#and cry bitterly for three months

[oppipopi]

✨flourless pancakes🥞

you just listen it

[theragethatisdesire]

scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

-

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.” 

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin. 

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it. 

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch. 

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

[yandere-sins]

Bad Guy

First Prompt! And I just so happen to find a character that I thought would really match the vibe I wanted to go for. I'm so excited to write for him since I've been mostly keeping out of writing for LaDS, but I do love the characters ♥

Fandom: Love and Deepspace Pairings: Yandere!Sylus x AFAB!Reader Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Dub-Con, BJ, Gagging, Non-Con Touches, Lingerie, Reader is a virgin and inexperienced, Pet names, Degradation, Nicknames), Mention of Body Issues, Forced Captivity, Swear Words, Long Post Prompt: @sintember Innocence - What would you do to preserve it, what will be done to tarnish it?

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

"Come now, you make me look like the bad guy."

Legs quivering, you could barely stomach looking down at yourself. It didn't help that you felt how skimpy the outfit was with every move you made. Felt the strings that kept the fabric together pressed into your skin, bit you as if the shame was not enough harm. But looking up and straight ahead was not an option you had either. Not when you knew the smirk on the face that awaited you. Knew about the hungry, predatory sheen in Sylus' eyes if you met them head-on.

Why you? Why did he choose you? You kept wondering as you stood in his bedroom, barely two steps from the man who had ruined your life. You couldn't think of a good reason as to why he needed to keep you to himself, lock you up like an exotic animal, and demand to be the only one to put their eyes on you. Maybe if you had been especially pretty or incredibly rich, his infatuation would have made sense. But it really didn't. None of his actions made sense.

And by now, you didn't even know if you wanted to cry or be angry with him anymore.

The sheer, triangle coverings did nothing to hide, only to expose your nipples, strained as you felt the nubs getting harder. The fabric rubbed them a little more every time you breathed, lungs expanding. Bitterness overcame you as pleasure turned to shame turned to helplessness. You could only stand there, both hands reaching down to hide your privates, all while you heard the man in front of you chuckle.

"Glad to amuse you," you muttered bitterly, biting your lip so hard it tore beneath your teeth. Wearing an outfit that split right around your pussy, giving even easier access than it gave a full view of it, was proof of how you couldn't win against him. If he wanted to, he could be sneaky and uncaring about what you wanted, and forcing you to wear this was yet another challenge he was winning to hold above your head. Sylus had long begun to chip away at any pride or dignity you had, finally ready to deliver the final blow. But although you wanted to break down and cry, hide from the embarrassment, your feeble fighting spirit refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break down and beg for your clothes back.

You'd be giving him exactly what he wanted—power.

Power over you. The upper hand in this month-long dispute. You had sought him out for a deal, an equal exchange. And he had broken that deal the moment you put your trust in him just so he could keep you for whatever twisted reason. People had warned you of deals with the devil, but you had been too stupid to listen, now finding yourself in a situation too horrifying to speak of. Captivity.

It wasn't like he made you work to earn your keep. There were three meals provided to you every day, and Sylus tried to join whenever he could. He bought you expensive clothes, accessories, and entertainment, always asking what you needed, but never reflecting on his actions, not even when you told him he couldn't buy your love. There was constant surveillance, and the outside was a threat to your life, so the windows and doors stayed locked tightly. You had no means to escape, only able to stay indoors and wait like a good pet.

"But you are the bad guy here, forcing me to wear this."

Your addition seemed to make him thoughtful, a small hum escaping Sylus before he extended his arm towards you. It was a bad idea, you knew that. But if you refused to take his hand, he'd simply come to get you, and you couldn't afford to struggle looking like this.

Embarrassed, you forced one hand away from hiding what should have never been exposed in front of the likes of the leader of Onychinus, someone you thought would be interested in what you had to offer in exchange for the help you needed. Now, it almost seemed like all he wanted was your body, although you doubted it. You never liked seeing yourself in the mirror, but you didn't know anyone who enjoyed seeing themselves. You just thought it was normal not to feel like you were special, and yet, Sylus made you wear something that hid nothing of your insecurities from him.

A shuddering breath escaped you as his fingers wrapped around your hand like a snake suffocating its victim. But he moved on quickly from the threatening touch, twisting and turning his palm until it slithered beneath yours, fingers entwining before he gave you a jerk, forcing you towards him.

You couldn't help but wonder what changed in that one month, although you were lying if you said you didn't see the change in your captor. You thought he was out for ransom at first, keeping you just for the sake of exploiting more out of you than what you were willing to give. Then you caught him watching you, eyes almost softening as he observed. He'd done more than enough touching and manhandling over the course of the month, but he never forced you to wear lingerie and expose yourself.

Admittedly, your fall wasn't graceful as you were pulled forth. Your legs staggered over the sudden jerk, your free hand coming down just behind Sylus's shoulder. One of your legs hit the edge of the couch, knee bending with nowhere else to go until your shin was settled next to his thigh. You sacked forward, the strength in your torso handicapped from the awkward position, but it was better this way. Anything was better than to look into his face.

"The bad guy, eh? So far, I've been pretty nice to you. I have no idea what you mean."

Sylus played with the skimpy fabric around your waist, rubbing the material between his fingers as if to gouge its value. He was tugging at the strings, threatening to undo the triple knots you had made to keep it all together. All while you were shivering from the cold and the hatred he invoked inside of you.  

Anger flooded your mind, and you threw your head back, ready to let him have it! Too late did you realize he baited you, forcing you to look at him despite your refusal, the grin on his lips disgustingly victorious, his expression almost besotted now that you met his eyes. There was strength to be drawn from your embarrassment, fury brewing in the pit of your stomach. Your free hand curled into a fist, and you fixated your gaze on his stupid face, ready to bash in that smirk he loved to give you so much!

"Not quick enough," Sylus lamented as he caught your fist in his hand, closing around it in a painful grip. You winced, and he brought your arm down, twisting it behind your back while squeezing the other hand he hadn't given up on holding. "Now, now, let's play nice. And here I thought you liked my gift."

Slinging his whole arm around your midriff, Sylus suddenly pulled you on top of his lap, your legs losing balance, and forced your hips down to settle on top of the bulge in his pants. The second your crotch met his, you felt nauseous, the helplessness making you desperate to get away. You hated every second of this interaction, hated this man for all the abuse he put you through. Was this what he had wanted all along? A sex toy? Why wait this long if he intended to defile you anyway?

Even though you tried to be still as a board, when Sylus bent you backward, closely following behind, you shivered as his hot breath grazed over your nipple. You stared down in horror as his tongue slid out, only the tip of it flicking over your nipple before he watched the nub bounce back into place and, using the flat side of his tongue, pressed down onto it. You shuddered, biting your lip again to hold back a moan.

The room wasn't cold, but his breath felt incredibly hot through the mesh fabric of the coverings, his tongue almost like a hot iron pressed to your skin. Sylus looked up, and you saw the agonizing sight of yourself in the reflection of the red irises, exposed and vulnerable. He smirked, opening his mouth just far enough to take your nub between his teeth, pulling it towards him as you sucked in your breath.

You couldn't help it. Couldn't help the pleasure zapping down your spine and between your legs, the mewl that escaped you as Sylus's teeth slipped off your nipple and bit into the mesh fabric. Your reflection looked so pathetic, but he seemed pleased as he kissed your abused nub, as if to appease it after his teasing.

"I heard something interesting," he muttered against your chest, trailing kisses from one side to the other, briefly burying his face in your body and letting out a content rumble. "Heard you've been wholly neglected, poor thing."

"What do you--"

Giving the hand behind your back a firm shake, warning it to stay in place, Sylus released it, only to drive his hand down to your ass. He slipped lower as you piped up, only to silence you again with his touch. It made you realize fairly quickly what he meant, his fingers curiously slipping through your slick.

"That's not true at all," you argued, closing your eyes and shying away from his keen gaze.

"Really now?"

Feeling his lips curl into a grin above your other nipple was an unfamiliar torture, the fabric of the cover transferring every movement dutifully, heightening your sensitivity. "So the reason you are so wet is because you are experienced. Is that what you're saying? You're not a virgin whose anticipation is making you eager, Kitten? Did you secretively hope I'd help you release some of the tension?"

You felt his fingers apply pressure to your cunt, threatening to slip inside and forcing you to shoot upwards, recoiling from the touch. The throb of his cock beneath your slit vanished, and you cursed your body for aching, almost longing to return to his lap. But how could you? At this rate, he was truly going to take your virginity from you, even though you tried to act as if he wasn't.

It was such a stupid sentiment to cling to the concept of virginity, especially in the situation you were in. There could be potential gain by losing it, yet you were holding on to it like a lifeline. Considering that, in one month, you had lost all kinds of things that made your life yours, it was understandable that crossing this line scared you. It was a small rebellion that would prove you weren't completely lost to this man's whims if only you could keep it.

"No! No, wait!" you huffed as his hold on you tightened, trying to keep you in place so he could continue evading every little piece of privacy you still had. If only for your sanity, you had to at least try to conserve it. You weren't keeping yourself for marriage necessarily, but having your first time with the man that kidnapped and imprisoned you would definitely do you no good.

"I'm... I'm unwell! I'll do something else for you, but not this. Let's not go there... Sir."

Halting all his movements, Sylus's brows furrowed, and he leaned back, looking up at you. Of course, you didn't miss how he tensed when you called him Sir, but even though it cost you a lot of your pride to call him that, it was the most you got for a reaction. You could only assume he could see the fake, nonchalant expression you forced, perhaps your embarrassment too. But you hoped it would deter him. When you looked back at him, he almost seemed... concerned. Hopefully, that would be in your favor.

"Are you sick?" he asked, both accusatory and worried at the same time. As if he was offended, you didn't tell him.

"No, I'm... Actually yeah! I feel sick! I got cramps, and I'm sure my period is just around the corner--"

"Darling," he interrupted you, and your heart rate quicked at the sly grin playing around his lips. "You're so adorable when you try to lie, but I'll have you know that a bit of blood has never stopped me.

Tell me the truth, or I'll assume you're just nervous."

Fuck, you thought to yourself, chewing your stinging lip again as you thought about what to do. Sylus returned back to your chest, pressing his lips to your unattended nipple again before sucking it in for a tease. You drew in your breath sharply as you thought about a lesser evil to deter him from taking your last strand of dignity, the one thing you could hold over his head. But it would cost you greatly to protect your virginity, and you almost wavered in your determination to keep it a secret.

"I'll... I'll suck you off."

Sylus stilled, and you saw his eyes widening. For a moment, no one said anything, and although it was hard to endure his inquiring gaze, you forced yourself to face it head-on, showing him you meant it. One of his eyes felt especially exposing, the red so much more vibrant. But just a moment later, his lips curled into a wide smirk, freeing your nipple as he drew back.

His expression was almost soft as he gazed over your body, all the way down to where your hips met. You saw the longing in his gaze and felt the throbbing of his cock against your pussy, but then he looked up at you again, and for a moment, you felt adoration wash over you. Approval, genuine desire.

And it was gone right the next second.

Before you knew it, Sylus lifted you off his lap. You yelped in surprise, only to sink to your knees, his legs spread widely to comfortably accommodate you between them. "Alright then," Sylus chuckled. "Show me what you got."

Another wave of shameful heat rushed into your head as you watched the cocky bastard wait for you to stick to your words. Excitement and impatience radiated from the way he looked down at you to the tapping of his food next to your thigh. He'd not wait forever for you to act, but he was enjoying your hesitation.

Swallowing hard, your mouth had never felt as dry as it was now. With jittery hands, you reached upwards, seeing the stains you had left on his trousers and feeling the heat underneath your palms. But before you could unzip Sylus's pants, he caught your wrists in his grip, clicking his tongue at you, chastizing.

"I'm sure you know a more creative way to start this."

You were disgusted by the thought, but even a virgin like you could imagine what he wanted. Lifting your butt off the floor, you placed your teeth around the zipper, slowly dragging it down. Sylus chuckled, but to your surprise, when you looked up at him angrily, he let go of your wrists and looked away, hiding his full face from you. Was he ashamed? Mocking you? Or did he enjoy seeing you opening his trousers with your teeth that much?

You used the moment of freedom for your hands to unbutton the pants on top, completely taken aback when without the restraints of underwear, his cock sprung free, surprise and horror overcoming you. "You're not the only one who was anticipating this," Sylus clarified, and although he still hid his face behind his hand, the gleam in his eye was as mischievous as ever.

Bastard, you thought, but a small part of you wondered if he had been walking around in just his pants all day or if he changed out of his underwear before meeting with you. It was a completely scientific question of course! You needed to know how long he anticipated and planned this. If his sudden carnal desire had been a surprise or a long time coming, although you never thought it existed.

"Are you giving up already, Sweetheart?" Sylus tore you out of your thoughts. "Less scowling, more sucking."

For the record, you didn't do as he instructed because he told you to. You did it because you wanted to get it over with. You kept telling yourself this, over and over, even as you brushed your fingertips over his length. But there was one problem. One you couldn't tell him about.

You had no idea what to do.

Of course, the general concept of a blowjob was familiar to even you, but how were you going to pull it off? Was it enough to take it into your mouth? Did you need to kiss it? Would it taste bad? Could you even put your lips around it?

There was no time to panic and let Sylus find out you were an inexperienced virgin with no idea what you were doing. His cock bopped impatiently in front of you, waiting for your caress, and you had to please it regardless of not knowing how.

Reaching up, you wrapped a hand around it, steadying it with your grip. The stiff feeling surrounded by soft skin was almost mesmerizing, leaving you in a moment of awe before you returned to reality. You expected something rougher, more like its owner, but the heat and eagerness spoke of vulnerability more than Sylus's usual domineering ways.

There was a click of his tongue from above, and you knew your time was running out. Giving him a coy glance from below, you leaned forward, steading yourself on Sylus's thighs to kiss the throbbing cock in your hand. You felt his leg tense beneath your palm, then relax, and when he neither mocked nor pushed you away, you concluded you were onto something.

Kissing a trail up the shaft, you smoothed over his cock, taking note of the ridges and veins that seemed to pop out the longer you were giving it attention. Soon, you reached the edge of the tip, the form of his shaft dipping into itself for a moment before forming the bulb on top. It was so fascinating that, for a moment, you forgot the situation you were in, your tongue dipping out to lick along the edge out of curiosity.

Sylus drew in a sharp breath, and you looked up with more inquisitiveness. For the first time, you saw an expression akin to pain on his face. You wondered if you were hurting him somehow before satisfaction hit you. Red was drawn along his cheeks, and you realized it was pleasure and not pain; the firmness of his expression was merely showcasing that he was holding back. How gracious.

Slipping the flat of your tongue over his tip, you soon brushed your lips over it. Cock jerking, the tender flesh jumped against your mouth, smearing a strange-tasting liquid all over it. Precum, you thought to yourself, recognizing that this meant you were doing something right.

It almost got you excited.

You remembered the way Sylus had played with your nipples, the teasing and sucking. The way he forced you to feel pleasure despite not wanting to, and it gave you an idea of how to return the favor. If it worked on you, it might just work on him the same way! Sure, he wanted this, but you'd not make it easy on him!

Wrapping your mouth around the tip, you began to suck gently, drawing your lips lightly back and forth and wetting the top to make it more smooth. Sylus groaned, his right hand coming down to cup yours on top of his thigh, pressing it into the muscles there.

"That's it, Kitten," he mumbled, and you felt his hand brush up your neck and into your hair. Immediately, you drew back, staring at him with your mouth forced shut. His cock bopped in complaint, and Sylus's expression hardened, but you challenged him with your glare.

"No forcing it," you established, getting great satisfaction from his annoyance. "You will let me do it."

"Fine," he spat out. "Hope you got a bit more than that, though. Otherwise, we'll be here forever, Sweetheart."

"Fuck you," you bit back, not waiting for him to respond before putting your lips back around his cock. This time, you went deeper, his tip brushing your teeth as you weren't used to his size yet. His hand sunk back to the nape of your neck, playing with a few strands of hair there. You could feel him testing out the boundaries of your rules, applying pressure softly ever so often. Still, after you drew back one more time, he gave up, the warmth of his palm remaining unmoving at the back of your head.

"No fun," he complained, but his words had no bite. They were followed by a soft groan, Sylus's head rolling to the side as he watched you work your way down his shaft. It was more strain than you expected, his cock seemingly never-ending, even when you forced it deeper than anything ever before. You'd not accept defeat, not let him win this round, especially after coming this far!

But it was nasty. Drool dripped down your chin, and your sucking became more and more sloppy. You barely had enough strength or training with your tongue to keep up an even pace, and your desperation to get this over with made everything quite boring, evident by Sylus not reacting like you thought he would while you worked your mouth over his cock.

"Is this your first time?" he finally asked, and you grimaced, mouth full of cock and exposed anger burning in your eyes.

Sylus smirked, and you knew that he knew.

"Did you really think you could hide the fact from me that you have no idea what you're doing? Come let me help."

Without waiting for your response, he pressed your head forward, tears shooting to your eyes as the newly reached deepness pried your jaw open. "Now, use your tongue and lick upwards all the way. Slowly."

You hated this! You hated him! You hated this man so much!

"That's it, Kitten."

Pulling you back by the roots of your hair, the strain disappeared, but all the drool and fluids pooled inside your mouth, making you cough. Sylus showed you no mercy, even after seeing you struggle to keep yourself together.

"Now the tip again, just like the beginning. You need to alternate sometimes."

Reluctantly, you opened your mouth again, willing the pain away as you began to suck and lick at his tip. The next time Sylus pushed you forward, you braced yourself, although he didn't go as deep, instead bopping your head back and forth. As much as you hated following his instructions, you did the same with your tongue as when he forced you to take it in completely, moving the muscle along the sides while Sylus directed your head.

This time, he let out a loud, content sigh, his head falling back. His pressure never stopped, though, sometimes slamming you forward to dangerous depths again, other times letting you rest at his tip. There was a steady increase in speed, and you felt the control slip from you pitifully as he worked you up and down his shaft as he pleased. Were you just a sex toy to him? That's what you wondered as the first tears fell, your reflection so pitiful in Sylus's eyes.

Although, he seemed ecstatic for some reason.

His nails dug into your hand still on his thigh as he pushed you steadily deeper with every thrust of his head. Soon, you felt the tickle of the fabric of his pants against your nose, his cock taking up all the space in your mouth as it throbbed. You, too, dug your nails into his thigh as you heard Sylus breathe heavily, knowing all too well what was going to happen now.

You couldn't believe he'd be so barbaric, knowing it was your first time, as to force you to take all of his dick inside as he came. But with a slight thrust of his hip and his hand pressing down at the same time, you were caught with his cock throat-deep as hot splurts of semen sprayed everywhere. Sylus grunted as he came, and you couldn't help but splutter, gagging on the length shoved down your throat, and almost fainted from the lack of air as he waited until the very last drop of his cum to be emptied inside of you.

If not for his cock stuffing your mouth, you might have thrown up from disgust.

He was breathing heavily while your lungs barely shuddered. As if he regained clarity, Sylus suddenly pulled you off him, and his cum spilled from your lips together with his cock. Tears, semen, and drool all dripped from your pitiful face, and you two stared at each other, both a little less lucid than before.

The hand at the back of your neck slipped forward, thumb grazing over the side of your mouth before he slipped it inside. A grin spread over his lips; this time, he looked nothing short of insane from the satisfaction as he pushed the fluids back into your mouth, seeing the remnants of the havoc he wrecked. But then his expression grew soft, and you hated to admit it, but this was probably the gentlest look he had ever given you.

"Good job, Darling."

You choked as you held back a sob. The situation was so maddening it was almost funny. Just seconds ago, it felt like he'd kill you with his dick, and now he was praising you, looking at you as if you were the greatest treasure in this world.

But you didn't have the time to lament. Not even a moment later, you were pulled from the ground, set down pussy to cock on his lap, feeling the sticky heat from his crotch matching your own. You hadn't even noticed your own arousal, the way your body found appropriate to act. It only shamed you more.

"You were so pretty down there, doing amazing, Darling."

Next thing you knew, he had toppled you over and laid you down on the couch beside him while your eyes widened. You snapped your legs shut immediately, although his hands roaming downwards snaked their way between them. Looking at you, unblinking, a victorious smile played along Sylus's lips before he effortlessly pried your legs apart, not even breaking a sweat.

"We said only sucking off!" you mewled, part scared, part frustrated. What else did you need to do to make him stop? Why was he doing all of this? Why did it have to be you?

Resting his lips on your thigh, Sylus kissed it briefly, eyes closed, appearing almost reverent as he peppered some more kisses.

"You said that," he finally muttered against your skin, and all the hope to make him see reason in the end was lost with just a few words. "I am going to return the favor now. Can't let anyone think I'd not take good care of my Darling."

"You are so mean," you whispered, tears now falling freely. You didn't care anymore if he saw them. If they could soften his heart—good! If not, it didn't matter anymore. He was going to do what he wanted anyway; there was nothing you could do but to let him.

"Sure, I can be mean," Sylus chuckled, but his expression darkened. It was unlike his usual cockiness, and it infuriated you. How dare he feel upset about your comment! How dare he wallow in your misery! Your pain wasn't his to share! He didn't get to feel bad from seeing you hurt by the actions he inflicted!

So why did he look like you were the one hurting him?

"After all..." he mumbled, leaning forward until his face hovered over yours. For a moment, he simply stared at you, and you wondered what he could find in your terrified gaze. How far he could really look into your soul and if that would deter him or if he'd still choose to ignore your feelings in all of this like he had ever since he locked you up.

"You made me the bad guy, Darling."

[ldrfanatic]

i miss you

theodore nott x reader

yeah this is gonna be angsty.

synopsis - a mini-series where reader and theo break up after a three year relationship and struggle without each other. eventual hea. this is more like excerpts and moments between the two of them than a full story. part two coming soon.

one

1.2k words

song - i miss you, i'm sorry by gracie abrahams

slytherin boys works

"i think we should break up."

you and theo spoke at the same time. both with tears in your eyes. after a three year relationship, neither of you really wanted it to end, both still harboring feelings for each other but after not speaking practically all summer, it seemed like the best option.

"i don't want to make things awkward with our friend group. but outside of group events, i think it's best we don't talk."

the boy in front of you nodded his head silently in agreeance. sobs wracked your body as theodore nott, your now ex-boyfriend pulled you into a strong hug. it felt like your heart was splitting in two. for the past three years, you'd known nothing but theo.

after an eternity, you both stepped apart and you shared a deep kiss. your last kiss. it was salty with the taste of both of your tears.

---

in the weeks that followed, you were the most miserable you'd ever been in your time at hogwarts. keeping your distance from the person who'd not only been your lover, but had become your best friend as well, was the most difficult thing you'd ever had to do.

everything reminded you of him. every path you took seemed to take you to theo. it was like the universe wanted you to suffer.

no less than four weeks after your breakup, word spread quick that marcus flint was planning on asking you out. before, no boy at hogwarts even dared to look in your direction in fear of what theo might do to them. but you supposed that didn't matter now.

you were eating breakfast next to luna. she was a little odd but she'd become an unlikely friend in the aftermath of theo. a dark brown owl that you recognized at the nott family owl dropped a note on the table in front of you. your name was scrawled across the front in handwriting you recognized.

luna placed an encouraging hand on your shoulder as you picked up the note with a shaking grasp. unfolding it, a message had been hastily scribbled.

"i miss you. i know you said that we're not talking, but can i see you? please?"

you looked up and met the intense stare of theo.

a single nod confirmed his request.

---

"how are you?"

you almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of the question. given your matching eye bags and teary eyes, neither of you were handling the split well.

"it's not hard to tell, nott. just ask me what you want to know."

theo kicked bitterly at the pebbles beneath his feet.

"i hear flint is planning on asking you to hogsmeade." he spit the words out like he couldn't believe someone was asking you out. the girl who wasn't his anymore.

"you don't have to worry, nott. i still love you. i promise."

"look, i'm not happy with this either, y/n. nothing happened in the way i wanted. but do you have to call me that? I hate it when you call me nott. like i haven't been the guy wiping your tears for three years."

you felt your eyes swelling. not even trying to stop the tears, you cocked your head sideways and pinned theo with a single heartbroken look.

"yes. i do. because i'm scared that if i call you theo, act like we're friends, smile at you and watch you smile at me, that i might never stop crying."

---

two months after your breakup with theo and you still hadn't stopped crying. you knew it would hurt. but this was inexplainable.

after your meeting in the astronomy tower, theo stopped showing up to meals. and classes. in fact, you hadn't seen him leave his dorm since. three weeks passed like a blur and before you knew it, snow was falling.

with christmas around the corner, you began handing out presents to your friends. one in particular sat in the corner of your room. the dark green wrapping paper had stood out noticeably from the silver snowflake wrapping paper you'd used on all the other gifts you'd given this holiday.

you stood across from mattheo, theo's roommate, and held out a folded piece of paper to the boy. mattheo took it, albeit confused.

"what's this?"

"for theo. just... give it to him. please."

mattheo nodded, gave you a quick hug and then scurried off in the direction of the boys' dorms.

---

"i got your note."

the deep voice of theodore nott startled you.

you placed a hand over your heart, having nearly jumped out of your skin. the sight that greeted you was nothing less than gut wrenching. the sweet hopeful boy you once dated was gone. in his place was the hollow shell that he'd been when you first met him, before you started dating.

he was thin and pale, noting to the fact that he'd barely eaten in the past few weeks. where you'd finally started to sleep a little easier at night, theo looked like he hadn't sleep in weeks. years even. if it hadn't been for the familiarity of the warmth of his gaze, you would've sworn this was not theo.

an involuntary gasp escaped you.

"theodore!"

you resisted the inherent urge to begin fussing over him. he watched you with a guarded stare. after a few beats of tense silence, you held the gift out to him.

he eyed it with apprehension.

"i bought it before..."

you didn't finish your sentence. you didn't have to. theo's head tilted back in realization and after a couple pensive breaths, he took the present.

he toyed with it in his hands for a few moments, as if deciding whether or not to open it. he seemed to have made a decision when he undid the white bow you'd carefully tied atop the small box.

inside was a silver chain. it was thick with a small delicate looking circle on the end.

"what is it?"

you chuckled slightly at his bluntness. he'd never been one to beat around the bush.

"it's a muggle thing, i think. my cousin was telling me about it. anyhow, you shine a light through it and, well," you spoke a soft lumos and shined your wand towards the circle. on the wall behind you, a picture appeared.

a young isabella nott was laughing with a young theo at a beach on a beautifully clear day. her smile was bright and contagious even through a picture. it was honestly the happiest you'd ever seen theo in your years of knowing him.

the moment theo saw the picture, he broke down. you really hadn't meant to make him cry.

"i'm sorry. i just wanted you to have it."

you knelt down next to him, and he immediately latched onto you.

"i can't- i can't do this without you. please."

this was the second time that theodore nott had begged you. the look in his eyes was all it took for your resolve to break.

"we fucked up bad, theo." you cooed softly to him as you rocked him through his sobs. "this breakup has tested... everything i thought i knew about myself. but i miss you. so we can talk about it."

---

7.8.2024

<taglist>

@moonlightreader649 @thatdammchickennugget @helendeath @fandom-life-12 @bouquetolegoflowers @maryvibess @nighttimemoonlover @blobsblobician

[tangerineastronaut]

Hi! I saw you take requests.

May I request something with GOT7 Jackson Wang and best friend!reader, in which the reader starts developing feelings for him and start thinking he’s the one for her? <3

Friends, Just for Now | Jackson Wang (Part 1)

Part 2

The one where your best friend can't keep his secret anymore (and you're oblivious).

Pairing: Jackson Wang (GOT7) x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, BestFriend!Reader, idiots to lovers Requested: Yes w.c. 6.6k (oops) Warnings: Cheating (not between jackson and reader), lots of profanity, nicknames, namecalling, minor injury, reader wouldn't know love if it smacked her in the head, holy shit they're kind of annoying af A/N: this was so fun to write, love me a good idiots friends to lovers. I'm also cheesy af, feel free to call me out. Please excuse any errors there may be, I usually proofread after posting. ❣️The love I received on my yunho imagine has literally made me do happy dances, I haven't posted anything on tumblr in 8 years and you guys are just literally the best. I love you all so much! Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

🎧 FRI(END)S by V

“Come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen. You never listen.”

Two things went through your mind, though you refused to lift your head from where it was tucked against your knees. 

One, you hated that nickname. Pie. He thought it was so cute, and it probably would’ve died off had you not reacted to it the way you did. One missed smear of cherry on your nose 3 years ago and suddenly you’ve been christened. It was his favorite story to tell. 

And two, Jackson Wang was going to get his shit rocked if he didn’t leave you alone. 

“Fuck off,” you say bitterly, pulling further into yourself.

He was right. He had warned you.

You’d hoped Leejin was different, that the rumors were just exaggerated. Surely he didn’t cheat on every girlfriend…right?

“Wrong,” Jackson had laughed. “He’s a fucking dog, y/n.”

You’d rolled your eyes, and then Jackson said three words to you that had kind of hurt. Not kind of. A lot. They’d hurt a lot. 

“You’re not special.”

Leejin was so nice, he was smart and funny and headed for a successful career with his family’s business (so what if his parents probably paid off the school to make sure those student conduct violations never stuck). You wanted to be special. Spent 4 months trying to be. It wasn't an eternity, but you tended to put your whole heart into everything, and it almost always ended up like this.

But Jackson’s words rang true, painfully so, when you received a text from an unknown number earlier today—screenshots of messages between Leejin and some girl, including explicit photos. The unnamed person had said nothing else; you wondered if it was the girl from the screenshots, but you didn’t reply. You simply texted Leejin to go fuck himself before blocking him on everything, running straight home to your apartment, praying that Jackson wasn’t there. He was, of course, as you split the rent. You hated the look on his face when you barged in, nose red and snotty from crying.

It wasn’t smug, it was just…"come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen." 

You heard him sigh now, no doubt running a hand through his hair. It was blonde; you’d made fun of him at the time he'd dyed it though begrudgingly had to admit it suited him. But he was going to be bald before he was 40 if he didn’t stop tugging at it when he was stressed.

“Hey. Hey, stop. I hate it when you cry, you know, makes my joints hurt or something,” he says, kneeling beside you.

The fuck…? What does that even—

But you were too upset to stop, so he muttered under his breath, poking at your head until you whipped it up to slap him away. He looked like such a boy, hugging his knees and giving you a pleading look. Fine. Bastard.

You sighed and uncurled yourself, your knees screaming from the pain of turning into a human rollie pollie for the last half hour. Jackson sighed as well, no doubt relieved that you weren’t ugly crying anymore. 

He waited until your sniffles were a few minutes apart before moving, sitting criss cross on the floor. His brown eyes were soft, a rarity, truly, though you knew he was already formulating ways to tease you about this when it was more irritating than painful. 

“Done?” he asks, more to comfort himself than you. You sniff and nod, wiping your nose on your sleeve. Well, his sleeve. He made a face, realizing that you were wearing one of his sweatshirts, but made the apparent decision to yell at you later. 

“Don’t be mean to me,” you mumble, resting your cheek on your knee. 

“When am I ever?”

“Jackson, I swear to fucking—”

“I didn’t say anything, pie.”

“If you don’t drop that god damned nickname, it was one time, one little bit of cherry filling, I don’t even like cherry pie, you’re so fucking annoying—”

It was his turn to interrupt, but he didn’t. He just watched you, an irritating twinkle of amusement in his eyes. You scoffed and tucked your face away again, wishing he’d stop looking at you like that. Or at all, really. If there was one thing you’d learned after being friends with him for so long…the asshat had some eyes on him. Had this way of using his gaze to set the mood, able to stop your arguments or rile you up with micro expressions like an olympic gold medalist of manipulation. 

“Want some ramen?” he asks, tilting his head as though speaking to a kicked dog. You crinkle your nose without looking at him. “Want some cake? Some candy?”

“I want you to leave me alone,” you grumble. 

“Want a bath?”

You sigh, refusing to humor him with an answer he already had. He snapped his fingers like he’d just solved the equation of the century, having the audacity to ruffle your hair as he stepped over you unnecessarily to get to the door. You could hear him down the hall, the sound of the bathroom cabinets opening and closing, the water running, hopefully set on hot like you liked. 

“You're out of bath bombs,” he called. You frown. 

“I’m not, they’re under the sink.”

“Why’d you move them? Next to your menstrual equipment, eww.”

That’s why. You felt sorry for whatever unfortunate woman Jackson decided to wife up—the man was addicted to hot baths and cotton candy bath bombs. You’d have to move them again though, now that he knew about your stash. Besides, you’d sent him to the shop more than a few times when you were cramping and out of pads (and chocolate); he would not be impeded by them.

Jackson was waiting for you by the time you dragged yourself to the small shared bathroom. He bowed dramatically, gesturing toward the tub which was steaming hot, as you liked—a meal’s gotta cook. 

You mumble a thank you as he walks past, though he pauses in the doorway, eyes narrowed.

“Get naked, and give me my damn sweatshirt,” he says, pointing accusingly at you. You pout, immediately clutching your pearls.

“Is that why you never get laid? Jesus, would’ve thought you were smoother than that,” you huff. He impatiently tugs at your sleeve, rolling his eyes in that sassy way that always made you giggle and made him more irritated—a win win scenario. 

“It’s a $30 shirt, not a snot rag…pie.”

“You’re a snot rag,” you mumble. You turn your back to him, crossing your arms at the hem and tugging it over your head. You were still in a bra thankfully, though still covered your chest as you tossed the material at him. 

Jackson caught it smoothly, though he wasn’t even looking at the sweatshirt. You didn’t realize he was looking at you until you reached for the button of your jeans. His eyes weren’t lower than your lips, but he looked a little…off. You expected a joke about a food baby or maybe how pale you’ve gotten, but he says nothing. 

“Hello?” you say, shaking your head. “Is that all? Want my pants too? Gonna do my laundry for a change?”

Jackson blinks like his brain finally returned to his skull. He bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head and backing out of the doorway. Before he closed the door, however, his eyes leveled with yours, so intense it made your breath catch in your throat. Was he mad? Over a sweatshirt?

“Leejin is a fucking idiot,” he says before turning on his heel and heading down the hall. 

You stare at the spot where he stood, even after he’s gone. The hell was his problem now?

By the time you’ve finished your glorious bath, you waltz into the living room like a princess. Jackson looks up from his place on the sofa, deadpanning and tossing his phone on the coffee table as he takes in the freshly purloined hoodie you're sporting.

“Gonna lock my closet,” he says, shaking his head. You beam at him, cutely crinkling your nose as you pad to the kitchen. You tug open the fridge, thinking maybe you could cook something simple for the two of you. It was kind of late to make anything grand, but you wanted more than ramen. 

The empty shelves make your eye twitch. 

“Seriously?” you huff, gesturing around. “Would it kill you to get groceries once?”

“You always complain when I do,” Jackson shrugs, flicking through netflix with the remote. “Got the wrong brand, got too many, didn’t get enough—”

“I always text you a detailed list, but whatever,” you grumble, low enough that it doesn’t provoke a response. “Since you’re a big man baby incapable of buying groceries, you can buy us something at the convenience store.”

“I am perfectly capable, thank you,” Jackson says, narrowing his eyes. 

“Of what? Weaponized incompetence? I agree, get dressed,” you hum. 

Ten minutes later, you’re walking side by side down to the convenience store. The apartment’s location was perfect—five minutes from campus one way, five to a 24 hour convenience store another. Perfect because you both had a habit of wanting to come home when you were drunk after a party, starved and craving foods that you’d regret the next day. 

The doors chimed a welcome as they slid open, allowing you inside. You made a beeline for the sweets, Jackson went straight for the energy drinks. 

You perused the aisle for a few minutes, making your choice and going to find your roommate. You rounded the corner and froze. 

Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to block someone in real life. So while you’d never see Leejin’s social media posts, it didn’t mean that you wouldn’t run into him on a saturday night at the convenience store near your apartment. 

You feel a mix of emotions—anger, shame, disbelief among them. You knew it wasn’t impossible, it wasn’t even unlikely, as this store was one of only a few. But it felt so damn unfair that he’d happen to be here, hours after you found out about what he’d done. 

“Is that all you’re getting?” Jackson snorts, frowning as he eyes your bag of chips. But he notices your stillness, following your gaze to see Leejin, casually chatting on the phone as he looks at the protein bars.

You expect him to snort, maybe make a comment just loud enough for the other to hear before pulling you away, but Jackson surges forward so quickly he nearly knocks you over. You grab his arm, both to steady him and stop him from…whatever the hell he’s doing. 

“Where are you going?” you whisper, tugging him back with as much strength as you could muster. 

“He broke your heart and I’m gonna break his fucking face.”

He moves again, this time dragging you along on the linoleum floor. Fortunately, Leejin is too preoccupied with his call to notice. The thought makes your stomach twist, briefly wondering who he’s talking to. 

“You’re gonna get us kicked out, what’s the matter with you?” you hiss, trying to shake sense into him. Jackson yanks his arm away from you, dropping the energy drinks on the nearest shelf before storming off. You stare after him, mouth agape in disbelief. 

You arrive home 15 minutes later, having hid near the bathrooms until Leejin had left. You’d bought (and paid for, irritatingly) your snacks and Jackson’s drinks, but when you shove into the apartment, it’s empty. Lights off, no sign of him. You worry for a few seconds—had he waited for you and bumped into Leejin instead? But you surely would’ve heard something outside. You opt to text him and choose to believe he’s being broody and walking through the streets like a sad music video.

> what the fuck? is your deal? Where are you??

You’re confused and groggy when someone taps at your cheek, not realizing you’d even fallen asleep on the couch. You rub at your eyes, squinting, processing the sight of Jackson standing over you, t-shirt stuck to his form, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks. 

You’ve had weird dreams about him before, ones that you’d rather never speak of again, and they usually start out like this. But this Jackson rolls his eyes in a way that sweet, sweet dream Jackson would never. 

“Get up, jesus. Your back is going to hurt,” he says. You slowly sit up, realizing he’s right. Apparently not only had you fallen asleep on the couch,  but you’d fallen asleep sitting up, sleeping in an unnatural slouched position. 

“Ow…”

“Told you.”

“No it’s…hey,” you snap, waking up a bit more now that you  remember that you’re actually pissed at him. “It’s your fucking fault, what happened to you? You just disappeared! I was worried!” 

You’re surprised to see Jackson bristle. He’s not shaken easily, least of all by you, but he glances to the side and tugs at his t-shirt, separating it from his damp skin. 

“Went to the gym. Figured I should cool off,” he says. You want to be pissed at him more, say something else, but your back hurts and you’re sleepy. Plus, you’re glad to see he’s alright. Mostly.

“Whatever,” you finally grumble, trying to stretch out your neck. “What time is it?”

“Dunno, around 2 a.m.,” he replies casually. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Great,” you huff. “You go shower. I’ll go roll over and die happy now that I know you’re alive.”

You stumble down the hall to your room, sighing at the sight of your unmade bed. What was the point if you were going to mess it up anyway? You hear Jackson follow shortly after, the bathroom door opening and closing. The shower starts, and you shuffle beneath the covers. 

You wake up not long after, whining in protest as you’re jostled. 

“It’s me,” Jackson says, rudely pushing you over. “Scoot.”

You wanted to shove him away, to point out that “scoot” should be said before you rob someone of their bed, but you can’t be bothered. Besides, once he settles next to you, you realize that he’s not wearing a shirt and he smells nice and clean. 

Sleepy, groggy, annoyed, relieved, you curl against him like a bunny seeking warmth. You feel him stiffen, though you think little of it. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, not sounding the least bit tired. You couldn’t say the same for yourself, unable to open your eyes as you reply. 

“Mm. ‘s warm down here. Night night.”

You hear him sigh, then shuffle, and then he’s rolled over to face you, offering a human-made cocoon that you happily burrow into. He’s soft and warm and smells like his manly body wash—and your shampoo, damn it. 

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says, soft enough to count but not enough for you to notice. 

Waking up tangled with Jackson was, unfortunately (?), not all that unusual. When you were upset, you found your way to his bed, and despite his protests you knew he didn't actually mind. It went both ways—you'll die before you admit that you like it, if only because he's a human heater.

You still feel groggy, squinting and fumbling around for your phone. Such a task is difficult when there's deadweight slung over your waist, but you manage, bringing the device to your face.

10:43 a.m.

Oh good. You slept 8 hours—and half the day away, to your brain at least. You toss your phone down, debating whether or not you should just go back to sleep. You choose instead to roll over, addressing the sleeping shirtless man keeping you pinned to your bed.

Your camera roll was filled with photos just like this, because Jackson slept like a baby. Literally. Hands curled into fists, face relaxed, head tilted to the side. His blonde hair is mussed from sleeping with it wet last night, and you dodn't hesitate to run your fingers through it for no reason at all. It was soft and surprisingly thick, but you weren't about to dial back on the baldness theory.

Jackson stirred, though didn't wake up, shifting to lie on his back. Freed from your restraints, you sat up and had to cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

Of course the curtains parted like that, of course he was sleeping like a prince now, sunlight arcing off of his jaw—it even highlighted his stubble in an annoyingly poetic way. What kind of gods were kind enough to give him of all people that face?

He really was kinda...pretty.

No, not kinda. Jackson Wang was beautiful. You were his best friend, but you weren't blind. Maybe you'd become a little numb to his charms, but you'd seen what he could do to people with just a look, even without malicious intent. He was charismatic on top of that, though you were the only one who got to see the side of him that wasn't.

The side that stole your shampoo and commandeered your bed, anyway.

So fine, you knew he was pretty. But he was kinda sorta extra pretty right now, and maybe you wanted to remember it later.

You shifted to grab your phone—a never-ending quest for material to bully each other over—but the movement apparently jostled him awake. You sheepishly smiled as he blinked a few times, using the heel of his palm to rub the blurriness away.

"Really?" he asked, voice rough, eyes leveling to the phone in your hand. "Fucking creep."

"You have like a thousand pictures of me sleeping," you point out, narrowing your eyes. Jackson nods, rolling over and hugging your waist, his head resting against your hip.

"That I do—you're cute when you drool all over yourself. I'm working on a collage."

"Asshole," you mutter, prying his arms off of you. You make an attempt to escape, but as expected, you're smoothly hauled back down.

"Where you going?"

"I need to pee, wanna come with?"

"It's early."

"It's almost 11."

"Yeah, early."

Jackson grunts before you can reply, practically placing you in a chokehold as he rolls over. You have no choice but to go with him, ending up flopped over his chest like a dead fish.

He says nothing for a moment, and you wonder if he's fallen back asleep. It's not difficult to squirm out of his grasp this time, though rather than allowing you to slide off, the apparently-awake-Jackson moves both hands to your hips.

Your stomach does that funny thing it sometimes does around him, like a little alarm that says 'hey! getting too close!' Listening to this alarm had prevented a lot of mistakes over the course of your friendship, mistakes like wanting to kiss him when you were tipsy, noticing the way he looked after a long workout, hair plastered to his forehead, the fuzziness you felt that time your heating pad broke, and his warm hands wound up on the lower half of your tummy to stave off the cramps.

Mistakes like that.

His eyes open again, and you do your best to look irritated.

"I'm sorry about last night," he says, suddenly unnaturally serious. "I was just trying to cool off, and my phone died, so I didn't see your text until after I got home."

You're not really sure how to respond—it was always strange when conversations got like this between you, regardless of the topic. It was so jarring, so far from the usual cracked out nonsense. You decided to nod, then shake your head, then nod again.

Jackson was a badass, most people knew as much. He was trained in martial arts and practically ate protein for every meal. But despite this, he wasn't typically an aggressive guy. You'd only ever seen him throw one punch—an ex of yours a couple years ago who threatened to post a nude photo of you. Needless to say, the guy deleted them, made difficult thanks to the blood smearing his screen as it dripped from his nose.

"It's fine, I get it," you say. "Just...why were you so mad at him? Did he do something to you?"

Jackson blinks up at you, shifting so that he's partially sitting up on his elbows.

"I told you, y/n," he says, shaking his head like you're an idiot. "He broke your heart, I was gonna break his face. You should've let me get one hit in at least."

"He didn't break my heart," you groan, rolling your eyes. "It wasn't that serious, you know that. We'd only been dating for 4 months."

"...I watched you cry for an hour because someone stepped on a worm—"

"—that's different. It's literally a living little creature, what if that's someone's girlfriend, hm? What if she asked her boyfriend 'would you still love me if I was a worm' and he said yes except now they can't live wormily ever after because she's smushed all because some horrible person can't be bothered to step aside for a worm?"

Jackson stared up at you, blinking slowly, looking 175% done with your shit.

"What the fuck is wormily ever after?"

You sigh, leaning forward until your head is on his bare shoulder. You have half a mind to bite him, though you resist. You will be civil—for now.

"I don't know," you mumble. "No early birds, no hot sidewalks?"

"I....you're so fucking weird."

"Lots of guys are dickheads, but you were ready to knock him out. Really, Jackson, was that all? Promise he didn't say something to you?" you ask, voice muffled against his warm skin. Just one lil munch. It'd be good payback for him scaring the hell out of you last night.

Jackson exhales, and there's suddenly a hand tugging at your tangled mess of bedhead until you're sitting up, looking down at him.

"I wanted to kick his ass for the same reason that I never bring anyone home," he says quietly. His eyes are serious, no sparkle of humor in them, and it makes your stomach twist. You didn't like it when Jackson got serious.

"What? Because of me?" you ask. "I don't care who you fuck as long as I don't have to cook them breakfast."

Mostly true—you were afraid of walking out of your bedroom one morning and running into a really pretty girl, someone with perfect grades and clear skin, who has the audacity to be beautiful and nice. Someone only Jackson deserves. But you leave that bit out and give him a half teasing smile.

Jackson doesn't return it. He grunts, moving his hand up to tug at his hair. You slip yours beneath his, mumbling for him to stop doing that.

"You really don't?" he finally asks, swallowing hard enough that you see his throat move.

"Don't what?"

"You don't care who I fuck?"

His question catches you off guard, though not as much as the fact that he still looks dead serious. This seems like something the two of you should be laughing over—not something to talk about whilst you're currently straddling your best friend in your bed, who happens to be naked from the waist up.

"I mean...no?" you say, shaking your head in confusion. "Should I?"

"I don't know, should you?"

Should you? What the hell was that supposed to mean? You didn't like riddles, and this felt like one. You'd tried to stay out of his business over the four years you've been friends, though come to think of it...you'd never met any of his girlfriends after the first six months. You'd assumed he was so busy with classes and his extracurriculars that there just wasn't much time for anything past shallow hookups.

But...you couldn't remember a single time that had occurred. He was home every night, never brought company over for that purpose.

"Jackson," you say quietly, palms resting on his chest. When the hell did he get so muscular? There was a noticable firmness beneath your fingers, and you briefly considered billing Leejin for your services in making sure he didn't get the shit beat out of him. "I feel like this is an inside joke and I'm out of the loop. You're upset? Why?"

"Why would I be?" he counters, irritatingly smooth. The hands on your hips squeeze once, like he's trying to talk to you in morse code. It's annoying.

"Quit," you mumble, biting your lower lip. "I'm trying. Stop being mean and just tell me."

He sighs, moving a hand to his face.

"If you don't already know, then it doesn't matter, alright?"

"Wh—"

You're cut off as he suddenly shifts from beneath you, leaving you tumbling to the sheets when he stands. Just like the last two times for some damn reason, he prepares to storm out of the room.

"Jackson, wait—shit."

You trip over the edge of your nightstand, catching yourself on your hands. Your lamp tumbles to the floor, thankfully not shattering on the carpet. Still, the ache brings tears to your eyes, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you sit down.

"How many times have I told you to push that against the wall!?" Jackson says, rushing over to you. You lean back against your bed, grimacing as you look at your knee. It's not the worst scrape you've ever gotten, but it is bleeding, and it burns.

"Hang on, pie." He leaves the room, and by the time he returns with the pack of bandaids and peroxide, you're covering your face with one hand and hugging your knee with the other.

"Hey, it's not so bad," he says, obviously in partial panic mode as he kneels in front of you and tugs at your ankle. He probably thought that's why you were in tears, but it was moreso the fact that he was being...just...weird, and you didn't like it.

You quietly sit there, hands over your eyes as he uses a cotton ball to dab at the blood. You don't even flinch, it doesn't burn—perks of having an MMA star for a roommate; he knew how to bandage a cut (a common occurence for your clumsy ass, unfortunately).

After a few minutes, he pats the side of your calf, and you finally uncover your eyes. There's a bandaid over the scrape now, and you let your knee fall to the side. Jackson is looking at you, and you nod.

"That's good, thanks," you mumble quietly.

"You sure?" he asks. You frown, nodding quickly. But his hand moves up to your cheek, cupping it as his thumb swipes below your eye.

Tears.

That alarm goes off inside of you, but Jackson doesn't move his hand, so you let it sit there and you feel your stomach tying itself into a knot. You're a little worried it's not gonna come undone.

"I wasn't crying because of that," you say, swallowing as you glance away shamefully. "I...I don't like this, Jackson. Feels weird. If I did something to make you mad, I wish you'd just tell me—"

"I'm not mad at you," he replies. You sniff, and finally his hand slips away, though only to rest on your uninjured knee. His fingers twitch, like he wants to do something but won't let himself. Slap you, maybe, for never listening to him and always ending up hurt because of it. You would, if you were him.

"You keep running away from me," you point out, a little surge of anger from last night returning. "You keep acting like I'm supposed to know everything you're thinking, and I don't, because you won't tell me stuff. I tell you stuff, the least you could do is text me a grocery list of what the fuck is going on inside of your brain, so I'm not sitting here thinking I'm gonna lose my best friend and roommate over something I don't even know that I've done. I'm sorry we ran into Leejin, it's not like I knew he was gonna be there. I'm sorry for thinking I was special in the first place and ending up where you said I'd be."

Jackson sighs and tilts his head, and you hate yourself for crying more. It wasn't a big deal, things were a little crazy after yesterday. You didn't even love Leejin, it had just...hurt? Your pride? No one wants to know they're less than a second choice. But Jackson had acted like Leejin was out for his blood, and every time he runs away, it feels like he's escaping you.

"You're not gonna lose me," he finally says, glancing down at the floor. "I just...I've got a lot of shit to work through, you know? It's not...it's not your fault though."

"Like what?" you ask, worry lining your brow. "If you'd just—is it money? Because we can figure out rent—"

"It's not money," he interrupts. "I promise, it's nothing like that."

"Then what?" You huff, a little more irritated than concerned. "Parents? Grades? Girl trouble?"

"Yeah," he nods, licking his lips. "That last bit."

"Girl trouble?" you ask, somewhat surprised. For some reason, the fact that he hadn't told you about a girl bothered you more than the idea that there was one at all. You shared everything with him; if he'd kept her a secret, it had to have been a little more serious.

"Do I know her?" you ask tentatively. Please say no, I don't want to go through a list of the hottest girls I know.

"Yeah," he replies. Fuck.

"Oh. How long have you been dating?"

"We're not."

"Then...?"

"She's an idiot."

"It's a mystery as to why you're single, really," you say, rolling your eyes. "So she's an idiot because she won't date you? Sounds kind of shallow on your end."

"She's an idiot because she keeps dating jackasses who don't give a shit about her. I don't give a damn if she ever chooses me or not," he says plainly. You frown.

"Maybe she's insecure?"

"She is. Very."

"Huh. Is she pretty?"

"Beautiful."

"Oh. Hm."

Well what the fuck were you supposed to say to that? Congratulations? Sorrows, sorrows, prayers?

"Okay..." you say after a beat. You were not good with advice, especially when it came to love, obviously. He didn't say love though. Infatuation, maybe. Still, you were not an expert. "So if she keeps dating jackasses and won't date you, why do you bother? Why not just forget about her?"

Jackson's eye twitches. You don't notice.

"Hard to forget someone you see every day, pie," he says. You scoff.

"Okay, I'm calling bullshit. I'm literally the only person you see every day."

"Mhm."

"Then you're lying?" you ask. Jackson deadpans.

"Please, for the love of god, never reproduce."

"Rude," you mutter. "Fine, so I know her, she's insecure, pretty, dates assholes, you allegedly see her everyday?"

"All of the above," he says. You frown, lips pursing as you rack your brain for answers, going through the hot insecure girls you know like a filing cabinet.

Wait.

Your eyes widen. Jackson's do the same, and then he smiles, like he's proud of you.

"Oh my god, is it Kim Sujin?" You ask, covering your mouth. "The girl with the—"

"Jesus fucking christ, y/n," he groans, running a hand through his hair. "Are you...you're fucking with me? That's what this is. You're not this dumb, right? Please say no. I feel like I'm in middle school right now, holy shit."

You open your mouth to argue, to insist he was being unfair (you didn't even like puzzles!) but he suddenly leans forward, palms cupping both of your cheeks. He pulls you toward him, nose inches from yours. You've been this close to him before, but you're suddenly dizzy now, a little out of it as you wonder if this is really happening to you—or if this is another sweaty-jackson-standing-over-me dream. Jackson, who has freckles on the tip of his nose and won't stop looking at you like that, the knot pulling tighter and tighter.

"Stop thinking before you hurt yourself. 'm gonna kiss you now, is that okay?" he asks.

Is that oka—?

"Kiss?" you mumble, swallowed up by those god damn pretty brown eyes. Jackson nods, head tilted, primed to kiss the cluelessness out of you, apparently. "Y-yeah, that's fine."

"It's gonna be...it's gonna be a lot, okay? Like not just a peck. You're fine with that?"

"Yep," you nod.

Jackson nods back. And then he kisses you.

He doesn't release your face, squishing your body between himself and the bed behind you. His lips press to yours, insistent and warm, though you can tell he's being cautious—if you wanted to push him away, you could. But you did not want to do that.

Because Jackson Wang was kissing you, and he's a really good kisser.

You briefly forget that you have hands, so when you remember, you waste no time in using them. One cups his jaw, feeling the edge of it press into your palm. The other fists his blonde hair, tugging it gently.

Jackson groans into your mouth, and that alarm in your belly turns into a fucking war drum. You feel the knot tighten and snap, and suddenly you're pushing him back, scrambling into his lap.

You kind of want more, kind of want to put your tongue in his mouth because he's warm and tastes good and you can only imagine how much better it would be, but he beats you to it. His tongue swipes over your lower lip and you eagerly open for him. He breathes in as soon as you do, and it feels like he's stealing your soul. Fuck it? He can have it?

It's messy, a tad bit desperate, definitely not the poetic kiss of rom coms, but you don't give a shit. It feels good, feels warm and right, like you've been kissing him in your head every day for the past 4 years.

By the time you manage to separate, you're trembling an embarassing amount. You'd blame the buzz on coffee if you'd had any, but you just hide your flushed cheeks and rest your forehead against his shoulder. You can tell that for once, Jackson's brain seems to also have short circuited, as it takes him a minute before he finally wraps his arms around you. You can hear his breath—as shaky as yours, thank god.

"Was that okay? Was it weird? Did I make you uncomfortable?" he asks, tilting back on one palm to look at you, his other arm secured around your waist. You sit up, shamelessly biting your lower lip, refusing to meet his eyes. He mistakes this for discomfort, all but shoving you out of his lap, hands flying to his hair.

"Fuck, I...I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to. I wasn't gonna...I'm so fucking sorry y/n, if you want me to move out—"

"You're gonna go bald," you mumble, a little blitzed out as you rest on your hands.

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. Stop freaking out, okay?" you offer, finally looking up at him. God he looks...scared. Hair messy, brown eyes wide. So unlike his usual cocky self that you're a little shaken, caught between wanting to protect him and wanting to kiss him again.

"I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?" he asks softly. That alarm is now everywhere, setting off in your chest at his concerned tone. You shake your head.

"No. I'm okay," you reassure him. "A little irritated."

Jackson's head snaps up, worry on his face. You feel guilty, so you quickly clarify.

"You said I'm not special," you say quietly, looking away. "If you were talking about me just now...why did you tell me that?"

He looks confused, like he can't remember (of all the things he's said to bully you—while you kept a detailed record). But he seems to finally recall the conversation, rubbing his forehead as his lips spread into a smile.

"What's funny?" you puff.

"I meant to him, pie. You're not special to him. Not that you weren't special at all, or to...to me," he explains, looking part amused and part shy. You soften a bit, unable to help but pout.

"Then you should say that!" you say, gesturing at nothing. "You can't just go around telling people they aren't special."

"I don't make you feel special?" he asks, dipping his head to meet your eyes.

Well, yes, but that's not the point. You choose not to reply.

Just like most things when it comes to you, however, he already knows the answer. He looks a little too proud of himself as he reaches for your wrist, pulling you back into him. You're not quite in his lap, but you lean heavily against his side, your chin resting against his chest.

"What if we mess it up?" you ask, looking up at him. He frowns, not understanding. "Us. What if...what if we mess us up?"

"I don't see how we would," he laughs. "We're practically married."

"Gross. We are not."

"We split the bills, pie."

"Most roommates do."

"We cook together."

"Most roommates do."

"My mother loves you."

"Your mother loves everyone."

"Not true. And my father loves you."

You pause, then squint.

"Your father has good taste," you say. Jackson rolls his eyes. He looks a little conflicted, like he can't decide what's too much, what's too soon.

"I do," he says quietly.

You hate that, for once in your life, you know exactly what he's saying without him saying it. And god damn it, you feel your eyes burning.

"Don't...ugh," you whine, looking away from him. But he's not having it, taking your chin and tilting your face up. You're faced with glassy eyes that make you want to die.

You hated it when he cried. Maybe you make his joints hurt or whatever, but you've only seen Jackson cry twice, once when his family dog died, and another when he was drunk and had convinced himself you weren't his friend anymore. Both times, you'd never felt so helpless. The way you feel now.

"Y/n, I—"

"Please don't," you breathe quickly, swallowing down your tears. You immediately panic at the look on his face, like you've slapped him. But you tuck your hair behind your ear and shake your head.

"No, I-I mean, I know you do, and I...I'm pretty sure I do too. I just...I can't say it now, alright?" you explain. "I'm sorry, I just—you know me better than anyone. I don't...don't wanna fuck it up, you know? I don't wanna lose you, I'm so bad, so stupid when it comes to this—"

"Hey, hey, shh..." Jackson says, gently shaking your chin. "I'm not upset, okay? Just relieved, a little scared. I don't want to fuck this up either, yeah? I want...I want what we are today and I want it tomorrow, even if that means we stay just like this."

His thumb brushes your lower lip. God, you want to kiss him again.

"No rush, pie, okay? I'll wait for you, even if..." he sucks in air and looks away, as though the idea hurts to even consider. "...even if it's never for us."

You want to kiss him again. Would that even be appropriate? After what you just said? After the emotions threatening to disrupt the foundation of your life for the past four years?

"Can...can I kiss you again?" he asks softly. You swallow and nod.

"Please."

Part 2 is out now!

[pseudowho]

Infiltration, Chapter One: Introduction

Nanami Kento and the reader must pretend to be married to infiltrate a deadly Curse-user cult and take it down from the inside.

A slow-burn fic with fluff/comfort, angst, smut and heroics from our favourite salaryman.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento waited in Yaga's office, pacing, restless. He hadn't wanted you invited into Jujutsu High under these circumstances, knowing you needed time after your trauma, but he couldn't deny that his heart was pounding in anticipation. He had only approved of you being called because the mission you had, if you chose to accept it, would be shared. Together. With him.

He heard three short taps on the door and his heart leapt into his throat, feeling your cursed energy approach. He contained himself, outwardly unaffected, and walked to the door to let you in.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

You were overwhelmingly anxious before even entering the school grounds. You would visit your best friend's grave today, for the first time since losing her, and you would see...him. The man who was...what, to you? Your other best friend? Your confidante? The man composed of the same formula from which your own soul was made? Or just your lunch buddy? You didn't know. Whatever had been blooming between you had surely died in your absence.

Your numb feet had carried you across the frosted grass, under Torii gates and past effigies, down a short winding staircase to where graves-- too many graves -- nestled under the shadows of the trees' bare branches. Winding past the long sleep of names known and unknown, your hand brushed lovingly over Yuu Haibara's headstone, the tears already starting to blur your vision as you stopped in front of the grave of your own best friend. Just three months old, frost decorated the white stone like diamonds, and you sat heavily in front of it, knees drawn up and arms holding them to yourself as you wept bitterly into your jeans. You had promised to hold yourself together, to make a proper apology for failing to save her, but you poured garbled nonsense between your sobs, stroking the headstone as if it were her hand in yours.

Enough, you told yourself after ten minutes had passed, she deserved better and she still deserves better, so sort yourself out. Rising up, the back of your jeans damp and muddy, you proceeded to tend to the grave, cleaning and polishing, replacing flowers and leaving a small bottle of her favourite drink. In silence, you walked away, another brush of your hand bidding Haibara goodbye, and made your way up the many steps, to Principal Yaga's office.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Kento opened the office door, and immediately met your eyes. Thousands of unspoken words passed between you both; Kento hesitated only briefly before stepping aside in invitation, and, upon closing the door, gently pressed a cup of tea into your hands. You had been crying, and smelled faintly of the cold forest floor, and you were the most beautiful thing Kento had ever seen. He had never had the chance to hold you, but now was not the time or place-- if he pulled you to him now, he ran the risk of never letting you go.

"How...how are you...Kento?" you asked weakly. Your words seemed flat and small, so utterly unlike you. Kento's heart creaked, a child's footsteps on old floorboards, and he ached to tell you how little his own wellbeing mattered to him now.

Kento sighed, gripping the back of a chair and leaning forwards. Your eyes drank in his thick, corded forearms, the way his navy shirt stretched over his back, the lick of fringe that hopped forwards over his forehead. God, I've missed you so much. The words turned to a cold drink as they slipped off your tongue and down into your stomach.

"I'm...better than you are, I'm sure. I'm sorry Yaga is asking for you back like this, you deserved more time. I don't know what they want from us. But I know it's together and some distance away. If you have any reservations, please speak up. I won't let them take advantage of you."

You sighed into your steaming mug, the vapour clouding your glasses for a moment-- Kento's heart thumped fondly-- and answered him.

"I feel like...if I'm not dragged back, I won't come back. And I know what you're going to say--" you raised your hand to Kento in a soothing gesture as he stood, ready to argue your case even against yourself, "-- but I want to be back. I miss the students. I miss the camaraderie. I miss...god, I even miss Gojo, idiot though he is. And if anyone in this place understands what I've been through, it's you."

A flash of pain crossed Kento's face, haunted by the memories of his dead friend, and you stepped to him, hand instantly placed over his harsh grip on the chair. You felt the tendons of his hands soften under yours.

"So I'll hear him out," you continued gently, "because I owe it to her, to all of you, and to myself to try this again."

Kento nodded, folding just one digit over the back of your palm to swipe against it in wordless communication. You blushed lightly, pleased he was looking at the floor. Hearing the click of the door behind you, you stepped apart from each other, caught in shared vulnerability. Yaga greeted you both, and the meeting began.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Seven short days later, you stepped down from your front door, locking up with a shaky outward breath. Turning to Kento, waiting for you by his car, he returned your hesitant smile with one of genuine warmth, brown eyes twinkling with affection.

"It suits you," he teased, putting your suitcase into the car as you twiddled your new ring nervously. You punched the top of his arm playfully.

"I could say the same to you...darling." Kento buried his head in the car, pretending to organise the suitcases as he blushed, alarmed by how natural a wedding ring already felt on his hand. Stepping back, he looked down at you, stern and unamused, but opening your door for you nonetheless. His heart soared at the first natural smile he had seen from you in months. Closing your door, he stepped to his own, feeling teenagerishly proud to have you in his passenger seat.

"Let's go over things just once more on the way?" You asked him. Kento hummed affirmingly, turning the heating on, and gently clasping your hands in his own against the air vents.

"Warm up," he ordered as the car rumbled to life. Bringing one arm up around the back of your seat, your breath caught in your chest as he turned backwards, thin eyebrows raised and one arm outstretched on the wheel as he made the car glide backwards out of the driveway. A waft of his cologne, familiar and woody, hit your nose as he passed his arm back, his fingertips (accidentally?) grazing your shoulder, and he began to drive.

"So," you started, trying not to stutter, "we are the...Tsuda family." Kento hummed his affirmation again. "Mr and Mrs." A short cough, and another hum. "Married for two years, but together..."

"Forever, basically," Kento interjected quickly-- too quickly, he cursed himself-- before clearing his throat and continuing, "All I mean is...it has only ever been me and you. Us. Easier than...messy exes." His ears crept with crimson as your laughter twinkled through his car.

How the fuck am I going to get through this without completely giving myself away? Kento felt utterly tortured, trapped between the divinity of your company and the agony of not knowing it more intimately.

You talked for hours, barely needing to fill each other in on the details of your lives-- you had had so many late lunches, so many late-night post-mission calls-- and instead focused on the upcoming plans.

"So, our informants are certain this cult is at the centre of a significant increase in skilled and armed curse-users, but they only seem to accept married couples as new members, both of whom should display significant jujutsu sorcery skills or the potential to do so," Kento mused, "which I have a theory for."

"Breeding," you both said, shooting each other a sideways glance and blush. Kento cleared his throat.

"Quite. It's certainly one way to grow your cult's power."

"It's eugenics in the making," you spat, "I'm sure Suguru Geto approves."

A rumble which went straight to your core came from Kento's chest, and he spoke, "Or, we end up with a Curse-user turf war. Either way, they've already been responsible for dozens of deaths and disappearances. We take them out."

Eyeing Kento admiringly, you didn't fancy the curse-users' chances against him. Your own ability, to compel the thoughts or desires of others, had some application in combat, but largely lent itself to support and reconnaissance. The cursed-energy tumbling off the giant beside you was in no way second to his commanding physique or quick mind. Unaware, you unashamedly stared at Kento, eyes taking in his thick thighs, tan trousers stretched enticingly over them and the subtle bulge between his legs, and up to his cheekbones, razor sharp and framing such a handsome face--

Before you could murmur your agreement, you caught yourself, turning swiftly to look out the window, blush creeping across your cheeks.

Unbeknownst to you, Kento stole glances while he drove, taking you in...the gentle curve of your breasts into your waist, the bow of your lips, bright eyes behind curtained lashes. He swallowed, bidding his blood to rush elsewhere. He focused on the road.

"Regardless...we've been accepted, pending Face-to-Face interview. Ijichi and the team built our false profiles, all we have to do is prove our cursed techniques, and we're part of the cult."

"I'm delighted," you chirped, "what a lovely anniversary gift, my love."

"Only the best for my girl," Kento rumbled, playing along. Neither of you knew how delighted the other was by the charade.

But, while you felt completely safe, reassured by Kento's presence, Kento felt that his heart had been removed from his chest, and walked away from him, directly into battle. He did not have his blade, too much of a giveaway, and instead planned to imbue his energy into his fists. You, however, had to rely purely on your wiles and intellect to survive. Kento knew he would punch a hole through a god to keep you safe.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Ornate compound gates surrounded a beautiful traditional Japanese village, nestled between mountain ranges and clear rivers. As Kento crawled the car skillfully around peaks and narrow roads, you felt trepidation sink into you as, on approaching the entrance, you felt the thrum of Cursed energy seep, cold and unwelcome, into your belly.

Kento pulled up to vast gates, taking a deep, calm breath and pressing the intercom; a tinny buzz, a click, and--

"Do you have an appointment?"

"Tsuda Kento. I'm here with my wife," Kento lied smoothly. Silence.

"Come in," said the voice, accompanied by the heavy creak of the automatic gates swinging open. Kento's chin dipped, clench-jawed and staring intently ahead as he pulled forwards into an expansive driveway of pale grey gravel, a temple lying quiet and still in the distance.

Now afraid, suddenly full of doubt, you grasped at the potential consequences of your decision to return to Jujutsu High. You felt Kento's hand reach for yours, anchoring you. You turned to him, eyes full of fear.

"I won't let anything happen to you. I promise you this. I'd die to get you out alive." You squeezed Kento's hand between your own, warm and strong, unable to tell him that the loss of him would drive you past the edge of despair.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Chapter 2: Pillow talk link HERE!

[poisonevelyn]

First time writing!!! Please do judge 😭 (ignore possible spelling mistakes)

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

“Oh god” you muttered to yourself. it was always the same dynamic, you get drunk alone, you get sad, you cry all of your make up off. But this time, it was a different cry. Maybe the canadian somber weather had finally been giving you that seasonal depression.

You stare out a window from your little apartment and re-think all your life choices, however there was one person who practically lives on your mind, sober or not.

You quickly wipe away your tears. “fuck..” You bite your tongue bitterly trying to punish yourself for being so stupid. All you could think about were his untamed curls, his bright smile, his lips and the way they curled into a soft smile every time he saw you, but especially, just the way his company would make you feel complete.

The rain outside was pouring down like a heavy blanket of gray clouds suffocating the light, yet the faint idea of him kept you warm. It had been maybe a month since your brutal break up that had left you in complete shambles. You missed his touch and warmth completely over these dreadful and difficult weeks, he was all you could think about.

——————

Without thinking, you took your coat and scrambled out of you door. The alcohol was pumping through your blood as your heart nearly leaped out of your chest. You lazily locked your door and without looking back you walked away into the cloak of shadows that was tumbling with thunder.

You looked up at the sky. What were you thinking? He would probably close the door at your face and you’ll look like an idiot.

You hugged your coat a bit tighter and shook those thoughts away as your mascara was running down your face getting mixed with dried tears and the faint smell of cheap wine. You hair was getting stuck to your forehead as you ran a bit quicker through the heavy rain.

Before you knew it, you were standing in front of his apartment door. You shuffled nervously around debating wether or not you should knock on the door. “Fuck it..” You said bitterly as you pursed your lips.

Three soft knocks were the only thing that Hamzah needed to open the door slightly. He sluggishly pushed the door open with half lidded eyes and a serious case of bed hair. His eyes quickly widened when they saw you. Thought racing through his mind like a whirlwind tearing down a quiet town. The tension was immensely intense.

His eyes softened, examining you. He felt like he was looking at a mirror, you tired demeanour reflected his in every way. As mad as he was, he couldn’t leave you standing out there in the rain. He quickly moved aside and gestured towards you to come inside.

You came inside his house and the smell of him hit you right away. You placed your coat where you used to leave it nearly everyday back then when you guys were together. You eyes were stuck to the ground, to embarrassed to even look at him in his eyes. All he could do was examine you, he had to hold himself back from caressing your beautiful damp hair.

“What the fuck am i doing” You said with embarrassment and confusion and swiftly grabbed your coat and heading to the door.

“Wait” Hamzah said, catching you off guard. He let out a deep sigh he didn’t know he was holding.

“Please, stay” He said softly, his eyes trying to find yours. You scanned the room, it was a bit different but ultimately the same, just like him. You finally looked up to meet his piercing eyes filled with worry.

You dropped your coat and ran to him. Your mouths clashed with passion and pent up feelings. In complete sync, your mouths were exploring each other like the first time. He could taste the alcohol in your mouth, leaving his now infected. All of your thoughts were wiped away from your head, you felt as if you could explode with joy.

Lasily, you guys stumbled into the bed room, never breaking apart from this fiery kiss. He manhandled you and layed you on the bed, a sudden wave of realisation hit you, you tried pushing it away and for a moment it seemed to work, but the way your eyes slightly shifted made Hamzah stop.

“Are you alright?” He said with genuine concern and a slight blush, he licked his lips as he scanned your expression.

“Yea, i’m sorry” You said shyly, avoiding eye contact at all costs

He reached over and wiped the marks of mascara from your cheeks, ultimately forcing you to look at him. You couldn’t resist his piercing eyes and gave in

As soon as your eyes met his, he saw all of the pain and sorrow you kept hidden inside your eyes. His gaze immediately softened and his thumb lingered on your cheek

“I’m sorry” He said softly to break the drowning silence

“What” You muttered, matching his tone of voice

“I’m sorry, i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable” He said, scanning the room before settling on your face. God he missed you, more than he wanted to admit. He made a mental note to remember your face incase it was the last time he’d see you

“No, no” You muttered “It’s not your fault, i just,” You sighed trying to look for the words. “Is this what *this* is gonna turn into” You said trying to get your point across

“Like” You said before letting out a deep sigh, tears threatening to spill. “We break up, stop talking completely, and then abruptly hook up?”

“No, it doesn’t have to be like that” Hamzah replied calmly, making sure you felt comfortable. He sat down bed to you on the bed and placed his hand on your thigh. You gave him a pleading look before nestling into his shoulder.

“I love you, you know that right?” Hamzah said with his entire chest. He felt an enormous weight being lifted off from his shoulders. He meant every single word he had just said.

You looked up, a shy smile curling in your face. How could you say no to those sweet and loving eyes? “I love you, Hamzah”

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:

Help i hope you guys like this. Like i said, this is my first time writing so please don’t hold back any comments on my writing.

[werepuppy-steve]

if i ain't got you

steddie | wc: 1,425 | cw: none | songfic | ao3

have some hurt/comfort, cj style. happy thanksgiving even though it's already 1am my time <3

The kitchen is so thick with tension you could cut right through it like butter. Eddie’s washing the dishes and Steve’s putting away the leftovers from dinner. They haven’t spoken a word to each other the entire night, not since that afternoon when they were screaming at each other.

Other people would say that they don’t remember what or who started the argument in the first place, but Steve knows exactly what happened. All because he let his dumb mouth get ahead of his brain. And it’s not like he hasn’t tried to apologize—he tried the second the words left his mouth and then five more times after that but Eddie wasn’t having any of it.

Which is fine, he’s allowed to stew in his hurt feelings for as long as he likes, but Steve is worried that this might be the first time they go to bed with one of them still mad, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that.

He shuts the fridge and turns around to lean against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, letting out a quiet sigh. Eddie’s back is turned to him so he can only see the movement of his shoulders as he scrubs the dishes harder than he ought to.

He’s still pissed, then.

Steve lets out a quiet sigh. He’s the one that started this whole mess so he’s got to be the one to fix it. He needs to come up with something to get Eddie to at least look at him.

He stands there for a few more minutes as he thinks but then the light bulb in his brain flicks on and he leaves the kitchen.

Eddie’s probably washed this bowl three times already but he doesn’t care. He’s still worked up from his and Steve’s fight earlier, he could drop the bowl and it could shatter in the soapy water and he wouldn’t even blink an eye.

How dare he, Eddie thinks bitterly, rinsing the soap off and placing the bowl in the dish drainer a little harshly. How dare he think he has the right to even insinuate.

All he wanted was to spend the extra little bit he’d had left over from his paycheck on some new mini’s he’d seen down at the bookstore and a couple of books that had been on his list for ages. He made sure to put back enough to cover his half of their rent and bills. He was careful.

But Steve still had to go and open his stupid rich boy mouth.

Eddie feels the familiar prickle of white hot anger on the back of his neck and he takes a deep breath to calm himself. It’s not his fault that he grew up poor. Wayne did what he could to support the both of them on his single paycheck every month, but that money only went so far. There wasn’t enough to spare to open an account with the bank, so they just went without.

Unlike the Harrington’s, who apparently had accounts open across multiple cities and even a couple overseas.

Steve’s father had drilled the importance of wealth management into him from an early age and made him use his first allowance to open a savings account at the age of ten. His boyfriend had a goddamn retirement account by the time he was eighteen.

So when Steve goes and assumes that Eddie doesn’t know how to handle money just because he wants to splurge for once and buy something he enjoys, Eddie thinks that his anger is a little more than justified.

Eddie’s eyes sting with oncoming tears and he blinks them away with a shake of his head. He doesn’t need to cry right now.

As he reaches for another dirty plate, music suddenly fills the kitchen from the Bluetooth speakers on the counter, soft piano trilling and the melodic humming with an R&B beat.

He freezes when arms slowly circle his waist from behind and Steve rests his chin on his shoulder.

Some people live for the fortune

Some people live just for the fame

“Dance with me,” Steve murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie suppresses a shiver and the instinct to lean back into him. “I don’t-”

“Eddie.”

Another kiss, this time under his ear. Fingers gently trace along his arm.

Some people think

That the physical things

Define what’s within

Eddie’s walls crumble like sawdust when Steve laces his fingers between his own soapy ones. He lets Steve pull him away from the sink and they slowly sway in the middle of their kitchen. He can see straight into the living room, where they’ve already set their Christmas tree up in the corner by the window, fully decorated even though it’s still November. They’ve got a hodgepodge of decorations and knick knacks already set on various shelves and tables with Christmas lights strung in almost every doorway.

As they dance in a slow spin, their cheeks pressed together, Eddie thinks back to how much fun they had setting all of it up. How Steve held the mistletoe above his head every chance he got just to be able to kiss him. All of his remaining anger slowly melts away and he’s left with the overwhelming feeling of how much he loves this man.

Some people want diamond rings

Some just want everything

But everything means nothing

If I ain't got you, yeah

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and he sounds like he means it. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, when I said you should be more responsible. You were right. It’s your money and you’re the only one who gets a say in how you spend it.”

Eddie sighs and tightens his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, too. I got defensive, but I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did. I should’ve listened to you when you tried apologizing the first time.”

Some people search for a fountain

Promises forever young

Some people need three dozen roses

And that's the only way to prove you love them

Eddie pulls back a little and looks at Steve for the first time in what feels like ages and is flooded with emotions that make his chest tighten when he sees the soft smile on his boyfriend’s face and the love in his eyes.

Eddie cups his cheek and leans in to press a soft kiss to his equally soft lips before resting his head on Steve’s shoulder with a soft sigh.

Some people want it all

But I don't want nothing at all

If it ain't you, baby

If I ain't got you, baby

“Are we really slow dancing to Alicia Keys?” he asks after a moment. Steve shakes with silent laughter and Eddie gently smacks him in the shoulder. “It’s a serious question, Stevie. I need to know if it’s a contender for our wedding playlist.”

It’s Steve’s turn to freeze now and Eddie can’t hold back his giddy smile when he pushes him back by the shoulders and gives him a wide-eyed look.

“Wedding playlist?”

“Well, I was planning to wait until Christmas to pop the question, but. Yeah. I even got a ring.”

Steve gapes at him like a fish before yanking him in for a kiss by the front of his shirt. It’s more teeth than lips because they can’t stop laughing long enough, but they eventually get a hold of themselves when Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s neck again and presses close, thier lips slotting together seamlessly.

“So I take it that’s a yes?” Eddie asks between kisses.

Steve nips at his bottom lip. “Only if you learn to stop kicking your socks off in your sleep and leaving them under the covers at the end of the bed.”

“They twist around my toes, Stevie,” Eddie pouts, trailing kisses along Steve’s jaw. “Makes ‘em feel like pigs in a blanket.”

Steve tilts his head back to give him more room, the music completely forgotten. “Then don’t wear them to bed at all.”

“But then my feet will get cold. Do you want me to put my icicles on your legs, Steven? Would that make you feel better?”

Steve throws his head back for a completely different reason and groans. “You’re going to be even more difficult once we’re married, aren’t you?”

Eddie grins against Steve’s throat. “Absolutely, oh husband of mine.”

Some people want diamond rings

Some just want everything

But everything means nothing

If I ain't got you, you, you

permanent taglist:

@yournowheregirl @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @vecnuthy

@tboybuck @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual

@theheadlessphilosopher @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie

@corrodedcoughin @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero @simplebtromance

@tangerinesteve @stevesjockstrap @steddie-island @spectrum-spectre @pearynice

@worstsequence @devondespresso

[cozmowrites]

The Fire Burns Out

ooc: cheating

===

The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator. You sat on the couch, staring at the television screen displaying a paused scene from a movie you'd stopped paying attention to.

It had been a week since Bakugou came home late, smelling of someone else's perfume, and three days since you had confronted him about it.

Even now, the echo of his words replayed in your head, sharp and cutting.

"It didn't mean anything, alright?" He had snapped, his voice raw. "I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of this." Why would he say something like that?

The argument had spiraled out of control, leaving behind wounds that words couldn't heal. His guilt was there, you saw it in his eyes. But it wasn't enough to stop him. Not enough to fight for you the way you had always fought for him.

Your fingers traced the rim of your coffee mug. Four years. Four long years together, and it all felt like it was unraveling at the seams. You remembered the beginning.

The way he shyly asked you out in your third year of high school, his cheeks flushed as he tried to play it cool. He loved you. The way he'd held your hand for the first time, his touch hesitant but warm.

You had believed in him, in the fire that burned so brightly in his soul. But now, that fire felt cold, its embers scattered.

The front door clicked open, and you heard his boots against the floor. He didn't announce himself like he used to. No, "I'm home," or teasing remarks about your taste in TV dramas. Instead, he walked straight to the kitchen, avoiding your gaze.

"Late night again?" You asked, keeping your voice even. You wanted to cry, but you had to show how u bothered you were. Just to get through it.

"Work," he muttered, not looking at you as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Work," you repeated bitterly. "Is that what you're calling it now?"

His movements froze, and for a moment, the air between you was thick with unspoken tension. Finally, he turned to face you, his crimson eyes hard but tired.

"What do you want me to say, (Y/n)?" he asked, his voice low. "That I'm sorry? I already said it. What more do you want from me?"

"I want the truth," you shot back, standing up. "I want to know why. Why her? Why now? After everything we've been through, Katsuki, how could you—" Your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it.

His jaw tightened, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "It just happened, alright? I don't know what else to tell you!"

"You don't know?" You said, your voice rising. Cracking. "You don't know why you decided to throw away four years like it was nothing?"

"It's not like that!" He snapped, his own temper flaring. "Stop acting like I don't care about you, because I do!"

"Do you?" You challenged, stepping closer to him. "Because it sure as hell doesn't feel like it. You haven't looked at me the same in months, Katsuki. I'm not stupid. I know you've been pulling away, but I thought—" Your voice broke again, and you took a shaky breath. "I thought we could fix it."

His silence was deafening, and for the first time, you saw it in his eyes—resignation. He wasn't going to fight for you.

"Maybe we can't," he said quietly, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.

For a moment, you couldn't breathe. The tears you'd been holding back spilled over, and you turned away from him, covering your face with your hands.

"God, you're such a coward," you choked out. "You'd rather cheat than talk to me. You'd rather hurt me than admit you're falling out of love. How did we get here, Katsuki?"

"I don't know," he admitted, his voice softer now. "I don't know, (Y/n)."

The fight drained out of you, leaving behind a hollow ache. You sat back down on the couch, burying your face in your hands.

"I loved you," you whispered. "I still do. But maybe that's not enough anymore."

Bakugou stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. He looked like he wanted to say something, to reach out to you, but he didn't. Instead, he turned and walked toward the bedroom, leaving you alone with your broken heart.

+++

The days that followed were a blur of cold silence and awkward avoidance. You both went through the motions, pretending you could coexist in the same space without addressing the chasm that had grown between you.

One night, you found yourself scrolling through old photos on your phone. There was one from your high school graduation, the two of you grinning like idiots with your arms around each other. Another from your first vacation together, where he had carried you on his back after you twisted your ankle hiking.

You missed that version of him. The version who looked at you like you were his entire world.

But people changed. Love changed. And as much as it hurt, you couldn't ignore the truth any longer.

+++

The final fight came a week later.

"I'm moving out," you said, breaking the silence as you packed your suitcase.

Bakugou stood in the doorway of your shared bedroom, his expression unreadable. "So that's it, huh?"

"What else is there to say?" You asked, not looking at him. "We've been pretending like this can work, but it can't. Not anymore."

He crossed his arms, his jaw tightening. "You're giving up."

You laughed bitterly, turning to face him. "I'm not the one who gave up, Katsuki. You did. The moment you decided she was worth more than us, you gave up. I'm just finally accepting it."

His gaze dropped, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But he didn't. Instead, he nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"I know," you replied, your voice softening. "But sorry doesn't fix this. It doesn't fix us."

You finished packing and zipped up your suitcase. As you walked past him, he reached out and grabbed your wrist.

"(Y/n)," he said, his voice cracking.

You looked at him, and for a brief moment, you saw a flicker of the boy you had fallen in love with. But it wasn't enough to make you stay.

"Goodbye, Katsuki," you said, gently pulling your hand away.

And with that, you walked out the door, leaving behind the man who had once been your everything.

+++

masterlist ⟢

more bakugou ⟢

requests ツ

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae! I absolutely adore you and your writing, you truly have a gift!

Can I please request something with James Potter where readers anxiety is really bad and is super emotional cause pms and is just kinda struggling and needs to be dealt with the most gently? Totally not projecting much at all lol 😬😫🤣

Totally no pressure if you don’t feel up to it! I love reading anything you write ❤️❤️

Hi lovely, thanks so much!!

James Potter x fem!reader ♡ 772 words

“Here y’go, love.” James presses a mug’s handle into your hands, and you take it quickly once you realize he’s holding the hot sides. 

“James!” you hiss, chiding. “You’re going to burn yourself.”

Only James Potter could make a shrug seem fond. He sits down beside you on the couch, hand resting on your thigh, and the knee you hadn’t realized you’d been jiggling slows to a stop. 

“What’s eating you?” he asks mildly, rubbing you from knee to hip as he sips his tea, quietly hinting for you to do so as well. 

You sigh, blowing on your tea before raising it to your lips. “Nothing so important I should be this stressed about it,” you say bitterly. “It’s just PMS.” 

You hate how your hormones mess with you around this time of the month. It makes it feel like you can’t trust yourself, because you’re never sure if the emotions you’re experiencing are valid or amplified by your body’s punishing cycle. Your already oversensitive nerves go into overdrive, and you feel three times as susceptible to bouts of rage or crying, though which one it’ll be is as good as a coin toss. Everything is just more, and all the time, and it sucks. 

James makes a sad puppy sound. “Yeah? Are you hurting, honey?” 

“Not really.” You have a headache, but that’s probably more due to your anxiety than anything else. 

“Well, why don’t you try telling me what’s bothering you,” James suggests. “Even if you think it’s not a big deal, maybe I can help.” 

You sigh again, a heaving, dramatic exhale. “Macy’s having a birthday party this weekend.” 

That surprises a smile out of James, and he tilts his head to look at you bemusedly. “Oh, how nefarious! Shall we curse her?” 

You give him a look that says not funny, even as your own lips curl up slightly. James smothers his grin as best he can (which is to say, not very well), nodding at you seriously to continue. 

“I just—” you heave another sigh, and James’ hand redoubles its efforts on your leg, squeezing the fatty inner part encouragingly. “I’m not going to know anyone there, and I’m going to have to go straight after work on Friday, and she and her friends always stay out so much later than I want to. I just know I’m going to be exhausted.” 

“Okay.” James is nodding, still looking slightly confused. “So don’t go.” 

“But it’s her birthday,” you say, the last syllable taking an unexpected turn into whiny territory as your eyes grow wet. “I don’t have an excuse to miss it and I’ll be the worst friend in the world if I do.” 

“Sweetheart, hey.” James’ voice takes on a slight panicked edge due to the appearance of tears, though you can tell he’s trying to be soothing. His hand abandons your leg to snake around your waist, scrubbing up and down your side. “Honey, you’re a great friend. You’re just looking out for yourself a little bit,” he promises, kissing the top of your head. “Let’s think about who’s going to be more upset, alright? If you miss it, Macy might be a bit sad you didn’t come, but she’s still got all of her other friends who don’t know you anyway, and the party will probably go on as it would have. But if you go, you’ll have to hurry there straight after work, you might be too tired to be much fun, and you could end up miserable the whole night. Sound right?” You nod wretchedly, and he hums into your hair. “So just miss this one, and make it up to her with lunch or something another time, yeah?” At your hesitation, he adds, “You have plans Friday night, you can’t make it.” 

You look up at James. “I don’t have plans, though. I don’t want to lie to her.” 

“Sure you do, sweetheart,” he contradicts you, grinning. “You have plans with me, duh. You’ve only been friends with Macy for a couple months, right?” You nod. “Well then sorry, Macy, but I’m pulling rank.” You laugh, and James swoops down to kiss at your dimple when it appears. “I need my girl for Friday night. She’s pre-engaged.” 

James can never stop kissing once he’s gotten started, and you hide your cheek from him in his own chest, wrapping your arms around his waist in an awkward sort of hug. “Thanks, Jamie.” 

You can still hear the smile in his voice. “Anytime, my love. Now, since that’s been resolved, do you think you can drink your tea? It’s gonna get cold.”

[tokkiwrites]

FAWN HEART, PART ONE : The night's desire.

dark!joel miller x f!reader

part one | part two | part three | more coming soon.

summary: After a few months of being together, you move in with your boyfriend, 'Adam'. His landlord, Joel Miller, takes a special liking to you.

tags: murder, stalking, spying, mention of abuse, mention of blood, violence, age gap, vulnerable reader, stalker joel, mentions of abusive relationship, pet names, she/her pronouns (let me know if i missed anything.)

ㅤ↪ㅤtokki's ۫ 𐑺 𝚜𝚞ׂ𝚐𝚊𝚛 ࣭ note ˑ ⌕ ࣭ ּ ➭ staring my first series ever !! of course, I will continue it only if this first part does well ( so no spice for now!! ). for now, we're starting off a bit mild, & I'm leaning more on the double storylines . this is short with only 1.5k words, but it's a little gift since i was gone for so long. sorry if it sucks! remember, requests are opened, and your feedback matters the most to me 🐰

【commencing】 : a heart as soft as the embrace of spring. She welcomed everyone with open arms, seeing the best in people, and never turned anyone away, no matter the pain. Her kindness boundlessㅡ she gave without expecting anything in return. But this gentle nature often left her defenseless. she continued to believe in the goodness of others, her fawn heart resilient and unwavering, oblivious to those trampling on it. her fawn heart, her weakness.

「may 04th ㅡ O2:08 AM」

he didn't know her. didn't deserve her. the nerve he had saying he loved her when he doesn't know what love is...he doesn't know what kind of love she needed.

so when he left for work every night, her true love would sneak in. Joel wasn't the romantic type, but for her, he'd do it all. he'd sit there, watching her sleep, staring as her soft lips puffed out when she took her shallow breaths as she slept - how her lashes laid so perfectly onto her cheeks.. that's all he could do - stare. no touching. It killed him. how that asshole could do all that he pleased to her and how she would accept almost nothing in return.

she was sweet. bitterly. her soft, gaze a testament to the trials she's been through. she could've had so much more, yet she chose this moron. Joel couldn't understand why? not just why she chose that - but why everything when it came to her. why? everything about her, she was an enigma. when Joel first set eyes on her, that's all he could think of. why? and how? how could he have lived so long without his angel by his side.

that was 6 months ago. Tonight, it's a little less cold outside- its may, and the summer smell fills the air, as branches sway next to the window in a tireless dance. cars sound in the distance, as late night chatter of the streets fill Joel's ears and her scent his nose. drowning - suffocating him in the anticipation that maybe for one night he'd have her. he never wanted to scare her - to hurt her. she's precious, a porcelain statuette he had to have. Joel was adamant. kissing her only with his gaze, he got up only as the moon kissed the sun goodbye, and the chickadees started their long-awaited song.

「june17th ㅡ O8:42 PM」

late again. he's always late, letting her wait with no sign for hours. it was his birthday, not that Joel cared, but the thin walls provided him with utmost soundㅡ any and all sounds.

she was crying, and he didn't want to budge in making it weird for her, but his heart twisted when he knew she wasted tears on a shit-head like Adam.

but he let his heart get the best of him, and maybe, just maybe, this was the moment when he let his heart dictate, and she finally realizes that she's better than that. better than Adam. Better for Joel. He makes his way to the apartment next door, thinking if he should be honest with her or make up a lame excuse like late payment on utilities or donations for a new front door. He knocked twice, his palms sweaty. This girl made him feel all giddy like a teenager again, heart racing, his dreams full of her. The door cracks open, revealing just half of her red, puffy face with make-up pushed around.

"Y-yesㅡ"

"Hey, there, Iㅡ is everything alright, fawn darling?" his eyes furrow, a weight settling down in his stomach. he couldn't stand seeing her like this. her eyes finally reach his, a glint of gratitude glimmering within them. "hi, Mr.Miller. I'm fine justㅡ" she sighs. "Adam bailed on me.. again!" she tries to laugh it off, wave it as a joke, but the pain in her spirit is apparent. "Sorry if i was, you know... crying too loud. I'll keep it down -"

"fawn...darlin', you know-" Joel's gaze softened "you know you can always come to me if you ever need a shoulder to cry on. As corny as that sounds, 'm all here for ya." looking down at her, he dares not break eye contact.

"Thank you, Mr.Miller.."

"I told you to call me Joel, didn't I?" he tsks, straightening his back. "I feel too old when you call me mister.." Joel admits, in a playful manner. "Got it. Joel." How it rolls off her tongue like honey. how he wants to lick off every drop and indulge into her like the powerful drug she is, so deeply coursing through his being, wishing he'd hear her scream his name underneath him one day. "Right, so- if you ever want anythin'.." he scratches his rough beard. "I'm one door away."

"Thank you, Joel." she steps out barefoot, throwing herself into Joel's arms, hugging him whilst her sweet perfume envelopes them both. Joel breathes inㅡ so close. At last, the hug is broken, and she scurries back inside, leaving Joel stuck in his fantasy.

"My sweet fawn."

「july 3rd ㅡ OO:35 AM」

"Why so hostile, little bird? I thought you liked it when i touched you like this.. a little rough." he rasped, voice scratching at her chest like a knife. "Adam, you're drunk. let's justㅡ get inside." she manages to huff out as her palms lay flat on Adam's chest, pushing him away. "Baby- c'mon, be a doll."

"stop, Adamㅡ stop!" you could hear the frustration in her voice, and the tears that were brimming at the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall.

he couldn't just stand there and witness this. he'd regret it forever, unquestionably. " 's everything alright here?" Joel tries to play it cool. He doesn't want to let off too much. He doesn't want it to escalateㅡ for her to get hurt.

" Mr.Millerㅡ"

"Yeah, none of your business, man. Just leave, okay?" Adam scoffs, staring down the hallway where he heard Joel's voice, thinking to himself, 'what this old geezer was doing up so late'. "careful, boy. don't want ya to hurt your pretty lady, ok? just makin' sure everything is -"

"yeah, i fucking said everything is alright, so mind your fucking business, dude!" he spat "Jesus, man." Joel does nothing but smile. Does this Adam guy know what he has gotten himself into? Surely not.

He stretches his neck, making it crack as he takes one step closer to where the couple was. By this time, she was already starting to panic, soft pleads leaving her mouth as that jerk held onto her frame, shaking it up whilst he threw rude remarks towards Joel.

"Let go of her, boy."

"Fuck outta here, old ass. Don't make me come to you, I'm not nice when I'm drunk."

"Oh, I know." Joel promptly comes closer so that only a part of his face is visible by the light of the moon shining through the large window.

"Adam, let's just -"

"Quiet, bitch!" With a swift turn, Adam managed to deliver a harsh backhanded slap to her head, the pounding pain sending her a few steps back, right into the wall. "See, if you weren't here I would've gotten some pussy tonight. But you had to show up." Adam laughs, shaking his hand to recover from the hit. "You a knight in shining armor, or what?"

"You apologize to her, before I rip your fucking legs off and shove them up your sorry ass." Joel was calm. he tried his hardest to not run towards her, embrace her in his tight armsㅡ but he had other plans for now.

"Spare me the threats, old man. one wrong move, and your whole body dislocates." Adam laughs hungrily, shoving joel. or at least attempting. " I don't even know why you care so much. This bitch was onto me the whole night, but when its time to finally get the dick she shys away." he raises his arm again, oblivious to the knife Joel had aimed straight to his jugular, all this time, impatiently thirsting over the thought of Adam's blood gushing onto him. At first Adam is confused, but as he catches a glimpse of Joel's dark grin in the moonlight he finally realizes― he'd been stabbed.

with one palm over his mouth, joel grabs Adam closer, the knife slitting further into his flesh, now reaching his ear.

"You gotta know how to respect your elders, boy." Joel sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, staring deep into Adams eyes as he retracts the knife and promptly shoves it right between his eyes, with enough force that you could hear a faint 'crunch' sound. "ㅡand your lady." In a failed attempt to reach for the girl that was frozen in place, Adams pathetically tries to grab onto her dress as he collapses to the ground.

everything is silent for a moment.

So she stood there, watching as the blood from the splayed body pooled at her feet, the only sounds bouncing off the walls that bathed in darkness were her short breaths and slow steps approaching to where she practically turned to stone.

"'s alright, baby fawn . he can't hurt you no more. i promise."

[pumpkinbxtch]

𓇼 the sun & the sea 𓇼 〰✷〰

— apollo / lester x daughter of poseidon!reader

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv

☆ radiostar is playin': forever always by the driver era…!

warnings: none taglist: @emidpsandia

He, apparently, was dead missing.

"He went alone on the mission with Python. He hasn't returned for three days now." A month later, Meg contacted you through an Iris message and explained everything that had happened. A month later and the days passed, nobody knew about him.

"We only know that he retrieved all the Oracles and the gifts of prophecy returned," Chiron told you, and Dionysus, for the first time, looked nervous and worried about his brother.

But if Apollo had succeeded in his mission, where was he? You hadn't dreamed of him either. Days went by and your anxiety grew.

"I didn't agree, but my brother insisted on pushing him to the limit," Poseidon said seriously, and Percy replied, "I think he took it too literally, don't you?" You suppressed a groan while your father scolded your brother with his gaze. Python was gone forever, but they knew nothing of Apollo.

"It's okay, it's only been five days," you thought, but you realized that every day you did it with a new number and without any news until almost two weeks had passed... Honestly, you didn't know how many times you had cried in all that time, you didn't even bother to hide it, and even your roommate requested a room change.

Lately, the time was bad in every sense. Thunder rumbled, and you hugged the pillow tighter, tears already rolling down your cheeks. The room was colder than usual; after all, you were alone in it. You accompanied yourself with the dim light of your desk lamp, and the flash of lightning illuminated the darkest corners. You realized you were crying over too many things, everything was very recent, you hadn't even finished processing Jason's death, and those lightning bolts... all they did was remind you of it.

"Wasn't it enough with him?" You wondered as you let out your sobs. Jason was his son just like Apollo, and if he led them both to death just to reaffirm his authority to everyone, you had no doubts that Zeus was a cruel father. The thunder shook the window, and you closed your eyes in anger, not retracting anything, even if Zeus annihilated you with one of his lightning bolts, you would never do so. Probably beyond, on Olympus, your own father struggled with annoyance with his brother, but even if Poseidon wasn't half the father that Paul was to you and Percy, he would never allow you to be harmed.

Your tennis sounded against the wet sand of the path leading to your favorite café. You walked in a ghost town with a hollow chest and the cold penetrating your bones, but it didn't matter because you already felt like those skeletons that Nico brought to the surface when he was in a bad mood; anyway, you moved forward to have a hot chocolate, it was Sunday, you had to have enough strength for classes the next day.

— Here it is — the lady said when you had just formed in line at the bar. You frowned and shook your head.

— Surely it's for someone else, I just got in line.

The girl smiled and looked at the label.

— Hot chocolate? —she asked in the waiting line, and no one recognized it, she returned to you and handed it to you again. — It was ordered in advance.

A joke from Frank? Frank didn't make jokes. But if it were, how did he know what you wanted?

You took it and looked at the label, it had a sun drawn on it that made you purse your lips. "Of course, it had to be," you thought bitterly and walked back taking the long way, the one that passed by the small Tiber.

The sunlight barely reflected on the water after all it was covered by the clouds, and you sighed as you looked at the huge body of water, your chest hurt. How did this happen? You would be better off if you hadn't entered that Grove, but you had to do your will, but you wouldn't have had those days with Apollo, which provoked mixed emotions in you again.

"this rhymes for him were different, but he hopes for put that ring and find what he's been missing."

— If you wanted to marry me so much, come back and do it — you murmured with your nose buried in your scarf and tears stinging your eyes. You cut your step and faced the river that continued to shine coldly, the small cup you held slipped from your hands with each sob, and when you let out the first whimper, you let it go. However, it didn't fall. You gasped, and when you looked beside you, your breath left you.

Of those brown curls, only a few remained mixed with the blond ones, of the freckles you counted that last time you had him too close, there were only about three hundred instead of a thousand. He was taller, and his body more athletic, but he wore the same Led Zeppelin t-shirt and ripped jeans from the knees. His smile was big and triumphant, the same blue eyes you had been waiting to see were just trying to memorize your fractions in the same way you were doing with him.

— And are you serious or are you just fooling me?— His voice. You threw yourself into his arms without considering if he could be hurt, but judging by how he looked... then you took him by the shoulders, he foolishly thought you would kiss him, but you just leaned back and kicked him in the chest with the skill that only you could have.

He groaned on the ground in a fetal position, and seconds later, he rose on his elbows with a confused look.

— Idiot — you shouted as you walked towards him and knelt to be at his height. Apollo couldn't help but smile like an idiot, and you couldn't help but hug him again. — Where the hell were you?

Your whimpering caused guilt in his chest, and he took care of your head as both lay back on the grass. He stroked your hair as you clung to his chest, wishing his scent would imprint on you to never forget it.

— Hey…— He called you, and you looked up, noticing tears in his eyes too. You cupped his cheek and, before he could say anything else, you kissed him. The first kiss. He closed his eyes, completely surrendered to you, feeling like he could finally breathe freely after months. When your soft lips left his, he held you tightly, burying his face in your neck. You couldn't see it, but Apolo had a flushed face and a knot in his stomach.

But you didn't need to see it, because as he hid in you, the sun broke through the clouds, shining brightly, almost lighting up the whole world with brighter colors than before. It was with that detail that you confirmed he had become a god again, and his feelings were showing to you in too many ways.

— I…— You spoke after several minutes of silence, causing him to sit properly on the grass with you, holding your hand. — I do want to be with you. I'm not just messing around, just so we're clear.

— Do you have an alternative? — He joked, and you gently pushed him while nervously looking at your hands.

— Fool.

— For you, of course — he cooed as he took your chin in his hand and forced you to look at him. His cheeks were still flushed, but you noticed that his skill to seduce without seeming like an inexperienced teenager had returned, and that's where your first jealousy arose because you wished only you could have that side of him.

— And only for me, I'm sure — you grumbled under your breath at having that thought, and he laughed.

— I was born to love only you, believe me.— Apollo said, getting up and offering his hand to help you. — And just like art, I'll be faithful to you.

— Wow, what a great poet — you took his hand, and he took you by the waist, bending down to touch his nose to yours. You never believed in the expression "like a Greek god" until he looked at you in that way.

— Are you going to marry me? — He stroked your nose with his while gently squeezing your waist. You nodded silently like a fool, and he gave you a peck on the lips with a smirk. — I just wanted to make sure, but actually, I don't need any of that to be devoted to you. You're everything to me.

He took your hand and led you along the edge of the small Tiber, which now shone fervently.

•

— Apollo! — You shouted from the reception of the mansion on Olympus, closing the big door forcefully and looking at your husband playfully peeking behind his throne.

— Yes, dear? — You pursed your lips and approached him.

— Where are my things?

— Which ones? — He played dumb, and you sighed.

— From my bedroom at the university, where are they?

—In your room...— you raised an eyebrow — here.

You growled and pulled him to come out from behind the throne.

— I told you it would be until I graduated.

Apollo pouted and slumped his shoulders.

—But I miss you.

You smiled and hugged him.

— I miss you too, but— you stepped back and showed the ring on your ring finger —I have this, darling, and that's enough to scare off my classmates. I don't need to come down from Olympus every day when I can be in the dorms.

Apollo nodded regretfully.

— Alright, alright...— he snapped his fingers and smiled at you — everything is already in your silly university dorm.

You smiled and gave him a kiss. As you started making your way to the exit, he sighed.

— I'll see you tonight — he shouted, and you turned around smiling.

The Sun illuminates the beauty of the sea but never tries to contain it, and the sea shows the sun that even in the stormiest moments or the darkest nights, its light never fades.

[waywardangel-wilds]

“Mrs. Katniss? Mr. Peeta? If you could please follow me?” The young girl asked

“Well… alright,” Katniss said hesitantly, sharing a confused look with her husband. “But there’s no need for Mr. And Mrs., our names are just fine.”

“As you wish, ma’am” the girl held a door open for them. Where had it come from? “Right this way.”

“Okay…” what a bizarre dream. She had to be dreaming, Katniss reasoned. What else could this possibly be? “Peeta?” She reached blindly for her husband’s hand. Maybe it wouldn’t turn into a nightmare if he came with her?

With Peeta’s familiar hand linked securely to her own she took a hesitant step through the darkness of the strange doorway. She tensed, expecting the worse, but was surprised to find herself in an impossibly bright room with white walls, white tiled floors, and a single white round table surrounded by three equally white chairs.

But it wasn’t the room that confused her, rather it was the only other person in the room with them. They sat at the table, facing her head on, with deeply mistrustful expression.

“What the hell is this?” The other person sneered, glaring at her. “Why are you so old?”

Katniss’s face wrinkled with confusion, “How do you exist?”

“I don’t want to do this, I have enough on my mind,” the other person said, shutting her eyes and opening them quickly. She groaned, “what do I have to do to wake up!”

“Mrs. Katniss? Mr. Peeta?” Katniss turned in surprise back towards the doorway, where the young girl from before stood halfway into the room, a pleasant expression on her face. “Please take a seat with young miss Katniss. We’d like for you all to have a conversation.”

“I-but- what’s is-“ Katniss stuttered, but the young woman turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her.

“Well..” Peeta spoke for the first time. “I suppose that is that.”

Katniss almost laughed and smiled at him helplessly. She turned back towards the table and considered her younger self. “Sit up straight.”

“Ugh,” sixteen-year-old Katniss replied, but she obeyed nonetheless. She watched them with critical eyes as Peeta and her came to take a seat at the table, Peeta pulling out a chair for her and helping her into the seat.

“So we got married after all,” Younger Katniss said bitterly, taking in her older counterparts 9 month pregnancy belly. “And you’re pregnant.”

“Yeah, I am.” Older Katniss smiled softly at her younger self. “It isn’t what you think.”

“It looks to me like you’re doing everything I told you I didn’t want.” Suddenly, her younger self blushed, having just looked at Peeta. “Uh, no offence.”

Peeta grinned winningly, “none taken.”

Older Katniss took her husband’s hand and set them both on the table. “It really isn’t at all what you think. This was our choice.”

“You twos? Are you insane?”

“No… well obviously yes, but also you and me’s. We decided this.” She smiled at herself, “really. I am happy. Things are safe.”

Younger Katniss’s eyes watered, causing her to look self consciously at Peeta.

“It’s okay, we’ve cried in front of him a lot.”

Her younger self laughed, rubbing her eyes furiously. “Everything’s okay?”

“Yes,” she reached out to take her other self’s hand. “I swear it. We’re okay.”

“Thank you,” young Katniss smiled but she was still crying. Peeta reached out to take her other hand. “Oh, um, thanks.”

“Everything’s okay, birdy.” Peeta smiled and young Katniss blushed deeper.

“T-thank you,” she looked down at her hands, taking in both of the adults hands too. “You’re burned.”

“Yes,” Older Katniss confirmed.

“Everywhere,” the young girl looked at their faces. Older Katniss nodded.

“Yes. We went through a lot, I won’t lie. At times, I wanted to die. We both did.” She looked over at Peeta who nodded soberly. “But I’m glad that we didn’t. That we got to keep each other.” She looked back towards her younger self. “I should tell you, this is our second baby.”

“Two?” Sixteen-year-old Katniss chuckled. “How dare you? Our figure!”

“Ha!” Older Katniss snorted, laughing nice and deeply. “You’ll be disappointed to know that we lost our figure a long time ago.”

Peeta grinned at them both, “we all like to eat.”

“We do,” both Katniss’s smiled at him affectionately before turning back towards each other.

“Tell me about your first baby? Is it a girl?”

“She’s perfect,” the adults said in unison. “She looks just like you,” older Katniss added. “But she has the most perfect little blue eyes, and the most adorable little chin. Like her father.”

Young Katniss smiled, “is she happy?”

“She’s never wanted for a single thing,” Peeta reassured her. “She loves to dance and sing and play. She’s never gone hungry, and she never will if I have anything to do with it. She’ll never see a reaping either, no one will again.”

“Really?” Young Katniss asked with a childish type of hopefulness.

“Really.” Older Katniss nodded. She reached across the table to brush her younger self’s cheek.

“W-what about Prim? Mom? Gale?” She looked into her own eyes hopefully.

Older Katniss’s eyes shifted with compassion. “Some things… changed. But… keep Prim close. Don’t leave her side, if you can help it. I know it’ll be hard, but all is not lost. Maybe you can change things?”

“What do you mean?”

“I—”

“Mrs. Katniss?” Katniss turned around in her chair, surprised. The young girl from before was at the door again. “Maybe that’s enough for today. You don’t want to stress the baby.”

“N-no, wait. Katniss, listen to me—“

“It’s time to wake up, birdy.” The young woman said, her voice morphing, changing into something familiar. “You’ve slept like a rock.”

“No, please, five more minutes?”

“It’s already ten in the morning.” The young girl smiled ruefully and Katniss blinked. When her eyes opened once more the room was gone. “Hey? I’m serious, time to get up.”

“Peeta?” Katniss blinked again and her bedroom came into view. Their curtains, which did a poor job of blocking out the morning light. The light fixture, which Peeta swore he installed correctly. And Peeta himself, dressed and ready, sitting on the corner of the bed. “What happened?”

“You slept like a rock is what happened.” He smiled. “I gotta go, there’s some sort of cinnamon emergency. The whole bakery’s gonna burn to the ground if I don’t show my face this instant, apparently.” He pecked her goodbye. “Willows downstairs.”

“You left her on her own?” Katniss sat up immediately.

“Haymitch’s down there, don’t worry.” He helped pull her up. “I’ll see you at dinner, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Go already, I got it.” She huffed, having to catch her breath after putting in the hard work required for standing. “Oh! Don’t forget to pick up more diapers!”

“I won’t!” He called back from halfway down the stairs.

“Haymitch!” She shouted as she made her way out of the bedroom. “A hand please?”

“What?” Her mentor replied.

“I’m dizzy! Help me down the stairs!”

“Prim!” Katniss’s heart must have stopped. “Go help your annoying sister.”

“Lovely as always,” and there she was. Smiling. Prim walked out onto the downstairs landing and looked up at her sister as she climbed the stairs. “Are you okay? You look scared.”

“I’m okay,” Katniss whispered in reply.

“Do you feel faint? Katniss! Oh my god,” Prim leapt up the stairs. She looked just like their mother used to, when they were younger. “I got you. Haymitch! I think she’s going to pass out!”

“What?” Her mentor shouted back, and in the back of her mind Katniss knew he must of jumped to his feet and come running for them, but she didn’t notice. It was Prim, her sister. All grown up and right in front of her.

“Prim!” She teared up. She enveloped her in a bone crushing hug despite her massive baby bump. “Oh don’t let this be a dream.”

“Katniss, you’re scaring me. Can you walk? I need you to come have some broth, okay?” Her sister turned to look over her shoulder. “Hurry up!”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Her mentor grumbled.

Katniss pulled back, gripping her sister shoulders. “I had the worst nightmare.”

“What happened?” Prim asked, adjusting her grip on her sister as Haymitch managed to shoulder most of Katniss’s weight.

“It was the war. You died, and I burned, and mom left me.” Katniss sobbed miserably.

“Oh, Katniss. I’m so sorry.” Prim combed back her sisters hair. Her fingers were pleasantly cool and familiar. “This is all my fault, I shouldn’t have been watching the news last night.”

“No, no, don’t apologize! It’s just me. I’m—” Katniss made a face. “And I’m pregnant too, so nothing makes any sense.”

“Pregnancy is an emotional time,” her sister reassured her with a squeeze. “But guess what? Someone’s been waiting for you to wake up to show you her new special skill.”

“She’s been yapping non stop since seven this morning,” Haymitch interjected.

“She’s an early riser,” Prim corrected.

“Why’s mama crying?”

“Don’t worry baby, mamas being a little silly is all.”

“I need a drink.”

“Not in my house, Haymitch!”

“It’s just coffee, jeez woman.”

“I’m getting you something to eat”

“But—“

“I don’t want to hear it!”

[kipperlillycopperkettle]

AND YOU STILL FEEL CHEATED WHEN YOUR BUZZ SUBSIDES.

part one: the tributes.

[the hunger games. haymitch abernathy and his games. 15k.]

“some of the miners say that canaries are reapers, that they’re what take you to the afterlife. haymitch was never sure he believed in that, but right now… he thinks they might be right. he can hear mynah sobbing as he climbs the stage, slowly, to stand next to the other three tributes. easy for her to cry, haymitch thinks bitterly and cruelly. she’s not the one walking into a death trap. he can't cry, no matter how thick the lump in his throat is with tears that he knows damn well he can't let fall. tributes who cry almost never come home.” or; haymitch abernathy, before the games.

when i started this fic months and months ago after sotr was announced i was like. yeah i can finish this fic up in like 15k. easy peasy. it'll be a quick little fic to get my opinions about haymitch out before the new book comes out. and. well. it's currently a little over 60k and the last few chapters are still a work in progress, so it has NOT been quick and easy, but it has certainly been a labor of love. this is chapter one, which is haymitch before his games, and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i have enjoyed writing it <3333

read chapter one of ‘and you still feel cheated when your buzz subsides.’ here on ao3!

[julieverne]

When Maura wakes from surgery, Jane is usually there. Holding her hand or offering her water. Sleeping, sometimes, then waking and giving Maura a gentle smile.

But sometimes she's down the hall. A familiar laugh. Cailin. Jane keeping Cailin company while Maura suffers alone.

Maura tries not to let herself seep in bitterness; it doesn't look good on any of the three Martin women. Cailin, distraught in Maura's home. Hope, telling Maura, who is the most honest person who's ever lived, that she's a liar. Maura, hearing Jane make Cailin laugh.

Jane picks up on it somehow anyway. She's learned to read Maura's moods. She's gentle with Maura in a way she probably isn't with Cailin. Maura knows part of it was Maura's willingness to enter a collapsing building to save Jane's brother, nephew and partner. Maura knows part of it is because Jane is like an unsocialised puppy, always looking for approval, slinking around with her tail down after jumping up and licking Maura's face.

Metaphorically, of course. Jane would never lick Maura's face.

Jane helps Maura up in the bed and arranges her pillows, then looks towards the door.

"You can go," Maura says, her voice ice-cold. Jane looks hurt and confused, and Maura feels a flash of pleasure from sharing her own hurt around. "If you like her so much, why don't you marry her?"

Jane shrugs and leaves Maura to her mood. Hearing Jane's laughter coupled with Cailin's cuts like a knife.

+++

Months later, Maura's wounds have healed and she's back to normal. Jane isn't. She's distant. She spends nights somewhere else - neither Maura's home nor her own. She sleeps somewhere else, with someone else and Maura has a sneaking suspicion she knows who Jane spends her time with.

It makes Maura burn. Why wasn't she good enough? Why wasn't she enough for Jane? Why did Jane go hunt down the younger model? She's cold when Jane deigns to speak to her. Their lives, once entwined, have segregated and Maura is more alone than before because for the first time in her life she knew what it was like to not be alone.

She dates Tommy. He's... He's not Jane. He's not even that interesting. Maura had thought she was drawn to the dark side but Tommy isn't dark; he's barely beige. Maura breaks up with him, then considers the rest of the Rizzolis. Frankie is even blander than Tommy. Frank is just mean without any of Jane's charm. And Angela is attractive, but Angela has been mothering her long enough that it feels wrong to think about dating her.

And then there's Jane. Jane's, who's never dull. Jane, who abandoned her in a hospital bed for her sister. Jane, who is dating her sister.

Maura knows as surely as she knows that Paddy is the only parent that's ever cared about her.

Jane would never have come out for Maura. Jane didn't even want anyone to think there was anything between them. Jane was always so bristly when it came to even the idea of them dating each other. But Cailin is good enough. Cailin is young enough, hot enough, undamaged enough. Her father is just a deadbeat, not a mob boss, and she grew up with biological parents. Cailin is secure in affection and Maura is so needy.

There's a knock at the door. It's Jane, her hands stuffed in her pockets and her hair tied up like she's serious.

"I love Cailin," Jane says, and Maura's heart descends beyond the centre of the earth. Maura's breath catches and she starts to cry. "Because she reminds me of you, and you're the one person I love more than anyone. She's been so alone, so lonely. Like you were when I met you."

"So the wedding?" Maura says bitterly, not able to listen past Jane's initial confession. She's been dreading this moment.

"I haven't asked you to marry me yet," Jane says so seriously that Maura has to believe her. She sighs. "I'm sorry. I had to weigh up how hard it would be to be gay. Cailin's been taking me to the pride events. It turns out it won't be that hard. I've done harder things, all the harder because they weren't things I was doing with you."

"My sister turned you gay?"

Jane chuckles. She's still on the threshold but Maura isn't sure she wants Jane inside. She still feels lost and betrayed and alone.

"She's not judgemental," Jane says. "She called it from the start, actually. Said the way I look at you was smouldering. Like from a romance novel."

It doesn't make sense. Jane's saying all these things, all the things Maura's longed to hear, but it's tangled up with Cailin and kidneys.

"I like you so much, I might as well marry you," Jane says. She pulls her hand from her pocket; it's a jewelry box. It's an antique ring. "Hope said this was yours, really, and that I should give it to you."

Jane's eyes are so hopeful, her expression so soft and pleading that Maura takes the ring and tries it on.

Jane crosses the threshold and closes the door behind her. She looks at the ring on Maura's finger and her lips curl up into a smile.

"Mine," she says possessively, and Maura supposes she is.

[puppy-steve]

if i ain't got you

steddie | wc: 1,425 | cw: none | songfic | ao3

have some hurt/comfort, connor style <3

The kitchen is so thick with tension you could cut right through it like butter. Eddie’s washing the dishes and Steve’s putting away the leftovers from dinner. They haven’t spoken a word to each other the entire night, not since that afternoon when they were screaming at each other.

Other people would say that they don’t remember what or who started the argument in the first place, but Steve knows exactly what happened. All because he let his dumb mouth get ahead of his brain. And it’s not like he hasn’t tried to apologize—he tried the second the words left his mouth and then five more times after that but Eddie wasn’t having any of it.

Which is fine, he’s allowed to stew in his hurt feelings for as long as he likes, but Steve is worried that this might be the first time they go to bed with one of them still mad, and he doesn’t know if he can handle that.

He shuts the fridge and turns around to lean against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest, letting out a quiet sigh. Eddie’s back is turned to him so he can only see the movement of his shoulders as he scrubs the dishes harder than he ought to.

He’s still pissed, then.

Steve lets out a quiet sigh. He’s the one that started this whole mess so he’s got to be the one to fix it. He needs to come up with something to get Eddie to at least look at him.

He stands there for a few more minutes as he thinks but then the light bulb in his brain flicks on and he leaves the kitchen.

Eddie’s probably washed this bowl three times already but he doesn’t care. He’s still worked up from his and Steve’s fight earlier, he could drop the bowl and it could shatter in the soapy water and he wouldn’t even blink an eye.

How dare he, Eddie thinks bitterly, rinsing the soap off and placing the bowl in the dish drainer a little harshly. How dare he think he has the right to even insinuate.

All he wanted was to spend the extra little bit he’d had left over from his paycheck on some new mini’s he’d seen down at the bookstore and a couple of books that had been on his list for ages. He made sure to put back enough to cover his half of their rent and bills. He was careful.

But Steve still had to go and open his stupid rich boy mouth.

Eddie feels the familiar prickle of white hot anger on the back of his neck and he takes a deep breath to calm himself. It’s not his fault that he grew up poor. Wayne did what he could to support the both of them on his single paycheck every month, but that money only went so far. There wasn’t enough to spare to open an account with the bank, so they just went without.

Unlike the Harrington’s, who apparently had accounts open across multiple cities and even a couple overseas.

Steve’s father had drilled the importance of wealth management into him from an early age and made him use his first allowance to open a savings account at the age of ten. His boyfriend had a goddamn retirement account by the time he was eighteen.

So when Steve goes and assumes that Eddie doesn’t know how to handle money just because he wants to splurge for once and buy something he enjoys, Eddie thinks that his anger is a little more than justified.

Eddie’s eyes sting with oncoming tears and he blinks them away with a shake of his head. He doesn’t need to cry right now.

As he reaches for another dirty plate, music suddenly fills the kitchen from the Bluetooth speakers on the counter, soft piano trilling and the melodic humming with an R&B beat.

He freezes when arms slowly circle his waist from behind and Steve rests his chin on his shoulder.

Some people live for the fortune

Some people live just for the fame

“Dance with me,” Steve murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie suppresses a shiver and the instinct to lean back into him. “I don’t-”

“Eddie.”

Another kiss, this time under his ear. Fingers gently trace along his arm.

Some people think

That the physical things

Define what’s within

Eddie’s walls crumble like sawdust when Steve laces his fingers between his own soapy ones. He lets Steve pull him away from the sink and they slowly sway in the middle of their kitchen. He can see straight into the living room, where they’ve already set their Christmas tree up in the corner by the window, fully decorated even though it’s still November. They’ve got a hodgepodge of decorations and knick knacks already set on various shelves and tables with Christmas lights strung in almost every doorway.

As they dance in a slow spin, their cheeks pressed together, Eddie thinks back to how much fun they had setting all of it up. How Steve held the mistletoe above his head every chance he got just to be able to kiss him. All of his remaining anger slowly melts away and he’s left with the overwhelming feeling of how much he loves this man.

Some people want diamond rings

Some just want everything

But everything means nothing

If I ain't got you, yeah

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and he sounds like he means it. “I didn’t mean what I said earlier, when I said you should be more responsible. You were right. It’s your money and you’re the only one who gets a say in how you spend it.”

Eddie sighs and tightens his arms around Steve’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, too. I got defensive, but I shouldn’t have yelled at you like I did. I should’ve listened to you when you tried apologizing the first time.”

Some people search for a fountain

Promises forever young

Some people need three dozen roses

And that's the only way to prove you love them

Eddie pulls back a little and looks at Steve for the first time in what feels like ages and is flooded with emotions that make his chest tighten when he sees the soft smile on his boyfriend’s face and the love in his eyes.

Eddie cups his cheek and leans in to press a soft kiss to his equally soft lips before resting his head on Steve’s shoulder with a soft sigh.

Some people want it all

But I don't want nothing at all

If it ain't you, baby

If I ain't got you, baby

“Are we really slow dancing to Alicia Keys?” he asks after a moment. Steve shakes with silent laughter and Eddie gently smacks him in the shoulder. “It’s a serious question, Stevie. I need to know if it’s a contender for our wedding playlist.”

It’s Steve’s turn to freeze now and Eddie can’t hold back his giddy smile when he pushes him back by the shoulders and gives him a wide-eyed look.

“Wedding playlist?”

“Well, I was planning to wait until Christmas to pop the question, but. Yeah. I even got a ring.”

Steve gapes at him like a fish before yanking him in for a kiss by the front of his shirt. It’s more teeth than lips because they can’t stop laughing long enough, but they eventually get a hold of themselves when Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s neck again and presses close, thier lips slotting together seamlessly.

“So I take it that’s a yes?” Eddie asks between kisses.

Steve nips at his bottom lip. “Only if you learn to stop kicking your socks off in your sleep and leaving them under the covers at the end of the bed.”

“They twist around my toes, Stevie,” Eddie pouts, trailing kisses along Steve’s jaw. “Makes ‘em feel like pigs in a blanket.”

Steve tilts his head back to give him more room, the music completely forgotten. “Then don’t wear them to bed at all.”

“But then my feet will get cold. Do you want me to put my icicles on your legs, Steven? Would that make you feel better?”

Steve throws his head back for a completely different reason and groans. “You’re going to be even more difficult once we’re married, aren’t you?”

Eddie grins against Steve’s throat. “Absolutely, oh husband of mine.”

Some people want diamond rings

Some just want everything

But everything means nothing

If I ain't got you, you, you

buy me a ☕?