manhandled by the woman.

You've overheard of her tone and voice, the calculation in her cruel words  — how it roared affirmative and certain to follow through as she planned despite the protests by some of her inner circle, sometimes including her own right hand and sister, Tara, made your wife sound as though she's detached from humanity.

You regret learning an ounce from that day. You couldn't believe how you let yourself be in this sick charade, laying down beside this woman whom you once adored.

So, when Sam came home as usual, with her loosened tie and undone earrings, the thick tension resurfaced once again.

But she deeply craved your touch much as you do.

Although you obliged, knowing where it was headed from the start, you were blinded. After all there was an undeniable spark that you knew wouldn't easily go away with Sam's affection and the skill she had to pleasure you. You straddled Sam as your thumb caressed her baby hair, her soft kneading on your ass that only grew rough and sliding over your shorts to feel it bare as her kisses became needy and almost bruising.

What you didn't know was how Sam felt you were giving in as though it was a parting gift to her. The thought riled her up to an increasing madness.

She flipped you over, hovering beneath you and pushed your head against the soft mattress. It made you yelp at the force she exuded.

"I fought so hard to have you, amor!" Sam's frustrated voice roared in the master's bedroom, tears welling up your eyes. "What makes you think I'll let you get away this time? Maybe you're not bright enough if you think I would sign divorce papers from you," she angrily spat.

You felt so small. It was beyond suffocating as Sam and the way her fingers dug in your scalp as she pressed you down while within her grasp felt nothing more but terrifying.

"I-I don't feel good. Not for a while now, Sam." You admit, words slurring in your contorted mouth.

Sam gave you a mocking grin. "And I didn't wish to be this rough on you, sweetheart. But you've left me with no choice,"

She gave you a good spanking until the flesh of your ass was tender and stinging. By the end of it, you were sniffling and in tears. Sam didn't bother putting back your underwear, it was nothing but humiliating. She swiftly carries your weight like you're featherlight, your body slung over her shoulder. Your vision is upside down and you began to wail in protest, cold sweat ran through your body.

You didn't trust how Sam was handling you — this woman that stood before you didn't hold remorse nor familiarity and warmth you knew. Sam was akin to that first night she had you handcuffed. True enough, it was history repeating itself as you found yourself dropped in a smaller bed, enough to fit one, worst was how bits of it felt like an exposed space, sealing your deal in this prison-like room.

It was dowright ridiculous.

Sam firmly held you by the wrist, against the metal headboard. The clanking was continuous, you look up through your blurry vision, tears not stopping, you're cuffed.

"We go by a reward system here, sweetheart. Don't worry, I'll keep you fed. That is if — a big if — you won't lash out. All you have to say is you won't bring up a silly thing as divorce ever again." Sam patted your cheek, "Of course, you need to prove it by actions too. You're monitored. I'll be the judge of that." She motions over the camera at the corner of the room.

You wipe your nose, sniffling. "Isn't this too over the top?"

"Better vicinity, is all I'm going to say." Sam clicks her tongue, her body above you and one of her hands intimately placed on your bare stomach where your night gown slightly ridden up.

You had no phone inside, even the use of television was needed to be earned. Naturally, the almost empty space made you think a lot. It was few hours before you were freed from the cuffs.

It brought more realization that you were being isolated, completely tucked away from the existing relationships you've built with your friends. It happened slow and deliberate, that you found yourself hopeless to Sam's doings. Maybe she was even behind the unjustified killings from years ago, at your little town. Hell, maybe you were in denial all these time that Sam conjured on eliminating your mother figure from work, too.

You wouldn't be surprised anymore but the thought makes you retch.

The first few days was tough. You cried until you became exhausted. Soon it was futile and useless. You tried protesting by not eating at all, wondering what starvation will bring, only to be intervened by Sam herself. She kept you fed and bathed you, that you felt disgusted. Sam wasn't worthy to see your vulnerable state.

Sometimes, you rebelled against the trained women she sent in — at times where Sam couldn't make an exception to personally accommodate you. They let you angrily punch them, never fighting back, which made you smaller and invisible. These trained guards were obligated to report to Sam and so your punishment was still made.

You even tried memorizing the room. Attempting to knock at the walls to see if it had a weak spot, scanning as much as you can. Albeit, the windows itself were also useless. You should have known better that Sam would kept it close and bulletproof.

The depravation soon kicked in. You're conditioned at the reward she gave you that even a simple few hours of watching television made you a little bit at ease. Anything that came from outside world, you soaked it up. Nonetheless, you were treated like a pet.

But it didn't change your state, life still being sucked out of your very body.

One night, Sam was scrubbing your back clean as you sat at the bathtub. It was filled with silence, with occasional comments from Sam from the outside. She acted like everything was normal.

"Why are you doing this?" Was all you could say. You were tired.

The silence covered you two until you were in your towel, ready to dry off.

"This," Her index finger was in the middle of your chest. "Does not only beat for you, but a part of me as well." Sam continued, her voice tenuous and low. "You didn't know how your existence motivated me to survive that hell hole that my father sent me into. I need you back. I need my wife back. Isn't that all enough?"

"But what part of me do you need? Should I be stuck in that submissive and clueless, attending to your needs? Or did you want the girl that you left all those years?" You bravely confronted Sam, who was taken aback at your words.

At the end, you wouldn't take it all back. You wanted her to know—to fully simmer those thoughts.

You wanted to feel something and to end it all at the same time.

Sam had overlooked and underestimated your creativity. The cheap toilet was one of the things that was left unfinished for this spare room and it only took you to carry out its heavy lid, smashing the ceramic cover in pieces.

All you registered was the sharp piece against your soft skin, your knees that trembled and thudded against the hard floor. You feel your consciousness slipping, the fluttering of your eyes slow and uncontrable. Hopefully, to no return, you thought.

It was a blur, dreamless state. You were at peace for a while.

Though you had a small inkling that it won't last for long, you feel your mind waking up to consciousness. Your ears register the beeping of the electrocardiogram served as a white noise and your breathing sounded like it was contained. Opening your eyes, you see that you're tubed and one of your arms were infused with IV. You feel a gentle hold, on your unharmed forearm by Sam herself. She looked out of place, wearing your favorite cardigan as she slept soundly beside you.

When you moved and groaned, it stirred Sam to consciousness as well. You feel the fear brewing but it long vanished when your wife looked nothing but in complete distraught with tears spilling from her exhausted brown eyes — unlike you've ever seen before — temporarily stripped away from her cruelty and madness.

She held tighter on your forearm, but it was out of desperation and concern more than anything.

"You asked me and I never answered that day," Sam continued to sob. You see her physically restraining to hold all of you that it started to pain you. "I can't—I can never imagine being that stupid again. It could have been my last words and you suffered enough from me,"

"Sam... I could have asked better—" You protest as clarity hit you, but Sam's quivering lips halted you.

Your wife strongly shook her head in disagreement. "Nonsense. Let me finish, please. It was entirely my fault and mine alone for putting you in this situation and I never made myself much of safe space for you. But all I needed was everything you can offer. All of you, mi amor. I don't care if it was the girl I left, the one who changed, all I know is that I cannot do this life without you," She moves to bring your palm over her cheek. You feel Sam's fraught, her need to feel that you are tangible and beside her.

For a moment your anger and frustration with her had faded. It was a day full of crying, nonetheless.

Recovery was surprisingly better than you expected with Sam's improved presence around you. She was downright attentive to your needs, more than ever before. You need to pee? Sam was right by the door. You wanted to read or watch a movie? Sam could not care any less, she'll do work beside you, too. Most of the time, your wife would watch them with you, surprisingly even if she hates the genre. Were you craving for a specific food? Sam will go and get it for you.

You even joked that you wanted a foot massage but Sam took it seriously, immediately went to give you one.

"You know I'm not pregnant right?" You humorously told her. The way her head spun to your direction, flustered, had you uncontrollably smile.

Sam was taken aback. "W-What?"

"Don't you have work to do, whatever it is?"

"No. I can do them remotely, it's always been a flexible thing." I have my priorities sorted out much better now." Sam casually says. You've never seen her this carefree and it hit a pang of warmth and familiarity more than ever.

You nodded slowly. "Alright. But, can you stop acting like I'm fragile? I don't... I haven't thought of doing anything since then." The playfulness quickly faded from you.

You looked away and cannot help but glance over the healing wound on your forearm. You busied yourself with the film playing on screen. Sam opens her hand that was adjacent to your side, you don't fight the invitation and instead you make the move to hold it.

"I know you're not, mi amor. It's not that, it's just—" Sam sighed, though her eyes never left yours. "I don't want to spend remaining of my time with you by fighting or making you suffer ever again, even by the slightest just because I am greedy when it comes to you, amor. I want to make better memories, whether you choose to stay or not."

You don't reply and Sam was unchanging. All you knew is how it lifted a great weight on your shoulder.

You've never returned to the room where she kept you nor passed by the area. Interestingly enough, it was under construction again.

Days later, Sam remained at home. She didn't fail with the flowers and her gifts increasingly became thoughtful. It was between a new book of the genre you wanted, it could've been a trip to a place you mentioned. The most surprising so far was her first attempt of doing a crochet tulips for you.

It was a better sense of direction for the two of you. Sure you had needs, and the sexual tension and libido may have kicked in, but it felt like you were in a courting phase. It annoyed you sometimes, how your wife pranced in almost nothing and you were just to stare.

Though if you asked, Sam wouldn't hesitate to tell you—whether it was work, or something personal you've always been too shy or afraid to do so from the past. If you asked to burn the world, Sam would've handed you the gas and the lighter.

That's why you were taken aback during a particular rainy day, you perked up at the sound of the door and saw Sam who came back with nervous smile on her face and a new material on her other hand. She handed you a manila envelope and followed you as you took it and sat on one of the chairs at the dining area.

You curiously took it and opened it, your throat quickly dried, loss at words as you saw that it was the divorce papers you've been asking for. It made you suddenly stand up straight.

"It's only a choice up to you now. No dirty games from me, I swear on it." Sam made a sign of oath. You looked at her with the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. "If you want, I can send you best of my men, back to your town for extra measure. Not to update me! Just because, well, you've been associated to me for quite some time." She rubbed her neck in what appears to be out of shame.

You incredulously looked at Sam's face. To be back from the life you have been taken away from, to reunite with people that you've missed... but it also meant being away from Sam and to no longer call her your wife—it felt sickening. You were coming around to closely forgiving her, to giving her another chance as she proved herself better than before. You doubt that this woman can actually hurt you again, after all.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you courageously grabbed Sam by the collar of her shirt. "Fuck you, Sam Loomis. Don't mess around like this."

"I'm not complaining, but I don't understand..." Sam murmured as you pushed the double door, leading her to the bed.

You two ended up catching on much needed passionate touches and sinful nights you've deeply missed with the woman. Your soul was ignited with each kiss Sam has left your neck, every touch had set you on fire. Funnily enough, the roles were reversed. You cannot be parted away from her, your arm slung and secure over her nape. What moved you the most was her kissing away the now-scarring form on your forearm.

The divorce papers? Somewhere lying on the floor, completely forgotten.

do not repost/translate on other sites. © wandagcre

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

a few words. l Joel Miller

Summary: words he didn't want you to hear

Warnings:  angst, unpleasant conversation, they move away from each other

A/N: nothing special. your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

short stories from life. [masterlist]

Tommy looked at his brother as if he was seeing him for the first time in his life. He hadn't expected this and was slowly regretting that he had shown up at the stables with a few bottles of beer that evening.

"You can't be fucking serious." he finally said.

The man who was sitting on a haystack by the wall seemed exhausted. His brown eyes were fixed on the horse in the opposite stall, the bottle in his big hands still full of beer.

"You slept with her?" Joel looked at him surprised. "What? Simple question. Did you sleep with her or not?"

Joel shook his head. "No."

"But you wish you did."

He looked down, but he couldn't lie to someone who knew him so well. Of course he thought about it. Most often when he was alone in the dark bedroom. Memories of every kiss, tender touch, moments when he held you in his arms - all of these haunted him like ghosts.

He was furious because he wanted more. He wanted to be alive again, to feel again. But should he?

"Joel, you've known each other for years, you live together. Why are you messing with her head if you don't want anything to do with her?"

"It's not like that, Tommy..." his voice was tired, barely audible. "Everything's different with her."

"So why don't you want to give it a chance?" Tommy took a sip of beer. "I don't get it. If you want to be with her, then be. Tell her how you feel and..."

"I'm too old for this!" Joel snapped. "She deserves better, and I can't give it to her."

"Bullshit!" Tommy muttered.

There was silence for a moment. The distant noises of the city settling in for the night drifted through the open stable door. Tommy sat down next to his brother, resting his arms on his knees.

"She's a really nice girl," he said. "I see how she looks at you, cares about you and Ellie. Do you really want to break her heart like that?"

"She's tough."

"Yes, she is."

"Are you going out?"

You were just putting a thermos with a hot drink and a couple of sandwiches into your backpack, you didn't even look up when Joel went down to the kitchen in the morning.

"Yeah. I'm going on patrol." you answered.

Joel frowned. "Our turn is tomorrow."

"I swapped with Paul. He'll go with you. You two get along."

An unpleasant shiver ran down his spine, his heart sped up. The backpack was almost ready, and you didn't seem in the mood for long conversations.

"I'd rather go with you." he grumbled, coming closer and clenching his hands on the back of the chair.

"A change will do you good. It'll do us good too."

"Have you talked to Tommy about this?"

You slung your backpack over your shoulder and looked him in the eye for the first time. He saw something strange in that look. A mixture of sadness, anger, and some kind of severity. You hadn't looked at him like that before.

"You'll probably talk to him yourself, right?" you said "I think..." your voice broke for a moment, but you quickly got back on track. "I think when I get back I'll ask Maria to find me another place to live."

"W-What? Why?"

"We both know why."

You adjusted your backpack and left the house. The world you had built had just collapsed.

"What the fuck was I supposed to do?"

"You could have not let her go!"

"She's an adult, Joel! She came last night, said she had already talked to Paul. I couldn't say no to her." Tommy put the crate in the storage room and looked at Joel.

He could see that his brother was furious and distraught. You usually went on patrols together, Joel didn't like you going out alone. Although he knew you would manage, he didn't fully trust others. Now he had completely lost control over anything.

Tommy looked at him with pity. "I think she must have heard us yesterday. Maria saw her in town, she was upset. Then she showed up at our place. I didn't ask, it's none of my business."

"You could have stopped her." Joel repeated quietly.

"And you could have kept her with you. But you chose not to."

He could.

☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

taglist, i think: @picketniffler @orcasoul @bbyanarchist

[sansaorgana]

— HUMBLED (II)

PART ONE

PAIRING — Sauron x fem!Vala!Reader // Morgoth x fem!Vala!Reader

SUMMARY — Driven by guilt after abandoning him, you went back to the place where Mairon had been slain. You find out that he is still alive but in the weakest form and shape. You take him in to nurse him back to health in the solitude of your Mirkwood fortress where you are hiding from the Valar, disguised as an ordinary human.

AUTHOR’S NOTE — 👀 The Reader in this fic is a Vala (and Varda's sister but she remains undescribed as well), so she changes her appearance like Sauron does but I am not describing any of her forms in any details. The smut part is not with goo!Sauron although I'm sure some of your freaks would probably want that. 😂 I know that the fortress in Mirkwood was built by Sauron much later in canon but I wanted to use it in this fic, although I didn't use its name, so it doesn't have to be the exact same one anyway. Once again I want to thank @dinsbeskar & @olchr-1 💚 Special mention to the queen of Sauron fics @just-trying-to-fangirl-in-peace and her fanfic Remade where the iconic evil!Reader is nursing goo!Sauron back to health as well. 🥺

WARNINGS — Reader is evil (reshaped by Morgoth but not completely evil), mentions of domestic abuse (with Morgoth) & of Sauron and Reader being tortured by Morgoth, goo!Sauron, murder, SMUT, dom!Sauron (with sub undertones)

WORD COUNT — 3,830

🔞 THIS FIC IS 18+ 🔞

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

HUMBLED (II)

Perhaps it was embarrassing for a Vala to feel so enamoured with a Maia but you could not help it – Mairon was all you could think of after your departure.

And after finding out that he had been slain during his coronation after your departure, you could not help a pang of guilt filling what was left of your heart. You had abandoned him and left him all alone at the mercy of all those dark and rotten creatures your husband had created and lured. Of course your sweet Mairon would never handle them on his own, without your support.

You missed him, too – your devoted servant who had worshipped you like nobody else before. When you were being an object of his desires, it was as if you were no longer Varda’s rival because Mairon could make you feel like the most important goddess in the whole world.

Therefore, after many years of being tormented with guilt and yearning, you decided to go back North and inspect the fortress where he had been slain. You could easily trace the very floor where he had laid dead because a black stain remained there. And you tilted your head while examining the cracks between which his blood had to be streaming down.

Your instincts led you underground where you found yourself in a cold and damp cave filled with sinister, ominous presence. There was no doubt that whatever was left of your servant still lived there.

And then, as if it was drawn to you, you spotted an odd, small form creeping towards you on the floor. It was not humanoid but visibly alive although its breath was barely present. The way it moved caused your heart to clench inside your chest out of pity. When it found itself by your feet, it wailed pathetically and whined.

You had a new form now as you were disguising yourself as a young woman of the human kind but his spirit would recognise Mother of Flames everywhere and in every form. Just like yours would always recognise him.

“My poor, sweet Mairon…” You crouched down to touch the malicious substance gently. “I am so sorry for abandoning you,” you whispered as you opened your hands and watched him struggle to slide onto them. “Just a little, my darling, you can do it. And once you’re with me, I will take care of you,” you promised. “I will nurse you back to health, my Mairon,” you encouraged him as he eventually managed to crawl up to lay in your hands. He sighed out of exhaustion and you chuckled softly.

You stood up and brought him closer to your face. He was like a little, gruesome pet and you found it adorable in a way as your godly instincts to take care over weaklings awakened.

“I shall take you away from here, my sweet spirit. Rest now, darling, you are safe now,” you cooed to him.

And inside your hands you took him safely back to the place where you had been living in hiding these days – in the southwest of Mirkwood where Hill of Sorcery was and you spent your days there alone in a fortress long-abandoned, away from everyone, trying not to attract any attention.

Having Mairon with you in his odd shape was merely counting as a companion although you were speaking to him all the time and he would answer with squeals, whines or sighs. You prepared him a cosy spot near the fireplace, which was always lit up due to your control over that destructive element.

As a fallen Vala, you had no power anymore to create life – not in the same, pure way as the others at least. Therefore, you did not want to risk bringing him back to life with your will because it could end up badly. You’d rather the process of his healing take centuries than to bring him back twisted and deformed in any way.

You felt bad for not being able to help him more, so you devoted your days to finding him wild animals to feed on and sometimes you would allow him to feed off of your own godly energy to gain strength as you would caress his foul form and coo to him.

As time passed, slowly but progressively, his shape was growing in size and getting more and more humanoid. He was even more gruesome now because he no longer resembled a pet but became a dark shadow that was creeping around the fortress as he kept following you around obediently.

Oftentimes, he would exhaust his weak form by doing so and you would turn around with a soft sigh and a smile at the sight of him breathing heavily on the floor.

“My sweet, Mairon, you should rest,” you crouched down to help him move back to his usual spot by the fireplace. “I am not going anywhere, do not worry, my dear. I shall never abandon you ever again, you have my word,” you caressed him.

He reached out his limb towards you and you smiled lovingly at the gesture.

“You seem to be quite ready, don’t you think, my dear? Should I fetch you a bigger meal?” You asked him.

You were excited to finally bring him back fully but on the other hand you had grown so used to this shadow following you around for the past few centuries that you were not sure if real, bratty Mairon was someone you wanted to handle again. However, you did not want him to suffer anymore.

The dark shape nodded, eagerly and you leaned in to place some sort of a kiss upon where his forehead would be.

“Be patient, dear. Soon, you will be back with me. And now, regain your strength,” you assured him and watched him fall asleep.

When he did so, you left the fortress and hunted for a human or an Elf who would walk around unguarded. Not that you would not handle someone of this sort – you were a goddess, after all. You simply did not want any witnesses. The woods were dark and mysterious, therefore one disappearance would not alarm anyone but to have a rumour going around that there was some dark spirit living amongst the humans and the Elves of Mirkwood – that you did not want.

Therefore, using your craft of deception and luring, you teased a young lumberjack into your fortress. He was in a trance but once you locked him inside the same chambers where Mairon’s shadow laid, he screamed out loud with terror. However, he was too far away from the nearest village for anyone to hear him.

You smirked to yourself as you paced around impatiently, waiting for Mairon to deal with his prey. The sounds coming out of the room were concerning but you knew that an act of rebirth required lots of dirty work.

Finally, the doors creaked as someone opened them slowly and you turned your head around rapidly.

There he stood in front of you – your Mairon. He chose a new form for himself this time, a little shorter, with curly brown hair and beautiful green eyes. He was in a human shape but you assumed he was not strong enough yet to create a form as pure as Elven. In fact, he looked like a commoner – him wearing his victim’s clothes was not helping the impression.

He was smiling proudly and taking deep breaths in as you watched him with widened eyes.

“You… You look different,” you pointed out, taken aback.

“So do you,” he answered and you cracked a smile at the sound of his new voice. What a privilege it seemed to be now to be able to hear his voice. “My Lady,” he added and bowed his head slightly. “I am yet too weak to take more noble form but in this one we both look the same. I would never dare to take a form higher than yours. I know you need your disguise but so do I. I hope you do not mind this choice.”

“Not at all,” you shook your head and approached him. “I have nursed you when you were a… A shadow. How can you think I would ever be able to cast you away because of your shape or form?” You cupped his cheeks as his stubble scratched your hands.

Short silence occurred, in which you two were staring at each other intensely. You were the one to make the first move as you pulled his face towards yours to plant dozens of tiny kisses all over his face while your hands brushed his curls.

Filled with joy to be in your arms and to be greeted by you this way, he wrapped his new, strong arms around you and made an attempt to give back at least half of those hasty and desperate kisses.

“My Lady, my Queen,” he whispered between them, “my saviour, my Goddess.”

His kisses grew more hungry and passionate as his lips moved down to your neck, kissing it eagerly and sucking on the sensitive skin. His hands, shaky from anticipation, worked on the lacing of your gown. He was too desperate to ask if he could stain you with his touch but you would never reject him.

Whatever was between you two now had differed greatly from whatever you two had back in the day. After all those centuries of taking care of him in his weakest state while you two were hiding away from the outside world, you felt that the connection between you two was as strong as ever. Perhaps even stronger than the one you had once had with Melkor.

“Mairon…” You gasped when his hands finally untied the corset of your gown and he tore it off of you like a wild animal in heat, pushing you down onto the floor.

This time it was you underneath him, at the mercy of his will and his desire. And you should mind that but you did not – in fact, you craved it. It had been ages since he had a body and now his flesh was filled with uncontrollable desires. You wanted to be the only subject of them as you would never allow him to fulfil them with anyone else.

“You are mine,” you reminded him when he grabbed your wrists and crossed them above your head, pinning you down.

He looked deep into your eyes as his pupils widened and nearly overtook the beautiful green colour completely. He growled and leaned in to give you yet another hungry kiss and you wrapped your thighs around his waist, pulling him closer. You could feel his erection already because the clothes he had taken from the commoner were thin and loosely put on.

“You belong to me,” you whined between one hungry kiss and another while he took both of your wrists into one of his hands now to be able to remove his clothes with the other. He was chaotic while doing so, desperate to get rid of anything between your bodies. “Tell me, Mairon. Do you serve me still?” You asked.

There was a new energy about him in this form. He was still only a Maia but you were a very weakened Vala and he was no longer a pathetic spirit you had remembered. He reminded you of your husband in a way that you were now anxious about.

“I am yours,” he breathed out and held onto your hip with his free hand as he buried himself inside of you and groaned out of pleasure. You shivered as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your hips bucked up as your walls throbbed around his length, welcoming him in by greedily sucking him in deeper. “I am your servant and yours only. There is nothing holy to me except for you,” he confessed and let go of your wrists to squeeze your cheeks, which caused your hazy eyes to open and look deep into his.

They were no longer green; not even black. He was too driven by desire to be able to control his form and his eyes were terrifying and animalistic as if he was a serpent and not a human. Yet, the sight only made you throb around him some more.

“In your name I shall heal this realm and you will have your temple like I have promised,” he hissed out. “But if you ever abandon me again, I shall give up on you, too. Like I have given up on all the other gods,” he threatened and perhaps he had earned a reprimand for that but you couldn’t help a moan at his words as your hips bucked once more and he began to thrust into you.

His rhythm was far from steady; it was chaotic and desperate, rough and fast. He groaned and buried his face in the crook of your neck, assaulting your skin with kisses and bites as his big and strong hands held onto your hips to be able to fuck you even deeper.

You tangled your fingers in his brown curls and pulled on them, which only spurred him on and with your other hand you scratched the flexed muscles of his back. Your moans and whines filled the whole fortress and lucky were the habitants of the near villages to live far away enough to not be able to hear you.

Like two desperate animals with your clothes scattered around and torn, fucking on the floor. There was nothing holy about you two at that moment and nothing noble either. Even your forms were human, therefore you had to resemble two primal and primitive creatures instead of the regal and holy spirits that you had originally been.

“I will never abandon you again, sweet Mairon. Have I not promised you already?” You whispered. “Whatever path you want to take, I shall take with you. Reunite all the dark creatures of this realm for you again, command your armies, I shall do it. Stay here forever and get lost in each other’s embrace for the whole eternity instead? I shall do it, too,” you confessed.

Your devotion – the loyalty of the one he had been worshipping ever since his creation – was enough to make him spill himself inside of you with a groan of pleasure and relief after such a long time of yearning. He moved up to look at your face and he caressed your sweaty cheeks while he kept thrusting in and out of you to make you reach your peak, too.

“Once we heal and take over this realm, I will defile you on every altar built for you,” Mairon promised you in a raspy voice, his eyes back to normal now but still foggy from his orgasm. “There will be no more Valar for our subjects, there will be only you. The only goddess. Any form of worship of the other Valar will be considered blasphemy,” he whispered sweetly and you moaned, feeling the muscles of your abdomen tightening as your walls clenched hard around him but he kept on fucking you. In fact, he picked up his pace. “Such a goddess you are and look at you, so humbled underneath me. How humiliating it must be for you, my Queen,” he teased, cruelly and instead of getting angry or ashamed, you finally came all around his cock, shivering and moaning as he watched in awe with a smirk, fucking you throughout your orgasm.

He was slowing down alongside your breath going back to normal and his rough human hands were caressing your cheeks now, brushing out the hair strands away from your sweaty face. 

“You forget yourself,” you breathed out eventually.

“You liked it,” Mairon pointed out. “And I shall do everything to please my Queen,” he chuckled with a sparkle dancing in his eye. “I bet you would like to do it again, my Lady.”

“I do,” you grinned but he shook his head as he laughed.

“Work before play,” he leaned in to place a kiss upon your forehead. “And we have a lot of work to do,” he pointed out and moved away as you whined at the sudden emptiness.

“What are you talking about? You have just regained your form back,” you sat up and tilted your head at him.

“I have had centuries to come up with a scheme and I do not wish to waste more time,” Mairon told you, gathering the scattered clothes from the floor to put them back on.

You sighed and rolled your eyes before laying back on the ground.

“What is it, my Lady?” He furrowed his brows at you.

“Nothing, my sweet,” you chuckled. “You’re back at it, are you not? You cannot ever just let it happen or have fun. You must always work and be a perfectionist about it.”

“I might have a new form and a new will but some things never change,” he answered.

“I wonder sometimes why the Valar have not found me yet,” you sat up again to look at him and he froze at the mention of the other gods. “I mean, they are not searching for me hard enough because I am not that well disguised. Yet, they have not come for me yet and I know that in their eyes I deserve a punishment.”

“Do you have any theories about it, my Queen?” Mairon asked, curiously.

“You are my punishment, I reckon,” you told him. “I am humbled to be enamoured with a servant and I have to endure your annoying ways,” you added but with a playful smile that signalled your affection.

Mairon smirked nervously. He had once fantasised about something similar when his heart had still been pure and he had been Aulë’s disciple in Valinor. In what a twisted way his dream turned out to be real. He pitied you at that moment.

He crouched down next to you and caressed your cheek gently before leaning in to place a kiss on the top of your head. 

“I wish to perfect myself as much as it is allowed for me to but I will never be your equal, which I am aware of and it will forever be my biggest regret,” he confessed. “If only I could… All I want is to be worthy of you like he was. My master.”

You flinched at the mention of your husband. Melkor was immortal like you were, therefore he was not dead but locked away instead. You were still his wife because of that and you would forever remain in the eyes of many but at that moment, you would not mind to break the tradition and become Mairon’s bride. Even if it would be considered a great humiliation.

“I wonder what he thinks of us,” you mumbled out. “But I care not,” you looked up to meet Mairon’s concerned gaze.

“Even if he comes back by any chance, I shall not allow him to hurt you or take you away from me. No matter what it takes,” he promised with all seriousness and you batted your eyelashes to dry out your fresh tears.

“If he comes back by any chance,” you chuckled sadly, “it will be me having to protect you from his wrath, my sweet Mairon,” you caressed his cheek and leaned in to place a gentle kiss upon his lips.

You would never leave his side and you would always watch over him, take care of him and nurse him back to health whenever he would need it again. 

He was your lesson in humility but you were a very eager student.

You were sitting by the fire amongst all those poor villagers who had lost their homes. Mairon had his arm wrapped around you as you clinged to his chest as if you were cold, pretending to shiver slightly. The old man named Diarmid who had taken you both alongside with him squinted his eyes at the two of you and decided to join you by sitting next to you after a while of hesitation.

You moved slightly to make more space for him and he smiled.

“Halbrand and Brynn,” he addressed you by your new and fake human names. “How much have you lost there if I might ask?” He asked but there was no rudeness about it, only genuine concern.

“Everything,” you answered, refusing to look him in the eye as you watched the flames dance. It was the very element you had full control of but now you just allowed it to burn naturally as you smiled at the memory of casting the very first fire that had ever existed in Arda. Mairon leaned in to kiss your temple and he was the one to look at the old man.

“This might be a second chance for us,” he said. “I like to think of it as such. We are free now from the burdens of the past. As if we were new people.”

“And that is how you should be perceiving it,” Diarmid pointed out as he nodded. You smirked a little because he was so naive and so oblivious to your Mairon’s malice.

“My husband’s always been the more positive one,” you mumbled out. “I like to perceive things the way they are,” you added.

“That is certainly a useful quality,” the old man smiled at you. “But sometimes we all need a little hope and a little white lie here and there. Such wisdom comes with age that the true purpose of the fairytales is not to entertain the children but to bring hope to grown men and women for the reality of life can get too gloomy to bear faith for a better tomorrow. Yet, we must keep going. No matter what.”

You looked up at that moment and locked your gaze with his as your heart skipped a beat. The man kept smiling at you softly and you would never tell Mairon about it but he was no ordinary human. He was a spirit sent to you – he was one of the Maiar with a task given to him from the Valar.

They knew about you and Mairon and they wished for you both to redeem yourselves and choose goodness this time. Indeed, it made your heart clench deep inside of your chest as you remembered them all, especially your sister – the one you had betrayed the most.

But it was too late for you and too late for Mairon. Melkor’s corruption and darkness were reaching deeper within your souls than the Valar’s lightness ever would. You two were the most exquisite subjects of the Dark Lord’s torment.

Instead of fixing your malice with his love, like Marion had once dreamed of, you both descended into the paths of sin and destruction disguised as the act of healing. Together, at least.

MASTERLIST

[in1-nutshell]

My lord and savior, I come baring a request:

TFone B127 with an opposite personality daughter. He going about his duties on the trash conveyor when something odd drops down: a little sparking. At first he is very concerned about how a crying sparkling ended up in the trash shoot. It must have been a mistake! He needed to find a supervisor- but then the sparkling looks up at him. She starts to calm down in his arms and reaches to touch his faceplate. When he lets her she giggles, and that was when his spark was stolen.

He raises her the best he can, sharing rations and telling her stories he made up. Throwing little parties with his other friends he built.

As she gets older she becomes his little assistant with organizing the scrap he collects. She can be a bit bossy, scolding him for slacking with the guys (the bots made of trash). It was also a challenge for B that she had a tcog, since being cogless made it hard to teach her how to use it. Plus the cramped space made it hard to transform.

Of course Orion and D16 are confused and concerned about what a youngling is doing down here with such an… eccentric mech. Although D found a bit of amusement in her scolding Orion for ‘killing’ Steve, their priorities quickly change to getting to the surface.

Expanding continuities I see, I welcome this with one arms!

Hope you enjoy!

B-127 with a daughter with the opposite personality

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Cybertronain reader

TF1

B-127 was doing his usual duties watching the scrap get smelted when something heavier fell through the shot.

He picked it up, holding it at arm’s length.

It was a newly forged sparkling.

He freaked out and nearly dropped them in the process

 He quickly readjusted his hold when the sparkling started to cry.

B-127: “Okay B, what to do? What to do? What to do?” The sparkling started calming down. B-127: “I know! Find a supervisor and hand them the sparkling. Simple…” The sparkling stared up at him with wide optics before giggling. B-127: “…But maybe spending the night wouldn’t hurt right? She needs to mee the others before she leaves! How does that sound little buddy? Buddy! That’s what I’m gonna call you until the supervisors come and get you.” Buddy just chirps before tucking her helm into his neck cables. B-127: “…Don’t get attached. Don’t get attached. Don’t get attached. Don’t get attached. Don’t get attached. Don’t get attached.”

The night turned into a day, then a couple of days, then a month.

By the end of the first month B-127 was already quite attached to her and vice versa.

He decided he was going to adopt her.

Sure, he was still quite young, but he also wasn’t THAT young.

This was going to be easy.

…It was in fact not easy.

It was a bit of a challenge raising a sparkling down there with limited access to rations and space.

Not to mention his job being near the smelting pit.

Space is one of the biggest problems B-127 would have to face.

Especially realizing that his sparkling had a T cog and was growing increasingly bigger by the day.

B-127 marks the wall with Buddy’s height. She was around his waist. Buddy: “How much taller am I now?” B smiles down at her. B-127: “At this rate, you’ll be just as tall as me in a couple years!” A couple weeks later… B-127 uses a step stool to measure her height. His little bean was now a good two feet taller than him. Buddy: “Couple weeks huh?”

Don’t get him wrong, he absolutely adores his little bean growing up and being her own bot.

Even if she does end up growing almost double his size, she will always be his little bean.

With the grow spurts and being unable to use her cog, Buddy develops limb and joint pains.

B-127 has a bunch of heat pads and a semi usable heated tarp at the ready.

This eases the pain a bit.

He keeps her entertained with stories and chatting as she replied in chirps and whirls.

B has made it a drill for her in case a supervisor decided to pop by.

As his sparkling grows, she develops a bit of a bossy personality.

Always trying to get him to go back to work and organize the good things from the conveyor belt.

Buddy: “Dad, you got today’s reports in?” B-127: “Umm…” Buddy rolls her optics. Buddy: “It’s a good thing I already have them filled out and organized.” B-127: “Thanks Buddy!” She smiles at him as he attempts to rub her helm. She smiles widely. Buddy: “I’ll let you do it if you can get in the rest of the quota for the day.” B-127: “Are you bribing your own Father?” A brief flash of fear is present in her optics. But it goes away quickly with his signature smirk. B-127: “You better believe I’m gonna ive you the noogy of a lifetime my little bean!” Buddy: “I’m taller than you Dad.” B-127: “Still not gonna stop me!” Buddy: “How am I the more mature one?”

Buddy slowly becomes a bit protective of her dad as she notices how he sometimes gets hurt handling sharper scrap pieces from the belt.

She always insists on helping him with those pieces.

She wants to see what is above Sublevel 50, but decides the work down here with her dad is more important.

All they needed was each other.

And if they worked hard enough, they would get promoted up the ranks and get better conditions.

Better space.

Better rations.

If we’re adding to the list, maybe even see a good live video feed of the Great Sentinel Prime.

Things, however, change when they receive two new guests.

B-127 suddenly whistles loudly after introducing himself to Orion and D-16. B-127: “Its all-clear Buddy! You can come out now!” Orion: “Buddy? Is that your friend?” B-127: “Even better! She’s, my daughter!” Both mechs are seriously taken a back. D-16: “You? You’re a Father?” B-127: “I know! A bit young and all but I made it work. Buddy! Come one!” Orion and D-16 watch as a large bot slowly emerge from a cramp corner in the room covered in scrap. The bot is slightly hunched over but makes her way to them. She has a steely gaze on them. B-127: “Buddy, this is Orion Pax and D-16. Guys, this is my little bean, Buddy!” Orion: “Little?”

Both are surprised to not only find out B is a Father of a youngling who is much bigger than him, but who also has a working cog.

They feel a bit unsettled by her hard gaze drilling holes in the back of their helms.

Even more when she punches Orion in the arm for ‘killing’ Steve.

The miner was sent into the wall with slight dents on his side.

But after making plans to go to the surface, the hostility that was once present slowly left and turned into protectiveness.

She admired Orion’s ambitions and his want to help other bots.

He also wasn’t a bad bot, which was good in her book.

But it was D-16 that Buddy found herself gravitating to.

He understood the seriousness behind these great actions no matter how great it could benefit everyone.

He knew what was at stake and considered everyone else getting negatively affected by this.

She could understand him just a bit better than Orion.

She likes this mech.

Was not a fan of Elita One after she nearly flattened them all with cargo crates.

Buddy was gripping to the train for dear life while B-127 was having the time of his life riding the train.

On the surface… Everyone is staring at the scenery. Buddy: “I am never going back to Sublevel 50.” B-127: “What was that kiddo?” Buddy: “Nothing, just enjoying the view.” She was glad no one heard her. At least she thought no one did. D-16 whispering next to her: “You won’t have to when this is done.” Buddy gives the miner a soft smile as he gives her an encouraging smile. Hope. Hope was good. Buddy starts to notice the mountains coming towards them. Buddy: “That’s not normal right?” Orion: “I think its coming closer.” Buddy books it and throws her father over her shoulder. Buddy: “RUN! RUN LIKE THE QUINTESSONS ARE ON YOUR BACK!”

[joequiinn]

The Dos & Don'ts of Fake Dating | E.M. x reader | pt. 5

[chap four] | [all chapters here] | [chap six]

Summary | You propose a crazy idea to the resident freak of Hawkins, Eddie Munson. But maybe he was even crazier for agreeing to it…

Warnings & Notes | fem reader, slow burn, faking dating, opposites attract, bratty rich bitch reader, super minor revenge plot, not-quite-enemies-to-lovers

Author's Note | I'm very excited for this chapter because it's actually one of the scenes that inspired this whole fic! Before I knew what the hell I even wanted to write, I played this idea of a figure skating character over and over again in my head as I built up the story around it. I'm a little behind on writing the next chap, so it may be a slightly longer wait between this and the next one! Hope you all love it!

WC | 4.8k

Taglist | @costellation-hunter @daisyridleyss @damon-loves-pie @damp4eddie @delilaaahhh @em0220 @fromasgardandback @kthomps914 @lotrefcp @marrowfrog00 @mewchiili @munsonssweets @no-bueno-writer @rach5ive @sav12321 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @steeldaisies @stormgrl19

Chapter Five

You skated at least four times a week. You’ve done so since you were ten years old, when you decided that you wanted to take figure skating more seriously. Whether or not you had competitions, whether or not you were in the mood for it, you always stuck with your skating routine. With competition season coming up in November, you knew you’d have to start practicing more, putting in longer hours and more days in preparation.

Or maybe not. After all, competing was something that your mom enjoyed, that she encouraged wholeheartedly. Regardless of how much you enjoyed it, it didn’t exactly fit the teenage rebellion thing you had going on right now. Maybe you wouldn’t go to competition this year, maybe you’d skip out on your final season out of pure spite - now that would be cruel. Although a part of you hurt at that idea - because you really did love skating - you reasoned that it was something you had to consider.

Fridays were always very long days for you. While your peers would be set free to roam following the 3pm school bell, you had more obligations for the day. Once you left school, you crammed in as much homework as you could before hitting the ice rink by 4:30 at the latest to get your own practice in. Once that was done, you led a youth skating practice until 7pm, then you tried to squeeze in some more skating time before the hockey team took to the ice at 7:15. After arriving home at 8 o’clock or later, you crammed more homework so you wouldn’t have to deal with it over the weekend, and then by that point you’d be too worn out for anything else, so you generally slept late into the next morning.

This had been your routine for over a year now, ever since your own couch suggested that you needed to get more extracurriculars under your belt for your college applications. She had insisted that your resume would look far more impressive if you showed that you had teaching experience and “leadership potential,” an idea that really appealed to your parents, who were determined for you to get into a good school, maybe even on a figure skating scholarship. So, you ended up taking over the Friday night children’s lessons whether you wanted to or not.

You honestly despised it. You led children age 5 to 7, and they were a constant pain in the ass. You couldn’t raise your voice without one of them crying, you couldn’t leave them to their own devices without someone inevitably ending up hurt. Yet, you stuck with it because you were told to, because the adults around you insisted that you needed to. You couldn’t stand the way your coach would insist that this would help develop your skills, you couldn’t stand how your mother insisted “you’ll look back on this so fondly when you’re older.” These damned kids skating lessons were something else you’d probably drop soon, because you barely tolerated them as is.

While everyone else was at the football game, while Eddie was probably off playing his stupid fantasy game or doing something equally as nerdy, you were here at the ice rink, shouting instructions at children while parents and hockey players watched. Some of the parents had made it clear before that they weren’t fond of your impatient and mean teaching methods, but your coach always seemed to talk them out of pulling their kids from your group. She always argued something about you being the best skating in the county, but you weren’t sure how true that was - sure, you had your fair share of medals, but even with your ego you were pretty sure there were better skaters at your level.

“Come on, slackers, we’ve got five minutes left!” You taunted your group of 11 kids as they skated around the perimeter of the rink as a cool down. You zipped ahead of them, leading the charge as you skated backwards to keep an eye on them.

Many of the older kids had grown used to your abrasive coaching, but you could see that many of the newbies were still frightened of you, your loud voice, and your cold eyes. As a means of excusing your poor teaching style, you always said that skating was a tough sport and they needed to toughen up if they wanted to be any good at it. For how pretty and elegant figure skating could be, you knew from experience that competitive skating could be harsh, so you figured you were helping these kids prepare for it.

Because the Hawkins High hockey team had the rink after your group every Friday, many of them were already sitting on the sidelines, getting their gear ready or watching you work. The cocky part of you enjoyed the attention, but hockey players were stupid, so you rarely gave any of them a chance whenever they tried talking to you. Nonetheless, when you were in a good mood, you enjoyed putting on a bit of a show for them, shooting flirty glances their way or occasionally calling out remarks to them between instructing the kids. Tonight, you were paying them little mind, but that didn’t stop you from looking their way every now and again.

As you led the kids back to the center of the ice to wrap up the lesson, a lot of their parents were also waiting in the bleachers or out in the lobby. While you skated back and forth in front of your little army of children, going over some instructions for their next practice with your coach on Monday, your eyes roamed the bleachers. You gave a wicked grin to the hockey players that watched you, meanwhile you took in the parents with very little regards. It was as you looked over the clusters of parents that you saw a familiar face sitting at the penalty bench, and unintentionally you let your toe pick drag on the ice, which very nearly caused you to trip.

God damn Eddie Munson.

As you glared in his direction, hoping your momentary lack of balance didn’t make you look too stupid, you dismissed the kids before gliding towards the dasher board. Eddie, grinning like an asshole, stood up to meet you as children began to exit the ice. You braced yourself on the rail of the board, eyes narrowed at Eddie who appeared far too amused for your liking.

“What are you doing here?” You ask in lieu of a greeting. Eddie briefly glances over at the kids leaving the ice.

“You’re incredible with children.” He mocked, smiling far too wide for your liking; you narrowed your eyes while wondering just how long he’d been here, “Figured I might find you here.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.” You respond coldly, gaze briefly looking in the direction of the hockey team to find a couple of them watching your interaction. 

“You did say we needed to make plans, figure out how this was going to work,” Eddie started, taking in your red cheeks and slightly damp forehead that developed over the course of your skating lessons.

“I also said we’d talk about it next week.” You glowered a little, not worried if any of the hockey players saw it - maybe they’d simply mistake it for a lovers quarrel. Eddie grinned, holding his arms up as if he were a presenter on some dumb show.

“No time like the present, right?” Your unamused face gave him all the answer he needed, and his expression fell a little in annoyance, “And here I hoped I was being a good fake boyfriend by visiting you at the rink.”

“You’re being too good a fake boyfriend,” You jab.

Now that all the kids were off the ice, you slid towards the open gate; Eddie kept pace with you on the other side of the dasher board, meeting you at the gate and offering you his hand in assistance. You looked between his face and his outstretched hand with a glare, but eventually accepted his help, stepping over the barrier and onto the slightly cushy floor on the other side.

“I told you not tonight because I’m busy.” You walk over to the gym bag you left sitting on the nearest bleachers. As you sat beside it, Eddie shrugged with a carelessness that seemed almost false.

“Then I’ll go.” He answered simply as you removed your skates, “Just thought it might not be a bad idea to get to know you a little better. It’s not gonna be easy to fake date someone who you know nothing about.”

You shot him a harsh look while putting skate guards over your blades. You didn’t want to admit that he was right, but he had a good point, especially since you had already discussed it before. You sighed heavily through your nose, your cold eyes locked on Eddie’s.

“Can’t it wait? I’ve had a long day.”

Eddie studied you for a moment, leaning back against the dasher board before looking around the ice rink. You quickly put some worn sneakers on your feet and stood, picking your bag and turning away with the intention to leave. But Eddie’s gentle grip on your wrist stopped you from going anywhere, causing you to look between his hand and his face. As you two held eye contact, you realized that Eddie could be just as stubborn as you when he wanted; damn, was this going to be difficult.

“Let me buy you dinner - I’m sure you’re starving,” Eddie started, and for a fleeting moment you wondered if he thought your attitude was because you were hangry. You chewed your lower lip, eyes staring critically at Eddie for another few moments before you let out a defeated sigh, allowing your shoulders to relax a little. Considering that it had been nearly eight hours since your lunch break, it might now be a bad idea to eat something.

Eddie’s eyes softened at your silent resignation, the corner of his mouth pulling up. He finally released your wrist, nodding his head in the direction of the lobby, “Come on, you pick.”

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Your pick ended up being a 24-hour diner downtown. Eddie showed clear confusion when you mentioned it, so you explained that - for whatever reason - the diner had become something of a tradition, where students congregated post-Friday night football into the wee hours of the night. You’d joined that crowd a number of times in the past, but had no more interest in it - what you were interested in was having people see you and Eddie out together.

You knew it would still be at least an hour before the football crowd arrived, but that wasn’t such a bad thing - it gave you and Eddie a bit of time to actually become acquainted, to learn more about each other beyond “ice princess” and “the freak.”

You studied Eddie while sipping on a chocolate shake, waiting for your food to arrive. He stared back at you unabashedly, and you figured you could be locked into this staring contest until the end of time given how stubborn you both could be. As if Eddie knew what you were thinking, he smirked, finally caving as he looked away from you.

“Not to sound cliche,” Eddie scratched the back of his neck, almost as if he were nervous, but you assumed that couldn’t be true, “but… tell me about yourself?”

You smiled at how dumb the question was - that was so cliche. It was as good a starting place as any you figured, but that didn’t make it sound any less silly and forced. You leaned back in your seat, still holding tight to your milkshake as if it were a lifeline.

Putting on your best Miss America voice, you replied, “Well, I’m freshly 18 from Hawkins, Indiana. I love long walks on the beach, snuggling up with a good book, and I hope one day we’ll have world peace.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes at you, although you could tell he was fighting back a grin, “You’re making this very challenging considering that it was your idea.”

You shrug, taking a big gulp of the chocolate shake, “I guess I’m just a challenging person.”

“You guess?” Eddie laughed mockingly at that, “You’re the most challenging I’ve met. So, how about you try relaxing a little or else no one’s going to buy that we’re together.”

You made a face at the near-insult, finally putting down your drink. You leaned your elbows on the table, taking in Eddie’s face for a moment, stubbornly resisting the urge to say anything. Again, he had a good point, not that you wanted to tell him that. Eddie appeared to have an idea as he mirrored your pose.

“Okay, we’ll go back and forth, a question for a question; how’s that?” You nodded, “Right. First question: Why me?”

Your brows furrowed a little in thought, pinning down a good answer while trying to recall what you’ve already told him, “Haven’t I already explained that?”

“Kind of.” Eddie rolled his hand in a motion that basically said “but go on.”

You bit the inside of your cheek for a moment while thinking, “Your reputation. People don’t know you, but your reputation is in the absolute gutter. No better person to turn to than the guy who everyone in the school already hates.”

Eddie nodded in acceptance of the answer, “Okay, your turn.”

You grinned a little, a question already on your lips, “Why’d you agree to it?”

It was something you’d speculated briefly throughout the week, as you thought that your trade offer might not have been a compelling enough reason for Eddie to agree to this stupid plan. And now you could finally get the answer you were looking for.

Eddie silently stared at you in consideration, and again it almost felt like he was able to read your thoughts somehow. Finally, he answered, “Curiosity.”

You raised a brow in question, to which he once more scratched the back of his neck - maybe that actually was a nervous habit, so you took note of it.

“We both know this idea is kinda crazy,” Eddie started, mulling over his thoughts before continuing, “But I wanted to see how it plays out. See if we can actually trick people into believing it. And I wanted to see if you were as awful as I thought you were.”

You balked instantly, an amused huff escaping your mouth, “‘Awful?’ Jesus, you keep acting like I’m the devil or something.”

Eddie made a face while shrugging, not disagreeing with you, “You thought the same about me. So, let’s call it square.”

Food was finally brought to your table, and you had to resist the urge to attack the greasy burger set in front of you; you didn’t need Eddie to see you act like a ravenous gremlin over some food, even if it had been over eight hours since you’d eaten anything. But you nonetheless dug in, albeit with far more control than your empty, growling stomach would have liked.

“Your turn.” You say around a bite of food, causing Eddie to smile in amusement and the unladylike action.

“Hmm…” He leaned forward, scrutinizing you as he contemplated his next question. Self consciously, you wiped at the corner of your mouth just to make sure there wasn’t any stray ketchup or grease sitting there, “Why ice skating?”

“Because it’s better than cheerleading.” You smiled at your own joke before giving a slightly better answer, “I always thought it was pretty. Nothing else to it, unfortunately; no deep story and significance to it.”

“Fine.” Eddie responded almost as if he was disappointed by the mundane answer.

“Why Dungeons and Dragons?”

“Your questions can’t keep being off-shoots of mine.” Eddie laughed a little, and despite yourself it caused you to smile smally as well.

“Says who?”

“Says me,” He responded while pointing at himself, “I get to come up with some of the rules now, remember?”

“Whatever.” You rolled your eyes with a degree of fondness, which you immediately found strange, so you tried to wipe the look from your face. Nope, you weren’t fond of Eddie Munson, not at all.

You went back to your food, hoping Eddie didn’t catch the amused look on your face. You spoke around another bite of food, “Do you have siblings?”

“None that I know of.” He replied around his own mouthful of food, “But I wouldn’t exactly be surprised if there were any out there.”

You cocked your head a little at the response; it wasn’t so much shocking or sad, rather it was unexpected and different from your own life. You made a mental note to learn more about Eddie’s family, if not tonight then at a later point.

“What’s your plan after graduation?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then paused - what was your plan now that you were trying to make your own decisions? You hadn’t even considered it. Did you still want to go to college? Where? Studying what? You suddenly realized that you had no true plan for yourself, only the one outlined by your parents, and that realization made you nervous.

“Honest answer: not a fucking clue.” Eddie looked taken aback by the response, so you continued, “My plan before was getting into a good school on a skating scholarship, and studying something completely irrelevant. My parents expect my skating to carry me through life until some good, rich man sweeps me off my feet.”

“But that’s not your plan anymore?”

“That’s another question.” You give him a teasing grin, causing Eddie to roll his eyes, “First, answer me this: If you weren’t stuck in Hawkins, where would you go?”

Eddie grinned with an unexpected eagerness, “LA. The music scene there is insane, and I’d happily sleep on the streets if it meant I had a shot at making my own music.”

Your eyes softened ever so slightly at the unexpected, genuine response - admittedly, you didn’t peg Eddie as the type to have any real goals. But music? That was interesting to you since you weren’t even aware that he played any instruments. You wondered if he was actually any good at it, or if it was some foolish aspiration.

“Now, what’s your plan?” Eddie repeated, smirking at the look on your face - this was one of the few times you didn’t look like a total bitch, so he appreciated it. In fact, you looked relaxed and, dare he say, content; that was certainly unexpected from you.

When you shrugged, he shook his head, leaning forward again, “No, you come up with a plan right now. Don’t base it off what your parents want or what you think sounds like the right answer. What do you want to do with your life once we’re done with this shit hole?”

You contemplated, a mild concern washing over you as you stared at Eddie - what the hell did you want? And why did you suddenly feel so vulnerable because of the question. You had to rip your gaze away from Eddie’s, hardening your expression as you tried to think up an answer that felt right.

“I… I like art, I love clothes,” You started dumbly, glancing at Eddie through your lashes, expecting him to make a face at the lame answer, “I don’t know shit about them in a technical way, but it might be fun for college. Take painting or sewing classes during the day, skate until my feet hurt at night, maybe… I want to be somewhere big and interesting. New York, LA… fuck, even Florida for all I care, I just want out of Hawkins, out of this town.”

“Then I guess we’ll be those high school sweethearts that run off to LA together after graduation, huh?” Eddie smiled widely, and you allowed an amused look to cross your face.

“Oh, I’m sure.” You returned to your food as you tried to come up with a good question for Eddie. An intriguing one came to you, so you asked before you could second guess it, “How do you expect your fake girlfriend to act?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed; it didn’t appear to be due to him misunderstanding the question, but rather that it was unexpected; he even looked maybe hesitant to answer it. Again, he scratched his neck.

You lean forward a little, looking at him seriously, “Give me a good answer, okay? We’re just gonna keep going in circles otherwise.”

Eddie shrugged, “Maybe I don’t have any expectations.”

“Then come up with some.” You immediately counter, prodding the same way he had about your plans for the future. Eddie stared at you with scrutiny while chewing the inside of his lip, as if he didn’t want to come up with a response to the question. You waited, making a mock sweet face at him while you chowed down on your fries. You were going to demand an answer until he gave you one.

“Well, going off the rules you already established,” He made a bit of a face as if to mock the oh-so-sacred fake dating rules, “Aside from playing nice in front of others, it might be helpful if you were less stubborn; you’re like a damn bull.”

You gave him a joshing smile right back, “Fair. Is that it?”

Eddie quickly shook his finger; now it was just a back-and-forth game of you mocking one another, “Ah, that’s another question.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You rolled your eyes with a short laugh, “That is not another question.”

Eddie gave a fake look of apology, shrugging again, “Unfortunately, it is.”

You threw a french fry at him, which lamely hit his chest then landed in his lap. As he laughed and picked it up, you found yourself smiling fondly again, and you quickly tried to shake off the expression.

At that moment, the bell above the front door chimed, and immediately the diner was filled with rambunctious conversation. Your heart jumped a little, realizing the time, and you briefly glanced in the direction of the door; the group that had entered wasn’t your friends, although you recognized them. You turned your attention back to Eddie, who gave you another grin.

“Showtime.” He stated simply, and then a thought appeared to cross his mind, “You want another expectation? Tell me if anything I do is too much, but otherwise let me do what I do - you don’t need to be in control all the time.”

“Don’t I, though?” You countered haughtily, which was met by a flash of seriousness across Eddie’s eyes.

“No, you don’t. I know what I’m doing, okay?”

You studied him for a moment, not entirely convinced that he did, in fact, know what he was doing. Considering that you’d never seen him even interact with a girl before, you weren’t sure if he knew the first thing about dating or romance. But despite your doubts, you relented, relaxing your shoulders as if to show you were relinquishing some control.

“Fine,” You rolled your eyes nonetheless, forever obstinate as you mocked, “I’ll tell you if I don’t like something, but otherwise I’ll let you do what you do.”

“Was that so hard?” Eddie replied with a condescending smirk. You sneered before relaxing your face, knowing your friends were bound to appear any minute now.

As you stole another glance at the door, you suddenly felt Eddie’s fingers graze the back of your hand, drawing your attention back to him with a confused little knot between your brows. He held your gaze as if to make a point, as if to remind you of the conversation you just had, that he knew what he was doing. His hand simply sat on top of yours, your fingers ever so slightly lacing together - he raised his brows as if to dare you to pull away from him. You had to resist the urge to narrow your eyes at him and snatch your hand away, and in turn Eddie gave you a cocky grin before continuing to eat with his free hand.

Eventually, your friends appeared, although they didn’t notice you at first. They were all so full of energy as they excitedly spoke to each other, descending upon a few tables in the middle of the diner and pushing them together. The staff were used to it, although you knew from experience that they nonetheless hated it; you guys were always disruptive to the other patrons, and you figured that was never going to change.

You tried your best not to stare, but your eyes kept trailing over, kept studying the excited faces of the people you considered friends only a couple of weeks ago. After your eyes had drifted over for the umpteenth time, you felt Eddie lightly squeeze your fingers, causing you to unintentionally sneer at how strange it was to maintain this physical contact with him.

“Stop staring,” He instructed when you looked back at him.

With a quarrelsome look in your eyes, you did as Eddie told you, returning your attention to the half eaten burger on your plate, “Talk to me about something, then.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t care, just talk so I can pretend to be interested.”

Eddie looked mildly put off by that, and you realized that you’d taken your customary mean tone with him. You couldn’t seem to help yourself with your former cohorts nearby, it was as if their energy was rubbing off on you.

“You know what I’m going to talk about,” Eddie taunted with a wide grin.

Your face fell in realization, “Please not Dungeons and Dragons.”

“I’m gonna do it.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“So, there’s this character, Kas, who has really interesting lore--”

You threw another fry at Eddie, and at that same moment, you felt someone come up alongside your table. You both look up to see Amelia there with a critical look on her face; your gaze drifts past her, noticing that a few people from her table were also looking at you and Eddie.

You met Amelia’s eyes again, giving her a wide, false smile, “Small world.”

Her eyes narrowed as she crossed her arms, “Yeah, I’m sure you just completely forgot we always come here after games.”

“Maybe she just wanted to see her dear friends.” Eddie chimed in mockingly, once again surprising you with his willingness to instigate confrontation. You laughed as a dumbfounded look crossed Amelia’s at his remark.

“I don’t know what the hell she sees in you.” Amelia snarked with a glare before turning her gaze back to you, “And I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but it’s already getting pretty old.”

You shrug with exaggerated nonchalance, “Sometimes a girl just needs a bit of a change every now and then, you know?”

Amelia didn’t look convinced as she rolled her eyes with a dramatic sigh, “Yeah, well, this ‘change’ doesn’t suit you at all.”

Before you could respond with another quip, Amelia spun on her heel and briskly returned to her table. By that point, everyone there was watching and awaiting Amelia’s return, quickly huddling together to whisper conspiratorially once she sat down.

You and Eddie shared an amused glance; he went back to poking at his food as your gaze trailed back to Amelia and company. You happened to lock eyes with Duncan, who stared at you with harsh scrutiny, as if he wasn’t buying this thing between you and Eddie in the slightest. You gave Duncan a mocking while, starting to wave before flipping him off, causing Eddie to snort and choke on his food. You couldn’t help but laugh out loud as he hit his chest a couple of times, trying to clear his throat. The sound of such a genuine laugh escaping you was absolutely foreign to Eddie, but he decided it was a sound he enjoyed, even if it was at his expense; he made a mental note that he had to find ways to make you laugh more that didn’t involve him choking.

“You could’ve killed me.” Eddie croaked before laughing himself, his smile wide.

“You’re fine.” You teased, squeezing his fingers while giving him a false pout of sympathy, “You big baby.”

Eddie rolled his eyes in amusement, digging his wallet out while finally relinquishing the grip he had on your hand, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

He tossed money onto the table and stood, offering his hand to you again. You quickly snagged one last fry before accepting Eddie’s hand, allowing him to pull you to your feet. He once again laced his fingers with yours as he led you through the crowded diner, and you had to fight back the desire to cringe in confusion at it. The both of you eyed the crowd of Hawkins High’s elite as they watched you back critically.

Once outside the diner, Eddie paused in front of one of the large windows and pulled a ridiculous face at the kids still watching you; he quickly tugged your arm, leading you back towards the van as you laughed again at his antics.

[pinkslipxox]

Not Ready:

Summary: A conversation with your friends makes you worried about a touchy subject and Billie comforts you

Warnings: fluff, angsty-ish(?), mentions of smut 🥰

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The Californian sun shines brightly over the open-air mall located at the heart of Los Angeles. You are sitting with your friends at a café enjoying a latte, listening to a story that one of your friends is telling when in the midst of the conversation, your phone chimes. A smile instantly spreads on your face when you see that it is a text from your girlfriend, Billie.

‘Hey, pretty girl! Just checking up on you. I hope you’re having a good time with your friends. Can’t wait to see you soon,’ the text reads followed by a few heart emojis.

You quickly type: ‘Hi, babes! I am, thank you. See you when I get home’.

“Who’s making you smile like that, Y/N?” one of your friends tease in a sing-song voice.

“Billie,” you admit with a sheepish chuckle as you put away your phone. Your friends giggle, sending knowing looks to each other.

“How are things going between you two?” the other muses, her eyes glowing with delight.

“Things are going so well! She treats me like a princess… and we love each other so much,” you gush, your cheeks warming up as your friends giggle and ‘aww’ like schoolgirls.

Despite inviting Billie to your outing, she had insisted that you and your friends had fun by yourselves. You’d be lying if you didn’t admit that you’re missing your girlfriend. In the time that you two have been together, you’ve built quite a strong bond. And you couldn’t be happier.

“I bet you two can barely keep your hands off each other,” your friend smirks as your other friend wags her eyebrows playfully.

“Tell us eveything!” your other friend insists with a giddy smile.

You had a feeling this topic would be brought up. In the beginning of your relationship, you voiced your desire to save intimacy until further along in your relationship, wanting to take things slow. Billie has been nothing but patient and understanding, and while you know that she’s willing to wait for as long as you need to, you know that you can’t just make her wait forever.

“There isn’t that much to say,” you force a chuckle, shifting awkwardly in your chair. “Billie and I… we haven’t… y-y know…”

“No way! Really?” your first friend gasps, her eyes wide with shock.

“What are you two waiting for, Y/N?” the other interjects.

“We’re just taking it slow. And she’s been very respectful,” you defend, sipping your latte to fortify yourself.

Your first friend huffs. “But you two have been together for almost a year now! Billie’s probably loosing her patience.”

“It’s just sex, Y/N. Not rocket science,” your other friend adds with a chuckle although it comes out more like a scoff.

You quickly change the conversation, not wanting to feel even more embarrassed that you already are. Instead of listening to your friends talk, all you can hear are their words echoing in your ears. The more you resonate on their words, the more you realize that your friends are probably right about how Billie must be feeling. Your last relationship ended for the exact same reason, but Billie is not at all like your ex. She wouldn’t break up with you over something like this… would she?

“I have to go,” you say quickly and leave before any of your friends can say anything.

The drive home is quicker than you except it to be. It hardly gave you enough time to decide what you were going to do when you saw Billie. But the moment you see her at the entrance, smiling at you, you make up your mind.

“Welcome home, mama!” Billie exclaims happily as she makes her way over to you with her arms stretched out. She hugs you tightly, pepping kisses to your cheek.

“Thank you, Bills,” you say softly, and you swear that if she listened closer, she could hear your heart beating out of your chest.

“Let me help you with those,” Billie insists as she takes your bags from your hands. “What did you get? Anything cute?”

“Just some jeans and a new pair of shoes,” you murmur as you follow her into your shared bedroom. You glance at the bed, biting your lower lip, and all of the sudden it looks much more intimidating. And you find yourself asking if the bed has always taken up so much space.

“How are your friends?” Billie asks sweetly and your heart twists at the mention of them.

“They’re fine,” you say as nonchalantly as possible, forcing a smile. Of course, Billie sees right through it. She puts the bags down and makes her away over to you, her hands resting on your hips, pulling you closer. Her ocean blue eyes look at you with concern.

“What’s wrong, Y/N? You—“

You cut Billie off by pressing your lips on hers, passionately, and for a moment Billie is frozen before she instantly kisses you back. Her grip on you tightens, her warm tongue massaging deliciously with yours, and you can’t help but moan into her mouth. You feel her smirk against your lips, and it gives you the confidence you need to trail your lips along her jawline and down her neck, making her gasp.

“God, Y/N,” Billie murmurs huskily, her voice low and rough, as she tilts her head up to give you more access. You suck gently on her sensitive, just the way she sometimes does to you, and the sound of your name being moaned reassures you that you’re doing something right.

Billie draws your mouth back to hers, the kiss more urgent, almost desperate than the one before. Your pulse quickens at the thought of the next step that needs to happen, and with that, you guide Billie to the bed. A soft moan escapes your girlfriend’s lips as she falls back gently on the bed. You straddle her, your heart beating against your chest, your mind scrambling to figure out what to do next. Then, as if to read your mind, Billie flips the two of you over.

“You’re so beautiful,” Billie whispers, gripping your chin lightly, and you notice that her eyes have darkened yet the usual softness is still visible in them, comforting you a bit.

“I love you, Billie,” you say softly, and Billie’s lips spread into a smile.

“I love you, too, Y/N,” she replies sincerely before brushing her lips against yours.

Then, to your great surprise, Billie gets off you.

“W-what’s wrong? You’re not going to make love to me?” you panic and Billie kisses your forehead, letting her lips linger there before pressing her forehead gently against yours.

“Not tonight, sweet girl,” Billie murmurs softly and your heart sinks.

“Why? Don’t you want me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper and for a moment you don’t recognize it. With a soft sigh, Billie pulls you to her lap, her arms wrapped around you tightly.

“Of course I do, Y/N. But I can tell that you’re not ready for this yet. I want this to be memorable for you. For us. And I love and respect you too much to do this when you’re not one hundred percent sure about it,” Billie says, her voice soft but firm.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whimper as tears slowly begin to roll down your face. You’re embarrassed. And yet at the same time relieved. Deep down, you know you aren’t ready. Not anytime soon.

“You want to tell me what brought this on?” Billie asks, tucking a few loose stands behind your ear.

You take a deep breath. “My friends asked me how things were going with each other. And they asked if we’ve ever been intimate… and when I said no, they were in shock. One of them even said you were loosing your patience with me. That’s why… because… I-I’m sorry, Billie.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my love,” your girlfriend assures you, gently wiping the tears away with her thumbs. She gives you a gentle smile. “I’d wait forever for you, Y/N. Not just for sex but for anything. Please don’t ever forget that.”

“Promise me that one day, when we do it, it’ll be special,” you murmur softly, looking into your girlfriend’s eyes.

“I promise,” Billie hums before sealing her promise with a gentle kiss.

“Cuddle me?” you request and Billie smiles softly.

“Whatever you want, Y/N,” she replies before laying down on the bed again, her arms reaching out for you. You snuggle up to her, grateful to have a girlfriend like Billie.

[loxare]

On their wedding day, he put his hand to her cheek and called her the most beautiful woman in the world.

He could have been correct, from an objective standpoint. Truly, she was one of the beauties in town. Her curls always in perfect order, her smile plump and joyous, her figure comely, even hidden modestly beneath clothing. From an objective standpoint, he was wrong, as nothing about beauty is objective, but none in the town would have disagreed with his assessment.

They spent several years together, in loving bliss. They built their house together, they planted their garden together, they grew together.

And then came the day that a hole in reality opened beneath him. Without thought, she jumped in after, a bare half second after he vanished.

When she opened her eyes, she was somewhere else. The stars were different, and wrong. There was the wrong number of moons, and the sun was the wrong colour. But the worst, most egregious wrong was that he was not there next to her. This, she could not abide.

She had nothing to her name besides her labour, but that she had in abundance. She travelled, from town to town, trading hours of work for food and board. She taught herself to draw, and she drew her love. Over and over, she drew him. In the dirt, on walls, on her own clothes. Asking, always asking, if any had seen him. Eventually she acquired paper and ink, and drew her husband again. Her inquiries became easier, more frequent, although the answers never changed. For none had seen her love.

She learned many things as she travelled. She learned how to fix a carriage wheel. How to tend to livestock and how to weed a garden far larger than the one she had known. She learned to shape a bowl from clay and to chop timber and to carve wood. She learned to fight off brigands who would take from her her sparse money, her life, or worse.

She learned other things, about this place she was in. It was a place where many came, and few left. A nexus one called it. A refuse heap, another said. But the method of arrival was always the same. One moment in the familiar, the next falling into the strange. But the people were the same, for all that they were often of alien appearance. Some looked down upon her dirt covered hems and worn boots. Some ignored her. Most were willing to at least listen to her question, to look at her picture, so carefully drawn. To keep an eye out, and pass on a message should they find him.

Time passed, and passed, and passed. The world she came from did not have things such as magical crystals or soul mates or wizards, or if it did they had none of the power that those here did. Regardless, one town she stayed in recommended she find the local witch, for they specialized in red strings of fate.

And so she did. The witch gave her a bowl of stew and a comfortable chair, and then listened when she spoke, and looked carefully at the drawing. It was a different one. She had drawn many, over the years, as the old ones wore out, and as her skill increased. And the witch said that they did not know if he was indeed her soul mate, but if he was, then the red string of fate that they revealed would lead her right to him. She need only follow it.

It was not an easy ask. The witch wanted a blanket woven by her own hands in payment. And so she stayed in the town, longer than she had stayed anywhere. She traded her labour and her art for thick wool, and weaving lessons. It was near winter before she had a result she was pleased with, carefully folded in her arms to be presented to the witch. The blanket was unfolded immediately upon delivery, shaken out to its fullest extent. The blanket was scrutinized, for quality of the weave or for something else that she could not fathom. Finally, the witch nodded their head. They turned back to their cottage, moving to close the door. She protested, concerned about her end of the bargain, but needn’t have worried. For around her finger was tied a red string which hadn’t been there before. The end led off, through the woods.

And so she followed it. She followed it through fallen leaves. She followed it across rivers. She followed it through snowbanks and through melt waters and through hot summer sun. Finally, she followed it into a clearing on a mountain. And fell to her knees in despair. For in this clearing was nothing but moss, and the end of the string, fading into nothing.

She did not have long to weep however, as a hole in reality opened above her, and down he fell. Without thought, she moved to catch him.

He was just as he had been on the day she had left him. And as he opened his eyes, she suddenly felt ashamed. For he was here, perfect and whole and young. But it had been years and years for her. Her hair was frizzy and knotted. Her lips were thin, her hands were rough, and her figure both hard and flabby at once.

But he opened his eyes, and he called her name, and she nodded. And he smiled at her, and called her the most beautiful woman in the world.

On a truly objective standpoint, he was incorrect. Both because beauty was not within the realm of objectivity, but also because there were many women who could be called more beautiful, subjectively.

But she also knew that he was speaking nothing but the honest truth. For he loved her. He loved her, he loved her, he loved her. He loved her hair, frizzy as it was. He loved combing it free of knots, and helping her braid it in the mornings, and loved tucking flowers into it, to surprise her when she looked in the mirror. He loved her smile, and loved seeing it, and loved being the cause of it. He loved it when she spoke to him, when she told him of the things she had done, and what she had learned. He loved her art, even as he blushed darkly at being her only subject. She taught him what she knew, and delighted when he found particular pleasure in pottery. They travelled, to find a home that suited both of them. The first time she defended him from brigands had been a terrifying and yet exhilarating experience for them both.

And they built a house. With a room full of paper and clay. And a garden, and a loom. And always, forever, she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

[wandasreallover]

New beginnings (wanda maximoff x reader)

Summary: you and wanda decide that its time to really start your lifes away from the avengers and build a life together

Warnings: none :) although it is criminally short

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In a quiet little town nestled between rolling hills and pristine lakes, Wanda Maximoff found solace. Gone were the days of battling intergalactic threats, waging wars with her fellow Avengers, and living a life painted in shades of chaos and conflict. Here, in this calm suburban existence, she had managed to forge a life imbued with sweet moments and the soft laughter of love—a life shared with you.

The sun sent golden beams of light streaming through the kitchen window as Wanda hummed softly to herself, the melody familiar from days spent in a past that felt both distant and near. The smell of pancakes filled the air, mixing with the scent of fresh coffee that bubbled away nearby. You quietly entered the kitchen, barely able to stifle a yawn, your sleep tousled hair an endearing mess.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," Wanda said, her eyes twinkling as she turned to face you. The soft dominance that often colored her voice was present as she gestured for you to sit at the table. "I made your favorite."

You began to argue that you could help, but deep down, you cherished these mornings that felt like they belonged entirely to the two of you—a private sanctuary that felt so wonderfully normal. As you obediently took your seat, Wanda poured coffee into a mismatched mug that you loved—the one with tiny flowers along the rim.

Watching her flit around the kitchen, her presence strong yet tender, you were struck by how she managed to balance her powerful past with such everyday delights. It was a learned art, one rooted in deep affection and the shadows of heartache she had left behind. She had closed the door on the life of an Avenger, not out of reluctance but born of an earnest desire to create.

After breakfast, you both stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The neighborhood bloomed in spring colors; vibrant flowers lined the paths, little kids’ laughter echoed, and the sun illuminated the sky like a freshly painted canvas. You breathed in deeply, feeling the weight of your choices—the leap you both made into this new life—in every inhale.

Wanda walked beside you, her hand laced with yours, projecting a presence that garnered respect and love from those who passed by. It was as if she carried with her an unspoken authority, an underlying power that told the world she was not to be trifled with, while also exuding a warmth that pulled people closer.

“Wanna take a walk by the lake?” you asked, glancing sideways at her.

“Absolutely,” she replied, her smile contagious.

As you made your way to the lake, the scenery shifted into a more tranquil backdrop. A wooden dock stretched across the water, swaying ever so slightly with the gentle embrace of waves. This spot became one of your favorites, an oasis where you could unwind and reflect on your life together.

Sitting on the edge of the dock, your feet dangled just above the water. You watched the ripples dance across the surface, mirroring the ebb and flow of emotions you dared to confront in your heart. Turning to Wanda, you asked, “Do you ever miss it?”

She paused, adopting a contemplative expression. “Sometimes,” she admitted, her voice soft yet strong. “But I’m grateful for the life we’ve built. I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

It was her honesty that gave you courage. You had feared the day would come when this simplicity would feel confining, but not once had you felt that with her. The love you shared flourished in this quietude—a different kind of adventure.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky with hues of orange and purple, Wanda turned to you, her emerald eyes glinting with mischief. “Want to see who can skip a rock the furthest?”

You raised an eyebrow, a smile breaking across your face. “You’re on!”

Wanda gathered a few smooth stones while you took your position on the edge. With a fierce flick of her wrist, she sent her first stone sailing across the lake, her triumph immediately evident as it skipped further than you had anticipated. You laughed, determined to give her a run for her money as you picked up a stone of your own.

Again and again, the competition carried on amidst laughter and playful teasing. It wasn’t just about the stones; it was an reprieve, a return to a simpler time when the world around you felt full of promise and light. When you saw her face light up with every throw, you fell deeper in love with her spirit—the way she embraced every moment, such that even mundane games became magnificent adventures.

As the light of day waned and twilight rushed in, you both settled back on the dock, breathing heavily but contented. Another moment shared, carved into the history of your lives together, winging farther away from the turbulence of your past.

"Tell me about your dream," you suggested, nudging her shoulder playfully.

Wanda was quiet for a moment, lost in thought. "A little flower shop, maybe. A place to bring color to people's lives. I’d love to arrange flowers every day—something beautiful and delicate.”

“There’s warmth in that,” you said, smiling at the vision. “You’d be wonderful at it.”

“Maybe we’ll do it together.” She looked at you, eyes sparkling under the glow of the moonlight, the intimacy of your shared dream igniting the space between you.

As you drifted back, lost in conversation and occasional silences wrapped in warmth, you felt a new fluttering sensation in your chest—the undeniable thread of happiness weaving close.

In this quiet life, protected by the mundane and the extraordinary, Wanda and you had built a stronghold, a humble haven where love lived not just in grand gestures, but in the soft dominance of shared mornings and the laughter that echoed across the lake.

You had both said goodbye to what was, but here, now—the essence of home was alive, tethering your hearts and souls to a brighter chapter full of promise. Each day brought new reminders that sometimes, the most profound changes start small, nestled within the ordinary, but forever echo through time.