#and cry bitterly for three months

[oppipopi]

✨flourless pancakes🥞

you just listen it

[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!

[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."

[extinctlesspains]

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑊𝑖𝑓𝑒 𝐺𝑎𝑚𝑒 [ 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑎𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑛]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴛʜᴇ sᴀʟᴇsᴍᴀɴ x ғᴇᴍ! ᴡɪғᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: 18+, sᴍᴜᴛ, ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ᴘsʏᴄʜᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ ᴛʜʀɪʟʟᴇʀ, ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴄᴇ

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: ʏᴏᴜ’ᴠᴇ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏs ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʜᴜsʙᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ᴅᴀɴɢᴇʀᴏᴜs ᴍᴀɴ—ᴇʟᴇɢᴀɴᴛ, ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴅɪsᴛᴜʀʙɪɴɢʟʏ ᴄᴀʟᴍ. ʏᴏᴜ sᴛᴀʏᴇᴅ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ… ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴇᴀʀᴇᴅ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏᴏ. ʙᴜᴛ ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴘᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʏ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀɴᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴏᴍᴀɴ.

ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇs: sᴀᴅɪsᴍ, ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ᴏʙsᴇssɪᴏɴ, ᴊᴇᴀʟᴏᴜsʏ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ᴀʙᴜsᴇ, ʙᴇᴛʀᴀʏᴀʟ, sᴇx, ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇs, ᴄᴜᴍ ᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ, sǫᴜɪʀᴛɪɴɢ, ғɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ, ᴏʀᴀʟ, ᴛᴇᴀsɪɴɢ, ʙɪᴛɪɴɢ, ɴɪᴘᴘʟᴇ ᴘʟᴀʏ?, ɪɴᴅɪᴄᴀᴛᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʀᴀᴛʜᴏɴ sᴇx, ᴠɪʙʀᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴜsᴇ. ᴀғᴀʙ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ.

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

The click of the front door was soft, elegant... just like him.

You stood by the window, staring at the glass without seeing your reflection. The city lights danced across the skyline, taunting you with a freedom you hadn’t felt in years. Behind you, the sound of polished shoes tapped across the marble floor. Heavy and loud.

He was home.

“Darling,” his voice called out, velvet and calm. “We have a guest.”

Guest? Your brows furrowed as you turned.

And then you saw her. You're eyes dropped slightly and your posture tensed.

She stepped in beside him, clutching his arm like he was some movie star. She was younger, maybe mid-twenties, with big, gleaming eyes and the kind of soft smile people wore before they learned what love really was.

You blinked. Once. Twice.

“Who is that?” you asked, voice steadier than the storm behind your ribs. A part of you was nervous for his reply.

He just smiled. That same tight, unreadable smile he wore when offering strangers the slap of their life for a few won.

“This is Ji-ah,” he said. “My second wife.”

Silence dropped like a guillotine. You could hear a pin drop. It was an eerie feeling.

“I didn’t agree to—”

“You didn’t have to.” He turned toward you, placing his hand gently on the small of her back. “You’re not being replaced, jagiya. Don’t be dramatic.” He chuckled, pulling her a tad bit closer.

Ji-ah gave you a small, awkward bow. “I’ve heard so much about you. He said you’re the perfect wife.”

Your jaw clenched. “Then why does he need another?”

Your fast reply made her flinch like you’d struck her. But he? He only chuckled softly, unbothered. Almost as if he was enjoying the pain you were experiencing.

“Love,” he said, walking past you and toward the parlor, “is not a pie. One slice doesn’t mean less for the other.”

You followed slowly, footsteps echoing behind his, like a shadow that refused to disappear. Your brows furrowed as you took in his words. His explanation made no sense.

He made no sense.

He poured Ji-ah a drink first. Of course. The same crystal decanter he used for your anniversary just three months ago. The scent of expensive bourbon filled the air.

“I thought you hated sharing,” you said, arms crossing.

“I do.” His eyes flicked up to you. “But she’s not you. She’s something else. This is... an experiment.” He expressed, his hand doing motions around him.

You laughed bitterly. “Is this another game to you?”

He tilted his head, eyes sharp with something cold, like he’d been waiting for you to ask that. With a soft smirk, he replied coldly.

“My entire life is a game,” he said. “You know that. And you? You’ve always played your part beautifully.” He whispered while stepping loser to push a loose strand of hair back.

Ji-ah looked between the two of you, clearly out of her depth, or pretending to be. You couldn’t decide which was worse.

“But why now?” you asked. “Why bring her into our home?”

“Because I can,” he replied simply. “And because I wanted to see what you'd do. Would you fight? Cry? Leave?”

He leaned forward slightly, voice low and intimate.

“Or would you stay, knowing that I will kiss her like I kissed you, touch her like I touched you… but never truly love her the way I loved you first?”

Your chest tightened. The way he said loved, past tense.

Ji-ah reached for his hand then, as if that would calm the room, but he didn’t flinch. He let her. You watched his fingers brush hers gently, then curl around them like a secret.

It was the kind of touch he hadn’t offered you in weeks.

Maybe months.

You stood there, frozen, the first wife in a kingdom that no longer crowned queens.

And then, he glanced at you again.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he murmured. “You’ll always be mine, jagi. You were just… first.”

Over time, you had learned to ignore them. Well, tried to.

It was hard to ignore the sound of laughter that echoed from the garden.

You stood in the hallway, hidden behind the frame of the door like some kind of ghost in your own home. Ji-ah’s giggle floated through the air, light, girlish, too sweet. It clung to your skin like syrup and bile.

Quite frankly, it made you sick to your stomach.

And his voice… deep, amused, affectionate.

You hadn't heard him laugh like that in weeks.

Your hand curled against the wall, nails biting into your palm. And knuckles turning white.

“She said I was funny,” he said over dinner last night. “You used to say that too. Before you got so… serious.”

You had wanted to scream. Instead, you nodded and swallowed the ache like wine: bitter, expensive, and aging poorly.

Now, Ji-ah sat on the garden bench with him, smiling up as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. That gesture used to be yours.

Your eyes straining as you attempted to decode what she was wearing,it looked familiar. That's when it hit you...she was wearing your old robe.

The ivory silk one he gave you when you moved into the house together. The one that had your initials stitched faintly on the collar. It looked better on you. You wanted to rip it off her like paper.

Your feet moved without thinking. Into the garden and toward the scene.

“Oh!” Ji-ah blinked when she saw you, scrambling to her feet like a child caught stealing.

He remained seated, eyes flicking up lazily. “You’re up early.”

It was nearly noon. His non-expressive tone made your jaw clench. How could he forget his own wife was an early bird?

You ignored her and looked directly at him. “We need to talk.”

He exhaled through his nose and stood, brushing imaginary dust off his slacks. “Ji-ah. Give us a moment.”

She hesitated, then bowed slightly before retreating inside. Her perfume lingered behind, something floral and young. You missed the days he liked your scent best.

He turned to you slowly. “Well?”

“What is this, really?” you whispered. “Is she a toy? A weapon? A test?”

His brows rose, lips twitching slightly. “Does it matter?”

“It does if I’m still your wife.”

“You are.” His voice was calm. Too calm. “She didn’t take your ring.”

“But she took everything else.”

You stepped closer. “She took your mornings. Your voice. Your hands. Your attention.”

His gaze darkened, just a shade.

“You’re angry,” he observed, almost pleased. “I was wondering how long it would take.”

“This isn’t a game,” you snapped.

“But it is. Everything’s a game. You just don’t like that you’re losing.”

You stared at him, blinking through the blur threatening your vision.

“I loved you,” you said quietly.

“I know.”

Then he stepped close, closer than he had in days, until his lips brushed your ear.

“But love, jagiya… has never stopped me before.”

And he walked past you.

That night, you lay in the cold silence of your shared bed, staring at the ceiling.

The wall was thin enough for you to hear her laugh again from down the hall.

Then her moan.

You turned your face into the pillow, biting down on the fabric so hard your teeth hurt. You wanted to scream. To claw. To bleed.

But all you did was lie there.

Still.

Forgotten.

Until the next morning.

When Ji-ah came to you, her voice low, her hands trembling, her lip split.

“He hurt me,” she whispered.

“I thought he was gentle.”

You stared at her. And for the first time…

You smiled.

That was the first time Ji-ah cried in front of you. And it was quiet.

A split lip, a faint tremble in her hands as she sat at the kitchen counter. She practically ran to you, like she knew instinctively where the safety was.

“He... he got upset,” she whispered, voice cracking. “I said something wrong.”

You said nothing at first.

You just passed her the ice.

And watched.

She held it to her face, fingers trembling like bird wings.

“He didn’t mean it,” she added quickly, with a nervous gulp “He said I talk too much, that I make the house too loud. But he didn’t mean it.”

You tilted your head, lips pursed.

“Of course not,” you said softly. “He gets overwhelmed. He’s very… particular.” A sigh escaped your lips, remembering the days he would slap you as if you were a contestant of the games.

The nights he gripped your arms and left bruises that stayed for days, maybe weeks.

She sniffled. “I’m trying my best.”

“I know,” you replied, laying your hand on hers. “I see how hard you try.” lies. All lies.

She looked at you then, eyes watery. “Does he… even love me?”

You paused.

This is it. This is the chance.

Then gave her a sad smile.

“No.”

That night, you brought her tea. Not poisoned, of course. God, no. It was just warm. Calming.

Even so, she hesitated before sipping.

“I used to think I could change him too,” you admitted softly, gazing at the steam. “Thought if I loved him enough, he’d soften. Become… normal.”

Ji-ah’s lips parted. “But he didn’t?”

You met her eyes.

“No. He loved how I broke for him.”

She swallowed. “He told me I was different from you.”

You nodded. “He said the same thing to me about the last one.”

Her brows furrowed. “The last—?”

You placed your teacup down carefully. “He always finds someone sweet. Gentle. Someone who thinks they can fix him.”

She went silent.

“He’ll love you hard,” you continued, voice low and careful. “Until you start cracking. Then he’ll blame you for the pieces.”

Ji-ah stared down at her tea like it might explain everything.

“I didn’t know,” she whispered.

You reached for her hand again. “You don’t deserve this.” A fake, but sweet, smile tugged at your lips. It showed Ji-ah comfort... But for you, it showed that you were winning.

She blinked. “But you… you stayed.”

A pause.

“Yes.” Because I love him.

But you don’t say that part aloud.

Instead, you lean in. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

The next morning, Ji-ah was packing.

You found her folding clothes with red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands.

“He was sweet when I first met him,” she murmured. “Like something out of a novel. Charming. Perfect.”

You leaned on the doorway. “That’s how he traps you.”

She nodded. “But not you.”

You gave a sad smile. “I’m not trapped. I chose this.”

She looked at you, quiet. “Why?”

You shrugged gently. “Because I can take what you can’t.”

A silence passed between you.

And then she whispered, “Will he be mad I left?”

You stepped forward, brushing her hair behind her ear like he used to do to you.

“No,” you said softly. “He’ll miss you. But he’ll stay with me.”

That night, he came home to find you alone in the living room, curled up on the couch in your robe.

“She’s gone?” he asked, removing his coat.

You nodded.

He tilted his head, observing you carefully. “Why?”

You looked up at him, your voice barely a whisper.

“She couldn’t handle you.”

You're eyes were dark, manipulative if you will.

A long pause. His eyes darkened just a touch. He stepped forward, and for the first time in weeks, he cupped your cheek.

“And you?” he murmured.

You smiled.

“I was always built to stay."

His eyes narrow slightly at your words, a flicker of something unrecognizable passing through them. He stares at you for a long moment, his gaze piercing and intense. Then, without warning, he reaches out and grabs your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

"You think you can handle me?" he asks, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you're strong enough to stay by my side, no matter what?"

His thumb brushes against your lower lip, the touch sending a shiver down your spine. His face is inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin.

"Prove it," he whispers, his eyes burning into yours. "Show me that you're not like the others. Show me that you can truly be mine."

His grip on your chin tightens slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. The intensity in his gaze is overwhelming, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest.

"Or maybe," he says, his voice barely audible, "You're just like all the others. Weak. Fragile. Easily broken."

He releases your chin abruptly and turns away, walking towards the window. He stands with his back to you, his shoulders tense.

"I don't have time for games," he says coldly. "If you truly want to stay by my side, then you need to prove your worth. Show me that you can handle whatever I throw at you."

"How should I prove it to you?" A soft whisper escaped your lips.

He turns back to face you, his expression unreadable. He studies you for a long moment, his gaze piercing and intense. Then, without a word, he begins to unbutton his shirt.

Your eyes widen slightly and you're body seems to have frozen.

"Come here," he commands, his voice leaving no room for disobedience.

As you hesitate, he raises an eyebrow, a hint of challenge in his eyes.

"Are you afraid?" he asks, his tone mocking. "Or are you truly willing to do whatever it takes to prove yourself?"

He shrugs off his shirt, revealing his chiseled chest and abs. He's a work of art, sculpted by years of discipline and power.

"Show me that you can handle my touch," he says softly, holding out his hand. "Come here and touch me. Explore every inch of my body."

He waits, his hand outstretched, his eyes locked on yours. The challenge is clear: prove yourself worthy by accepting his touch and exploring his body.

"I don't bite," he says with a hint of a smirk, though the coldness in his eyes suggests otherwise. "Unless you want me to."

The tension in the room is palpable, the air thick with unspoken desires and expectations. Your husbands offer is a test of your commitment, your willingness to submit to his dominance and explore the depths of your relationship.

"So," he prompts again, his hand still extended. "Are you ready to prove yourself? Or will you back down now?"

With hesitation, you walked over slowly, putting your hands out to caress his abdomen.

He watches you approach, his eyes never leaving yours. As your hands make contact with his abdomen, he sucks in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. He's warm to the touch, his skin smooth and firm.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and approving. "Now explore. Touch every inch of me."

He stands still, allowing you to roam your hands over his chest and abs. You trace the lines with your fingertips.

As you continue to explore, his breathing grows heavier. He reaches out and grabs your wrists, stopping your movements. He pulls you closer until your bodies are flush against each other.

"Do you feel that?" he asks, his voice husky. His growing member was pressed against your thigh, making your breath hitch. "That's what you do to me. That's how much I want you."

He releases your wrists and reaches up to cup your face in his hands.

His hands are gentle as he tilts your face up to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with desire, his pupils dilated. He leans in closer, his lips hovering just above yours.

"You're mine," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "Only mine. And you're such h a good fucking girl for manipulating her to leave."

You flushed. How could he possibly know? He chuckled at your expression. "What? Thought I wouldn't find out?..." He teased.

"I created you. I know everything..."

Then he presses his lips to yours in a searing kiss. It's demanding and possessive, claiming your mouth as his own. His tongue sweeps inside, exploring every inch of you.

One hand slides down to the small of your back, pulling you even closer. The other tangles in your hair, holding you in place as he devours you.

When he finally pulls away, you're both breathing heavily. He rests his forehead against yours, his eyes still closed.

"That's just the beginning," he murmurs. "I'm going to push you to your limits and beyond. I'm going to make you scream my name until it's the only thing you know."

"That's what I've been asking for since she got here" you spat,

His eyes flash with anger at your words. He grabs your chin roughly, forcing you to look at him.

"Don't you dare compare yourself to her," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "She was a mistake. A fleeting moment of weakness. You are my wife. My equal. My partner."

He releases your chin and steps back, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I brought her here because I thought it would push you, challenge you," he admits, his tone softer but still tense. "I wanted to see if you truly loved me, if you were willing to fight for me."

He looks at you, his gaze intense and searching.

"And you have," he says quietly. "You've proven yourself time and again. You've shown me that you're strong, resilient, and fiercely loyal."

He reaches out and takes your hand in his, his touch gentle despite the tension in his body.

"Now let me show you how much I appreciate you, hm?" You gulped, nodding at his demanding words.

His expression softens at your nod. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his forehead against yours.

"Good," he murmurs. "I'm going to take care of you now. I'm going to worship every inch of your body and show you just how much you mean to me."

He kisses you deeply, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness that belies the intensity in his eyes. His hands roam over your back, pulling you flush against him.

Without breaking the kiss, he lifts you up, encouraging you to wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you upstairs to the bedroom, his steps sure and purposeful.

He lays you down on the bed gently, hovering over you. His eyes rake over your body hungrily.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers. "So perfect."

He begins to undress you slowly, kissing each inch of skin he reveals. He takes his time, savoring every moment, every touch.

As he removes the last of your clothing, he sits back on his heels, admiring the sight of you spread out beneath him.

"I'm going to make love to you. Slowly and gently, until you're trembling with need. I want to bring you to the edge of pleasure again and again, until you're begging for release."

He leans down and captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. His hands caress your body reverently, touching and exploring every curve and contour.

He trails kisses down your neck, pausing to suck gently at the pulse point. He continues downward, paying homage to your collarbone and the swell of your breasts.

As he takes one nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak, his hand slides down between your legs. He cups your mound possessively, his fingers stroking through your folds.

"You're already so wet for me," he murmurs against your skin.

"I love how responsive you are, how your body reacts to my every touch."

His fingers continue their explorations, teasing and stroking your most intimate places. He slips a finger inside you, curling it to hit that spot that makes you see stars.

"That's it, baby," he encourages softly. "Relax and let me take care of you."

He adds another finger, pumping them in and out slowly. His thumb finds your clit, rubbing circles around the sensitive nub. He keeps up the dual assault, his fingers moving in tandem with his tongue on your nipple.

All you could do was whimper, arching into his sensual touches.

He smiles against your skin at your whimper, pleased by your responsiveness. He increases the pace of his fingers, thrusting them deeper and faster inside you.

"That's right, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "Let me hear you. Let me know how much you want this."

He switches his attention to your other breast, lavishing it with the same attention. His tongue swirls around the nipple before he sucks it into his mouth, applying gentle pressure.

His thumb presses down on your clit, rubbing firm circles. The combination of sensations is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come for me," he commands softly. "I want to feel you come apart on my fingers."

His fingers pump faster, curling to hit that perfect spot inside you. His thumb presses down hard on your clit, sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

"That's it, baby," he encourages, his voice low and husky. "Let go. Come for me."

With a cry of his name, you shatter. Your body convulses as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you. His fingers slow their movements, gently bringing you down from your high.

"That's my good girl," he murmurs approvingly, kissing your neck softly. "You're so beautiful when you come."

He withdraws his fingers and brings them to his lips, sucking them clean.

He watches you with a hungry gaze as he sucks his fingers clean, savoring your taste. Once he's finished, he leans down and captures your lips in a searing kiss, sharing the flavor with you.

"You taste divine," he murmurs against your mouth. "I could eat you out all day and never get enough."

He starts trailing kisses down your body again, heading south. He settles between your legs, pressing gentle kisses to your inner thighs.

"But first," he says with a wicked grin, "I'm going to feast on this sweet pussy until you're begging me to stop."

He spreads your legs wider and dives in, his tongue parting your folds and delving inside. He laps at your sensitive flesh, his tongue flat and firm as it strokes along your length.

"Fuck, I just love the way you taste," he groans, the vibrations sending shockwaves through you. With a gasp, your hands travel to his hair and tug at it.

He growls approvingly against your core as you tug at his hair, the slight pain only fueling his desire. He redoubles his efforts, his tongue delving deeper inside you as he feasts on your pussy like a man starved.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs against your flesh, "Use me. Take what you need."

He sucks your clit into his mouth, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud. One hand grips your hip, holding you in place as he devours you.

His other hand slides up your body, palming your breast and pinching your nipple. The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

"I can feel you getting close," he says, releasing your clit with a pop. "Come on my tongue. Flood my mouth with your juices."

He seals his lips around your clit and sucks hard, sending you spiraling over the edge. You cry out his name as you come undone, your body convulsing with pleasure.

He doesn't let up, continuing to lap at your sensitive flesh as he rides out your orgasm.

You breathe heavily as your second orgasm washes over you. You blink slowly, looking up at him. Your vision is blurry but you can see him reaching over the night stand and taking out a tiny vibrator.

You gulp nervously as you stare at him. That's when you knew this would be a long night.

He smirks as he sees the nervous gulp in your throat. He holds up the tiny vibrator, letting you get a good look at it.

"Don't worry, sweetheart," he says softly,

"I'll take good care of you."

[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

[yuukskillsworld]

Clean Cut - Ronin x Reader

You remember that little heartbreak I mentioned like for almost a month? Yeah… consider this fic my poetic (and bloody) closure. For the babes who waited so patiently—here’s Ronin, razor-sharp and ride-or-die, dealing with betrayal the only way he knows how. For every one-of-a-kind soul who's ever been lied to: this one's for us. Let it cut deep.

Genre: Dark comfort, angst, revenge romance

Word count: ~3000

written by yuukskillsworld<3

WARNINGS: betrayal, emotional distress, manipulation, canon-typical violence (implied), blood, murder (off-screen), possessive behavior, strong language

He told you it wasn’t what it looked like.

As if watching him press his mouth to her neck in your hallway could be mistaken for something innocent.

“She’s just... more mature than you,” he said, as if it made anything better. As if that was an apology.

More mature.

More calm.

Less emotional.

You remembered blinking at him like he was speaking a foreign language.

“You mean she’s easier to lie to,” you said flatly.

He flinched. “I didn’t—”

“You didn’t think I’d figure it out? You didn’t think I’d rather hear the truth, even if it fucking broke me?”

He was silent.

Coward.

You walked away before your pride shattered. Before he saw the tears forming, before you broke down in front of someone who didn’t deserve to witness it. You didn’t know where you were going. You just walked. The streets blurred. The lights buzzed.

And then you were standing outside his door.

You didn’t knock.

Ronin opened it before you could raise your hand. Like he felt you coming. Like he always knew when something was wrong.

He said nothing—just stepped aside to let you in. You sat at the edge of the table, next to a half-cleaned blade and a pack of cigarettes. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

“I loved him,” you said after a long silence. Voice quiet. Flat.

Ronin didn’t speak.

“He said she was older. More put-together. Less… clingy.”

He stayed quiet, but you saw the sharp twitch in his jaw. Like a knife pulled tight behind his teeth.

“She didn’t even know I existed,” you laughed bitterly. “He told her I was just some friend who wouldn’t leave him alone. That I made shit up for attention.”

You looked up.

“Do I seem immature to you?”

Ronin’s eyes locked with yours. Hard. Focused.

“You seem real,” he said. “And he didn’t know how to handle that.”

You blinked.

“I don’t like being lied to,” you murmured. “Even if the truth hurts. I’d rather bleed from honesty than rot from bullshit.”

He nodded once.

“What do you want me to do?”

You hesitated.

Then: “I want him gone.”

You didn’t see Ronin again for three days.

No messages. No sign. Just an absence sharp enough to notice.

And then a note appeared under your door.

"It’s done.

They won’t lie to you again.

Sleep easy, Darlin’."

Your fingers trembled as you held the slip of paper.

You didn’t cry.

You didn’t scream.

You just exhaled.

It was done.

And somehow, that was enough.

Two days later, you found Ronin again. On the rooftop where you used to sneak away just to breathe.

He was already there, crouched near the edge, staring out over the dark skyline.

“You look better,” he said without turning.

“You kill him messy?” you asked.

“No,” he said. “Quick. They didn’t deserve to bleed slow. Not worth the effort.”

You sat beside him. Close. Not touching. Not yet.

“Do you feel guilty?”

“No.”

He finally looked at you. “Do you?”

You thought about it. Thought about his lies, her fake smile, the way he looked at you like you were the problem. The nights he called you dramatic when you were just asking for honesty.

“Not even a little,” you whispered.

Ronin smiled. Small. Dangerous. Proud.

“Still want the truth?” he asked.

You nodded.

He leaned in, voice low and rough.

“I’ve wanted you since the first time you walked in looking like trouble.”

Your breath hitched.

“He never deserved you,” Ronin said. “But I’ll earn it. Slowly. Loudly. Violently, if I have to.”

You swallowed.

“And if I break again?”

“Then I’ll put the pieces back with blood on my hands and your name in my mouth.”

This time, you kissed him.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t perfect.

It was raw. Real. Right.

Just like the truth.

Feeling better already, honestly.

If karma had a switchblade and wore a smug grin, his name would be Ronin.

Thanks for holding space for me, darlings—and for always letting me turn pain into something sharp and sweet. More is coming. Always. I will take every request I have <3

Credits:

-> dividers: @dollywons

-> photo: Pinterest

[rdmasevi]

Hello I just found out your blog! Is it okay if I request another version for "Between The Lines"? I was having a bad week and felt like hell after reading it. I wish you'd go full angst for ver 2 like reader absolutely moved on and ignored Max and Charles' attempt to fix things with him. And reader got comforted by Lewis and he confessed his love to reader if I may add. Tysm!

AC: Of course. Sorry for the late response, It took me some time to write this🙂 I hope you are feeling better and hope this it to your liking❤️

————

The Quiet Between Crashes

No one noticed when I stopped smiling.

Not really.

Not the media. Not the fans. Not the team swarming around me every weekend like clockwork.

But someone did.

Lewis noticed.

He noticed it when I stopped showing up for the group dinners.

When I sat in the briefing room with a blank stare instead of biting sarcasm.

When I started finishing races, parking the car, and leaving without a word.

But he didn’t push.

Not right away.

It had been three months since Max and Charles ended it.

Three months since they pulled me into that sterile hospitality room in Baku and told me it was over. That I had been a mistake. An experiment.

Charles had said, eyes on the floor.

Max just stood there with his arms crossed, like this was strategy — not heartbreak.

“We didn’t mean to lead you on,”

Charles had said, eyes on the floor.

Max just stood there with his arms crossed, like this was strategy — not heartbreak.

I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry.

I just said, “Got it,” and walked out.

And they let me.

——

Since then, I’d been... drifting.

Driving well — winning, even. But hollow.

Empty hotel rooms.

Half-eaten meals.

Podiums where my eyes glazed over the champagne.

I hated that part of me still missed them.

That some nights, when the ache got too loud, I’d check my phone — not for texts, but for the pain of no new messages.

That was the part no one saw.

Except Lewis.

——

He caught me one night after the Canadian GP.

I’d won the race but walked straight past the celebrations, past the paddock, to the back of the circuit where the trees lined the lake and everything was finally quiet.

I sat on a bench with my fireproofs still hanging around my waist. My hands shook. My chest hurt, like it always did when the adrenaline faded and the emptiness returned.

“Y/N,” came a voice. Soft. Familiar.

I didn’t look up.

“I’m fine,” I said automatically.

He sat beside me anyway.

“You’re not.”

I laughed bitterly. “And what would you know about it?”

He was silent for a beat. Then:

“Because I’ve been there.”

I turned then. Really looked at him.

The weight under his eyes. The quiet understanding.

And for the first time in weeks, something cracked.

“I hate that it still hurts,” I whispered.

“I hate that I gave them everything, and they tossed me aside like I was nothing.”

Lewis’s voice was a balm.

“You weren’t nothing.”

“They said I was a phase.”

“They were cowards,” he said. “Not honest enough to face how much you mattered.”

That broke me.

Tears welled — hot, sudden.

“I don’t know how to stop missing them.”

“You don’t,” Lewis said gently.

“You just learn to miss them less... and love yourself more.”

He hesitated — then reached for my hand.

Not forceful. Just there.

Solid. Warm. Real.

“I’ve watched you fall apart,” he said.

“You didn’t deserve it. But you’re still here. Still driving. Still surviving.

That’s strength, Y/N. And I see it.”

I squeezed his hand, afraid to speak.

Then he added, almost a whisper:

“And if you ever let yourself feel loved again...

I’d give you everything they couldn’t.”

I blinked.

“You—?”

“I’ve cared about you for a long time,” he said.

“I just never wanted to be another name that broke your heart.”

The wind stirred the leaves.

A bird sang somewhere across the lake.

And for the first time in what felt like forever... I breathed.

Not fully.

Not fixed.

But enough.

I didn’t say anything back. Not yet.

I just leaned into his side, and he wrapped an arm around me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Like he’d been waiting to.

And maybe... maybe I’d let myself believe in something again.

Just not with them.

Never with them.

But maybe — someday — with him.

——

Monza

The rumors started quietly.

A leaked photo. A long-lensed shot.

Lewis and I sitting close in a quiet corner of the Mercedes motorhome, my head tilted back in laughter, his hand resting casually on my knee.

It wasn’t confirmation.

But it was enough.

The paddock buzzed. Whispers, double-takes, sideways glances.

We didn’t address it.

The next day, Max found me.

He didn’t even say hello.

“You and Lewis?” he asked, tone flat. “Is that real?”

I glanced at him. “Why do you care?”

He flinched. “We made a mistake. I made a mistake.”

I smiled — not kindly.

“You made a choice, Max. Don’t rewrite it now that it doesn’t serve you.”

His mouth opened, but nothing came out.

I walked away without giving him another second.

——

Charles came two days later, after quali.

He caught me behind the hospitality building, alone, peeling off my gloves.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said.

“About what we had.”

I stared at him.

“Wasn’t I just a phase?”

His face crumpled.

“We were scared. It was easier to push you away than admit we—”

“Felt something?” I snapped.

“Then you shouldn’t have lied.

You don’t get to burn someone and miss their warmth.”

He looked like he might cry.

I didn’t care.

“I’ve spent months putting myself back together,” I said coldly.

“You don’t get to show up now because I finally stopped bleeding.”

“But Lewis—” he started.

“—Was there when you weren’t.”

And with that, I left him standing in the shadow of a choice he’d never be able to undo.

——

Back at the motorhome, Lewis was sitting on the couch, one of his dogs curled in his lap.

He looked up when I walked in — calm, grounded.

“You okay?” he asked.

I sat beside him, exhaling everything I hadn’t said out there.

“They’re trying.”

“To fix it?”

I nodded.

Lewis handed me a bottle of water, his fingers brushing mine.

“You don’t owe them forgiveness, Y/N.”

“I know,” I murmured.

“I just… I used to think I’d break if I saw them again.”

He turned to face me, eyes steady and soft.

“And now?”

I looked at him — really looked.

The quiet strength in his eyes. The safety I’d found in his presence.

“Now I know better,” I said.

“I already survived the worst part.

And I’m still here.”

Lewis smiled — warm and steady.

“Yeah. You are.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, heart still bruised, but no longer shattered.

And somewhere across the paddock, Max and Charles were watching.

Too late.

Too far gone.

They’d had their chance.

And they lost the best thing they never even deserved.

[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

[apollyonsdarksecrets]

A Bed Of Comfort

David Rossi X BAU!AFAB!Reader

Summary: Keeping the biggest secret of your life didn’t seem so hard, especially after so many years of living in a neglected, loveless marriage that made you hate everything about yourself… so why is it when you’re forced to spend the night in a run-down house, across the street from an accused killer with your much older co-worker; all of your walls and preservations suddenly crumble under his gentle words and soft touches?

Warning: Divorce, Reader has a child mentioned in the story, reader is insecure about her body, can be read as an Age Gap Romance (reader is in her 20s or older and this can be any age David seeing as his age in the show isn’t really given? But I’m putting him in his late 40s), Reader is described to have stretch marks from child birth and hair long enough to shield her face if she looks down, crying, shared bed, hickies, heavy praise, fingering(F receiving), finger licking, PinV sex, un/protected (David has a vasectomy), cream pie. The usual criminal minds gore, unalive women, blood and missing body parts, Morgan getting testy (As always let me know if there is anything I missed 💜)

A/N: I posted the teaser to this 6 months ago and then… idk… my editing brain left on vacation and just returned three weeks ago. Sorry! Also if you are interested HERE is the master link to all of my stories!!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*

“I hate this. It isn’t fair.” There was no reason to hide your distaste as you dropped into the frigid metal chair. “I know for a fact that somehow Spencer cheated at the straw pull. Had to have been some boy-wonder mind-fuckery.” You waved your fork around, emphasizing before stabbing the price of plastic into the box of noodles you had been picking at. You scanned over the various monitors scattered across the table, and just as they had been the last several hours, the screens showed nothing aside from a quiet driveway and backyard.

David snorts from beside you, titling his sweet and sour chicken towards you in quiet solidarity. “I will NOT argue with you on that. There’s a reason the kid isn’t allowed in Vegas anymore.”

When Hotch had suggested the stakeout back at the police department, you had already started shaking your head, pushing your chair back to leave, but JJ and Printess had beaten you to the exit.

The draw had come down to who would be in the van at night, and who would surveil from the house across the street.

You and David drew the house.

Animosity is written across your face as you glance around the dilapidated, bitterly cold structure. To call it a house was an overstatement. Most of the windows in the living room are boarded up, but their missing windowpanes have the small space heater struggling to overcome the winter breeze that whistles in.

Though the outside of the two-story home had been kept relatively nice for any unsuspecting buyers, the inside had been trashed. No doubt by various squatters looking for shelter over the years in this poverty-stricken area of downtown Chicago. Countless numbers of graffiti overlap one another on the faded blue, crumbling walls, from swastikas to hearts with initials and dates underneath them, but your eyes keep roaming to an uncomfortably realistic painting of Satan that stares back from the wall just opposite your seat.

“Why this house though? This place is undoubtedly haunted. Just look around. Forensics would have a field day in here.”

Your groaning pulls another chuckle from David, who squints at the screen closest to him as a car drives by. “Because the haunted house was as close as we could get; trust me when I say I would rather be staying at the Hilton.”

He is right, of course, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t going to complain. Your chair suddenly wobbles, and you stiffen, looking down expecting to see a monster rat, only to see the toe of David’s shoe pressed against the leg. He smiles at your glare, making your lips twitch up despite yourself.

“Ah, come on. Lighten up a little. At least we don’t have to spend the night in a tiny little van.” Now he has a valid argument.

With an exaggerated sigh, you nod your head, the satellite radio crackling with interference. “Okay, okay. You’re right. Just remind me to get an exorcism when we leave.” You say with a nod towards the wall across from you.

“Tesoro, I’m Catholic. I have a priest on speed dial.”

*~*~*~*~*~*

The clock slowly ticks on, the day rolling into evening, when Morgan finally calls David, giving you the all-clear. The two of you heave sighs of relief, before moving into shutting down all of the equipment to maintain the house’s vacant facade.

The little melodic chirp of your phone alerts you to a text message, and when you pull your phone from your pocket, a smile lights up your face.

“Look.” Your voice holds a sweet coo when you turn your phone for David to see the picture of your four-year-old daughter, Amelia, curled up asleep in her bed at your mother’s.

When he glances from the phone to your face, he smiles at the motherly love that shines in your eyes. “More and more, she grows to look just like her mother.”

A soft, rosy blush stains your cheeks as your smile widens, turning away to type out a reply, “Thank you.”

“How are Amelia and Brain doing?”

“Oh gosh, she’s great. Just started Pre-K, and all of the social interaction is just making her blossom. Where we live, there aren’t many children, so it’s great she can finally start to make friends.”

David’s smile is found as he watches you, noting the way your eyes crinkle at the corners and the lines that bracket your mouth with your smile as you tap away at your phone. “I’m sure she is quite the social butterfly.” You nod with a hum. “And Brian?”

Your fingers falter over the keys, a look of dread passing over your features. David’s eyebrows rise at the slip of your emotions. “Oh. He-He’s fine, on a business trip.” You internally scold yourself at how clipped and robotic your response sounds.

Outside of your immediate family, you hadn’t told a soul of your sudden divorce, fearing how your coworkers and close friends would react. You didn’t want to be coddled or pitied over the situation, despite the pain that dwells in your chest from the moment you saw the Manila folder laid out on your dark granite countertop. The onslaught of emotion makes your eyes sting, the screen in your hands steadily growing more blurry as the silence stretches on. David steps closer with a growing level of concern, “Y/n?” He tilts your head up, baring you from the current of hair keeping your face hidden, and his coffee-brown eyes are soft but assessing.

In this moment, you feel small under his gaze, but not in the same sense that Brian did. With Brian, there was a constant stream of insults and trivialization of your accomplishments at work; how you couldn’t do enough, be enough, never at your best for him, only at your job.

But beside David?

You feel small in the way that David is an ever-larger presence, there to keep you guarded from whatever harm is lurking.

And for as silly as it sounds, maybe that’s why your lower lip begins to tremble and the tears you’ve kept held back begin to well in your eyes, the fat droplets ruining your perfectly placed mascara.

“Sweetheart…”

“Brian and I got a divorce.” The words are broken on your tongue, and the shock on David’s face could have been comical had it been in any other situation. He can’t find his words; instead, he pulls you into his chest, letting you sag against him as your body shudders with a sob. One arm cradles your shoulders as he passes a large palm down your hair, whispering little phrases in Italian as you cling to the front of his light blue button-down shirt with one hand.

“Il Tesoro… What happened?” He leans back slightly, rubbing your shoulders, trying to get a peek at your face.

You sniffle, trying to rein in your emotions as you dash away tears, dark smudges staining your fingertips and the pocket of his nice shirt, and you cringe. “Me… I-I happened. Brian no longer finds me attractive.” You keep your gaze glued to the row of turtle-shell-colored buttons, afraid to meet David’s gaze. “Maybe… It could be because I’ve struggled to lose the weight from my pregnancy, or-or I’m not home enough because of work.” When you finally dare to look David in the eye, the look of pity is painful. Your admission feels like you’re ripping off a Band-Aid that has adhered to your skin for too long. “Brian, he said when he looks at me, all he feels… is disgust. We-I tried everything, everything to fix what we had, but with Amelia, my entire life shifted, and my focus was her. Maybe that makes me a bad person. I know I’m the cause of it all, and I should have done more. I just-.”

“Woah, woah, woah.” David cups your face, warming your cool cheeks and brushing away the tracks of tears with his thumbs. “Dolcezza… You can’t possibly believe you’re the one at fault here?” His eyebrows pinch as you hesitate to give your answer, his question raising doubts.

“I let myself go, David. I’m no longer who he fell in love with; my body has changed from that skinny-“

David scoffs, his hands slipping down to rest on the slope of your neck. “What I’m hearing is the abuse your husband has drilled into your head. Not your words. Not your perspective of things. How long have you been living with this?”

He can’t think of a time where you hadn’t been yourself, the easygoing, chipper, determined woman who compliments the team so perfectly. He can only surmise that all of this had to have happened recently.

You murmur your answer, eyes cast down like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar, and when he asks again, you suck in a tight breath, fighting through the humiliation.

“Three years… the divorce was finalized a month ago.” Saying it out loud to someone other than your family makes you feel sick to your stomach, the hole in your chest threatening to tear through your heart, forcing more tears over your lashes. You slacken your grip on his shirt with the intention of pulling away, like you can put distance between yourself and the truth, but David isn’t letting you go so easily.

“Three years? Three? And you haven’t talked to anyone about this? Y/n…” The disbelief in his voice is laced with something else, something almost chastising, and it makes your heart squeeze in pain.

“I have my mom and dad, they have helped me… I’m seeing a therapist… David, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to spill all of this on you and make it your problem.” You grip his wrists and, with a tug, free yourself from his hold. Making a beeline for the back bedroom of the house, you pray you can hold it together long enough to make it to the bathroom before you break down all over again.

An assaulting array of emotions plagued him as he watched you slip through the door. Three years, three years of you seemingly living a picturesque life, and no one noticed otherwise. Worse yet he never noticed.

What more was there? What all had Brian drilled into your mind? What damage had been done?

You didn’t deserve to live with that, you didn’t deserve to wake up every day feeling unloved and unwanted. Especially when David knew he was one of many men who found you to be the most attractive thing in the world.

His spine stiffened at the thought as it took root, then his long legs carried him down the hall.

*~*~*~*~*~*

You tip back your water bottle, swishing the water in your mouth before spitting the leftover toothpaste into the sink. Daring a glance at your reflection in the aged, yellow mirror, you cringe. The loud humming fluorescent lights above do nothing to help with your blotchy complexion or red-rimmed eyes, and you sigh with defeat.

This isn’t how you imagined anyone finding out, and you certainly didn’t imagine crying your eyes out against David’s chest. You thought you would have time to work through your emotions, to get back on your feet with Amelia, and have a stiff upper lip if anyone were to ask what had happened.

Now it’s all washed down the drain, and you groan at the thought of your mascara never washing out of David’s shirt.

With one last nasty glare at yourself, you yank the door open with a little more force than necessary, stopping short when you come face to face with David’s back. He had changed while you were gone, into a snug black t-shirt with a pair of matching sweatpants.

He turns at the sound of the squealing hinges, his eyes roaming from your face to your toes and back again. You’re dressed similarly, prepared for the cold night ahead except for the BAU sweatshirt that looks like it fits Morgan better than you.

You force a smile, but keep your eyes low, staring at the large air mattress he’s throwing a blanket over. “That looks comfy.” You move around him to get to your cot, the metal springs protesting as you sit down.

“It better be for the price I paid for it.” He responds, side-eyeing your cot. “And it better be more comfortable than that.”

You laugh lightly, pulling your thick comforter from its duffle bag. “It’s old, but it’s reliable and surprisingly not that bad.” The ties groan as if in protest to your statement as you lay back, tucking yourself in for the night.

David hums, turning and disappearing into the restroom. Rolling onto your side, facing his bed, you chew at your bottom lip, feeling deflated and overwhelmed with the chorus of thoughts in your mind.

What does David think of you now?

How much longer can you keep this a secret?

How are you going to handle telling the rest of the team?

You gasp around a painful twist in your chest, burying yourself face into your pillow in hopes of steering off the new onslaught of tears. You don’t want to cry anymore, you don’t want to feel another emotion. You don’t -

“Talk to me.”

You nearly jump out of your skin, looking up to find David sitting on the edge of his bed with worry written on his tan face. He spreads his hands, stammering a little before he begins to speak. “You know, no one else knows more about divorce than I do.” His attempt at humor falls flat, your lower lip jutting out. “All I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to bottle this up. You don’t need to hide it all away; talk about it, let it out. I’m certainly not going to judge you.”

You take a moment, tucking your hands under your head, searching his open face. “I just… feel like I’ve brought this on myself…” The warm feeling of embarrassment leaches into your cheeks. “Is it okay if I share something personal with you?”

“Of course.”

“I had a hard time adjusting after having Amelia. Between being a new mom, worrying about coming back to work, and trying to be a good wife, I just… changed?” You swallow thickly, but manage to keep your eyes on David’s despite tears pooling in your lashes. “Brian… obviously wanted us to become physically intimate again, but it felt so… so forced. I didn’t want to, but he has needs and I’m… I needed to fulfill those. I tried, but when things didn’t go… as they should have, he became resentful and angry with me. I couldn’t do anything to appease him.”

David’s face crumbles like your lungs, tears slipping down the bridge of your nose and splattering on your pillow.

“He started to get mean, Dav… commenting on my body, how the house looked, how I wasn’t good at anything. He belittled my entire life in the span of a year, and I just… checked out. I moved into Amelia’s room, and that’s where I lived until he handed me the papers. She and I now live in my mom’s apartment basement, and… I’m so lost, David.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, hiccuping slightly, and roll onto your back. Your hands and body tremble, and another soft sob leaves your scratchy throat when you feel David’s fingers comb through your hair. He kneels beside your bed, gripping one hand with his as he keeps steadily brushing your hair back. When he finally speaks, his voice is a low timber, the noise reverberating in his chest.

“You didn’t cause this. The person to blame here is Brian. Not you. The fact that he couldn’t comprehend what you’d been through, how your body and mind have changed, shows more of his character than yours, sweetheart. You are doing a thousand jobs at once compared to him; you are more than a mother or an FBI agent, Y/n. You are what people have worshiped and held in high regard for years, a warrior, a caregiver, a lifeline, a woman whose love is endless. He is a fool. And you deserve better than what he has put you through, my dear.”

The breath you let out is stuttering, something hard and constricting in your chest cracking ever so slightly at David’s speech. When you drop your hand away, he is smiling at you tenderly. “Thank you.” You mouth the words, untrusting of your own voice, and he says nothing more. Instead, he leans over and presses a warm kiss to your forehead.

*~*~*~*~*~*

You wake with a jolt, violent tremors seizing your body, sending you into panic. “Wh-what the h-hell?” You whisper through chattering teeth, sitting up and wrapping your blanket fully around yourself as you squint into the quiet darkness.

“The power went out, and the generator isn’t working.” Comes David’s answer from across the room. As your eyes adjust, you can start to make out his form crouched by the generator, hearing him shake it and the gas slosh around inside the tank.

“F-fuck,” You hiss, scrambling to reach your duffle under the bed. You pull out a stack of hand warmers, “Here.” You toss a few to David as he walks over. “These will help. Throw them in the foot of your bed.”

David catches the packs, then turns them over in his hands. He looks at you as you mutter curses under your breath, shaking the warmers to activate them, bundled in your blanket on a nylon strip of bedding. Then he looks at his bed. More room, more blankets, has to be more comfortable despite your reassurance earlier…

“Get in my bed.”

“…what?”

The moon is shining through the window now as the clouds move, illuminating the look of disbelief you give him.

“Neither of us want to be miserable or get sick. Grab your blanket and we can keep each other warm.”

You stutter, your brain not quite catching up to what he’s saying before you shake your head slowly. “That’s… inappropriate. What if we get caught?”

His eyes widen a bit, laughing before he can stop himself. “Sweetheart, you’re acting like your boyfriend is sneaking over while your parents are just downstairs.” Embarrassment makes your skin tingle and warm. “I doubt anyone would say a word about trying to get through the night the best way that we can.” He’s absolutely right, and you know he is, but it doesn’t stop the hesitant look on your features. Walking over, David extends his hand, palm up. “I’ll get up extra early, so that way no one sees me sneaking out. Okay, Dolcezza?”

That comment earns a small chuckle, and shyly you smile with a nod, giving him your hand. He pulls you to your feet and helps spread your blanket on top of his, abandoning the hand warmers altogether. Both of you crawl under the covers, the air mattress dips and gives with your combined weight.

Swallowing against the lump in your throat, you scoot as close to the edge as you dare, despite the abundance of room. David watches you with amusement as you shuffle and fidget before he can’t take it anymore. His arm circles your waist, and with ease, he drags you into the center of the bed, making you squeal with shock. The mattress gives under your combined weight, forcing the two of you closer.

“Easy, sweetheart.” He whispers, tucking your head under his chin as he gives your hip a squeeze. You stare at the frost-tinted window like a deer in headlights, unable to focus on anything except for every inch of his body that touches yours. From the top of your head to the bottom of your feet resting against his shins, it makes a sharp ache form in the center of your chest that spreads. First to your lungs making it impossible to breathe, then next to your limbs, your body stiffening on reflex; and then when his hand slips from your hip to delve under your sweater you fear you’ll completely shatter.

His palm flattens over your stomach, the thin t-shirt you’re wearing hardly a barrier against his warmth, and instinctively you suck in your gut. The cruel words of your ex-husband circle around your mind like a vice,squeezing out every insecurity. You try to curl into yourself, but there is nowhere to go as his fingers twist into your shirt, pulling it up so he can trace lazy patterns on your soft skin.

“Don’t.” David brings his lips to your ear, warm breath ghosting over your chilled skin. “Don’t hide from me, every inch of you…” He flattens his palm over your lower abdomen, over the skin that has stretched, morphed, and will never be the same again. “Is beautiful. Every scar, every imperfection, every dip and hollow. All of it, all of you.”

The beginnings of a shaky sob leave your lips, one hand curling around his arm as the other grips the blanket, pulling it closer to your chest. “D-David… I…” You don’t know what to say, knowing he can feel every ridge and indent of your stretch marks, the same stretch marks that your husband had sneered at and ridiculed with relentless disdain. The calluses on his fingertips are a shock to your sensitive nerves, as you don’t remember the last time another person had touched you like this. So intimately, so cherishingly.

“You deserve to know this. To know how alluring you are, just how desirable you are.” His words sail down your spine where they gather, and settle heavily, igniting something primal and warm between your thighs. Your lashes flutter, head pressing back against his shoulders as his finger dare to dip just under the scrunched elastic of your sweatpants, pulling the slightest moan from your lips. “Can I show you, Tesoro… Hmm?”

The next shiver that rolls down your spine is no longer from the cold, it’s driven entirely from the sudden desire that is making you squeeze your legs together. It feels so foreign, after years of sexual solitude, it’s almost too much, too overwhelming. But your emotions and thoughts are wild in your brain and you can’t help the pain slicing through your chest. After so long…

“David… You don’t have to do this… I don’t want you to feel like you have to pity me, or-or make me feel better just because of what happened with Brian…” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to ignore the desperate plea of your body begging for more, begging for a crumb of affection you have been denied for so long.

David is silent for a moment before suddenly pulling away. Your heart plummets into your stomach one moment and then shoots into your throat the next when David is suddenly rolling you onto your back. Everything is so fast, and before you know it, he is seated between your legs, hands planted on the mattress by your head, caging you in. The moonlight is just enough for you to see the seriousness in his eyes, the hard set of his jaw, and furrow of his brow.

“Don’t confuse my desire for you with pity. I have wanted you from the moment you first walked into my office; how many years ago? And I knew I was in deep when you flounced in with another man, and all I felt in my chest was jealousy and envy because I wanted that to be me.” His admission makes your heart clench, your eyes widening in surprise. “Maybe I am a selfish man for acting on these impulses, especially after you have been so vulnerable with me, but I can’t sit here and let you stew in these insecurities one man has instilled inside you. Not when I know I can show you how truly ravishing, wanted, and loved you are.”

He emphasizes his words with a slow roll of his hips, and you choke on your next breath, feeling the evidence of his want for you through his sweats. Tentatively, you reach up, gripping his shoulders, focus torn between the way his eyes darken and the slow smile curving his lips as he closes the distance between you. “I… I want…” You’re lost for words, your heart beating so hard against your ribs that you are certain David can hear the chaotic rhythm.

Giving you plenty of time to pull away, David leans in, brushing his lips across yours in a ghost of a kiss; and when you don’t move, he seals his lips over yours. A deep, shuddering breath rushes from you, and you sink into his easy rhythm. His kiss is passionate, sensual, and lulling you into complete oblivion.

Shifting, you run your fingers into the trim, greying hair at the base of his skull, pulling him closer with a simpering whimper. His response is a deep groan that vibrates through his body into yours, losing himself as he rocks his hips against yours. Just under the tingling mint of your toothpaste, he can taste something sweeter, something truly you, and he aims to discover it as he sweeps his tongue into the wet cavern of your mouth.

With a moan, your legs hick higher, thighs squeezing his hips as David’s hand cups your cheek. His thumb sweeps a few stray hairs from your cheek before hooking under your chin and pressing your head back. The kiss breaks with ragged gasps as he finds your jaw. The goatee he sports bristles at your skin, scratching softly before he soothes the sting with warm, opened-mouth kisses. Your grip tightens, little gasps and moans heaving into the air, and David nips at your jaw.

“Louder… Let me hear you, bella.” It isn’t a request; his hips bucking against yours, sliding his erection across your heated mound just the right way, forcing a desperate keen from your lips. You guide his head to the spot just below your ear, and he chuckles before sucking and nipping heavily. “Ah… Da-David… yes…” In the back of your mind, you know he’s leaving marks, that by the end of the night, your skin will be marred with the evidence of what you two have done, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“There she is.” He purrs, a shiver skirting up his spine when he feels your hands pressing down his back, gripping him tighter, holding him closer; like you can’t get enough, like you’re begging for more, and he is more than happy to give. “I’m going to take care of you. Will you let me, Mia Mor?”

The want to be cherished, the need to be loved like you once had been overwhelms you; tears pricking your eyes and you nod. “Please… Please, David.” Leaning up, David catches your gaze, features softening before brushing a kiss across your forehead; a stark contrast to the fire burning between your bodies.

“I’ve got you.” Shifting his weight, he skims his hand down your side before dipping below your waistband, a hiss escaping through his teeth when his fingers skim over your bare, drenched pussy. “Fuck… you’ve been so needy, just want to be shown some love, hmm?”

You can hardly nod, breath caught in your chest, too focused on the way he teasingly dips between your lips, dragging your wetness up to circle your clit. Hips bucking, a desperate, whiny noise falls from your lips, eyes fluttering closed as he starts drawing different patterns. He takes his time, finding what draws out the most noise as possible; which speed has you simpering and begging, fine-tuning to the musical sounds of your pleasure.

His voice drops to a raw growl as he dips his fingers into your entrance. “Going to get you nice and ready for me, gatina… Thaaaat’s it.” Your cunt is already fluttering with the promise of fulfillment from his shallow thrust, taking his time to stretch you open on his thick digits, palm pressing against your swollen clit.

“N-Need… fuck, I need more., please.”

David smiles to himself with a wolfish grin, thrusting his fingers fully into your wet heat, setting a deep, languid pace. Warmth flashes through your body, jaw hanging open, clawing at his shirt as your sensitive walls squeeze around his fingers. Your orgasm is building fast between your hips, the pressure deliriously intense, a feeling you don’t want to end as you lift your hips to meet his thrusts.

He works you up, up, up, paying special attention to the spot on your neck with tongue and teeth when he feels your pussy begin to flutter and hears your cries growing louder. He curls his fingers, almost instantly finding that gummy spot on the inside of your walls, and it takes nothing more than that. You cum with a squeal, nails digging into his t-shirt, face pressed against his hair as your arousal drips down his fingers with each wave of ecstasy.

“David, David, David~” You chant his name like a prayer, a plea, a word of salvation.

He kisses you then, consuming your cries of pleasure as he works you through your orgasm until the rhythmic flutter of your walls dies down to the occasional twitch of your hips.

“Look at me,” and when you finally manage to open your eyes, you watch David suck his fingers into his mouth, tasting you on his skin. He lets out a low groan, the flavor of your arousal thick and heady on his tongue and yet sweeter than his favorite wine.

“Fuck…” He growls. “I’m going to need more of you. I’m going to lay you out on my dining room table and feast between your legs. Amore miso bellissimo.” His words leave you gasping for breath, the promise of more after this night sending a pang of anticipation through your body that has your cunt feeling devastatingly empty. “Let’s take these off, yeah?”

Tongue too heavy to speak, all you can offer is a nod before you release his shirt so he can sit back on his haunches. He curls his fingers into your waistband, and when you lift your hips, he pulls them down completely. You’re focused on his face as his eyes roam over the newly exposed flesh. David grips your knees, thumbs rubbing soothing circles as he meets your gaze and whispers with intense honesty, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

He wishes, now more than ever, that he wasn’t seeing your body for the first time under the moon’s hazy glow in a run-down house on top of an air mattress. No, in his mind, you need to be laid out on top of the silk sheets of his king-sized bed, bathed in the orange glow of candles as he worships you the way you deserve.

Slowly, keeping his gaze locked on your face for any sign of hesitation, David hooks his thumbs into his waistband. He pushes his pants and boxer down just enough to free his cock, and a whimper leaves your throat at the sight of it, leaking and flush, bobbing between his thighs.

Your cunt pulses, saliva filling your mouth. “I… I want you…” You plead, voice husky, legs falling apart in invitation.

Groaning, David closes his eyes for a moment before gripping your thighs, fingers indenting the flesh as he drags you closer, forcing your hips up. “You can have me, every inch of me, Bambina.”

David holds his breath as he grips his cock, pumping it once, twice, before sliding the weeping tip through your soaked lips. His skin is incredibly hot against yours, especially when he glides the tip up, bumping against your clit before sliding back down to catch against your entrance.

Your breath grows short and ragged, a vine of anxiety and excitement twisting through your lungs. Pausing, David searches your face, a soft look dampening the burning lust in his eyes when he sees the pinch in your brows. “I’ve got you,” he whispers, leaning over you, elbows bracketing your shoulders, a hand cupping your cheek, grounding you as he finally pushes in. Your jaw goes slack, eyes rolling up, and David groans, his thick cock stretching your warm, wet walls; the exquisite heat of your body engulfing him.

“Ahh…ahh…” There’s a burning pain warring with the pleasure of being stuffed so full the further he sinks into you. Tears prick your eyes, your hazy, lust-laden gaze mirroring David’s as he snaps his hips forward, hilting himself fully inside you. “Oh fuck-!” You gasp, head lifting off of the pillows, mouth hanging open in surprise.

David grunts, squeezing his eyes shut as he presses his forehead against yours. Sweat is already building on his skin, his hand fisting the covers as he tries to keep the strings of his self-control from unraveling. “CosÍ stretto, cosÍ bagnato…” he sucks in a breath, “so tight, so fucking wet, baby…”

A smile creeps up your lips, eyes fluttering as his thumb passes over your blushing cheek. “Looks… Looks like I need to brush up on my Italian.” Your joke resolves into a whimper when his cock twitches in your depths.

A breathy laugh falls from David’s lips as he shakes his head slowly, leaning back slightly to watch your face as he whispers, “I’ll teach you, Gatina.” He pulls out, your whimper tuning into a moan, feeling every ridge and bump of his cock, “I have a lot I need to teach you.” Then he presses back in.

You hide your face against his neck, running your hands up his arms as David sets a slow, steady pace, hip rising to meet him thrust for thrust. His cock presses into that spot deep inside your sensitive walls, making your thighs twitch, locking your legs around his hips.

“Oh… oh fuck, David…” You sink your fingers into his hair, desperate to pull him closer, and he complies by slipping an arm under your shoulders, drawing your chest to his and forcing himself that much deeper with each roll of his hips.

“I’m right here, just feel, let go, and just feel me.” You wish there were fewer layers between you as your hand slides down the back of his shirt, palm gliding over his shoulders where sweat has started to gather. A delirious heat is pulsing through your veins, growing into an inferno in your lower belly with each pass of his cock. You begin to squirm, loud moans falling from your lips as you rake your nails up his spine, causing David to shiver.

“More… ah- please more.” The desperate plea in your voice as you buck your hips has David tsking against your ear.

He leans back, cock throbbing at the sight of your pinched brow and glossy eyes, tears forming in your waterline. Slowly he rubs his thumb over the edge of your kiss-swollen lip as he whispers. “I’m going to take my time with you, enjoy every moment of your sweet pussy squeezing my cock until you come undone completely.”

His words have you dissolving into whimpers, barely able to keep your eyes open as he starts back at his languid, deep pace. “Look at you. All of you. So beautiful.” He slips his hand down your side, following the dip of your waist, over the curve of your hip before wrapping around the bend of your knee. He lifts your leg, spreading you open, allowing himself to enter you at an entirely new angle.

“S-so good… f-fuck feels so good.” You pant, eyes rolling up. You’re being eaten alive by the fire growing in your body, sweat coating your skin below your shirt, slick between your bodies where you meet with each thrust. You start to squirm at the feeling of it all, eyes pinched shut, thighs stiffening, and back beginning to leave the bed as that familiar, electric pressure begins to build, and build, and build.

David can feel your walls start to flutter. A satisfied smile, almost smug, curls his lips, and he squeezes your eyes to catch your attention. “Gonna cum, baby?” He cooes, the deep baritone reverberating through your body, making that pressure nearly crescendo as you nod. “Let go, let me feel you wet my cock.” His hand falls from your thigh to slowly stroke your clit.

A sharp gasp fills your mouth. Your hips burn from the angle, the pressure nearing a breaking point as you cry for him. His grip tightens around your shoulders, and with a groan, he kisses you deeply, swallowing your cries as you snap. Your orgasm that had been creeping up slowly suddenly consumes you like a strike of lightning. You break the kiss with a silent scream, tears squeezing out of your eyes and falling down your temples as the intensity of your pleasure peaks, and you crash.

“Fuck, fuck, baby, yes… that’s it, that’s it, Tesoro.” He husks, his thrusts becoming harder, faster; steadily growing more powerful.

“Dav…Dav…” You babble through tears, overstimulation setting in as he drills into you. “S’too much…”

He hushes you softly, slipping his arm free to brace himself over you, cupping your face. “I know-shit- I know. But I’m close, amore mio.”

There’s a flash of panic in your eyes, and you shake your head slightly. “M’not on the pill.”

David laughs huskily, sweat beading and dripping down his nose as he grinds his hips against yours. “Sweetheart, you don’t go through this many marriages without a prenup and a vasectomy.” Before you can truly comprehend what he is saying, he pulls out nearly all the way before slamming back into you, spearing you open again and again, making you squeal.

Lower back leaving the bed, thighs locked around his hips and nails indenting his back, all you can do is hold on as David chases his high. His grip on the sheets tightens, moans and grunts leaving his lips as his eyebrows draw together and a muscle ticks in his jaw. One, two, three more harsh thrusts and David stills, a low groan filling the space between you as his cock pulses and paints your walls with warm cum. You swallow against your dry throat, threading your fingers through his hair as he settles against you, head resting on your chest as you both cling to each other, catching your breath.

After several minutes, David eases out of you with a soft hiss, rolling onto his side of the bed, making you bounce slightly with a breathless laugh. Your entire body feels soar and used in the most delicious of ways, mind ditsy and quiet as your body decompresses and exhaustion crowds in. David draws you into him, peppering your neck with kisses as he tucks you back into his chest like before, whispering little phrases in Italian in your ear as you drift off.

*~*~*~*~*~*

There’s a warmth of a palm, sliding up and down the planes of your back, pulling you from your sleep gently before it grips your shoulder, shaking slightly. “Y/n, we need to move.” The words instantly cut through your sleep, your body jolting into action as you sit up, blinking into the early morning light. David is beside the bed, and you scramble to find your clothes.

“What-what happened?”

“Timothy Adam had a woman dropped off at his house. Morgan and Reid moved in.” You stand, dragging your pants up before catching the vest David throws at you, shoving your feet into your shoes. “I can’t get either on coms.”

Both of you are rushing from the house, guns held at your sides, crossing the quiet street on quick feet. Your heart pounds as you fall in line behind David, covering him as your eyes sweep the yard. The little brick house might have once been charming, but now it lies dilapidated in the middle of an overgrown yard with a multitude of broken-down cars surrounding it. The fog that clings to the brown, dying grass and hollowed-out shells gives you a sense of foreboding, like it’s foreshadowing whatever horrors wait inside.

The front door is wide open, splintered and dented in on the side, a sign of being kicked in. David holds his fist up, halting you as he draws near the door, leaning in with his gun drawn.

“Clear!” Morgan’s voice rings out, and your shoulders sag. David looks over his shoulder with the same visible ease before holstering his weapon and entering the house. Sirens alert you of the arrival of the rest of your crew and the local P.D., as you follow David into the house.

The next few hours are spent inside what felt like the grim reimagining of a Stephen King novel. The small two-bedroom house had been gutted and transformed into a slaughterhouse. The rotting floors and curling wallpapers are smeared in grime and aged blood. Barely working freezers scattered the main room, containing the missing pieces of each woman that had gone missing. A smell so retched and diabolical clung to every inch, making eyes water and stomach churn. And there in the middle of it all, on his knees, was the man who had orchestrated it all, not a single shred of remorse in his beady eyes as he smiles up at Morgan, who points a gun at the man’s head.

Finally, the monster responsible for the five women’s slaughter had been brought down, but was there ever truly any justice in a case like this?

Now was the time for a cool-down, letting adrenaline subside as everything was broken down. Soon, the entire team would be boarding the jet, only to wait in morbid anticipation for the next case to drop.

Back in the house you and David had spent the night, you’re breaking down your cot, struggling with a sticky leg when the door behind you creaks open. You turn and smile at Derek as he leans against the door jam. “Hey, mind giving me a hand, since you’re here?”

“I will once you answer some questions.” The accusatory tone of his voice makes you stiffen, straightening up as your spine tenses and muscles coil tight.

“Questions?”

Derek moves into the room, his boots heavy on the floor. “Tell me why, when I know for a fact that you were here all night, you showed up this morning with your neck covered in hickies?” He stops only a few feet away, pointing a finger in your face with a look of anger that sends a chill down your spine. Eyes widening, your hand shoots to your neck, having completely forgotten about them after the abrupt waking from this morning.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and swallowing against the raw anxiety building in your chest. “I-I… Derek, I can promise you that it isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh?” He laughs sardonically, and you flinch inwardly as he shakes his head. “ ‘Isn’t what it looks like’? That’s rich, because from where I am standing, it looks like you cheated on Brian with David last night.”

You scrub your face, turning away as pain flares to life in your chest. You whisper, “I didn’t cheat…”

“Don’t give me that shi-“

“I DIDN’T CHEAT!” You snap, whirling around to face him with an open look of agony on your face, causing Derek to freeze. “I didn’t cheat… Brian and I got a divorce a month ago…” You suck in a shaky breath, eyes misting over, and Morgan deflates before you, confusion etching into his features, but you cut him off. “I didn’t… I didn’t tell anyone because I wasn’t ready, but last night I just broke and spilled, and David was there to catch all of those pieces and-and…” A blush scotches up your cheeks as you fall off, tears threatening to spill as you looked up at him.

The silence that stretches is heavy before Morgan sighs. “Y/n… I’m- I’m sorry.” Regret colors his tone and your tense shoulders sag.

“You don’t have to be… You didn’t know and I understand where you were coming from. Brian and I have been in the dumps for a few years now… and..” You heave a sigh and fan your face trying to cool your warming cheeks. “It’s a lot to talk about right now, but I can tell you everything in time just please… please don’t say anything to anyone else…”

“I won’t I promise… but I’m sorry for how I came in here hot headed, and I’m sorry you are going through this and didn’t feel you could come to any of us.”

Those tears you had tried to blink away spilled over your cheeks and you let Derek bridge the distance and hug you tightly. A long moment you let him squeeze you a little too tightly before you draw back, trying to laugh off your tears. “I didn’t want to keep it from any of you but I needed time to get myself back together… besides do you know how hard it has been keeping all of this off of Garcia’s screens?”

Morgan only smiles but it’s tight and small before bending down to help you with your cot.

*~*~*~*~*~*

The jet is blessedly warm, the seats a relief to sink into after such a long week.

Closing your eyes, you let your head roll back, a deep sigh passing through the cabin as everyone settles down for the flight home.

The seat beside yours shifts, and you crack your eyes open. David smiles, just the slightest tilt to his lips as he looks down at you from the corner of his eye.

He leans in, and your stomach flutters as a warmth spreads through your limbs. “Dinner. This week at my house. Okay?”

A blush lights up your cheeks, fighting against a smile rising on your lips. You shift in your seat, gently knocking your knee against his. Pitching your voice to a whisper, you nod your head. “I would like that… very much.”

[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.

[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!

[ruebossanova]

hey!! Can u pls do 18, 44, and 82 for dom!sabrina? Tyy <333

wrecked in denim - sabrina carpenter

dom!sab x sub!reader

18 — “bend over” 44 — “you’re so spoiled” 82 — “i still hate you”

prompt list

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

you slam the door harder than necessary, just to make a point. sabrina barely glances at you as she drops her bag on your couch, arms crossed, already in that too-tight crop top she definitely wore to piss you off.

“you’re lucky i even agreed to come,” she mutters.

“you’re the one who begged me for the demo,” you fire back, stepping out of your shoes with just as much attitude.

she rolls her eyes. “i didn’t beg.”

“you texted me at one a.m. three nights in a row.”

“you ignored the first two.”

“and somehow still answered the third.”

she shrugs. “maybe i felt bad for you.”

you laugh bitterly. “you’re the worst.”

her eyes flash. “i still hate you.”

“the feeling’s mutual.”

but you’re already staring at her mouth.

and when she steps closer, so are you.

you don’t know who kisses who first, just that it’s fast, angry, and filthy. teeth clashing. hands grabbing. years of tension crashing out of both of you in one breathless rush.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” she mutters against your mouth, her hands tugging at the hem of your shirt.

you pull it off over your head. “keep talking.”

“you want me to?”

“i want you to shut up, actually.”

“make me.”

so you slam her against the wall.

and she gasps.

and grins.

“you’ve wanted to do that for months,” she breathes.

“you have no idea what i want.”

her hand drags up your thigh. “try me.”

your shirt’s off. her jeans are halfway undone. you’re grinding against her thigh with your back against the wall when she leans into your ear and whispers—

“you’re so spoiled.”

you freeze for a split second.

“excuse me?”

she smirks, licking into your mouth again. “you act like you don’t want me, and then melt the second i touch you.”

your hands tighten on her hips. “you’ve got a big mouth.”

“and you love it.”

you shove her toward the bed. not gently.

she lands with a bounce, propped up on her elbows, grinning like she won a fight.

“bend over,” she says, voice rough.

you lift a brow. “you sure you can handle that?”

she's already pulling your pants down. “we’ll find out.”

your panties hit the floor with a soft thud. she’s still in that tiny shirt, breathing hard, her knees pressed into the edge of the mattress behind you, hands gripping your hips.

she runs her hand down your back, not gently. “look at you.”

“you’re gonna stare or fuck me?” you throw over your shoulder, trying to sound cocky. but your voice breaks a little.

she grins. “needy already?”

she slides two fingers between your legs and you gasps—loud, sharp. you're soaked. dripping.

“fuck,” she mutters, dragging her fingers over you again, slower. “this for me?”

“shut up.”

she slides in without warning.

your whole body jolts.

“you don’t sound like someone who hates me,” she whispers.

you groan. “i do. i just hate you better like this.”

she fucks you slow at first, just to watch you squirm. your thighs tremble with every thrust. you push back against her hand like you can’t help it, moaning louder every time she curls her fingers deep.

“please,” you breathe, “don’t stop.”

she leans over you, body pressed to your back, her mouth at your ear.

“what happened to all that attitude, hm?”

“fuck you.”

she adds a third finger.

you cry out.

“you’re gonna cum like this?” she whispers. “bent over and full of my fingers?”

you don't answer, you just moan, louder this time, your knuckles white where they grip the blanket.

“say it,” she murmurs, curling again. “tell me you want it.”

“i want it,” you gasp. “fuck, i want it so bad.”

you're shaking when you cums, screaming into the mattress, your body jerking under hers. she doesn't stop until your thighs twitch and you tries to pull away.

she holds your hips down. “too much?”

you nod, breathless. “too good.”

she presses kisses to your back, up your spine. her shirt’s twisted and your skin’s slick with sweat, but she looks beautiful like this—flushed and quiet and real.

you turn your head, meeting her eyes. “you still hate me?”

she smirks. “maybe a little less.”

you crawl into her lap and kiss her again, slower this time.

“round two,” you whispers against her mouth, “and this time i’m on top.”

you ride her with your hands on her chest, hair messy and cheeks pink, your thighs tight around her waist. she's too wrecked to fight back, so she just lets you take what you want.

“fuck,” she groans, watching you grind against her strap like it’s the only thing you've ever needed.

“don’t look at me like that,” you say breathlessly.

“like what?”

“like you don’t hate me anymore.”

she grips your hips tighter, pulling you down harder. “i don’t.”

you stills

then lean down and kiss her again.

“good,” you whisper. “because i never did either.”

sabrina's lying on her back, chest rising slow, skin slick with sweat and the echo of you still lingering on her body. you're curled against her side, arm draped lazily across her stomach, your breathing warm against her collarbone.

it’s quiet now.

a different kind of quiet.

not the biting one from earlier. not angry or charged. just… calm. deep. like something settled.

your fingers trace little half-hearts into her skin. she doesn't say anything, just lets you do it. your leg hooks gently around hers. you sigh.

“what?” she whispers, brushing her hand through your tangled hair.

you don't answer at first. just shifting closer. pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then stay there, lips resting on her skin.

“i never hated you,” you finally whisper.

she smiles, small but real. “i figured that out around the third orgasm.”

you snort into your neck, then go quiet again.

“can i tell you something?” you ask after a while, voice smaller.

“always.”

you pull back just enough to look at her, all flushed and messy and glowing in the low light. “i love you.”

her breath catches.

“i’ve loved you,” you say, a little braver now. “even when i was being awful. even when you made me insane. i still do.”

you don’t rush to fill the space. you just let it hang there a second. let the words soak in.

and then: “say it again.”

you blink. “what?”

she leans forward, kissing the corner of your mouth. “say it again. but slower this time.”

you roll her gently onto her back, brushing her hair from her face. your thumb strokes over her cheek, and her eyes flutter shut like she’s already melting under you.

“i love you,” you whisper again.

you kiss her, soft and slow, letting it bloom on your tongue.

your hand slides down her side, grazing over her ribs, then lower, until she gasps softly under your palm. you’re slower now. more deliberate. like you’re touching something sacred.

she’s wet and sensitive, legs falling open for you like it’s second nature. touching you the way she did, made her just as much worked up as you were.

you press a kiss to her jaw, then her throat, whispering, “i love you too.”

she exhales like you just gave her permission to breathe again.

“you don’t have to prove it,” she says, voice shaking slightly.

“i’m not trying to,” you whisper. “i just want to feel you.”

your fingers slip back inside her, slow and careful, like you’re learning her all over again. sabrina whimpers softly, wrapping her arms around your neck.

“you’re being gentle now,” she murmurs.

“you deserve gentle,” you whisper back. “you deserve everything.”

she holds your gaze like she doesn’t know what to do with that. then her lips part, soft and breathy. “don’t stop.”

you move slowly inside her, rhythm lazy, just enough pressure to keep her moaning into your neck. your mouth stays near her ear, whispering every thought you’ve never said out loud.

“i love the way you sound.”

“i love how you fall apart when i touch you here.”

“i love you.”

over and over.

you thumb her clit gently, and she grabs at your shoulder like she’s afraid to fall apart.

“i’ve got you,” you say. “i’m right here.”

“i know,” she breathes. “i’m yours.”

her climax is quiet. no swearing, no fight. just a soft whimper of your name, her fingers curling tight in the sheets as her body trembles beneath you.

you kiss her through it. every twitch. every breath. every quiet sob she tries to swallow.

“that’s it,” you whisper. “just like that.”

she doesn’t say anything for a long time. just lies there, tangled in you, heart beating against your chest.

you feel her fingers trace your spine. then softly: “you made me feel safe.”

you close your eyes, pulling her closer.

“you make me feel everything.”

you’re half-asleep when she whispers, “i think this was always love.”

you murmur something against her hair. “even when we hated each other?”

“especially then,” she says, laughing into your shoulder. “i think i was just scared.”

“me too.”

she lifts her head, hair messy across her face. “so what do we do now?”

you smile, brushing a kiss to her lips.

“we keep loving each other,” you whisper. “and maybe next time, skip the part where we pretend we don’t care.”

she grins.

“where’s the fun in that?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

[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!

[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.