#and for him it’s like he lived all those years it wasn’t a time skip to him but he was also in isolation and on the run from someone who is

[luvfae]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request a female reader x Thanos.

What about reader and thanos we’re close before the games both harbouring feelings maybe, but they both have mental health struggles and she is someone who dose things with out thinking of the consequences because she doesn’t care so anyway when they find each other in the games thanos is aware of her tendencies and is like kind of babysitting her.

Like in the first game she makes zero move once she finds out you die and he literally drags her across, and maybe the second game she is always his first choice but she just lays there depressed and cynical and makes sarcastic comments while him and nah gy go around finding team mates or in mingle she makes no move but ofc he always saves her ass, until one night he gives her a rude awakening a harsh pep talk feeling confessing etc. u can put your own spin on it ofc ofc!!

I DON’T CARE

parings: thanos/choi su-bong x f!reader

warnings: swearing, mention of drugs and alcohol, mental health issues, death, blood, typical squid game stuff

You and Thanos had always been a little fucked up.

That’s what made you close.

You met him at a party two years ago—one of those loud, suffocating nights where everyone was either high, drunk, or trying to be. He was leaning against a balcony, smoking, watching the chaos unfold like it was a movie he’d seen a hundred times before.

You had walked up, grabbed the cigarette from his lips, and took a drag without asking.

He had let you.

“You look like you want to jump,” you had said, staring down at the city lights.

He had snorted. “You look like you wouldn’t care if I did.”

That was the start of it.

You weren’t exactly good for each other, but you understood each other. The reckless, self-destructive tendencies. The numbness that came in waves. You never had to explain why you did the things you did—skipping work for days at a time, getting blackout drunk just to feel something, making choices that could ruin you without thinking twice. Because he got it.

And maybe that was why, despite all the tension, all the times you nearly crossed the line from friends to something else, you never did. Because you knew the second you let him have you, you wouldn’t be able to stop.

Then he disappeared.

You heard the rumors—he got into drugs, got into trouble, owed money to the wrong people. You had reached out once, maybe twice, but you never pushed. And eventually, you stopped trying.

Until now.

Until you saw him again.

Your head was pounding. Your body ached. You barely remembered how you got here, only that you had woken up in this fucking tracksuit with the number 067 on your chest and some masked freak telling you to follow the others.

And then—

“No fucking way.”

Your stomach twisted at the sound of his voice.

You turned.

And there he was.

Thanos.

He looked like hell—bruised knuckles, tired eyes, the same cocky smirk that always made you want to punch him in the face.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” he said, stepping closer. His gaze flickered over you, as if making sure you were real.

You swallowed. “Yeah. Same.”

Silence stretched between you.

Then he snorted. “I should’ve known you’d end up in some fucked-up shit like this.”

You crossed your arms. “Takes one to know one.”

He huffed a laugh, but there was something behind it. Something tight. Something that made your chest ache.

“How bad?” you asked, voice quieter.

His jaw tensed. “Bad.”

You nodded.

He nodded back.

You didn’t need to say more.

Because he knew what you were asking. And you knew what he wasn’t saying.

And when the sirens blared, when you were herded outside for the first game, when the blood started spilling and the bodies started dropping, you froze.

Gunshots rang out. Bodies collapsed. Screams filled the air, and yet you just stood there, frozen.

You weren’t scared. No, fear would mean you actually cared about living. You simply didn’t see the point. What was the point?

You stood there, staring at the massive doll, blinking slowly as the words “Green Light” echoed in the cold air.

Around you, people were rushing forward, sprinting, their eyes wide with desperation. The tension was palpable, the sound of rapid heartbeats almost deafening as they tried to make it to the end before the next “Red Light.”

You weren’t scared. You weren’t anything. Just numb.

You could hear it—the gasps of fear, the thud of bodies hitting the ground, and then—gunshots.

Someone screamed.

But still, you didn’t move.

The moment it hit you, like a wave crashing over a brittle shore, was that you weren’t just standing still because you were numb. You were standing still because it didn’t matter. If you died here, it wouldn’t matter. If you made it out, what would it change?

Nothing. Everything was pointless.

And that’s when you felt it—Thanos’s hand, strong and relentless, grabbing your wrist, yanking you forward.

“The fuck are you doing?” His voice was a low hiss, filled with fury, but his grip on you didn’t loosen.

Your feet stumbled as you were dragged, fighting for balance. Your mind was foggy, distant, numb to the fear that gripped everyone else. The bloodshed, the screams, the flashing lights—it was like you were standing outside of it all, watching it happen to someone else.

“Move!” Thanos barked, his fingers digging into your skin.

You tried to jerk away, feeling the weight of his grip only tightening.

“I—” You blinked, but your voice felt hollow. “I don’t care.”

The next whistle blew.

Your body jerked with the momentum of his tug, and for a moment, you didn’t feel the ground under your feet. Thanos’s arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you, pulling you through the crowd of bodies that were tumbling and falling like leaves in a storm.

Gunshots rang out in the background. You could see it now—people, falling. Bodies collapsing like ragdolls.

But you didn’t care.

“You wanna die?” Thanos’s voice was harsh, just an inch from your ear, filled with raw anger.

You blinked slowly. “I don’t care,” you repeated, though the words felt strange in your mouth. Almost like a lie you’d told yourself for so long that you’d forgotten what it really meant.

Thanos’s grip tightened. He wasn’t listening, not to your words. He wasn’t letting you slip into that void again. His eyes were wide, jaw clenched, the muscle in his neck pulsing with barely contained frustration. The whistle blew again.

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered, lifting you off your feet entirely now, dragging you forward like you weighed nothing.

He didn’t give you a choice. He didn’t care that you didn’t care. He was going to keep you alive, even if it meant forcing you to fight against the numbness that consumed you.

By the time the countdown ended, you were nearly at the finish line. Your heart thudded in your chest—not from fear, not from adrenaline, but because of the strange, foreign sensation of being pulled back from the edge.

Thanos pushed you across the line. He was breathless, chest heaving from the physical strain of pulling you. His grip on your waist loosened only when the game ended, and the crowd’s screams faded.

When it was over, when the air cleared, you leaned back against the cold wall, your body sliding down to the ground, exhaustion settling in.

Thanos stood there, staring at you, chest heaving in rhythm with yours. His eyes narrowed with something dangerous, something you hadn’t seen before. Something deeper than anger.

“You’re fucking crazy,” he spat, but it lacked the usual humor.

You didn’t answer. You just sat there, staring at the floor. The adrenaline was leaving your system, and all you had left was the heaviness of everything—the gunshots, the blood, the screams.

“I don’t care,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

Thanos crouched in front of you, eyes intense, searching your face for something he didn’t know how to find. Something that he needed to fix.

“No,” he snapped, his hand reaching out to grip your chin, forcing you to look at him. “We’re not doing this. Not anymore.”

His fingers dug into your skin, the intensity in his gaze so powerful that you couldn’t look away, even though part of you wanted to. His voice softened, but there was no less fire in it. “I won’t let you throw yourself away.”

Your chest tightened. Something deep inside of you stirred, but it was fleeting. You felt vulnerable, stripped bare in front of him.

“I won’t let you die,” he muttered, more to himself than to you, his thumb gently brushing over your skin like it could erase everything you were running from.

You felt the ache in your chest then, the crack that began to form from the pressure of his words. The weight of his care.

And for a second, just a second, it felt like you were actually seen.

—

The next day when the guards announced the next game, you didn’t bother to move. You just sat there, your arms resting on your knees, watching the other players scramble to form teams, trying to sort out the chaos of who was going to be their partner. You could hear the shuffling of feet, the anxious whispers, the desperation in every movement. But none of it touched you. You were past it.

“Get up.”

Thanos’s voice cut through the haze of indifference surrounding you. He was standing over you, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed.

You didn’t respond right away. Instead, you tilted your head back, staring at the high ceiling above, your mind drifting. He could wait.

“I’m not asking, sweetheart.” His voice was firm now, sharp like a warning. “Get up.”

You sighed, the weight of the world pressing on your chest. This wasn’t even the worst of it. You glanced at him briefly, and for a second, something flickered in your chest—a feeling, a pulse of something that made you almost want to smile. Almost.

You dragged yourself up from the floor with exaggerated slowness, not bothering to hide the way your limbs felt heavy, as if your body didn’t belong to you anymore. The sound of the other players forming teams, their voices blending into the background, became distant.

Thanos didn’t wait for you to make a move. His hand shot out, grabbing your wrist, pulling you with him toward the group that was gathering to select their partners.

“You’re with me,” he said, without asking, without giving you any say in it. His words weren’t a request—they were a demand.

You raised an eyebrow, raising your free hand to smooth your hair back. “Thanos, you need five people, not just one. Go find your three others.”

He didn’t even look at you as he grunted. “Get up. We’re doing this.”

You weren’t sure why it annoyed you. Maybe it was the way he thought he could just make decisions for you like that, or maybe it was the fact that you didn’t want to give a shit about anything anymore. But instead of arguing, you flopped back against the wall, letting out a deep sigh. “You’re so bossy.”

“I swear, if you don’t—”

“You’ll what?” you asked lazily, watching the other players scramble like rats. “Let me die?”

He stared at you, jaw clenched, clearly fighting the urge to snap at you. You saw the anger flaring in his eyes, the protective instinct swirling beneath the surface. But he said nothing. He didn’t yell at you. He just turned and walked away, a look of frustration flashing across his face.

It was strange. Normally, you’d see that and feel some sick satisfaction. But today, it left you empty, like the familiar edge of tension between you and him had dulled.

After a few moments, he came back. You didn’t look up from where you were sprawled on the floor, your legs stretched out in front of you.

Thanos took the spot next to you. He didn’t say anything. He just sat there, silent, his eyes scanning the group. You could tell he was waiting for you to make a move, to show some sign that you were still capable of caring about something.

But you didn’t. You didn’t move.

And maybe that was why, when he spoke again, his voice was softer, quieter. “Come on. We’ve got to find one more person.”

You didn’t answer him. You just kept staring ahead, your eyes unfocused.

Thanos cursed under his breath. “Fine. Stay here. I don’t give a shit. But we’re playing this fucking game.”

When you didn’t react, he stood up, dragging a reluctant Nam-Gyu over to form the rest of the team. You could hear them talking quietly for a moment, but it barely registered in your head.

You hadn’t realized how much it hurt, how much the detachment had taken a toll on you, until you felt him next to you again, the weight of his presence a reminder that something—someone—still cared.

It was just a fleeting moment, but it stung.

“You with me or what?”

You finally looked up at him. The frustration in his eyes hadn’t faded, but there was something else there, something deeper, almost like he was begging you to show up.

You stood without a word, dusting yourself off as you followed him to the designated area.

Thanos didn’t say anything else as the game began. He just watched you, his eyes never leaving you as you moved through the tasks. His hands were steady, precise, but every time you stumbled, he was there to catch you. His grip on your arm was always firm, as if he were trying to anchor you to this world, to this moment where you were still alive.

Every time you fell behind, he didn’t yell. He didn’t berate you. He just pulled you up and kept you going.

And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel like you were fighting the game. You weren’t fighting him either.

You were fighting with him.

And as the game stretched on, the realization hit you: this wasn’t just about survival anymore. Thanos wasn’t just keeping you alive because of some unspoken duty or because he had no other choice.

He was doing it because he wanted to.

You couldn’t quite understand it, but you didn’t mind it. Not anymore.

—

The next game felt like a cruel joke.

You stood at the edge of the group, your mind numb to the urgency that seemed to swallow the others whole. The guards had explained the rules—nothing complicated, just survival—yet your body remained unmoving, despite the chaos unfolding around you.

Most of the players immediately scrambled, eyes wide, feet shuffling as they sought safety. You could hear the hurried breaths of your fellow players, the scrape of shoes against the concrete floor, the soft sounds of bodies rushing and tumbling in all directions. Yet, you just… didn’t care.

Everyone else seemed like they were fighting for their lives, but you?

You were waiting for it all to end.

And then, just like that, you felt the heat of a body next to yours. His scent—leather, sweat, something familiar—struck you before you even saw him.

“Nope,” Thanos muttered under his breath as his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist before you could even process what was happening.

You blinked, the numbness in your mind finally starting to fade as he yanked you toward him, pulling you into his space like he’d done countless times before. “Not today,” he said firmly, his voice low with that undercurrent of protectiveness that you had come to know so well.

You didn’t fight him. Not this time. His grip was strong, secure, and for once, you allowed yourself to lean into it. You didn’t want to make the effort to run or find a spot of safety. So you didn’t.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you muttered, looking up at him, your voice quieter than you intended.

Thanos glanced down at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Yes, I fucking did,” he replied, his tone hard, his grip never faltering.

You stayed quiet as he pulled you into an empty room, positioning you closer to the wall, where the guards couldn’t reach as easily if for some reason they decided to kill you. But it was more than that—he was keeping you close, making sure no one else could get too near, too close.

You hated how much it comforted you.

The minutes ticked by, the guards’ voices harsh in the background, and still, you stood there, pressed against him. His body was warm, solid, like a shield. You didn’t think about how strange it felt to have him act like this—to be the one protecting you. No, you just let him, because for once, it felt like you had a reason to stay.

You weren’t sure how much time passed, but it was enough for the panic to begin to settle. Enough for you to breathe again. You weren’t entirely safe, not yet. But for the first time in days, you weren’t just surviving; you were simply existing.

And it felt like an eternity before the sirens sounded, signaling the end of the game. The crowd around you began to move, restless and relieved.

Thanos released his hold on you just slightly, but he didn’t step away. His fingers lingered for a moment before dropping to his side.

“Think you can make it on your own?” His voice was quieter now, laced with something you couldn’t quite place.

You blinked, suddenly aware of how close the two of you still were, the heat between you both suddenly charging the air in a way that made your chest tighten.

“Maybe,” you muttered, looking away. “But you’re not exactly a bad guy to have around.”

Thanos snorted, a dark humor creeping into his voice. “Don’t get used to it.”

But you could feel his eyes on you, and despite everything—despite the absurdity of it all—you felt something inside shift. The games weren’t over, but something between you and Thanos had already changed.

And you weren’t sure if you could go back.

—

That night, Thanos snapped.

“I can’t keep babysitting you,” he growled, pacing in front of you.

You sat on the floor, arms wrapped around your knees, staring ahead blankly. “I never asked you to.”

He let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Then what, I should’ve let you fucking die?”

You didn’t answer.

That only pissed him off more.

“You act like nothing matters. Like you don’t give a shit if you live or die. But guess what, sweetheart?” He crouched in front of you, gripping your chin, forcing your eyes on him.

“I give a shit.”

Your breath caught.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what the fuck happened to you. I don’t know why you’re like this. But you do not get to throw yourself away.” His voice dropped lower. “Not when I—”

His grip faltered. His expression twisted.

Not when I care about you.

The words never came, but you felt them.

Something deep inside you cracked.

You swallowed hard. Your throat burned. Your chest ached. The weight of his words, of everything you’d been avoiding, came crashing down on you all at once.

For the first time in days, you felt something.

And you weren’t sure if that terrified you more than the games themselves.

But one thing was clear.

For Thanos, you’d try.

Even if you didn’t know how.

Something had changed.

It was subtle, but it was there.

Thanos didn’t say anything after that night—no more lectures, no more scolding. He just sat with you in the dark, his shoulder pressed against yours, and let the silence stretch between you.

But you could feel it. The weight of his words. The rawness in his voice when he said, I give a shit.

And maybe, just maybe, you had started to give a shit too.

Because the next morning, when the guards announced the next game, you didn’t drag your feet. You stood up. You followed. You let Thanos find you in the crowd without him having to pull you by the wrist.

You saw the way he looked at you—like he noticed the change, like he was waiting for you to slip back into that numb, hollow state again.

You didn’t.

Not yet.

[celestie0]

gojo satoru x reader | oneshot angst [18+]

title. let me be free of you

He would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you.

ᰔ pairing. friends to strangers au - best friend!gojo x reader (f)

ᰔ summary. gojo satoru, your love of a lifetime, tells you he’s engaged to another woman. inspired by the novel & netflix series “one day” created by david nicholls

ᰔ warnings/tags. 18+, fem!reader, angst, mentions of sex/explicit content, coming of age themes, reader & gojo are in their 30s, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of alcohol, cheating, lots of mutual pining & longing, bittersweet ending

ᰔ word count. 4.8k

a/n. hellooo! i've had this finished in my wips folder for a long time but never got around to posting it sooo just wanted to let it see the light of day haha. hope you enjoyyy <33

➸ masterlist

“I’m engaged.”

The words leave Gojo’s lips as much less of a confession and more like a blabber, like a toddler desperate to keep conversation going in the face of a disinterested adult. Wasn’t how he expected to share the news of a lifetime to the love of his lifetime, but he hopes it breaks your heart to hear it. 

He watches your eyebrows flatten from the crease that was bothering them before, and then slowly raise into soft arches above your eyes–those damn beautiful eyes that, even when they twinkle with hurt, still make his heart skip a beat in his chest.

He recalls for a moment the night the two of you met, drunk and dizzy from drinking out of a shared bottle of Prosecco, which only had half of the liquor left in it to start when he had first found it bleeding out to dry on the grassy lawn at the front of your university. It was graduation night, the last day to celebrate finishing four years of hell, and he had nothing to his name other than a rolled up diploma shoved in the pocket of his suit pants and the charm left in the youth of his smile. He wanted to spend the night with Aiko Rei, which was not a unique desire as most men on campus did, and he had a fair shot of getting into bed with her just like all those times before. But instead he was sitting at the top of a staircase inside the campus’s English literature building, making history in the crisp year of 1986 by being the first man of the robust age of twenty-three to pass up sex with the school’s lady heartthrob for–well, conversation with a sort of ditsy girl that he just met a half hour ago.

“What do you plan to do with your life?” he heard you ask him, a hard enough question to stomach when one is sober, and an impossible question to stomach when one is already trying not to puke flat Prosecco.

“Pardon?” he asked, in hopes to dissuade you from the question. In hopes that you’d get the hint. But you don’t. And he’d soon learn throughout the years of your friendship to come that you never did.

“Your life!” you exclaim, “we’re graduates now! What do you want to do with it?” You pat harshly at his thigh, closer to his groin than to his pocket, most likely because you’re tipsy too, but he realizes you’re referring to the rolled up paper protruding at the pocket. 

Truthfully, Gojo had never thought much about what he wanted to do after graduation. Hell, he didn’t even think he’d make it this far. Not once since he got here, not once since he flunked out of first-year history, not once since his father passed away during his third-year final examinations, and most certainly not after he got caught having “unethical affairs” with his communications professor just two months ago. And yet the esteemed board of scholars decided he was fit for a diploma anyway, and now he’s answering to, effectively, a stranger what he plans to do with said piece of paper.

“I don’t know,” he says to you, “I’ll do whatever.” 

Gojo Satoru could get by with doing whatever. He was good at everything he did. But his teachers and mentors and his own father would always warn him– son, it’s better to be an expert at one than a half-assed show-off in all. Well, they wouldn’t use the expletives, but that’s what it had sounded like in his head.

His dad would’ve liked you. He was always telling him to find a girl that challenges him, asks him the right questions, and pushes him to become a better man, the kind of woman his mother was to his father. Much opposed to the airheaded girls of Gojo’s college campus he would sneak into the house and forget to shoo off before sunrise, an occurrence that happened enough times for the respect in his father’s eyes to dwindle with each woman he’d watch his son dispel from their residence. Until eventually, Gojo started paying rent as punishment.

So, twenty-three year old Gojo, what do you plan to do with your life? Or do you have no idea of anything that extends beyond where you are right now, sitting across this strange girl you’ve just met on the death of your educational youth, at the top of a stairwell lined with passed out, drunk newly grads at nearly 4 in the morning? Right now, he’s eyeing the hem of your dress, the way it’s ridden up slightly but the mesh overskirt still tickles the skin of your thigh. He’s certainly able to picture what’s beyond that fabric, and maybe imagine the color of your panties, but what’s to come for his life? No. As previously mentioned, he never thought he’d get this far.

Gojo is thirty-four now, eleven years since that night the two of you met. And he sits next to you on a garden bench under a pitch black sky with stars speckled across, but only dimly visible. 

It’s been years since he’s seen you. You two had a “falling out” at the cusp of thirty, almost a decade of friendship fizzled away, because of his selfish actions. He couldn’t let you go, but he couldn’t want you the way you wanted him either. He didn’t feel like he deserved to have you. You were too good for him, and he knew it. So he wasted a decade chasing after other women, and in return, he lost the one he knew he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with.

It’s the night of your college roommate‘s wedding, all gathered here today to celebrate their love, and he knew he’d run into you here. You were the bride’s maiden of honor, and you looked beautiful. With your hair half tied up, a pretty clip twinkling with every movement of your head, and with strands falling down over the smooth curve of your neck, bare skin of your chest tightly covered by the nude fabric of your dress. He was fully lusting after you, and he has been all night, the picture of beauty and grace, and it was wrong. Because, again, he’s–

“You’re engaged?” you finally break through his thoughts, break through the trance that he was lost in by the sea of your eyes. Forever pulling him in like you were a wicked siren for his soul, when all you’ve ever wanted from him was his love.

He shifts a little, the thick fabric of his navy blue suit stretching with the movement as he fidgets with his hands in his lap. He’s sitting close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, the contrast of his broad masculinity so evident against the feminine curve of your bare arm, the thin strap holding up your dress threatening to fall down the hill. His thumb twitches, because he wants to pull it back up into place for you like a gentleman, but he’s not sure if that’s what his hand would actually do. Because all he really wants to do is peel the dress off of you. 

“Yes,” he says, still tantalized by the glow of your skin under pale moonlight, “engaged.”

“To be married?”

“Well, what other kind of engaged is there?”

“You’re not allowed to get married.”

He snorts. “Says who?”

“Says me!” you exclaim, sitting up straighter, "I turn my back for one moment, and you've gone an got engaged? You're awful!" The strap of your dress falls down over your shoulder, his eyes immediately darting to it. He sees you pull the strap up back into place, and a flit of his eyes to your face reveals to him the slight dusting of an embarrassed pink to your cheeks. 

There’s a silence that settles between the two of you. Distant commotion is heard, likely from the wedding venue as people engage in reception activities and dances and cheers, while the two of you remain in this garden escape, the wall of primly trimmed bushes sheltering you two from having to pretend to be people you’re not amongst a crowd.

“Aiko…” he hears you say beside him, and although the name of the woman that has rolled off your tongue is the name of the woman he’s supposed to love, it only makes him feel sick to his stomach to hear you say her name. “She seems lovely.”

“She is,” is all he can manage to say. And he also knows this seemingly lovely woman is probably drunk off her face back at the reception hall, giggling at all the men that approach her from the sight of her flushed face, and he should feel some sort of jealousy or possessiveness over that, but he can’t seem to muster any. Unlike the grit he had to his jaw an hour ago when he saw you dancing with a man he heard you introduce to your friends as just an “old friend” of yours from college. He felt more anger in that moment than he’d ever felt watching his soon-to-be-wife getting talked up to by the sleazy men twice her age. 

“She must be very rich,” you say. “She looks it.”

“Oh. Yeah. Her family’s very well off,” Gojo says.

“So will you become rich too?” you ask him, “when you marry her.”

His eyes flit to the sky briefly. “Doubt it.”

“How come?”

“The old man doesn’t like me very much. I imagine he’ll cut ties after the wedding.”

“Her father?”

“Yes.”

“And why is that?”

“Well. I guess it’s not every father’s dream to find out his prim and proper daughter’s been knocked up by the good-for-nothing boyfriend he’s been threatening her to say good riddance to for months now.”

The silence finds the two of you again, but this time haunting and gutting. That was a blabber, if anything. So nonchalantly said, with no emotion or spirit, to the one person in this world who he’s always felt like he can be himself around.

“She’s pregnant?” you say beside him, voice breaking slightly at the end, and he can’t bear to look at you for some reason. Some sort of admission of guilt, but what for? What exactly was he repenting for?

He lets out a small laugh, like the absurdity of the situation finds him all the same. “Yeah.” 

“That–” you start, stiff next to him, before he feels the tension relax but only rigidly, “that’s wonderful, Satoru. I’m–...I’m really happy for you.” You turn your torso to wrap your arms around him, and his lips brush the sweet skin on your forehead as you bury your face in the crook of his neck. He wraps one arm around you, a sort of friendly hug as he rubs the skin of your arm soothingly, and his heart aches from the emptiness when you release him. 

“Wow…” you say, looking up at him with pretty eyes, eyelashes fluttering as you blink rapidly to process the information, and he wonders if you really are happy for him. He doesn’t want you to be. He wants you to be furious, to tell him off for getting another woman pregnant after leading you on for so many years, maybe he wants you to slap him, or grab him by the collar of his shirt and shake him until all he sees is a million of you through dizzy vision like some paradise. He wants you to be mad, because it’d mean that you still care. It’d mean that you still think there’s something here to salvage between the two of you. 

But he’s engaged. And he’s having a baby. What was more final than that?

“So…are you marrying her because of–”

“The wedding is in four weeks,” he cuts you off, but he knows the statement answers your question regardless.

“Satoru…”

He leans off to the side a little to reach into the pocket of his suit pants, and he pulls out what is now a slightly bent envelope and he hands it to you. You take it from him gently, holding it weakly like it was something beyond you. Like something distant and foreign and strange. When all it was, is a wedding invitation. 

“Listen…” he starts.

He sees your eyes dazed as you stare at the lettering on the outside of the envelope.

“We’ve been friends for a long time, y/n. And I know the last time we saw each other was–” Hostile. Angry. Disappointing. Ended with you cussing him out on the street and then saying you never want to see him again. “...not ideal, but I still care a lot about you, and, uh, so, it would mean a lot to me if you came to the wedding.” For fucks sake, even on the brink of losing you forever, he still can’t find the right words to say. “Aiko, she–” He tastes bitter in his mouth, “well, I’ve told her a lot about you, and she’d really love it if you came as well.”

You’re silent as you gently peel back the opening of the letter and then pull out the small card stock invitation. The gold printed letters shine as you inspect it, fingers tracing the patterns of words that profess the Rei family’s intent to wed their daughter to Gojo Satoru. Your Gojo Satoru. Your best friend in this whole wide world. He watches your eyes carefully, but he can’t discern what he finds in them.

“Gojo Satoru…” you drone off, “to be wed. And to be a father.” Years of late night talks of the future, of kids and Christmas and love, with reality seemingly sly on the horizon only to have crept up so abruptly. It was pinched between your fingers right now. That reality.

His shoulders sulk slightly. And when you look up at him again, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I can’t come to this,” you whisper, “and you know that, Satoru.”

His heart breaks. A physical pain that twists in his chest so tight at just the sight of seeing you sad. Sad again over the actions of his own. They say you always hurt the one you love, and he had always wondered what sort of evil person would do such a thing, only to find out he’s only ever hurt you this entire time. 

He should’ve kissed you that night the two of you met at graduation. Should’ve shut you up and all your existential questions by pinning you to a wall and pressing his lips against yours. He should’ve taken you to bed and fucked you, and then held you in his arms until you woke up in the morning. Should’ve listened to you talk his ear off about how he’s just like all the other guys, who pretend to care, but only want to have sex and then never to speak to the girl ever again. And he should’ve laid there in bed, nose nuzzled in your hair, taking all the scolding despite having no intent to ever leave you.

Instead, he wasted so much time. Sure, he had your friendship. His best friend for years, but the two of you could’ve been something more. Could’ve spent the years together, instead of writing stained letters or leaving messages on answering machines while the two of you were miles away. He could’ve been waking up with you every morning with the scent of your shampoo on his sheets, instead of clinging to pillows in foreign motel rooms. He could’ve been engaged to you, and he could be whispering sweet nothings in your ear of how much he wishes the baby will have your eyes. 

But his thoughts are lost in fantasy. He is what he’s done, nothing more and nothing less. His eyes fall to your lap, the invitation still held loosely in your hand, and then a droplet of water falls onto it.

“I–” you stutter, wiping at the tears spilling down your cheeks with a hesitant swipe of your hand, “I need to go.”

You stand up off the bench and he quickly stands up with you, grabbing your wrist to keep you here with him, and you halt but only with you facing away from him. He yanks at your wrist harshly, pulling you into him so his chest is flush to your back, his arms wrapping strongly around you and his nose nuzzling into your hair, breathing you in greedily like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

“Satoru–” you gasp, your hands immediately grabbing at his forearms that are tightly crossed across your collarbone. “What are you doing–” 

“Say it,” he whispers, gruff and impatient, “tell me to do it, and I will.”

“T-Tell you to do what?” you stutter, struggling a little in his hold but he only holds you tighter.

“Tell me to leave her, and I will,” he says, his lips brushing at your ear now, the scent of your perfume maddening to his senses, and one of his hands slowly trails down and the knuckle of his thumb presses into the softness of your breast.

You squirm, a small and soft moan leaving your lips.

“T–” you breathe in harshly, “this is wrong.” 

“I don’t care,” he growls, arms sliding lower to hold you under your breasts, so tightly that your heels lift off the ground. “Just say the word, and I’ll leave everything behind for you. I promise,” he breathes in deep, the desperation making his head hazy, “that I’ll do things right this time. Just you and me–” 

“You’re going to be a father,” you remind him, and he shuts his eyes closed tightly, the responsibility of the word bearing on his shoulders but his desire for you overshadows every shred of sense or dignity or integrity he has left in him, because he felt like he was losing his mind after wanting you for years just to never have you. 

He turns you around in his hold so that you face him, and he crashes his lips to yours, muffling the surprised mmf! that dies in your throat in surprise as his hands hold your waist, relishing in the feeling of satin fabric pulled taut over your curves.

Forbidden, yet a taste that he’ll risk because there was no curse that was worse than the fate of having to pine after you for years.

Ah.

But.

But it was all fantasy, this moment in his head, where he takes you on the freshly cut grass of this garden. 

Something that only briefly flashes through his mind as his warm hand wraps around your wrist, from where he was still seated on the stone bench, and not on his feet holding you like he dreamed for. Like he longed for.

He feels the weight of his arm so heavily, as if it weren’t his own, and he slowly lets go of your wrist.

When he looks up at you, there’s longing in your eyes. A hurt that he didn’t even know he was capable of causing, just for him to realize that you’ve always looked at him that way, and he’s never been keen enough to know it until now. He grew up too late. He took too long.

His phone starts buzzing in his pocket, and he reaches in for it, then flips it open and sees his soon-to-be-wife’s name on it. He feels nothing at the sight.

“Hello?” he speaks into the device when he holds it to his ear, and he sees you take a couple steps away, rubbing anxiously at your elbow as you pretend to busy yourself with the study of the lamp. “Yes, I’ll be there soon. I, uh, I’m just with a friend. A couple of friends, actually. We’re having drinks by the pond. Mhm. Yes. I will. Okay, see you soon. I—…I love you too. Bye.” And then he snaps the phone shut. 

“Heading back?” he hears you ask.

He stands. “I’ve got to.”

“Okay.” 

You two walk down the shrubbery of the garden that was arranged like a maze, him a few paces behind you, and he watches the delicate line of your posture as your hand brushes against the green walls of foliage that encase the two of you, the feeling of wanting to touch you and hold you almost suffocating. 

“Hey,” he calls out to you, and he shoves his hands in his suit pockets. You turn around immediately to face him, like his voice was permission to do so.

“Yes?” you ask.

He blinks up at the starry sky, and then looks at you again. The soft cast of distant warm lighting falls over your face, making you appear like a renaissance painting, similar to those that you would point out to him at museums when you two would see each other on holiday back in your early twenties. He could never understand the charm of those paintings, no matter how many times you tried to explain it to him, but seeing you in this light right now, he finally understands the beauty that you saw. 

“I’m, uh,” he rubs at the back of his neck, and then scoffs out a small laugh, “I’m a little drunk right now, but–” He stops himself. What was he trying to say? And was it of conscious mind? “I just need to tell you that…I really regret…not speaking to you. I mean, for letting the silence drag on for years. You’re my–...my best friend. We’re a pair, you know? The two of us. For years, people would ask me where you were. And why they haven’t seen us together at all recently. And it was hard to admit that we hadn’t spoken in years.”

You take the smallest of steps towards him, and look up at him with empty eyes. 

“What I’m trying to say is, is that, well,” he finds himself tripping over his words, “I miss you. And I miss our friendship. And–...I miss having you around.” He glances down at his shoes, polished and reflecting off the moonlight directly above him. He rocks back and forth on his heels ever so slightly. “I know you said that I piss you off to lengths unimaginable to my tiny pea-sized brain, but I can’t help myself, y/n,” he admits, “I think you and I, we’re just meant to always be. In some how, or some way…”

You purse your lips together, gaze shifting lower to eye at the silk of his tie. 

“Can we be friends again?” he asks, the words feeling juvenile on his tongue. Like whispered apologies between children on a playground after shoving one another onto wooden chips, except the wounds he’s left on you run much deeper than a superficial scrape. 

You blink slowly, tilting your head up at him. “Friends?”

“Friends.”

You wipe your palm off on the satin of your dress. “I missed you too, you know.”

His eyes widened slightly.

Your hand finds its way up your arm, until you weakly cup your elbow with your palm and look off to the side, avoiding eye contact with him. “There were so many years where I thought that there was something between us. And maybe I was foolish for thinking that way, that you would ever see me that way–”

“y/n,” he tries to interrupt you. 

“But…the pain of not having you the way I wanted to was much less worse than the pain of not having you at all,” you say, your gaze finally shifting towards him. “But, the thing is, I needed to feel that pain to get over you. I had to.”

His heart stills at those words.

You glance down at the ground now. “I missed being able to tell you things. To laugh, and cry, and argue. I miss humbling your stupid ego. I miss being able to call you at any time, knowing you’d pick up when I needed you.”

His heart aches so much he wants to reach into his chest and hold it.

“The thing is,” you continue, “you would’ve been the first person I would’ve run to to tell them that I lost my best friend.” There were tears shining in your eyes. “But what could I do when you were the one that I had lost? Who could I have turned to then?”

He lets out a shaky breath, and in a swift motion, his arm wraps around your waist and he pulls you to him in an embrace.

You’re stiff in his hold, mechanical and rigid, so contrary to the soft tears you leave behind on the fabric of his sleeve, but slowly and surely, you warm and thaw. Your hands slide up past his shoulders, linking behind his neck. And his head drops to the curve of your neck, swaying you with him slowly as if it were a first dance.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “for hurting you.”

You breathe out slowly. “Just let me go, Satoru. Let me be free. Let me be free of you.”

He feels the air knock out of his lungs, and the two of you slowly pull your heads away from the embrace to look at one another, although your hands still find a place on his shoulders, and he still holds you close to him by a delicate hold of your waist. 

He wonders if in another life, you two were happy. He wonders if he could ever take back all the decisions he made, and start all over again. On that day the two of you met on that staircase in the west wing of the literature building, he would make a different choice. If he could, he would live in this lifetime of hell over and over again if it meant that in some other one, there exists a world where he never hurts you. 

“It’s time for me to go,” you whisper, eyes darting across the features of his face, studying them but with a familiarity that only you know, because you held his entire life in your palm. Your gaze meets his again, faces just inches apart, and the sweet curl of your eyelashes makes him weak in the knees. “It’s time.”

He nods slowly, his own eyes studying your face as well, except it looks foreign to him now. 

It’s all been said and done. There was nothing he could do to right the wrongs, or undo all the pain. He was to be a father now, and his duties were now towards his wife and unborn child. And no longer to the woman he holds in his arms, one he’s sure he will never stop loving for as long as he lives. 

It’s a sweet moment, the two of you gazing at one another. You look so pretty from this angle, looking up at him with the smallest tilt to your head and round searching eyes. His head subconsciously dips down towards yours in the second that he glances at your lips, but he stops himself. And when you make no move to create distance, he finds himself closing it again, until his lips brush against yours ever so softly. And then he captures them in a kiss, firm and unmistaken, finding solace in the way your lips move against his too, unsure yet passionately at the same time. Your fingers ever so slightly dig into his shoulders while his thumbs soothe at the skin of your waist, the two of you savoring the last moments of a kiss that’ll be the sweetest one you’ll ever know.

You pull away first, a small puff of air leaving your lips as you glance downwards. He rests his forehead against yours, never once looking away from your face. And you both breathe slowly, the soul of the chaste kiss entirely vanishing into the air along with all the hope that the two of you had left to make anything of the way you feel about one another. It was a kiss that almost disqualified any level of sin or guilt or wrong, because it was like one you two owed each other, after years of familiarity and longing. It was the goodbye that the two of you deserved.

His hands slowly let go of your waist, and he takes a step back away from you, softly clearing his throat. The distance feels like a galaxy away, and he briefly runs his thumb along his bottom lip, because the ghostly feeling of your lips on his still remains. 

“Shall we head back?” you ask him, prim and proper in posture and eyes widened in a formal gaze.

His lips are parted, and he finds that he’s panting slightly. And then he slowly nods his head. “Yes.”

.

.

.

[the end] 

a/n. i am sooooo freaking obsessed w "one day" by david nicholls and really wanted to write something inspired by it!! the book literally ripped my heart out and stomped on it like there were so many scenes where i just longingly stared out the window because of how shattering it was but dear god i really enjoyed it, and the show was also so dfkjhsfkhs i had sm feels watching it. so yea this was fun to write!! i hope you enjoyedd n thanks so much for reading :)

➸ masterlist

[munson-blurbs]

Summary: Your rockstar boyfriend comes home early and finds you very needy. But he already knows that, doesn't he?

WC: 1.9k

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), pure breeding kink, unprotected p in v, masturbation (m & f), mention of ovulation and periods, voyeurism if you squint, rockstar!Eddie Munson, established relationship

A/N: a collaboration with the love of my life @corroded-hellfire, based on the song Juno by Sabrina Carpenter.

--

Eddie Munson may have failed a few classes—there was a reason he had three senior years—but sex ed wasn’t one of them. He learned how to use a condom, that girls could get pregnant their first time, and the difference between a pad and a tampon (living with his Uncle Wayne kept that conversation at bay.)

But the lesson Eddie recalls now is that ovulation occurs about seven days after your last period. Which, according to the pocket calendar he keeps stashed away during touring, is today. 

It isn’t like he asks about your cycle, but when he calls from the road, you’ll mention when you have cramps or you’ve just taken a Midol. At first, he tracked your periods so he could make sure the house had a plethora of chocolate during that awful week, but then he began noticing…other patterns. 

Two months ago, you’d initiated phone sex, whining about how badly you needed him inside you, needed his cum, needed his cum inside you. Last month, you’d cheekily informed him that you’d snapped some Polaroids earlier that day and had express-mailed them to his hotel room—photos that were for his eyes only. Both of those instances occurred two weeks after your period ended. 

This month, Eddie refused to be apart from you when your desire took over. 

That’s how he finds himself ditching the End of Tour party, coming home a day early to surprise you. It’s been months without you, months stuck in close proximity with Gareth, Jeff, and Grant. If Eddie doesn’t get his hands on you soon, he might implode. 

“Babe?”

No answer. 

Eddie frowns, taking the winding stairs two at a time. The light in your bedroom is on, the door slightly ajar. A soft humming comes from inside, the noise interrupted every so often with your unrestrained moans. 

He can’t help but listen for a moment. 

“Eddie…f-fuck…right there…”

If he hadn’t been away for so long, he might have let you enjoy your solo time. Maybe he’d secretly rub one out to your sweet sounds. A high keening sound robs Eddie of his thoughts as he slips his own hand into his pants. 

His mind is blank, no memory of the thoughts that were just floating through his consciousness. Now, there’s only the sound of your breathy moans and the way his fingers wrap around the base of his cock. 

“Eddie,” you whine pathetically, “need you to fill me up, baby. Please, please, please.”

As if his body is running on autopilot in response to what you just said, Eddie removes his hand from his pants and pushes the bedroom door fully open. Your head is thrown back and your eyes are closed in pleasure so you don’t see your boyfriend as he stalks closer to the bed.

“Need your cum, Eddie,” you whimper, body trembling with want. 

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Eddie coos softly, loud enough so you know he’s there, but not enough to scare you or ruin the mood. “I’ll give you everything you want.”

Your eyes fly open at the sound of that sultry voice. The mood in the room begs for you to keep going, to keep working your fingers in and out of your needy hole as Eddie rips his shirt off over his head. But your curiosity is too strong to keep at bay, even with the neediness surging through you.

“E-Eddie?” you ask through labored breath. “What’re you doing home?”

“Skipped out early so I could be with my girl.”

Eddie undoes the buckle on his belt, his eyes locked on yours the entire time. “And it’s a good thing I did. I can’t have my pretty princess all needy for me like this. Let me help you, baby.” Eddie gets the handcuffs off his belt and hangs them on his index finger as he approaches the door of the bed. A dark eyebrow quirks up as he gives you a smirk. “Now that I’m home with these, sweetheart, you don’t need to use those pink fuzzy ones you keep in the drawer.”

“Please,” you whimper.

That one little word is all Eddie needs to hear before he kicks his jeans off and quickly shuffles out of his boxers. He kicks them somewhere to be found at a later time and kneels on the foot of the bed. 

Your dark, lust filled eyes follow his every movement. 

“Eds, can you—”

Eddie grins, already pressing kisses along your inner thighs to your core. “Baby, you don’t gotta tell me what to do. I know this body better than I know my own.”

With that, his tongue finds your clit, licking and sucking with excruciating precision. His ringed fingers wrap around your thighs, pulling them over his shoulders and tugging you close. 

He breathes in, inhaling your scent like it’s a god-sent nectar. 

“Missed my pretty girl and her pretty pussy,” he mumbles into you. “So fuckin’ perfect.”

Your leg twitches as he laps at you, a mixture of his saliva and your arousal pooling beneath you. The noises you’re making are involuntary and straight up obscene. 

“Eddie…Eddie…oh my god, Eddie!” Throwing your head back, you feel your body tense in anticipation of that delicious release. Your orgasm is a tidal wave, crashing over you in a way you hadn’t experienced since Eddie had left for the tour. 

Eddie sits back now, rocking on his heels. “Still got it, huh?” His grin is proud and slick with your sheen. 

“Definitely.”

“Good.” He presses his palms to his thighs and stands up, giving you a better view of his own desire. 

Pre-cum leaks from his tip, his cock rock-hard just from eating you out. You have a strong suspicion that if you’d taken any longer to finish, he would’ve busted before you. 

You want to take him in your mouth, to glide your tongue over the prominent vein and knead his balls until you’re swallowing his load. 

Eddie, however, can only focus on one thing. 

“Heard my pretty girl wants me to fill her up,” he coos. “Is that true? Do you want me to fill you up until my cum drips out of you?”

To his surprise, you shake your head no. 

“Don’t want it to drip out of me. I want to keep all of it inside.”

The groan that emanates from Eddie’s throat fuels a fire in your belly. His cock twitches, the head tapping against his navel. 

“Sounds like you want me to claim you. Permanently.” Not just the hickeys that fade within a few days. No, you want him to—

Without hesitating, Eddie climbs onto the bed and positions himself on top of you. 

“Allow me the honors, sweetheart.” Eddie drags the tip of his cock through your wet center and pushes in with a groan. “Fuck, thassit. Feels even better than I remember.”

You gripped his biceps, relishing in the gentle stretch of him within you. Every tour felt like an eternity, but that first time together each time he came home was worth the wait. 

“Now,” Eddie growled into your ear as he found his pace, “tell me what you want. Tell me what you need from me.”

You scrounge up a reply with the sliver of your mental capacity that isn’t focused on him. “Your baby.”

Eddie smiles, kissing down your jawline. “You need my baby, huh? Need me to put a baby in this cute belly of yours?”

“Mhm. Need that s-so bad, Eddie. Please.” The words tumble from your lips in utter desperation. All you can think about is having his baby, his hands caressing your bump, knowing that he’s the reason you’re pregnant. 

“Goddamn,” Eddie hisses. He buries his head in your neck. “Beg for my baby some more.”

You arch your back, letting him wrap his arm around your waist. “Please give me your baby. Pleasepleaseplease—”

His fingers grip you harder, his movements becoming more erratic with each thrust. You can feel his fingernails digging crescents into your skin. 

“There we go, sweet girl. Fuck, ‘m close…”

You nod, too enraptured in him to even utter the words ‘me, too.’ All you can manage are a few strangled moans as your orgasm washes over you. Your body is light with pleasure, drifting away on a cloud of contentment. 

“Eddie.” The sound of his name on your lips tips him over the edge. It’s just the way you say it, all breathy and soft, that drives him wild. 

With a final groan, Eddie spills into you. “Oh, sh-shit…that’s it. Take it. Take my cum, baby.” There was a primal edge to every word. 

Both spent from all your exertion, Eddie flops down next to you and the only sounds are two ragged breaths as you both attempt to control your breathing. 

Once your bodies have calmed down a bit, Eddie turns on his side and splays one large hand across your lower abdomen. His warm palm is a comforting weight, one that has your eyes slipping closed and a smile coming to your face. 

“You’re home early,” you finally say.

Eddie chuckles and leans in to press a lingering kiss to your shoulder.

“Missed you. Didn’t wanna go to some dumb party if you weren’t going to be there.” He presses another kiss a little higher on your shoulder. “Especially not when you’re ovulating.”

Your heavy eyes open and you let your head fall to the side, coming face to face with your boyfriend.

“How’d you know I was ovulating?”

“I remember when you got your period,” he says. “Just some simple math. I may not have been able to pass geometry, but this kind of math I can do.”

A soft chuckle emanates from your chest and you fully turn on your side to face him. Eddie wastes no time pulling you flush up against his chest, his strong arms winding around you.

“Came here with a mission to knock me up, huh?” you tease, nuzzling your face against the side of his neck. 

“Seemed like an easy decision.” Eddie presses a kiss to the top of your head. “You want to be carrying my baby. I want to get you pregnant. Little Munson Junior wants to be born. Everyone wins.”

You laugh as you bury your face against his shoulder. 

“Would love to have a little you,” you say. 

“Nah, I hope they look like you,” Eddie says. “One of you is already unbearably cute, I can’t wait to have two.”

“Can’t wait to snuggle them,” you say, a lazy smile spreading on your face at the thought. “You, me, and a little baby.”

“Our little baby,” Eddie adds.

“Hopefully this one took,” you say.

“Either way I’m prepared. If you’re not, I’m more than willing to fuck you every waking moment until it sticks. If you are…well, I may have picked up a few pregnancy tests on the way home,” Eddie admits.

“You didn’t.” You look up at your boyfriend, a gleeful chuckle following your words.

“Hell yeah, I did. Corroded Coffin’s latest album and tour are over and done with. It’s time you and I had our own little collaboration.”

“I like the sound of that,” you hum. “We make pretty sweet music together.”

“Oh, we absolutely do.” 

Eddie waggles his eyebrows roguishly before resting his forehead against yours. “But tonight,” he murmurs mischievously, “I’m hoping to hear some screamo.” 

--

[ventismacchiato]

18 stuck with you — cherry blossoms !

scaramouche x gender neutral reader

MORNING AFTER

You wake up, and the remnants of last night’s drinking are still rattling around in your skull. The harsh light streaming through the windows feels like a personal attack, and the dull throb in your temples only adds to the misery. You almost don’t remember everything from the night before. Almost.

The kiss. The sight of Mona kissing Scara. Heizou’s arm around your shoulder. Scara’s eyes, watching. The way you rushed to defend yourself.

You try to roll over, but everything feels off. There's this weight in your chest, a weird, almost sticky feeling in your gut that you can’t shake. The weirdness is because of him.

After dragging yourself into the living room, hoping for a bit of quiet before leaving for breakfast, your eyes find the culprit of your headache. Scara. He’s standing by the door, looking entirely too unaffected by the chaos of last night. The cool indifference he always wears is almost infuriating. You were hoping he’d be feeling just as lost as you. 

You’ve always known Scara was beautiful. It's one of the reasons you hated him. It’s why the jealousy burned so fiercely inside you for all those years. His sharp eyes and how they managed to cut through everything, the way his features seemed too perfect to be real, it always made your stomach twist. It made you question why he had to exist in your orbit at all. 

But now…now, as you watch him, you feel that old jealousy resurfacing. But this time, it doesn’t feel the same. It feels different. 

Maybe it was never jealousy at all. The thought makes your heart skip, and before you know it, you’re staring at him.

Your gaze lingers for too long because all of a sudden he looks back at you. His usual detached expression softens for a split second, and you swear a flicker of something crosses his face. A jolt runs through your spine. Heat floods your face. You can’t help it. It’s like you’ve forgotten how to speak.

Remember. Be flirty. Show him you don’t hate him.

"Good... good morning," you stammer.

He gives you a strange look. “Morning?” he says, before walking past you.

Thankfully, the others arrive, and the group starts moving toward breakfast, leaving you in the dust. Your eyes flicker back to Scara briefly, but you immediately look away again, hoping your face isn’t burning as much as it feels. Lumine, who must’ve noticed your awkwardness, grabs your arm and pulls you back. 

"Okay, that could’ve gone better," Lumine starts, voice light but teasing, "I thought you liked him? Why were you glaring at him like that?"

You freeze, mortified. “Not so loud!” you hiss, wincing at the noise in your head. “I wasn’t glaring. I was just… staring. I tried being nice.”

Lumine raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Uh-huh. Right. Just staring like you wanted to murder him. I thought you were going to flirt?”

You groan internally, the embarrassment already creeping up.

“That was my attempt,” you say weakly.

Venti, trailing behind, chimes in unhelpfully. “You’re hopeless, Yn. How did Xiao’s awkward ass get a man before you did?”

Xiao, walking beside you, frowns. “What do you mean by that?”

Venti flashes a mischievous grin. “I mean, come on. He can barely string a sentence together, and yet, here we are... take some notes, Yn.”

Xiao crosses his arms, scowling, but you roll your eyes, tuning out the back-and-forth. There’s something heavier on your mind.

"I know I’m awkward," you mutter, glancing down at your shoes. "But I don’t think there’s any point in flirting with him. He doesn’t like me, and honestly, I’m just hoping this feeling… goes away."

Lumine gives you a sympathetic look. 

“Even if that were true, there’s no harm in trying,” she points out, her voice gentle but firm. She doesn’t press further, though. Instead, the group continues toward the kitchen, the chatter from the other group filling the silence.

As you enter the kitchen, you scan the room. Mona’s already there, looking completely at ease, her eyes bright and unbothered. It’s a little strange, considering she was absolutely hammered out of her mind last night. You glance at Heizou too and he greets you with a smile, but there's a tiredness in his eyes that makes you pause for a moment. His usual carefree demeanor seems worn.

Because of you.

Before you can speak, a voice pipes up from underneath the table. It’s Yae’s voice, muffled but chipper, and she sounds far too cheerful for the morning after what was a particularly chaotic night. 

Childe, who was sitting from where she popped up shrieks and practically jumps from his chair. “Don’t do that!”

Yae ignores him, her voice still carrying across the room. "Guess what I just heard? Apparently, last night, Scara and Mona kissed!"

You freeze. Your stomach does a strange flip. Your eyes instinctively snap to Mona, who is sitting across from you. Her face pales as she blinks at Yae in confusion. “We what?!” she exclaims, her tone high with disbelief.

Meanwhile, Scara, who’d been silently sipping coffee, seems to shrink into his seat, his usual stoic mask barely holding up under the weight of the accusation. He looks like he wants to disappear into the floor.

“There was no ‘we,’” Scara mutters, his voice sharp with irritation. “She kissed me. I’m not an asshole to take advantage of a drunk girl.”

Mona slaps a hand to her forehead, groaning in embarrassment. “Oh my god, this is so embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face flushed crimson.

You thought you were done with this, but hearing it said aloud still manages to send a strange ripple through your chest. You knew the kiss hadn’t meant anything, especially with Scara’s angry words from last night. It stings, even though you tell yourself it shouldn’t.

Your eyes move back to Scara. His usual guarded expression is there, but you can see the frustration beneath it. He’s trying to act unaffected, but it’s clear that he’s anything but. You wonder if that’s how you’ve always made him feel. Unreachable.

But Mona’s outburst fades, and the silence that follows feels heavier than it should. You catch Scara’s eye again, and this time, you don’t look away. Neither does he. For a moment, he raises a brow at you, and you swear his lips curve ever so slightly.

“Well, that drama was short-lived,” Yae says, breaking the tension. “Can we milk it any further, or are we done here? What about you, Heizou?”

Heizou, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, speaks up. “We actually discussed how Yn holds no feelings for me.”

Yae sighs dramatically. “Why did we bring you three here, then?”

Diluc, who’s been quietly watching, finally speaks up. “I’m having a swell time.”

“Fuck, finally,” Yae huffs, rolling her eyes. “Alright, whatever. We’ve got another activity, and I’m sure it’ll land you all a place in Paradise.”

“Is this one rigged?” Aether pipes up.

“A little,” Yae grins. “I’ll reveal it at the end. Anyway, we’re doing a Scavenger Hunt! Pairs, but since we’ve got an odd number... Heizou, you’re going solo.”

You wince at that, already guilty for rejecting Heizou’s advances all this time.

“You each get an item to collect. Shells, flowers, rocks, etcetera. Nothing too athletic. Go out and explore, and bring back as much as you can,” Yae continues, casually ignoring the obvious tension.

“But you assigned us flowers,” Scara interrupts, “All the flowers are in the woods.”

“Yes, and?” Yae smiles, unbothered.

“And the woods are up in that mountain,” Scara points out, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You want us to climb that?”

Yae simply smiles.

“I don’t like you,” Scara grumbles.

“I love you, too,” Yae laughs. “Moving on, we’ll meet back before lunchtime! Get going!”

୨୧✧

You get paired with Scaramouche, obviously, but unlike the other times you don’t find yourself too mad about it. You both knew no matter how good or bad you did at the game they’d rig it around you both, so you take your time making your way up the trail. Or what you both assumed to be a trail.

You both stood at the foot of the raging path ahead of you, mentally preparing yourselves to walk up it. Scara digs his hand into his pocket and pulls out a handful of gummies.

“I didn’t take you for a sweet tooth,” you murmur.

He scoffs, grabbing your hand with his free one and letting a few fall onto your skin. You try, and fail, to ignore the warmth of his skin upon yours.

“It’s not candy,” he says, walking ahead of you. You stare at the not candy in your palms and then at his retreating back before throwing them back. Anything to help the swirling pit in your stomach.

You don’t talk much. The silence stretches between you, both of you awkward in your own way. You’re searching for something interesting to say, but the words won’t come.

It’s not until you reach a fallen tree that Scara climbs over and reaches a hand out to you.

“Careful,” he says simply.

You take his hand, letting him pull you over, but as you do, your foot catches on a branch. You find yourself pressed against his chest, and for a moment, neither of you moves. He doesn’t pull away until you shift, pulling yourself off him.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, already embarrassed, but then his fingers brush against your cheek.

“You’ve got dirt on you,” he says, his tone surprisingly soft. “Walk slowly.”

Your cheeks burn as you watch him walk ahead, hoping the shade of the trees is doing a better job than your body at hiding the blush creeping up your neck.

Eventually, you both come across a small meadow filled with flowers. You kneel down, picking a few, letting the petals twirl in your fingers. You hear a rustling beside you, and when you look up, Scara is crouched next to you, holding a flower in his hand. 

“Here,” he hums, and before you can say anything, he tucks it behind your ear. A gust of wind carries the petals, some of them landing in his hair, and for a moment, the sight takes your breath away.

“I didn’t think sunflowers grew here,” he mutters, pulling the petals from his hair.

“Leave it,” you say, almost breathless. “It’s pretty.”

He stares at you for a long second, his eyes unreadable and a fistful of petals in his hands. He ‘s silent before he lets the petals fall into your hair. “Have them,” he says, his voice low. “They’re like you, anyway.”

You blink, unsure what to say.

“How?” you manage to ask, voice shaking slightly.

Scara eyes you for a beat before answering.

“You follow the sun,” he says, standing up and brushing off his pants. “And people can’t seem to get enough of you.”

He doesn’t look back as he speaks, his gaze fixed ahead. After a beat, he adds, almost offhandedly, “Sunflowers aren’t too bad to look at, either.”

You’re left standing there, watching him walk away, his words hanging in the air like a soft, lingering echo.

Maybe you weren’t a sunflower. Maybe you were a cherry blossom instead. Cherry blossoms fall at five centimeters per second, and you’ve been

falling

…falling

……falling

since the day you met him. Even if there wasn’t any gravity on Earth, you’d probably fall for him eleven times out of ten.

୨୧✧

You both reach the peak, breathless. Neither of you were exactly built for this. “Rock,” you manage to say, sinking onto it before Scara can even respond. The sweat trickling down your neck probably isn’t doing your attempt at flirting any favors.

He sits down beside you, letting the flowers you picked tumble to the ground. The sun filters through the trees, but you still get a decent view of the ocean. You glance to your left. Scara’s staring at it, the wind ruffling his hair.

Your head spins, but you can’t tell if it’s from the lack of oxygen or because of him. “Sorry about your mom,” you say, trying to break the silence. It’s also a way to make up for not checking in on him last night. You never did see if he was okay. You probably should’ve. He chuckles softly, the sound surprising in its warmth.

“Not your fault.” You fall quiet after that, the words you want to say stuck somewhere in your throat. “Just spit it out,” he says, leaning back on the rock, eyes still on the horizon. He always knows when you’re holding back. “If your mom hadn’t paid Mona off, would you have kept dating her?” you ask, the question slipping out before you can stop it. You expect him to scoff or brush you off, like he usually would. But his answer comes quickly

“It wouldn’t have lasted anyway,” he says, voice low. He picks a flower from your discarded bouquet and twirls it between his fingers. “We weren’t suited for each other. She hated how much I focused on work, and said I was too much. I just wish she’d broken up with me herself, though.” You nod, his words strangely comforting. “Besides,” he adds casually, “All we ever did was have hate sex.” You choke on a surprised laugh, coughing at the suddenness of it. And then…he laughs. Actually fucking laughs. The sound is so rare, you find yourself wanting to drown in it. “Prude,” he teases, watching you with a sly grin. You compose yourself, shooting him a glare. “Not a prude.” “I beg to differ.” You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skips a beat. Another question bubbles up, one you can’t resist asking. “Was she your first?” He’s silent for a beat, then answers with a firm, “Nope.” “Was she your only?” He glances at you, brows raised. “Why do you care?” Because you like him. Maybe it’s something a little more than that. Something you haven’t dared to admit to yourself yet. The answer is right there on your tongue, but you swallow it down.

 “Just being nosey,” you say, trying to brush it off. “Didn’t think you could pull anyone else.”

He shrugs, nonchalant. “She wasn’t. But after her, I stopped having casual sex.”

You scoff. “But I heard you’ve hooked up with half the industry?”

“What tabloid did you read that in?” he smirks. “You know there’s shit other than sex, right? Or do I need to give you sex ed?”

His words hang in the air, the implication making your cheeks flush with heat. You must’ve looked taken aback, because he doesn’t hesitate to press on.

“Half of them were just blowjobs backstage.”

You choke from his words again.

“God, you are a prude.”

“Shut up,” you muster out before continuing, “Don’t you miss it? I thought you liked…sex?” 

His smirk is there before you even have a chance to respond. “Well, yeah. Who doesn’t?”

You stop, unsure why you even care enough to ask. Well, you were pretty sure. You’d thought he’d just shut you out.

“What, spit it out,” He presses, and you almost want to avoid his gaze, but you can’t.

“Wouldn’t someone like you get...?” you murmur, barely above a whisper, feeling the heat rising in your neck.

He stared at you. Then he shifts, almost as if to tease.

“Do I need to explain to you what self pleasure is? Ever heard of mastur–.”

“Shut up!” You cut him off, shoving his shoulder, your heart pounding in your ears. But he just smiles, grins, really. And you can’t help but notice how that smile hits you harder than it should. 

How had you gone so long without seeing it?

By the time you and Scaramouche make it back down, your heads are clearer, and the afternoon sun is already at its peak. Lunchtime. Scanning the scene, you both realize you’ve managed to collect more of the required items than anyone else.

“We got distracted,” Venti mutters, holding up the single, sad shell he and Aether managed to gather.

“It’s no matter,” Yae waves him off with a dismissive flick of her hand. “This whole thing was rigged anyway.”

Lumine, ever observant, scans the group. “Aren’t we missing a few people?”

“Oh right, I completely forgot,” Yae laughs lightly, tapping her chin. “Heizou and Mona took off while you were all busy with the game.”

You’re a little taken aback by the news. You’d been hoping to talk to Heizou again before he left, but now... you’re not so sure. Maybe it’s better left unsaid. You’ve probably hurt him enough as it is.

Scaramouche’s reaction to his ex leaving couldn’t be more different.

“Thank the Archons,” he mutters, clasping his hands together in exaggerated relief, causing Kazuha to shoot him a bemused side-eye.

“Anyway,” Yae interrupts, snapping the group’s attention back to her, “Back to the show. Let’s see the results.” She glances around at the gathered group, raising an eyebrow. “Good grief, did any of you actually try? The one couple we rigged was the one that won.”

Xiao speaks up dryly. “You told us to collect rocks.”

“Yeah, and those,” Yae hums, tapping her chin and gesturing toward the small pebbles in Kazuha’s palms, “Are definitely not rocks. Never mind that, though.” She raises her voice slightly, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “The pair who collected the least will be spending the night on this island, while the rest of you get to go to Paradise.”

She feigns a gasp, dramatically sweeping her gaze across the group. “Congratulations to everyone except Scaramouche and Yn! You two will be spending the night here on this hell island, while the rest of us head to Paradise... including the crew!”

The others around you celebrate, but your thoughts are elsewhere.

Tonight, everyone will be gone.

And it will just be you and him.

Alone.

[00:00:00] GOODBYE INTERVIEW ONE 

YAE: So, how does it feel to go home empty handed?

HEIZOU: Honestly, I got the closure I needed.

YAE: But not the lover you wanted?

JEAN: YAE!

YAE: Sorry, sorry!

HEIZOU: [LAUGHS] It’s alright. I get it. But yeah. 

YAE: Anything you would’ve done differently?

HEIZOU: [QUIET FOR A FEW MOMENTS] Probably have gotten to know Yn a bit more. I would’ve saved a lot of money on snacks they didn’t actually like.

YAE: What a gentleman! Great send off. We’ll miss you, Heizou!

HEIZOU: [SMILES] I’m sure you will, bye.

YAE: And cut!

[00:32:10] GOODBYE INTERVIEW TWO 

YAE: So…how are we feeling girl?

MONA: I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU GUYS LET ME GET SHITFACED ON TV!

YAE: [LAUGHS] It made for great television, how are you feeling?

MONA: So embarrassed. But I’m glad I came and put on a show. Any publicity is good publicity.

YAE: And what about the ex you left on that island? Any regrets about him?

MONA: Oh believe me, a lot. But, I shall just carry on with my life! I’ve embarrassed myself enough on this hell island.

YAE: [LAUGHS] Fair enough. Any jealous feelings towards anyone else on the island?

MONA: [ROLLS EYES] You know what you’re doing. I’ve lost enough fans from trying to kiss Scara. I’ll say no comment.

YAE: Well, I tried folks. Goodbye, Mona!

MONA: Mwah!

YAE: CUT!

stuck with you!

masterlist — prev | next

me googling where sunflowers and cherry blossoms grow and then realizing it isn’t that deep so just pretend for me okay thanks

scara taking an edible to try and flirt he’s so real

peep the lyrics in scaras story like YN OPEN UR EYES but yeah at this point yn is coming to realize scara might like them back 🤭

kinda insecure about this chapter so pls lmk if u liked 😣 pls comment or send me an ask if u enjoyed i need motivation 🤗

comment on the MASTERLIST if i can use ur user as a fan in the au!

notes — i’ve gotten like 8 hours of sleep in total last week i’m lowk goin thru it guys i hate college 😭 pls send me asks about swy or anything i need motivation i’m bashing my head into da wall as we speak

synopsis — after the disaster that was the live award show, where you and scaramouche got into an argument on stage after both of your groups got a tie for top artists, your guys' PR teams have been in shambles trying to scrape up your mess. that's when the idea to send you both off with some other idols to a remote location for a survival dating show to mend your public image comes up. before you know it your bags are packed and you’re on a plane to a remote island. the only obligation is you need to end up with scaramouche at the end of the show, whether you end up liking him or not doesn’t matter to your managers as long as the show’s ratings stay high. whatever you do in between to get there is up to you!

taglist — (closed) @na1lea @cindywasneverhere @lunavixia @aestherin @mlaakai @camvrin @retiredmommylover @iheartpieck @cartierfiles @loveariel @silly-ez @mochipls @pomeiu @flowerypesky @creammpuff @boxdisappeared @kissingkzuha @webbywill @kazusboyfriend @s3xpistolss @bunns-wonderland @lordbugs @localgirlywithnolife @kosumos @danfelions @featuredtofu @pinxeajin @haeunoo @scaradooche @pglt19 @chemiru @childesbabygirl @simonisferal @shutingstar @ttalgi @esuz @tokkishouse @kitsuvil @scarasmood @ihearttori @nomurahayami @starringyau @androxphobic @reivelmin @animeobsessed56 @femaholicc @vi0let-writes @izayumi-chan @aloflapse

[nerdy-novelist017]

A Date (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Pt 3)

Thank you so much for all your kind words, likes and reblogs on my last two posts! You guys are keeping me so entertained with the comments!

Ugh I rewrote this like 3 times :( I just couldn't get it right and I'm still not sure how I feel about it OH WELL

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 2.2K

Summary- You were sure you'd never see Benny Cross again. . . you were wrong.

******

“Benny’s been asking for ya.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you nearly dropped the receiver into the bowl of cake batter. Kathy’s statement came out of left field, the two of you having been discussing the latest news on the block – what kind of lipstick Sheryl Dickie uses that somehow always lasts an entire night of bar hopping. “What?”

“Yeah, says he’s real desperate to ask you somethin’,” Kathy’s tone was flippant, but you’ve known her long enough to hear the excitement she’s hiding in her voice.

“What could he possibly have to talk to me about?” You asked as you set the whisk down and moved around the kitchen counter to peak down the hallway towards the living room where you knew your father sat in his large recliner, watching a rerun of Bonanza. 

“I dunno, maybe you should come to another meetin’ so you can find out.”

“No, I’m not going to anymore of those.” you declared firmly, yanking the cord so that the phone was up to your other ear. “I don’t know how you can stand being around those guys.”

Kathy laughed, the static spiking. “C’mon, they’re fun, and you know it. Did you tell your parents how you got to ride on the back of a Vandal’s bike, and not just any Vandal!”

“No!” you squeaked. “And they’re never going to know. It was a one-time thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be. They’re having another meetin’ tonight. I’m sure Benny could pick you up–”

“Well, I can’t tonight,” you cut her off. “I have plans.”

“What plans?”

“My date.”

“Date?” Kathy asked, voice lowering dubiously. “With who?”

“Pete,” you said quietly. 

“Who?” she asked again.

You sighed. “Pete? The guy from Mama’s church?” 

Pete was introduced to you last week by your mother who was introduced to him by his mother. It was a train of people who wanted to matchmake, to see young love blossom before their eyes, even if it was forced. Pete was nice enough and he had kind eyes that sat behind wide-rimmed glasses. You’d been on one other date with him. He was an engineering student in his first year and he talked a lot about his school. He liked school. And he liked to golf nearly every weekend (his family belonged to the country club on the upper side of town). And mostly – he talked a lot about himself. He seemed to really like himself too.

“Oh, okay.” Kathy sounded unimpressed.

“My family really likes him. My dad likes him.”

“Yeah?” 

At her unenthusiastic response, you added quickly, “And I’m excited!”

“Is that why you’re stress-baking?” Kathy inquired as if she could sense it.

You glance down at the bowl of cake batter. No, it wasn’t, actually. You weren’t nervous to go on your second date with Pete; he didn’t make her nervous, didn’t fill your belly with those pesky butterflies. Pete was . . . just Pete. No, you were stress-baking because of a certain blonde Bikerider whose ocean blue eyes wouldn’t leave your thoughts all night. You were up, tossing and turning, replaying every moment with him like a broken record. It was one ride, the logical side of your mind had to say, and you’ll never see him again. You allowed yourself the rest of the night to think about him, and then you wouldn’t set aside any more time. 

In theory, it was a nice strategy. But when you woke up today, your thoughts were absolutely clouded with him and his incredibly direct eye-contact and his deeply rich voice and his hand touching your thigh and his lips encasing the cigarette—

You were doing it again! It had been one ride! One ride and a few hours. One ride where your arms wrapped so tightly to his solid form. One ride where he showed you places you’d never seen before, from a point of view you’d never been before. One ride where you felt as though you were seeing the world in a whole new light. One ride that you couldn’t get out of your head.

“Yes, because of Pete,” you replied evenly. “And I’m going to have a good time with him tonight.”

There’s a smile in her voice when she says, “Okay, sure. Say, what restaurant did ya say he was takin’ you?”

********

Thanking the driver, you stepped out of the cab, your heels connecting softly with the concrete of the sidewalk. Taking a moment to smooth any wrinkles on your pink dress, your gaze fluttered across the street to the restaurant Pete told you to meet him at. 

Ricardo’s was one of the most expensive restaurants in town, somewhere you never found yourself frequenting, but Pete absolutely gushed about their food. Coming from old money, Pete had no hesitation picking here for your second date. Pete’s family was well off, that’s what your mother liked to point out. He was a good boy with good money. He would provide for you, buy you a nice house with a picket fence in the front yard. A safe bet for the same routine life that nearly all the women of your family had spanning back several generations.

You made your way across the street, eyes taking in the lineup of expensive cars parked out front: Mercedes, Rolls Royce, Cadillac . . . Harley-Davidson motorcycle. You did a double-take at the shiny metal glinting underneath the streetlamp, eyes traveling upwards to the figure leaning casually against it. He was looking at the restaurant, head turned to give a generous view of his profile, and he hadn’t noticed you yet. For a split second, you considered taking advantage of that and booking it into the front door before he had a chance to stop you. But some deeply intrinsic part of you yearned to memorize every detail of him and you simply couldn’t look away. As a moth drawn to flame, you were drawn to him, to the golden streaks of his hair, down to the strong slope of his nose, the curve where his top lip sat so perfectly against the bottom – even with the cigarette tucked between. He wore long sleeves under his club jacket and the same distressed jeans from your last encounter. Half shrouded in the darkness of night, with the orange glow of the streetlight nearest to him, he looked like a beacon of mystery. Abandoning your previous course, you turned and approached him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked once you were close enough for him to hear you. 

Benny turned and a smile broke out over his features, eyes sweeping down your figure. “Do you dress like that all the time or only when you’re gonna see me?” He asked, nodding to your dress and heels. 

You stopped about 6 feet away from him (a reasonable distance), hopping up onto the sidewalk. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“What a chance encounter,” he proclaimed with a secretive wink that sent your stomach on a roller coaster ride. 

“Chance encounter, or Kathy’s loose lips?” you quipped and he rubbed a hand over his mouth to keep from smiling, fingers grazing through the blonde, recently-trimmed facial hair.  

“Why are you here?” You asked again, this time a touch quieter.  

“Well, I have a coupon,” he replied simply.

You couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips, your brows raising incredulously. “A coupon? To Ricardo’s?”

“Mm-hm,” he nodded, straight-faced.

You rolled your eyes at his antics. He had a coupon, your ass. A well-dressed elderly couple walked past you both on the sidewalk, each shooting a look of disapproval toward the dirty young man leaning against his death machine. Benny seemed not to notice them, his gaze still on you. 

“Why are you here?” he questioned.

“I–I have a date,” you replied and desperately tried to ignore the heat rising to your face at the admission. “But something tells me you already know that.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, looking down to the ground for all of five seconds before his gaze flashed back up to you. “Wanna go for a ride, Little Bunny?”

“What? No.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Why not?”

“Well, I just told you I'm here for a date,” you replied with a tilt of your head. 

Benny shrugged. “So?”

You shook your head but he continued, “Why are you wastin’ your time with dates when we’re gonna be married anyway?”

Your mouth fell open in surprise. The nerve on this guy! Part of you was surprised that he still had it in his head of marrying you. You thought maybe he had a few too many beers last night or was just smooth-talking you so that you’d let him sleep with you. But here he was, showing up on the sidewalk, giving you those puppy eyes. You’d already denied him once. Could he not take a hint?

“I don’t recall you ever asking.” you pointed out, feeling emboldened by his casual attitude. 

He perked up at that, tossing the remainder of his cigarette to the ground. “You want me to ask?”

You fought to remain neutral-faced at his playfulness. “No, thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . I have a date.” One that you were excited about before you caught sight of Benny and your train of thoughts completely derailed.

Benny held his hands up in a conciliatory way and you turned on your heel, leaving him out on the streets as you made your way inside.

******

The clock on the far wall seemed to be mocking you, minutes ticking by mercilessly. You resisted looking at it, instead planting your chin in the palm of your hand as you watched the door, waiting for Pete’s familiar face to appear. It had been over an hour. He was over an hour late for your date. 

Each time the waitress returned to fill your glass of water, you told yourself a new lie. He was just stuck at work, he’ll be here soon. He was running behind getting ready, he’ll be here soon. There must have been an emergency, he’ll be here soon. He wouldn’t stand you up, he’ll be here soon. 

But as the seconds passed, you sunk further and further into your seat, humiliation forming a ball in your stomach. Surely, he had gotten his days mixed up? He really seemed to enjoy your first date, so why was he nowhere to be seen. Every time someone walked through the front door, the little bell chiming above, you glanced up, certain it would be him. But it never was. At first, you were angry. How could he have the audacity to leave you hanging without so much as calling you before he left if he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it. Then a bitter thought came to mind: what if he stood you up because he didn’t want to go out with you again. What if you weren't good enough for him. You had spent your whole life on the never ending hamster wheel of trying to be good enough for everyone else. Was your hard work even noticed?

Recognizing the sting of unshed tears, you looked down at the napkin folded neatly in your lap, blinking rapidly in an attempt to get control of yourself. The bell chimed over the front door, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at it, not wanting to feel the crushing disappointment of another wealthy customer walking inside and not your date. 

Then a flash of dark clothing popped across from you and you looked up just as Benny Cross slid into the empty seat. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. He leaned forward, elbows of his leather jacket propped over the tablecloth.

“Pete not show?” he asked, expression solemn. 

Your ears burned and you shook your head. Too preoccupied by your embarrassment, it didn’t even occur to you that you had never told him Pete’s name. 

He frowned and he genuinely appeared upset. Unable to maintain his direct gaze, you glanced away and caught the eyes of everyone else in the restaurant staring wide-eyed at the two of you. You realized that it was Benny who they were gawking at. And you didn’t seem to notice until now that he looked totally out of place with his worn clothes and dirty hands. As if sensing their not-so-subtle staring, Benny turned and looked about the room.

“What’s with all the stiff shirts in here?” he asked, sending you a conspiratorial glance. “I think they might be intimidated by you.”

“Me?” You furrowed your brow. It definitely wasn’t you they were looking at. In fact, the only person who was staring at you was Benny. 

“Yeah, I bet they’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you. Most people haven’t and they don't know how to act when they do.” He grinned and you had to look down at your lap as heat rose to your face.  

“I guess Pete wouldn’t agree,” you muttered quietly, feeling the anger in your heart fizzle out to meer disappointment. 

“Fuck Pete,” Benny said passionately, causing an elderly woman behind you to gasp and you giggled, shocked at his language. Benny was bad, he was trouble . . . but he was also fun, and you couldn’t hide your eagerness as he leaned his arms across the table, moving closer to address you privately. 

“You wanna get out of here, Bunny?” His question sent a gust of anticipation through your veins. 

“Yeah,” you admitted, smiling shyly. 

He stood quickly and you followed in suit. Then he did something that caused a wave of butterflies to roll through your stomach; he reached out and clasped his hand with you, interlocking fingers tightly. You grinned, excitement making you feel light and airy as he pulled you through the restaurant, past all the staring faces and harsh whispers and out the door into the night which felt alive with a whole new feeling of possibilities. 

*Tag List*

@imusicaddict @elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love @ironmooncat @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @charmingballoon @eugene-emt-roe  @sunnbib @semperamans @groovyangelkisses @killerqueenfan

[kennahjune]

Teen Dad

Quite surprised there’s not a lot of these AUs considering how much Steve apparently sleeps around but anywho.

Teen Dad Steve who finds out one of the girls he’d slept with pre-Nancy is pregnant and he damn well intends on helping out however he can.

Turns out; helping means taking his son (his SON) and having full custody because the mom, no matter how much she wants to be involved, can’t take care of him.

Steve’s alright for the first 6 months of little Louie Harrington’s life.

But then his parents come home and shit hits the fan.

Which— fair enough. He was only 17 and already had a whole ass son, they were gonna freak out.

But kicking him AND aforementioned son out? With no where to go? No money? Barely a job?

That’s just fucked up.

But Steve makes do, and lives out of his car for no more than a month before finally landing his hands on a cheap trailer in Forest Hills.

He and Louie move in and sure, it’s rough. But he’s got a nice paying job at the Diner and yeah maybe he has to skip some classes to get extra money but it’s fine. It pays his bills and rent and that’s all that really matters.

It’s fine.

And then the second wave of Upside Down fuckery hits, and Steve’s suddenly in the hospital with a grade 4 concussion (whatever that means) and his top priority is to make sure someone is with Louie.

Enter Claudia Henderson, Dustin’s mom.

She takes care of Louie for as long as Steve is in the hospital and then some when Steve can’t be left unsupervised in case his head worsens.

And that’s how the Party is introduced to little Louie (as they all call him).

Steve’s stunned to find out that Mike and Lucas are so good with little kids, but the two of them love stopping by the Henderson’s (and later on the trailer) to see little Louie and offer to babysit for him whenever.

The other kids take a little bit of time to warm up to Louie (and the fact that Steve’s actually a parent) but when they do Steve never ceases to have at least one of them over.

And with all the racket brings in the attention of nosy neighbors.

Steve is well accustomed to nosy neighbors. Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln next door to his parents were always looking to snitch on him for something or other.

But Miss Bottomette and her grandchildren Noah and Casey were sweethearts. Steve didn’t mind having them over for dinner or going over there. Miss Bottomette was the one to teach him how to actually put his cooking skills to work.

Linda and Tom, a newly married couple down the road, were quite eccentric but that’s what made them charming. Steve found their dog, Dasher, quite the sweetheart.

And even Mr. Knowles, the grouchy old man next door to Miss Bottomette, seemed to take a liking to Steve and Louie.

It wasn’t long before the story behind the new boy in 2718 New Bird Ave was revealed: Teen Dad Kicked Out.

Then the whole town knew. And while most people were nice about it, even supportive of how he had taken a step into his child’s life, there were always those people who sneered.

Steve ignored them, loving the life he was working on making for himself and Louie in the trailer park.

The only neighbors he never seemed to meet, despite the looming presence, were the Munsons, right across the street.

Steve knew about the Munsons. Well— he knew about Eddie Munson; drug dealer who was on his second run of senior year. Steve actually shared a few classes with him.

He’d yet to meet the mysterious Wayne Munson, but that was to be expected with work schedules.

And then Steve was graduating, and his parents didn’t show up.

But that was totally fine. Cause the kids, Claudia, Joyce— even Hopper with El— were there. They held up little baby Louie while Steve walked the stage.

He’d heard rumors of Eddie Munson having to retake senior year for a third time— but he didn’t dwell on it for too long. Because sure, he missed more than his fair share of classes and scraped by with a C+ average.

But he did it.

And then summer hit, Dustin left for camp, and the mall opened up.

Steve picked up a job at Scoops Ahoy, cutting back on his hours at the Diner but still staying there because the money was needed and the tips were lovely.

And he meets Robin Buckley, and actually talks to Eddie Munson every once in a while when he stops in with his band, and lets the kids sneak into the movies because he’ll be damned if he robs them of a normal summer.

And then Dustin comes back and their reunion is short-lived because Russians are hellbent on torching non-existent information out of Steve and he’s busy getting his third concussion and then there’s a fucking flesh monster and Billy and Hopper for protecting them and—

It’s not a good night.

But then he’s rushed to the hospital and he tries to call Miss Bottomette only for the call to refuse to go through and shitfuckgoddammit.

Because what about Louie?

Miss Bottomette said she’d be alright watching Louie until Steve got home, but Steve wasn’t able to go home until someone was able to make time to take him home.

Usually, he’d lean on Hopper for this stuff, since his parents were out of the question. But—

But Hoppers dead.

So he’s stuck at the hospital for another day or two until finally, Claudia comes to pick him up.

He’s with Dustin in the backseat of the car, anxiously bouncing his leg and biting at his fingers and nails until Dustin gives in and just holds his hand. Robin’s there to, having been able to leave after the first night but coming with Claudia to pick him up. Steve’s relieved to have them both close by, even if his hands reach for Erica subconsciously.

His trailer’s empty when he gets home, and Miss Bottomette isn’t answering the door.

Steve’s on the brink of a full blown breakdown before Mr. Knowles— bless his heart— points them across the street.

The Munsons apparently have his son and have for a bit now since Miss Bottomette had a minor seizure and couldn’t be left alone with Louie. Mr. Knowles assured Steve that she and the kids were fine and staying with him for the moment.

Steve wasted no time afterwards sprinting to the Munsons and knocking on the door. Dustin and Robin are close behind him, Claudia waiting patiently in the driveway.

The door is answered by a gruff looking old man that’s taller than Dustin but slightly shorter than both Robin and Steve.

“You Harrington?”

Steve nods so fast he faintly wonders if that’s how bobble heads feels.

They’re let in in no time and the old man— the infamous Wayne Munson— calls out of Eddie.

Eddie Munson emerges a moment later with little Louie in his arms, bouncing softly on his feet to keep the baby calm.

Steve is in front of him in a second, scooping Louie gently out of his arms and into his own.

He doesn’t realize he’s crying until Dustin’s rubbing his arms and Robin his back. Claudia is talking to Wayne, explaining what had happened (or the cover story version at least) and Eddie is hanging back a few feet from the three of them.

Robin takes little Louie in her arms and shoos Steve to the couch to calm down.

“Let him meet his auntie, Steve. You take a minute to breathe now, yeah?”

Steve was led to the couch with a soft hand on his shoulder from Eddie Munson, and they sat side by side while Steve worked on easing his breathing and to stop fucking crying.

Eddie’s shushing him and after a moment (and a clearly pointed cleared throat from Robin) Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s shaking figure.

They leave the Munsons’ trailer is promises of new babysitters and a new friendship.

And then the fuckery that’s 1986 happens.

.

First Part:

[grapejuicestyless]

Leader Of The Landslide

JJ Maybank x fem!reader

Summery: John B was always your dad’s favorite. You always assumed it was because he blamed your mother leaving on you. Though he never outwardly neglected you, you always seemed to live in your older brother’s shadow. To everyone except one.

I remembered it from a young age, as early as seven, the way they all shunned me. My mother had been long gone, and my tired brain hadn’t held a single warm memory of her other than one.

We were at the chateau, as my dad called it, sitting on the old porch. Only, it wasn’t old then, it was new, and without the cigarette buds littering the once vibrant oak. There was an old wicker chair in the corner, pushed where the dusty couch now lay. It rocked slightly, not because it was meant to, but because it was broken. The distant memory of mumbled yelling and crashing from outside. Arguments that kept me and John B hidden under his covers until daylight broke. I loved that chair.

When I was young, my mom used to hold me in that chair. She never thought I was too old to be held, to be doted on by my mother. I still called her “mama” in my toddler years, pawing at the ends of her hair and the old fabric of her shirt. She sang soft melodies to me, songs I had never committed to memory, but songs I found in the simple things I enjoy now.

Popes dad says I had her eyes, and John B once told me that our dad thought I had her laugh. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like me, he tells me he loves me, but he doesn’t like me.

Right before she left, I had been padding along the grain of the wood floors, my blanket dragging between my legs and my dad’s shirt were my makeshift pajamas hanging down to my ankles. A storm, ones we got often in the summertime as the air became warmer and pushed out the cold, had broken down a few large branches in the yard, and in an effort to find comfort, I ran to my mama.

“You favor that girl over our son!” My dad shouted, his voice thick with a simmering anger I had never heard before. I swore even then I could feel it through the walls.

“How dare you! They are my babies! I love those kids more than anything I have ever loved, and I love them just the same!” My mama argued, but her voice was softer, more conscious of her young ones who she believed were tucked into bed just a few feet away.

“I should have known you would have been this way. You haven’t seen them the same since they were born.” My mama added softly, her words bitter and heavy with an unspoken truth.

There was a heavy silence, and then, a crack. I wasn’t sure what it was, the sound of rings hitting skin and the soft clanking of another hitting the ground. I ran quietly, light on my feet as soon as the collision happened, crawling over to John B’s bed and pulling the sheets up to my chin. He didn’t even stir, so used to the feeling of my legs curling against his, expecting to wake up nose to nose when the sun would shine through his thin curtains. The arguments happened so often, it became rare that he wouldn’t wake up with me tucked into bed beside him, a nervous wreck and furrowed brows.

That was the last time I saw my mother, or heard her voice. I hadn’t known it then, but the way my father seemed distant that morning told me it was more than one of the usual fights. She wouldn’t be walking through that door again in a few days like she sometimes would, and she would never sing to me again.

I remember laying out across that old chair, pulling my small knees to my chest. Her perfume lingered on the cushion tied around the back, and her voice was carried over the breeze. She wasn’t coming back, and the pain in my father’s eyes and the churning of his stomach told me that much.

A few days later, dad called my brother and I into the living room to tell us how mama had skipped town, set off for a better life. I could tell they both blamed her, bother hated her secretly for it almost instantly, and being so young and impressionable, I nearly agreed, I nearly believed it. But I saw the way my father spoke to her and the way he had the ability to make her snap back. She deserved that life my father said she was chasing, even if deep down I knew it was a lie.

I never told my brother that dad was lying, though sometimes I did whisper it in his sleep like a prayer, like my truth would reach his dreams and taint his false sense into seeing whats real. But even as a little kid I wasn’t innocent enough to blabber on about how horrible our last living parent was. Especially not when our dad was to John B as what our mother was to me.

The chair was gone soon after, and my dad refused to tell me where he’d thrown it. At first I thought he had broken it, but he was a sensible man at times, and the extra cash lying around the kitchen told me he had sold it, and he had killed her memory too.

Years later, with barely any recollection of who she was, and lacking the foundations of which she should have built for me, sometimes I found myself curled up in that corner, my knees pulled to my chest tightly in the same ball I wound myself in all those years ago, and sometimes I found myself still calling out for her, like if she had heard how much I still needed her, she would sing for me one last time.

But I am much older now, and it has dawned on me repeatedly like some sick prayer that I am too old to be held, to be shown the affection of a mother and her infant, and I have been since the day she left.

Early mornings and stained glass windows, not from paints, but mold. Old rotten wood and dusty broken furniture. A safe haven to call home, a quiet room on the heart of the cut. My brother and I often pulled out patches of grass in the backyard, and sometimes we’d sit together on the hammock, see how high we could swing and loop our fingers around the rope to hold on.

Dad would sit inside, sometimes by the kitchen window where he could look out and watch over us, but he mainly spent his time inside of his office, which had at one point, been moms bedroom.

He used to leaning over the dirty counters, feeling the sun on his skin, letting the gentle breeze cool the back of his neck. But dad loved a lot of things, and unlike mom, he lacked a discreet touch about those things.

I guess it could be traced back to when my brother and I had just turned eight. A week after the party had rolled over, and glasses kept piling up around the house, sticky and stained a faint brown from his favorite cheap whiskey. Sometimes I tried to clean them up, and I would place them in the sink, but the colors never faded, not even after my small palms would bleed and callous.

Once, John B asked me what I was doing. He had been playing outside with Pope and JJ, and JJ had been screaming for me to come outside and be his partner in ‘signs’, our favorite childhood card game. Though, JJ and I often lost because we too, lacked the ability to be discreet in any situation.

I told him I’d be out soon, I was just doing the dishes and I’ll never forget the look on my dad’s face. The usually happy, calm man looked down at his feet with something I’ve later identified embarrassment. I never blamed dad for drinking. I figured if mom leaving was still hard on me after all this time, it must have been hard for him too.

He began using his coffee mug after that. The dark liquid less shameful in a cup that gave him the ability to not only disguise his problem, but to commit it at any time of day, because John B was too oblivious to notice, and I was too naive to believe he would.

“Bird.” Dad called for John B in the backyard, not caring how Pope and I were arguing nonsensical things over each other, waving our arms and pointing fingers. JJ happily mediated, laughing at our schoolyard taunts and remarks, encouraging us to snap back, though we all knew our words were nothing more than that, and we all loved each other a great deal too much to mean any of it.

If I hadn’t been so caught up in my own thoughts, maybe I would’ve seen the way dad was swaying. The way his knuckles were white around the frame of the door. His glasses were crooked, and his breath rotten with substances. But I didn’t notice, and so little John B happily walked towards our father with open arms.

Dad hugged him. He hugged his son and held back his tears like it was the most beautiful moment he could ever dream of. He held John B like he was precious, and not to deny that he wasn’t, to me my brother was worth more than anything in the world, but to my dad, it was something more than that, and to me, it felt that way too.

Because dad never held me, his daughter, who cleaned his dishes, and covered his tracks, and lied, and stole, and cried out for him, for some peace. He never hugged me like that. Because he blamed me.

He blamed me for my mother leaving because unlike my mother, he could never love my brother and I the same. He couldn’t love two of something if he barely wanted one. He never hit me, but he was cold, calculated, cruel when he wanted to be.

That day, at just eight years old, I sat in the grass with dirt under my nails and heavy breaths wondering would it would be like to feel the warmth of my father. Would it solve all my problems or only tear me apart further.

Because maybe if I continued to never feel the embrace of the man who gave me life, it would be easier to disassociate and pretend that it didn’t hurt. Maybe it would be easier to not like him anymore, and the unbearable guilt I carried even as an eight year old, would go away finally.

I didn’t even realize that I wasn’t fighting Pope anymore, or how my gaze had drifted over to watch how tenderly my dad held onto my brother, because I couldn’t even feel the way tears burned into my skin in slow droplets that fell into my lap.

JJ hugged me then, and it felt special, I felt special, because I knew even at that age that affection was a rarity in my life, and JJ, as much as I knew he loved me, was not a physical person. Still, he held me from behind while Pope spewed out apologies, swearing on everything he believed that he hadn’t meant a word. I could tell that he too, felt confused because we had gone after each other multiple times and never had I broken down.

In that moment it felt like I had gained something more than a hug from my father, but a silent acceptance with my best friends. Because soon, even Pope shut up and looked to where JJ’s eyes were glued, and even as flustered as he had been, everyone who sat in the dirt that day understood that no words that were thrown around had ever hurt me, nor did they even reach me, because what had made me so inconsolable was the fact that my happy brother received all the praise while I laid out in the lawn, crying until I dry heaved, ignored by someone who I only ever wanted love from.

“It’s gonna be alright, Y/n/n.” JJ mumbled quietly into my ear, and for the first time, I didn’t believe a word he said.

“Dad, dad stop.” I defended myself for the first time when I was thirteen. I was only half his height and he was triple my age. I thought that somehow, if I stopped enabling his behavior, he would get better. He would see how much I cared and he would finally love me.

That was the first time dad yelled at me, really yelled at me.

My dad refused to lay a hand on me, so when my friends ask if I was ever abused, I tell them no because it feels laughable to compare my psychological trauma to the welts on their ribs when they barely escape home.

When JJ asks me whats wrong, why my eyes look so puffy in the afternoon, after I stumble out of the house in the same clothes as the night before, I tell him I didn’t get enough sleep, because how do you tell your best friend who has been climbing through my bedroom window since we were nine that my dad hurts me too, you just can’t see it.

Dad called me a liar and a psychopath when I told him he was hurting me. He told me that it wasn’t true because he loved my brother and I and he would never lay a hand on either of us, not then and not ever. Dad says that he deserves respect, that I’m only a kid and he’s the adult so I better start acting like it. He tells me that it’s like a switch went off in my head ever since I became a teenager and all of a sudden I can’t stand him. But that’s not true.

The truth was even at such a young age, I always knew I would lay my life on the line for my dad. He meant more to me than I could ever express, because to me, he was the man who hadn’t left, even when he was given all the right reasons to bail out. So, for years I tried to cover for him, clean up and take care of everyone to show him what I could never articulate into a phrase of my affection. Still, he preferred John B’s half hearted sentiment over anything I could give him.

I wished so deeply that I was born different, that I wasn’t me. Because maybe if I wasn’t the clone of my mother, maybe then my father would like me more.

I guess the worst part of it all is that I can never be sure if my father’s anger could have been my mother’s, only given to him in her absence. Would his hands have been hers as I grew older? Would her hugs turn into the white knuckles wrapped around my throat? And would her songs become the vile words my father threw at me in drunken rage?

Maybe if I kept hiding behind the cruelties of his excuses for the way I cowered around him, then John B wouldn’t have to live in the same sense of shock I have been stuck in for a decade.

Dad never laid a hand on me, but he didn’t have to. He didn’t have to touch me to kick me in the stomach, all he had to do was show me how he was capable of being a loving father, but never put me on the receiving end.

He found time for John B, even as he buried himself in his work, searching for some gold that seemed far away and unimportant. He locked himself away while I slid food under the door, and I watched as he kissed my brother’s forehead and bid him goodnight, leaving me to sleep on the couch.

Even as a thirteen year old girl, an age so tender and impressionable, I felt so much more mature than I should have. I felt the effects of neglect I couldn’t wish on anyone. In my self pity, even after he gave me every reason to turn on him, I couldn’t hate him, so I began to hate myself.

“Dad, when was the first time you felt love?” John B asked one night. For the first time in a long time, we were all lying in the living room. My brother hung over my dad’s lap and my head resting on the floor as I sank off of the old dusty beanbag.

Dad thought carefully, his large hands splayed out against my brother’s small back.

“The day you were born.” He answered thoughtfully, and I watched as my brother’s eyes lit up.

I had every right to scream, to beg for an answer because the little girl trapped inside of me didn’t deserve this kind of pain from her own blood. But I didn’t. I sniffled and sat up, storming out of the house that I wasn’t even sure I could call home. How foolish I felt for ever believing my dad would ever love us the same. How stupid I felt for thinking that my brother, who inherited our fathers name, would never be preferred over my mother’s child.

“Y/n Routledge, get back inside now!” Dad yelled, storming down the porch to catch me. But I had become good at slipping away, and neglectful parents raise angry children.

“Go to hell!” It was the first time I swore at my dad. Even I shocked myself, because it had never occurred to me that I could do that.

“Why do you have to ruin everything?” He asked me, and it made me want to laugh because when had I ever done anything to him that wasn’t in good faith? “Just like your mama! Storming off!” My dad cursed under his breath, not really bothering to chase after me. How easy would it have been for me to have ran away.

I could live under a tree, a big willow with drooping leaves and heavy branches. I could make friends with the squirrels and be a good mother to them, the mother I never had, but always dreamed of.

“My mama was a good woman!” I cried out, suddenly overwhelmed with my freshly made emotions, ones that felt too strong for a new teenage girl.

“You know nothing about her! She left, I’m the one who stayed!” Dad yelled, as if it wasn’t painfully obvious.

I did something I had never done before. In all of my life, not once had I ever blamed my dad for my mom leaving. Not even after I heard their fights from when I was no taller than the notches in the doorframes, and not after he began to spend his paychecks on alcohol instead of new shoes for John B and I. I never blamed him because he always blamed me, and if it made me feel so worthless, then how could I ever do that to him?

“I don’t blame her!” I fought back, tears burning my eyes almost as hard as the back of my throat stung. “And I don’t blame you.”

I couldn’t stay mad at dad for more than a few minutes. I couldn’t blame him, and I couldn’t lie and say I did when I didn’t. Dad didn’t say anything then, so I turned on my heels in the dirt and I stormed off.

That night, I knocked on JJ’s window. I was wearing an old Star Wars t-shirt that he once called nerdy and my rainbow pajama pants. I looked thirteen going on seven, my cupcake slippers caked in mud.

But JJ didn’t pull on my braids like my brother did when we fought, and he didn’t poke fun at my pants. He opened his window and leaned out, his messy blond hair and tired eyes adjusting to admire my face.

“Y/n/n? What happened? Why are you here?” He asked, and I could tell he sounded a little on edge. His dad used to be discreet about how he dealt with JJ, but after middle school had began, he stopped caring as JJ stuck around the same kids he grew up with. So, I stayed as quiet as possible, not wanting any trouble.

“I just missed you.” A lie. The first of many lies I would spew out to my best friend because I felt too awkward to confess my own feelings and burden him when he had it so much worse.

“Oh.” His face lit up slightly, and I could tell my words made him feel nice. “C’mon, I’ll help you in. Wouldn’t wanna lose a slipper.” He teased with a toothy grin, a smart ass from birth.

I playfully smacked his shoulder, holding my breath until my feet hit his dirty floors. He held onto my arms longer than he had to, and I wondered if he could feel my body shaking.

“Don’t make fun, okay? I like my slippers.” I smiled, blinking away the old tears that I cried on the way over, and pawing at the scrapes from the bushes I cut through to get to his house quicker.

“I would never!” He defended softly, his arms raised in a scouts honor. “Cross my heart, cupcake.”

Sometimes I wished that JJ and I were older, I thought about it often. It kept me awake after long fights with dad, that I would one day save up all the money I could scrape together and take JJ with me. We’d go around the globe, just me, him, and open ocean surrounding us, and only the scars on our skin and in our heads to remind us of the past. But we wouldn’t care, because we would be there for each other, and the ocean would wash away the evil men on the shore.

“I wish I had a more appreciative daughter!” Dad yelled at me as he packed up his things in a hurry, chasing yet another lead on his quest for the gold, a passion driven by his valiant greed.

It hurt, but it would have hurt me a lot more three years ago. At sixteen, his words meant nothing to me, because at sixteen, I had finally come to terms with the fact that my dad simply did not like me, and that was okay.

So instead of sitting in self pity, or swallowing myself whole in a another bottomless spiral of self hatred and depression, I finally found the spark that was burning so fiercely somewhere deep inside of me.

“Fuck you!” The second time I swore at dad. “Fuck you and all your promises to get better!” I stepped forward, crossing into his office, which I swore to never go in, not only because it reeked of him, but because it was only a reminder of how quickly he let mom go, and how quickly he shifted the blame onto me, an innocent infant with no real chance to do anything to anyone.

“Fuck me? Oh, fuck me? Your father? I have done everything for you! I have given you the chances my own parents couldn’t give me and you are so ungrateful! I pray for a day you wake up and see the damage you cause around here!” Dad spat, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

“Fuck all your pride and fuck all your prayers!” I stepped closed again, and my knuckles pawed at his shirt desperately, my eyes looking up at my father, who stood ten times taller than me, or so it felt that way. “All this time I waited like a fool, because you’re my dad. Above anything else, before the treasure and before the alcoholic, you’re supposed to be my dad!”

“Are you drunk?” He asked. I wasn’t, but I might as well have been with how quickly my mind passed through emotions.

Here he was standing in front of me, and here I was already done processing all my grief. He wasn’t dead, I could feel each breath under the palms of my hands, yet for years it felt like walking next to a ghost with how absent and withdrawn he always was from my life.

“All I ever wanted was a father.” I told him softly. “Was that too much to ask?” I deserved to know, but I should have known better.

My dad was an asshole, and he always would be. It was in his fashion that he would brush right past me, unfeeling and lacking empathy for his own daughter.

I felt angry. Before, I felt betrayed, sad, even embarrassed by him, and by how easily I let him get away with all his faults simply because he was my father and if my brother loved him, then there had to be some good in him. But there wasn’t.

Here he was, walking out of my life, the keys to the car that I paid for in his hands, dangling just as carelessly as he was with my life. I don’t know why that set me off, but it had. I heard my feet slap against the floors before I felt myself moving.

“Give back my damn keys!” I caught up behind him, snatching the carabiner from his dirty knuckles and pushing him into the wall. He wouldn’t hit, but god, had he made me wish I could. “I paid off that loan it’s under my name!” I stuffed the clasp into my back pocket tightly.

“You wanna leave, thats fine. But you’re walking out of my life if you’re going!” I breathed out heavily, the frames on the wall rocking back and forth from the force he hit the wood with.

“What is wrong with you? Where’s my sweet little girl I used to love?” My knuckles loosened on his shirt again, but my elbows remained pressed into his stomach.

“Loved? Like you ever loved me. You couldn’t have, because you wouldn’t have taken it out on me. You wouldn’t have gotten rid of her existence in spite of me. You wouldn’t have tossed that damn chair, and you wouldn’t have burned the things she kept for me!” I wanted to cry, but more than that, I wanted him so see how exhausted I felt.

“All I wanted was a fucking father, John.”

“And you got one, and look at you, you’re a strong young woman now!” He laughed bitterly, fighting against my shaky hold. He could barely look at me. I wondered if he was asked, could he even tell a friend the color of my eyes? If I were to wash up on the shore, could he even report the body? Would my grave lay empty simply because he hadn’t known me for years, and he never would.

“I was a little girl! I was a little girl, and I still am! I’m sixteen, dad! Stop treating me like some type of problem when I’ve been nothing but great to you!” I cried this time, pushing him harder until the wood splintered and my arms gave out. We both stumbled away from each other.

“All I ever wanted was a father, but for the first time, finally I can see you are the leader of the landslide.” I scoffed pathetically, staring him down with a broken heart.

I deserved to smash all the plates in the house, to rip off all the wallpaper and spray paint the rotting white paint bright blue just in spite of my father. But even though he wasn’t kind to me, I couldn’t ignore how good of a dad he had been to John B, and more than anything I ever held close to me, I loved my brother dearly. I wiped my tears and let dad walk out on me. Neither of us said a word.

He clapped John B over the back when he got outside, promising to return soon, this time with the promise of an unpromising fortune. He swore that he loved my brother more than anything, called him by the nickname he earned long ago, and left without saying another word.

I watched wordlessly from the front steps.

We lost the gold. Once or twice. The gold we had found first was a slap to the face, but having the cross stolen right out from under us felt so much worse, especially with Pope being tied into it on such a deeper level.

We all sat around the first now, our bodies tucked close together like a perfectly woven blanket, arms tangled around each other and weak laughter echoing around the smokey fire. We didn’t have much left to fight for, but to me, I felt deeply that in a more important way, we had gotten the gold, and we had been filthy rich all along.

The gold we’d found couldn’t be measured on a scale and dealt between the seven of us evenly, but unmeasurable and sought after by anyone who understood. Because in the end, we still had each other, and to me, this was family.

JJ’s blonde hair tickled the top of my forehead. We sat close together on the low swinging hammock in the backyard. His arms wrapped around me tightly, and my legs thrown over his lap carelessly. We talked quietly with Kiara about the little things. We found alternatives to seek out her dreams of preserving the ecosystem and to swim with the turtles.

It all felt so real, so domestic for a group of friends who were always running from something. It felt like the first time in a while I had time to stop and catch my breath.

“What are you thinking about, cupcake?” The nickname rolled nicely off the tongue, his crooked smile endearing to me, and his eyes sweeter than any doe I’d ever encountered.

I sighed contently, cuddling closer to the boy and soaking up his warmth greedily. Though we both never said it would loud, it always felt nice to share close proximity with someone we trusted so deeply. To feel affection for someone when we had grown up scarcely to it.

Dad had been dead for nearly two years now, and the truth was, I wasn’t sixteen anymore. I wasn’t the sad little thirteen year old who hated herself more than anyone else, who climbed through the blondes window at midnight in her muddy slippers, and I wasn’t the timid toddler who could barely walk without tripping on her blanket she dragged around everywhere for a pathetic kind of comfort.

John B took it hard at first. I wanted so desperately to tell him everything. He was my older brother after all, but most days now I felt like it was my job to look out for him. It always had been. He was my brother and I would never have let him suffer, but sometimes it was hard not to wish for once I could selfishly struggle openly and degrade the man he saw as his hero.

It would be wrong for me to taint that image of a dead man, a man I still believed John B was openly grieving, even if he said he was okay now. You are never okay after losing someone like that, no matter how evil, and I think he forgets that he was still my father, even if he never saw us in the same context as he saw him.

“Thinking about how comfortable you are.” I mumbled, stretching my limbs out tiredly along his tanned skin. I laid like a lap dog on his chest, my head tucked under his chin and my hands playing with the rough fabric of his dirty t-shirt.

“Not about John B?” He prodded quietly. JJ always knew when the wheels in my head were turning, just like I could always tell when something was wrong. It was like our super powers, to know each other so well we couldn’t hide anything.

“He’ll come back, he wouldn’t leave you.” He assured softly, his fingers dancing gently along my curved spine. It felt like oddly in times like these, the calm after the storms, that it truly would always be just JJ and I against the world. Like we were the only two people who truly understood each other, through the laughter and under the deepest scars littering our skin.

“I know. He’s my brother, he wouldn’t do that.” I agreed, and just as I was about to let the serenity of the lazy swinging of the hammock lull me into a sleepy haze, the crunching of boots on leaves alerted me elsewhere.

There he stood, his clothes still grimy from the tropical heat and wet mud from Barbados. His hair was stuck to his forehead in the same curl pattern from a few days ago, but the deep rooted brunette seemed to become a shade of dirty blonde from all the harsh sun. His skin was tanned and covered in sweat, but he was still my brother, and he had finally come home.

I sat up quickly from JJ’s arms, pushing off of his chest with so much force, I felt him bend at the waist and let out a puff of air. I shouted an apology before wrapping my brother in a bone crushing hug, relief filling my stomach and the unease dispersing finally.

“Where have you been!” I pushed him away with a smile, I didn’t even notice the seriousness in his gaze as he called out for me softly.

“Are you crazy? Staying behind like that in a foreign country?” I laughed breathlessly, my eyes searching his face and settling on his lack of a smile.

“Y/n/n.” He called out again softly.

“What? Whats wrong?” I breathed out, my smile fading slightly into a dimmer smirk, confidence slipping from my face into a deep furrow between my brows.

“John B, what happened? Did someone hurt you…d-did-“ My happy touch became a panicked grip on his clothes, my knuckles white and face pale as I searched for answers.

“Y/n.” He cooed calmly, the ease between his eyes and brows calming the pace of my breath. “I found him.” He said with a soft smile.

“What?” I breathed out. “Who?”

I racked my brain for answers, mulling over every possible explanation for what could have made me stay behind, leave behind all the good that had surrounded him for the past few years, and the good that would continue to grow with him.

“Don’t tell me you forgot your own dad?” An old voice called out from behind the brush, long greasy hair and an un-groomed bears covering a good portion of his old face. From his glasses alone I could see who it was, never mind the voice that often haunted me even in my sleep, the ghostly presence that lingered even as I slept on my own.

He was a poltergeist haunting my life, torturing my soul until I bled out completely blue. Had the punishment of forcing a child to clean up his mess for over a decade not been enough karma for all the bad I hadn’t done yet? Would I forever be stuck in the broken glass of his aftermath? How much longer would I have to hide behind the shell of who I once was just to please those who don’t yet know about who I am, of who I could have become?

I decided then I couldn’t do it, and I let go of my brother, and I let go of my pride.

“No.” I spoke softly, looking between the boys. John B looked more and more like dad every day.

I watched my brother’s face crumble in confusion, my heels dragging against the dirt, I backed away like a scared dog, no longer the eager retriever with a bird at the door. My tail was between my legs.

“Y/n/n, it’s dad!” John B gestured like it would click for me, but that was not my father. Maybe by blood, but he would never be more than that to me, just evidence that linked me back to John B.

“No, I-I can’t.” I tried to explain through staggering breaths, choking out my words like tranquilized venom.

“I know it’s a lot, but everything’s going to be the way it was.”

My back hit JJ’s chest, and for the first time in the last few seconds, the ringing that blocked out my brothers bargaining seemed to fall deaf on my ears, and all I could hear was the sound of my heart beat dying in my chest.

“No, you don’t get it.” I cried out, though my eyes felt dry. “You don’t get it and you never will!” I begged silently for him to see the way the spark seemed to die as soon as dad came back, the way that my shoulders slumped and the confident young woman I had become faded back into the teenage daughter who wished for nothing more than to run far away from here.

“Y/n, come on, don’t be like this.” Dad tried to reason, like it was his say to decide how I would handle his return, like he could decide when I stopped feeling the effects of his abuse, because that was a word I had learned to call it, because that is what it was. Abuse.

“How dare you!” I shouted, anger making my skin hot. I felt queasy, like the world was crashing down on me, betrayal hot on my face. He didn’t know, my brother didn’t know because I protected him from it.

Couldn’t he ever notice how much happier I seemed after dad left? How I finally started living for the moments between us instead of for the times when I could go to sleep, where I could quietly call out for our mother who I didn’t know.

JJ knew, of course he knew. He knew by the time dad left. I’d confessed it all in a drunken ramble in the backyard after he commented on how happy I seemed, and though I laughed when I told him, neither of us found it funny. He apologized for making me feel like my problems were minuscule compared to his, but I assured him it was my own self doubt, and never his own actions. Neglectful parents raise insecure kids.

So if my best friend had known, if he could see just how happy I was without the burden of my father’s blame, how could my other half not see it? My own DNA? It led me to believe he was neglectful of me in his own ways, pushing aside the obvious signs of my own struggle just for his own benefit, for the gain of a relationship with the father that severed ours long ago.

“How dare you come back here after all the shit you put me through!” I cried, and I hit him. I hit him in the chest and I watched as he kept his ground, his shoes not even sliding against the mud. I had grown weaker without his constant fighting, and it showed in just how quickly the flame flickered out.

“How dare you come back and expect me to just be okay with it when all you’ve given me is years of therapy that I can’t afford!” I hit him in the jaw, and this time, I felt a pair of arms pull me away, my hot tears burning their tan skin. I kicked and I screamed, and my brother dragged me off until I couldn’t reach him anymore.

“You’re a piece of shit! I owe you nothing!” I pointed at him, staring him down as he rubbed the quickly blossoming bruise on his skin, his beard covering the welt almost entirely. The mark didn’t make me feel better at all, and instead, I only felt more pathetic.

“I gave you everything!” My limbs fell limp, all fight leaving my body as my tired joints ached, my head falling onto JJ’s shoulder. The boys passed me off like some kind of child, and looking at the man who tormented me my entire youth, I felt just like the timid child once again, like all my growth meant nothing.

The bright moon was replaced with the yellow glow of the kitchen lights, clouds traded in for floral curtains that hung crooked over the windows, and the cool grass fading into hard wood beneath my feet.

“Y/n, hey…” JJ cooed, his hands brushing against my shoulders.

“I just…fuck…I couldn’t do it. I don’t know why I hit him, I don’t know, I just-“

“Y/n, cupcake, hey, baby,” he called for me again, a plethora of nicknames tumbling from his lips that I had never heard him call me before, but all that held a genuine affection in them. I stopped my senseless rambling at the tenderness of his touch and softness in his voice.

“It’s okay to not be okay.” He affirmed quietly. “You earned your anger, it’s okay.”

I nodded, my gaze drifting from just beyond his shoulder were my brother stood dumbfounded with my father, looking at him with a mix of question and anger towards the man that he once saw with stars in his eyes.

“Jay, I don’t know what to do.” I confessed quietly, feeling like we were ten again, sharing secrets through a game of telephone, just the two of us stuffed in the corner of my bedroom at midnight, my father unaware that the blonde was still in the house, let alone snuck in my room.

“That’s okay.” He nodded again, and this time his palms molded against the apples of my cheeks, thumbs brushing away my stale tears.

“It’s gonna be okay, we can run, or we can stay and kick him out, or we can do nothing.” I focused on the way he said each option with the use of we, because in our minds, we always escaped hell together.

“Can we just stay here for a little longer?” My eyes found his, and I saw the way his flickered down in a way that felt too intimate for just best friends.

“We can do whatever we want, it’s you and me against the universe, cupcake, and we’re winning it.” He promised.

And just as I always had, I believed every word he said.

[stylesispunk]

"Is God watching our eyes burn?"

Not outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: Two best friends are falling in love. What could have gone wrong?

w.c: 6k

warnings: angst as always. No proofreading.

a/n: I wrote this during the afternoon, so please don't hurt my feelings. I hope you like it, though. It has the potential for a second part. Reblogs and comments are always appreciated.💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Falling in love with your best friend. What a typical beginning or an ending of a story.

From your eyes you could see people describing their partner as their soulmates, their other half, and their best friends.

What are the odds of you falling in love with yours? How? when he had never seen you with those loving eyes you witnessed in others.

Joel loved you. That wasn’t in doubt but he had loved you as a brother loved a sister, as a friend loved his friend.

And that's why you were simply that. Best friends.

You watched him as he spoke, hands moving animatedly as he shared some story or other, and you smiled and laughed at all the right moments. Still, there was a part of you that was miles away, caught in a daydream where he was looking at you, just once, the way people looked at their person.

It wasn’t something you’d wanted to feel. For years, Joel had been your rock. You knew each other in ways no one else did, inside jokes, old scars, even that soft corner of his heart that few others got to see. He’d been the one person you could count on, even when things got messy, and you never wanted to risk that. But somewhere along the way, the little moments started to change. His hand on your shoulder, his smile in the morning, his laugh when he caught you dancing alone in the kitchen, all those things that had once been innocent had started to mean something else.

You used to feel safe around him. Now, every word, every glance, every touch was charged with a question he couldn’t hear, and it scared you. You kept asking yourself, When did it happen? How did it happen? It was like a puzzle you couldn’t solve. One minute, you were friends; the next, you were wondering what his hand would feel like if it held yours just a little longer.

He had found his way inside you. You didn’t mean it sexually, but spiritually. It felt like him and his bared hand ripped the skin off your chest and took your most precious belonging. Your heart.

From that day on, it felt like your breathed for him. That you belonged to him. To his breath, to his thoughts, to his gaze. Every time he wasn’t looking at you, you felt your heart tearing apart.

It was maddening, really, how much you had come to need him, how each of his smiles, each of his laughs, felt like something you couldn’t live without. You’d catch yourself watching him, memorizing the lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed when he was with you, how his voice softened when he talked about something he loved. You’d watch him in the little moments when he didn’t know you were looking, like when he was lost in thought, eyes drifting away as he tapped his fingers against his knee.

But you were losing your hold on yourself, inch by inch. You knew it every time he walked into the room and your heart betrayed you, skipping a beat as if he was the most important person in the world. And he was. At some point, he’d become everything. And you could do nothing about it.

It felt like you breathed for him.

The more you tried to keep those feelings quiet, the louder they seemed to get. There were nights when you’d lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the ache of his absence like a weight pressing down on you. It was terrifying to know that you belonged to him in a way that he’d never understand. You belonged to his laugh, his gaze, the casual touches he’d give that left their mark on you long after he’d pulled away.

And you had came to understand why your relationships never worked out.

And why all his flings and lover weren’t very fond of you.

It all made sense now, why every other relationship you’d tried felt hollow, why every time someone else held you, it felt like a betrayal. You had always been searching for something that could fill the space Joel left behind, something that could compare to the feeling of being with him. And no one ever measured up. No one could make you feel the way he did with just a look, just a laugh, or a soft touch on your shoulder.

His girlfriends must have sensed it, too—the subtle pull that kept you by his side, the way he’d cancel plans with them if you needed him, the way he always looked for you in a crowded room. They saw what you tried to keep hidden. They could see that in some quiet, unspoken way, you were always there, between them and him.

But you also knew he was far away from healing from his last heartbreak. And you knew that when he kissed you like he mean it, he was looking out for comfort from you, the person who always was there.

And you gave in.

You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t let it happen. You told yourself a hundred times that you could be his friend, his rock, without crossing that line. But when he showed up at your door late one night, shoulders slumped and eyes tired, the air felt different. He looked worn down, like he’d been carrying too much for too long, and all he wanted was relief, a place where he didn’t have to pretend to be okay.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, his voice low and raw, and you knew what that meant, knew it had to do with the last woman who’d walked out of his life, leaving him with wounds that hadn’t yet healed. You’d listened to him, night after night, as he talked through the pain, the trust he’d put in her, the hopes he’d had that had all fallen apart. And though every word cut deep, you were there, steady as ever, offering him comfort, reassurance.

So when he stepped closer, when his hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair from your face, you felt your own resolve crumbling. You could tell yourself all you wanted that this wasn’t real, that it wasn’t the way you’d dreamed it. But the truth was, his touch set you on fire, made you feel like you’d been waiting for this moment forever.

He leaned in, his face inches from yours, and you could see the flicker of need in his eyes, the desperation. You knew he was reaching for you to fill a void, to ease a hurt that still felt fresh, and maybe it was wrong, maybe you were both vulnerable, but in that moment, you didn’t care. You wanted to be the person he needed, even if it was only for a night, even if he was looking at you through the lens of heartbreak and loss. Because the way his gaze softened, the way he touched you, it was everything you’d been longing for, even if it came from his own need to feel whole again.

So you let him. You let him take that step, let his lips press against yours, let him hold you close as if you were the only one who could fix the pieces left broken. It wasn’t the love you’d dreamed of, but it was real in its own way, a moment where you belonged to each other, even if he would never see it that way.

And as he kissed you, as he held you close, you knew you’d regret it in the morning, that you’d feel the ache of him slipping away once the moment passed.

But that never happened.

Instead, everything between you and Joel shifted that night, as if a door that had always been locked was suddenly wide open. You had thought it would be one moment, a single night where you could pretend that his touch was a promise, that his kisses meant as much to him as they did to you. But he didn’t let you go, didn’t pull back into that safe distance of friendship once the night had passed. Instead, he lingered, stayed close, as if he was finding something in you he hadn’t expected, as if he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

The next morning, you’d braced yourself, heart pounding as you turned to face him, expecting to see the hesitation, the discomfort. But instead, you found him watching you, his expression soft, almost vulnerable, as he reached for you again. “Hey,” he murmured, and his hand found yours, fingers intertwining with a certainty that left you breathless.

And from there, it didn’t stop.

Joel didn’t hesitate, didn’t second-guess the leap you both had taken. In the weeks that followed, it was as if he had been waiting just as long, holding back feelings he hadn’t even realized he had. He wasn’t careful, wasn’t cautious; he didn’t linger in that unsure space between friendship and something more. Instead, he was all in, crossing every line with a steadiness that left you dizzy.

It only took him two months to raise the bar, to show you what it was like to be truly wanted. He’d come over with flowers in hand like it was nothing, his face breaking into a grin when you’d open the door, as if the sight of you made everything right. He’d brush hair from your face, a little slower than he used to, letting his fingers linger on your cheek, his gaze holding a warmth you’d once only dreamed of. There was no hesitation in his touches now, no holding back. He’d pull you close on a crowded street, run his fingers down your arm as you laughed over breakfast, hold you just because you were there. With Joel, you never had to wonder if you were enough.

And you found yourself slipping into those roles, playing the parts of the lovers you’d once watched from a distance. You both did, almost instinctively. At first, it felt strange, like you were walking on a stage, wearing someone else’s life. You’d spend your days together, trying to believe it was real, that the Joel who laughed into your shoulder and kissed you in the middle of a conversation was yours.

The first time he told you he’d fallen for you, it was casual, thrown in like he’d said it a thousand times before, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Even in the warmth of his love, in the softness of his gaze when he looked at you, there was always a flicker of something else, something he couldn’t quite hide. A shadow that lingered behind his smile, a sadness that clung to him no matter how hard he tried to bury it. You could see it in the quiet moments, when the laughter faded, and he’d look at you as if he was searching for something, as if he was afraid of losing you even while you were right there in his arms.

It hurt to see that sadness in him, knowing you couldn’t reach it, couldn’t pull him fully into the light. You’d watch him sometimes, catch him lost in thought, his eyes distant, and wonder if he was thinking of his past—of the scars he’d carried from those who had left him, the pieces of himself he’d lost along the way. There were nights when he’d hold you close, his grip a little tighter, as if you were an anchor keeping him grounded, and you’d feel the weight of that sadness, as if he was trying to drown it in the warmth between you.

One evening, after a quiet dinner, you both sat on the couch, his arm around you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder. The glow of the lamplight softened everything around you, casting shadows that danced across his face. You could see the sadness there, deeper tonight, almost heavy enough to spill over. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

“Joel,” you whispered, reaching up to brush your fingers along his jaw, hoping to ease the ache you saw in him. “What is it?”

He looked down, his thumb moving over your knuckles in slow, soothing circles, as if he was gathering his thoughts. “Sometimes, I think about… how lucky I am to have you,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “And it scares me. Because I’ve lost things before. People. And… I don’t ever want that to happen with us. I don’t want to wake up and find out this was just… I don’t know, a dream.”

You felt your heart twist, aching for him, for the years he’d spent holding onto pain he couldn’t let go of. And yet, you also understood. You’d been best friends for so long, and even in love, you could sense that he was still trying to protect himself, to guard that broken part of him that he feared would shatter if he let himself believe too much, hope too much.

So you held his face in your hands, meeting his gaze with a steady resolve. “I’m not going anywhere, Joel. I’m here, and I want to be here. Whatever shadows you carry, I’ll be here to help you face them. I love you, all of you. Even the parts that hurt.”

His eyes softened, and he looked at you like you were something he didn’t deserve, something precious he’d stumbled upon and was still afraid to hold too tightly. But then, he leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours, closing his eyes as he let himself breathe, let himself feel the weight of your words.

But you knew, just as he did, that there was a part of him still haunted by her—by the girl he’d lost, the one who followed him like a ghost he could never quite shake. She lingered in the quiet corners of his mind, a memory that wouldn’t fade, an echo that haunted him even when he was wrapped in your arms. You could feel it in the way he held you sometimes, as if he was clinging to the present but couldn’t fully leave the past behind.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love you. You knew he did; you could feel it in every touch, in every whispered word. But there was a part of him still lost in a place you couldn’t reach, tethered to memories you could never truly understand. He didn’t talk about her, didn’t bring her up, and you never pushed him to. Still, you sensed the weight of her shadow in his silences, in the moments when his gaze grew distant, as though he was looking right through you to someone who wasn’t there.

It was a strange thing, learning to share him with a memory, a ghost that still lived somewhere deep inside him. You’d told yourself you could handle it, that you could be patient, that one day he’d let go of her completely. But some nights, when you caught him staring into the distance with that quiet sadness in his eyes, you felt a pang of jealousy—not for her, but for the part of him she still held captive.

In those moments, you couldn’t help but wonder if she would always be there, lingering just beyond the reach of what you and Joel were building together. If he’d ever truly be able to let go, to give himself over to this love without the pull of that past, that echo.

"Sometimes, it feels like I’m not really here," you said, voice tight with a vulnerability you’d tried to keep hidden. "Like you’re looking past me—to her."

Joel’s eyes flicked up, surprised by the intensity in your voice. He shifted, as if he wasn’t quite sure where this was coming from, but the sadness you’d seen in him so many times was still there, familiar and frustrating. "That’s not fair," he murmured, his tone soft but guarded. "You know it’s not like that."

“Then what is it like, Joel?” you demanded, feeling a pang of guilt even as the words escaped. “Because every time you get that look in your eyes, every time you drift off… it’s her, isn’t it?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, weary. “She was a part of my life. I can’t just erase that.”

"And what about us?” you shot back, the words sharper than you intended. “Do I always have to share you with her? Am I ever going to be enough, or am I just supposed to be okay with half of you?”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, his face shadowed. “You don’t understand,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then help me understand, Joel,” you pleaded, your voice cracking. “I’ve tried. I’ve been patient, I’ve given you space, but it’s like… it’s like there’s this wall between us that I can’t get past. And I don’t know if I ever will.”

He looked back at you then, his gaze heavy with something unreadable. “It’s not about you,” he said, frustration seeping into his tone. “This is my burden, my past. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”

“But it does mean you’re not all here,” you replied, the words trembling with pain. “And I can’t help but wonder if you’ll ever be.”

There was a long, aching silence as your words hung in the air. Joel looked away, his face set in a hard line, and for a moment, you felt a wave of regret, of fear that maybe you’d pushed too far. But you needed him to hear it. Needed him to understand how much it hurt to be constantly measured against a memory, to feel like you were always fighting to pull him into the present.

Finally, he spoke, his voice low and raw. “I’m trying. But it’s not that simple. You think I don’t want to let go? You think I don’t want to be… whole?”

The vulnerability in his voice was almost too much, cutting through your anger and leaving you feeling exposed. You could see how much he wanted to give you what you deserved, how he hated the way he was bound to a past he couldn’t change. And yet, part of you still felt that ache, that longing for a love that wasn’t haunted by shadows.

“I don’t want to be your second choice, Joel,” you whispered, feeling the tears rise, though you tried to blink them away. “I don’t want to keep feeling like I’m… not enough.”

Joel reached for you then, his hand finding yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You’re not my second choice,” he said softly, his voice barely holding together. “You’re the one here, the one I want. I just… sometimes, I don’t know how to shake the past. I don’t know how to make it stop hurting.”

You looked down at your joined hands, the warmth of his touch grounding you even as you felt the weight of his words settle heavy on your heart. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let his words reassure you, but the doubt lingered, a painful reminder of the distance that still stretched between you.

“I know you’re trying, Joel,” you said quietly. “But I know better than to wait for you back here.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you prepared to say the words you’d kept buried for too long. “I mean… I can’t keep standing on the sidelines, hoping one day you’ll be fully here. I can’t be the one waiting for you to decide if you’re ready to move on.” You paused, watching as his face registered the meaning of your words, a flicker of fear crossing his eyes. “I love you, Joel. But I can’t keep giving all of myself if you’re not ready to do the same.”

He looked at you, the silence stretching between you, and you could see the conflict etched into his expression. “You think I don’t want that?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You think I don’t wish every day that I could leave all that behind?”

“I know you do,” you replied, feeling your own voice tremble. “But wishing isn’t enough. I need to know that you’re here, that this—us—isn’t just you trying to fill some empty space.”

He took a step closer, his hand tightening around yours. “You’re not just filling a space, not to me,” he insisted, his voice filled with a rawness you rarely saw. “But… I don’t know how to give you more when there’s still a part of me that’s… trapped there.”

You nodded, a painful understanding settling over you. “I know. And maybe that’s something you have to work through—without me.”

His grip loosened, and you felt the weight of your words sink in, the realization in his eyes piercing. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words didn’t come. Instead, he looked at you, the anguish plain on his face, and you knew he understood. This wasn’t what you wanted, wasn’t the ending you’d dreamed of, but you also knew it was the only way forward.

“I don’t want to lose you,” he said finally, his voice barely a whisper.

“And I don’t want to lose you either, Joel,” you replied, your own voice choked with emotion. “But I can’t lose myself waiting for you to be ready.” You paused, your own breath shaking. “I’ve breaking my own heart for years already. I can’t do it anymore” you confessed, the truth spilling out in a rush, leaving you feeling exposed. The words hung in the air, heavy with all the unspoken feelings that had built up between you over time. You had spent so long convincing yourself that you could wait, that love would be enough to bridge the gap, but now it felt like the dam had finally burst.

He flinched, his expression twisting with a mix of regret and sorrow. “I didn’t realize…” His voice trailed off, the weight of your admission hitting him like a freight train.

“I never wanted to hurt you. You’ve always been my best friend, and now you’re so much more. I just thought… I thought we had time.”

You shook your head, feeling tears prick at the corners of your eyes. “Time is what I don’t have, Joel. I’ve given so much of myself to this, to us, and I thought it would be enough. But now, standing here, I see it’s not just about love.”

He swallowed hard, the realization dawning on him. “You’re right. I need to figure this out. I can’t just keep pretending it’s all okay when it’s not.”

The truth of his words cut through you, leaving a raw ache in your chest. You wanted him to be free, to find that peace, but the thought of stepping away felt like tearing off a bandage that had just begun to heal. “I care about you, Joel. I always will. But I need to put myself first for once.”

“Please don’t go,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t want to lose you. You’re the best part of my life.”

You could see the pain in his eyes, and it nearly broke you. “I need space,” you whispered, barely able to hold it together. “I was brave enough when I let you in. I need to find out who I am without you being my everything. Maybe one day, we can find our way back to each other. But right now… I just can’t.”

The weight of your words hung in the air between you, heavy with the uncharted territory of separation. You could see the flicker of panic in Joel’s eyes, the realization that he might lose the one person who understood him the most. But you knew that this was necessary—for both of you.

He opened his mouth, searching for the right words, but they wouldn’t come. Instead, he simply stood there, helpless, as you took a step back. “I don’t want to lose you,” he repeated, the raw vulnerability in his voice piercing through you. “You’re the only one who knows me like this, who gets me. What if… what if we can find a way to work through this together?”

Your heart twisted at the thought, but you had to be strong. “I don’t think I can be what you need right now,” you said softly. “And you deserve to heal without me holding you back. I’ve become a crutch, Joel, and I don’t want to be that. You need to find yourself again, without the ghost of her and without me. We both do.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration mixing with despair. “I don’t want to face the world without you by my side. You make everything better, you know? I can’t imagine not having you here.”

You felt a tear escape, rolling down your cheek as you realized how much you would miss him too. “I know. But..It’s really a shame we caught each at a bad time,” you said, the words tasting bittersweet on your tongue. The reality of it all hung in the air, heavy and undeniable. You had both wanted more, but life had a way of complicating things, of intertwining your paths at the wrong moments.

Joel looked at you, his expression shifting as if he were grappling with the same sentiment.

I wish things could be different. I wish I could turn back time and be in a place where I could give you everything you deserve.”

The ache in your chest deepened. “Me too,” you admitted softly. “But wishing won’t change anything. I can’t keep hoping that one day you’ll wake up and be ready to love me the way I need to be loved. You need to find your way first, Joel.”

He sighed, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of your words pressed down on him. “I know. I just… I don’t want to lose you in the process. I don’t want this to be the end for us.”

“It doesn’t have to be the end,” you said, feeling a flicker of hope amid the sorrow. “Maybe when you heal, I’ll be there still waiting, but now I have to free myself from you.”

“It doesn’t have to be the end,” you said, feeling a flicker of hope amid the sorrow. “Maybe when you heal, I’ll still be there waiting, but right now, I have to free myself from you.”

His brow furrowed as he took in your words, and you could see the conflict within him, a part of him wanting to fight against the inevitable. “Free yourself from me? That sounds so final,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “What if I need you?”

“It’s not about what you need right now, Joel,” you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “It’s about what I need too. I’ve spent too long being your comfort, your escape from pain, and I’ve lost sight of who I am in the process. I need to find myself again, separate from you and your memories.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you raised a hand, cutting him off gently. “I care about you deeply. I always will. But I can’t be your crutch. I can’t let my happiness depend on your healing. It’s unfair to both of us.”

The silence that followed was heavy, a shared understanding lingering in the air. You could see the flicker of realization in his eyes, the understanding that your decision was not just about him—it was about you reclaiming your own life, your own identity.

“I just wish…” he began, his voice trailing off.

“I know,” you interrupted softly. “I wish too. But wishing isn’t enough. We both deserve to find our own paths, even if it’s hard. Even if it hurts.”

He nodded slowly, the understanding settling in, and you felt a pang of sorrow for the love that had been, but also a glimmer of hope for what could be.

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, feeling the weight of what you were about to say. “Before I go, I want you to know something important,” you said, your voice steady but filled with emotion. “I don’t think of you as a bad guy for reaching out to me when you needed comfort. You were kind to me, and you opened your heart in ways I never expected. It’s okay to seek solace in the people who care about you. Just like you were there for me, I was always there for you, and I don’t regret that.”

His eyes met yours, vulnerability shining through the sadness. “I didn’t mean to put you in this position,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said softly, a tear escaping as you fought to keep your emotions in check. “And I don’t blame you. We were both trying to find our way, and sometimes, it’s messy. I’m not angry with you for needing me, or for those moments we shared. I just need to prioritize myself now.”

He nodded, the understanding settling deeper between you. “I just wish things could be different. I wish I could give you everything you deserve.”

“I wish that too,” you admitted, your heart aching at the thought of what could have been. “But I need to find out who I am beyond us. We both deserve that.”

You took a step back, feeling the distance grow between you, both physical and emotional. “I’m going to take some time for myself. I need to breathe, to figure out what I want. I hope you do the same.”

You took a moment to gather your thoughts, feeling the weight of what you were about to say. “Before I go, I want you to know something important,” you said, your voice steady but filled with emotion. “I don’t think of you as a bad guy for reaching out to me when you needed comfort. You were kind to me, and you opened your heart in ways I never expected. It’s okay to seek solace in the people who care about you. Just like you were there for me, I was always there for you, and I don’t regret that.”

His eyes met yours, vulnerability shining through the sadness. “I didn’t mean to put you in this position,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” you said softly, a tear escaping as you fought to keep your emotions in check. “And I don’t blame you. We were both trying to find our way, and sometimes, it’s messy. I’m not angry with you for needing me, or for those moments we shared. I just need to prioritize myself now.”

He nodded, the understanding settling deeper between you. “I just wish things could be different. I wish I could give you everything you deserve.”

“I wish that too,” you admitted, your heart aching at the thought of what could have been. “But I need to find out who I am beyond us. We both deserve that.”

You took a step back, feeling the distance grow between you, both physical and emotional. “I’m going to take some time for myself. I need to breathe, to figure out what I want. I hope you do the same.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you raised a hand again, cutting him off gently. “Let’s not prolong this. It’s hard enough as it is. Just know that I care about you, and I always will. You’ve been an important part of my life.”

With one last lingering look, you turned to leave, each step feeling heavier than the last. The door behind you closed with a soft click, sealing away the warmth of what you once shared and leaving behind a bittersweet ache in your chest. You took a deep breath as you stepped into the world outside.

A world without Joel and you crossing paths again.

Five years later, you stood in front of the mirror, your heart racing as you adjusted the veil that framed your face. The reflection staring back at you was beautiful, but it felt like a stranger wearing a mask. The dress hugged your body in all the right places, the delicate lace and flowing fabric crafted with love, but it couldn’t hide the uncertainty churning inside you.

As you applied the final touches of makeup, you could hear the soft hum of voices filtering through the closed door. Friends and family gathered outside, their excited chatter mingling with the gentle music playing in the background. They were all waiting for you, eager to celebrate a love that was supposed to be yours. Yet, as the minutes ticked away, a feeling of pressure weighed heavily on your chest, a sense of urgency that made you question everything.

You thought about the man waiting for you at the altar, a kind and caring soul who had been there for you in ways you had never expected. He loved you deeply, and you admired him for it. But as you glanced at your reflection, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Was this truly love? Or were you just filling a void left by someone else?

And then there was Joel. The memories of him flooded your mind like a bittersweet wave. The moments you shared, the laughter and the pain, the way he had opened your heart and left you wanting more. You hadn’t seen him in years, and yet he lingered in your thoughts, a ghost of what could have been. The ache for him had faded, but it had never truly disappeared. You had always wondered if you could love someone else as deeply as you had loved him.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself, ready to face the music outside. As you turned toward the door, your heart pounded louder, each beat echoing your uncertainty. Just then, a firm grip on your wrist stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need to talk to you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, the world around you fading away as you stared into his eyes, those deep, expressive eyes that had once held your heart captive. Everything you had thought you’d left behind rushed back in an instant, and for a moment, you were both suspended in time—two souls that had once been so close, now standing on the precipice of an unknown future.

“Joel,” you breathed, the weight of his presence crashing over you. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you,” he replied, his grip on your wrist tightening just enough to show how serious he was. “I know this is crazy, but I couldn’t let you walk down that aisle without telling you how I feel.”

The air between you crackled with unspoken words, memories swirling like ghosts in the space around you. You could feel the weight of the world pressing down on your shoulders, and as you glanced back at the mirror, you caught a glimpse of the reflection you had tried to ignore. It was a moment of reckoning, one that could change everything.

[0vergrowngraveyard]

It wasn’t a very long nightmare, but it was enough to make him jolt awake, chills running down his spine and panic filling his chest.

Sonic wasn’t a stranger to having bad dreams, but they didn’t happen very often. Dreaming in general just wasn’t a very common occurrence for him. He usually just closed his eyes and woke up hours later, there was nothing in between.

But there were times after an adventure, a particularly close call, or just having a rough day that his usually peaceful sleep would be interrupted by nightmares that would force him back into the waking world. Images of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t acted in a situation that more often than not ended in death, either his own or someone else’s.

That someone else was usually Tails, which was what he was dealing with now.

Their latest encounter with Eggman had gotten a little too dicey for Sonic’s liking. Not for Sonic himself — the more danger he was in, the better — but Tails had almost gotten hurt. Really hurt. A bot nearly self-destructed right next to him when he’d gotten caught on something and it was by sheer luck that Sonic spotted it when he did.

If he’d been too late, even by a second…

The next thing he knew, he found himself standing in Tails’ room, watching over the kit’s sleeping form. Sonic didn’t remember getting out of bed at all, but whatever. He was here now and he didn’t really want to leave, not yet at least.

Tails had gone to bed at a reasonable time tonight, but that was only because he’d been awake for almost forty-eight hours beforehand. Whenever Sonic was out on a run, Tails would forget to take care of himself. He’d barely eat, sleep, and he only drank water when he felt a headache coming on. It worried Sonic to no end, yet he’d get brushed off when he brought his concerns to light.

Sonic didn’t need to question where Tails got that from.

He sat down on the kit’s bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. He simply watched the kit, observing how his ears and muzzle twitched in his sleep. Unlike his big brother, Tails always seemed to have very vivid dreams. Sometimes, he’d tell Sonic all about the story that played out for him overnight in such excruciating detail, it was like he just watched a movie. It sometimes made Sonic a little jealous if he was being completely honest.

However, vivid dreams also meant vivid nightmares and Sonic had definitely heard about a fair share of those, so maybe he wasn’t that jealous.

A sigh broke through his defense as he turned to look down at his hands. It was times like this when Sonic began wondering how life would’ve been different if he’d gone through with his original plan when he first took the kit along with him. If he’d actually found a family to look after him and love him and keep him safe; a family that would keep him away from Eggman instead of letting the kit nearly get blown up by him.

Life would’ve been much lonelier for Sonic, sure, but at the very least Tails would’ve been able to have a normal childhood, whatever that meant for a kid like him. He would’ve had two parents to look up to, maybe other siblings to play around with. He would’ve gone to a regular school, probably skipped several grades because that's just how smart he is, made friends closer to his age and who shared his interests.

He could’ve had a normal and stable life.

But things didn’t end up going in that direction. Tails’s role model and only family was a guy who threw himself at danger whenever he could. He didn’t go to school and most of his friends were much older than him and struggled to follow along with his ramblings whenever he explained something he was passionate about. His life was always at risk, whether it was working with dangerous chemicals or helping Sonic save the world from whatever ancient deity Eggman awoke that month.

With Sonic, his life was anything but stable. Chaos, they’d been homeless for years. Living off the land and whatever people gave them to survive. Sometimes they wouldn’t eat for days at a time. Sometimes one of them got sick and there were no hospitals in the immediate area, leaving the other to play doctor. There’d even been times where Sonic lost him either in a town or he didn’t notice the kid falling behind until it was too late.

Even now that they had the Mystic Ruins workshop, Tails was left alone for days at a time. No big brother to monitor him and make sure he properly took care of himself. No one home to stop him from working himself to the point of exhaustion just so he could prove himself useful.

As if his presence alone wasn’t enough to fill Sonic with the confidence that they’d get through whatever was thrown their way.

There came a point where Sonic just couldn’t let the kid go, as selfish as the choice may have been. He just couldn’t. He’d fight to keep his little brother by his side, he did fight. He went to freaking court so he could get legal guardianship over the fox. And if, for whatever Gaia forsaken reason, the system ruled that he was unfit to be Tails’s guardian, he still wouldn’t let them take him away. He made the decision long ago that this kid was his, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do about it.

Sonic had gotten attached, but sometimes he wondered if that attachment had been a mistake. He hated thinking about it because this little fox kit truly was the light of his life, his best friend, and his little brother who he loved dearly, but he couldn’t help it. The thoughts would just creep their way into his mind from the dark crevices of his room at night.

What if Tails got hurt trying to protect him? What if Sonic failed one day? What if Sonic had failed yesterday? What if this was a dream and his nightmare was what really happened? What if—

“Sonic?”

His brain screeched to a halt immediately as he looked over his shoulder and caught two sleepy eyes looking up at him. “Wha’re y’doin’?”

The hedgehog just blinked at him for a stupid second as he tried to regain his composure. “Just checking on you, bud.” He eventually responded, his voice uncharacteristically quiet as he reached over to scritch behind his ear.

Tails leaned into the touch with a hum, “Y’need somethin’?”

Sonic shook his head, “Nah. Just go back to sleep.”

Tails gave him a confused look but ultimately let it go, snuggling further into his covers. He closed his eyes and Sonic was sure he’d fallen back to sleep. With a sigh, he stood up, taking in one last look over the kit’s face.

He looked peaceful.

Sonic frowned and turned away, making his way towards the door and being careful about avoiding any creaky floorboards. He didn’t need to keep the kid awake longer than he already had.

“You can stay if you want.” Sonic jumped, not expecting to hear Tails’s voice again. “If you had a nightmare or somethin’. I don’t mind.” The kit shifted over, making room on his pillow for his big brother. He looked at Sonic over his blankets almost expectantly.

Sonic considered the offer, a small smile tugged at his mouth as he put his hands on his hips, “Are you trying to comfort me or do you just want something to latch onto?”

Tails gave him a half lidded stare—or he was just barely keeping his eyes open—before he shrugged with one shoulder and laid back down, “It’s your choice. If you wanna go back to your room and deal with your nightmare alone instead, be my guest.”

A knot formed in Sonic’s stomach. It was the same knot that formed whenever Tails tried to comfort him. He appreciated it, he really did. Sonic was so lucky to have this kid in his life. A kid who cared so much about him and who’d do anything to make sure his big brother was happy, or at least not as sad. Tails was always successful. Just being near the fox seemed to always be enough to soothe whatever negative emotions were worming around in him at the moment.

If Sonic was upset, he needed his best friend and little brother around.

But that’s where the knot came in. Tails shouldn't have to worry about his emotions. Sure, he was the smartest and greatest kid Sonic had ever met, but that didn’t change the fact that he was, well, a kid. He already had so much on his plate, way more than he should. His big brother being upset shouldn’t be added to that.

Sonic sighed, turning towards the hallway and away from any kind of comfort. The air around him felt colder as he walked out of the kit’s room, it felt heavier. He stole one last glance at Tails snuggled up in his blankets before shutting the door and making his way back to his room.

He paused in his doorway. His room was much darker than Tails’s, much emptier too. Sonic wasn’t afraid of the dark by any means, nor of what was in it, but simply walking over to his bed and laying down felt like such a daunting task. Exhaustion weighed him down and he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep and wake up the next morning like nothing had happened.

Sucking in a deep breath, he forced himself to move forward, just like he always did. One foot after the other. There was no need to stop until he reached his goal, no reason to look back.

Sonic flopped down onto his bed, the mattress bouncing under his weight. He rolled over onto his back, limbs sprawled out as he stared up at the ceiling. Unlike Tails’s ceiling which had little plastic glow in the dark stars attached to it, Sonic’s was blank. Just an empty void staring back at him.

The void began whispering to him the longer he looked so he closed his eyes, determined to fall back to sleep. He wasn’t about to let a stupid nightmare of all things keep him from getting his precious sleep, even one as terrifying as the one he’d had that night.

He was Sonic the Hedgehog, for crying out loud. And Sonic the Hedgehog didn't get caught up on dumb nightmares.

He could ignore the sheer terror that flowed throughout his body, the heart shattered scream that burned into itself his memory and the thick red liquid that shouldn’t have been there. He could ignore how broken his baby brother’s body looked, the wide eyed and lifeless stare pointing directly at him, and the all too familiar laugh reverberating around him, saying that it was all his fault. That it will be his fault.

When that time comes, it will be all his fault.

He could ignore the tears threatening to slip out of his eyes as the words sunk in, but he couldn’t ignore the sudden feeling of something—or someone—landing down on his stomach hard.

A winded oof escaped him as he quickly tried to sit up, only for his efforts to be in vain as the weight on him refused to move. His gaze turned unimpressed as his hand settled on the culprit’s back, “So. Did you forget how to knock or something?”

The only response Sonic got was muffled by his sheets, which managed to get an amused snort out of the hedgehog, “I can’t understand a thing you’re staying, lil bud.”

Tails lifted his head up with a huff. “I said your door was wide open.” His head promptly flopped back down onto the bed.

“My door was wide open.” Sonic repeated.

“Mhm.”

“So you took that as an invitation to jump on me and wake me up?”

“Mhm.” Tails lifted his head up again, “Also you weren’t asleep.”

“Oh yeah? And how did you know that?” Sonic asked, hand moving to scritch behind the kit’s ear.

“Just did.”

Sonic just hummed. That was probably the best answer he was gonna get, no use in questioning further. If there was anything else, he’d say it on his own. With a content sigh, he closed his eyes and focused on the fox kit laying across his stomach. Whatever darkness had crept into his mind slowly disappeared as Sonic continued to pet his little brother’s head.

He could hear the faint sound of Tails’s purring, its vibrations sending an almost calming sensation throughout his system. Eventually, the kid moved so he was snuggled up against Sonic’s side, his paw curled up into a fist as it rested on his tan chest. Sonic looped an arm around him, keeping him as close as possible.

They laid there in silence for a while, Sonic gently scratching the kit’s back as his own breathing began to settle. He could feel himself finally starting to drift off to sleep and assumed Tails already had. That is, until he felt the small fist on his chest tighten.

“You sounded sad when you were in my room,” Tails finally admitted, “And I know I said I didn’t care, but I didn’t really want you to be alone. And I knew you’d tell me to go back to my room if I told you that so I just jumped on you. That way you couldn’t send me away.”

Sonic’s eyes slowly opened as he stared at his ceiling once again. The darkness that looked back wasn’t as intense as it was before, but it was still there. Before he could respond, Tails added one last thing, “And before you say you wouldn’t have, last time I checked on you when you had a bad dream, you just told me to go back to bed. You tell me that every time.”

“I wouldn’t have this time.”

Tails scoffed, “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.”

Sonic couldn’t bring himself to respond to that because, as much as he hated to admit it, Tails was right. He probably would’ve told him to go back to his room tonight too; would’ve sent him away for just trying to help.

“I just don’t want you to waste your time worrying about me, kiddo.” He said, “You’ve already got a lot going on, way more than someone your age ever should, and my dumb issues don’t need to be added to that list.”

“I can’t help worrying about your dumb issues, Sonic.” Tails huffed, “You’re my brother. Of course I’m gonna worry about you. ‘S what family’s for.”

“Bud—“

“No matter how many times you tell me not to worry, I always will and there’s nothing you can do about it.”

A fond smirk tugged at Sonic’s mouth, “Nothing?”

“Nothing.” Tails confirmed, “Now go to sleep. ‘M tired.”

Chaos, what was he going to do with this kid? “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. Goodnight, little bro.”

“Mmm g’night…love ya”

Sonic simply hummed in response, but Tails got the message all the same. The hedgehog stayed awake as the kit’s breathing evened out almost immediately. The kid really was that tired, huh? Made sense considering he was woken up from what appeared to be a pretty deep sleep. His breaths had a little whistle to them, making it so that Sonic could hear every time Tails breathed in and out, in and out, in and out.

He’d also be able to tell if his breathing stopped.

His eyes closed tightly as the unwanted thought bounced around. Tails was fine. Sure, he’d been rudely woken up because Sonic wasn’t able to get a handle on his fears, but now he was right next to him. Sonic could keep him safe if anything happened. He would always keep him safe.

Whatever happened in his nightmare would never become a reality. Sonic wouldn’t let it.

He rolled over and curled around the little fox to the best of his ability, pressing his forehead against Tails’s. Sonic forced himself to copy the rise and fall of his chest as his quills raised instinctively, ready to protect them both from the non-existent threats in the dark as they slept.

Apparently they hadn’t stayed raised for too long considering he woke up to Tails holding onto him, arms wrapped around his middle with a grip that he wouldn’t be able to escape from without waking the kit up. Fondness squeezed his heart just as tightly as he chuckled softly, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax a little longer.

He could tease him about it later.

[wolverigrl]

Rumors

Hugh Jackman x reader (actress)

Warnings: smut! Only 18+!, swearing, angsty, fluffy

!Disclaimer! If you'd like to skip the smut, scroll down as soon as you see "---" in the text. From there, the smut part begins and ends at the next "---"!

Enjoy!

Previous Part

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

It's been five months. Five months since our first date, and yet somehow, it feels like both forever and no time at all.

I sit here now, in the gym, watching him lift weights like it’s nothing, and I’m struck by just how lucky I feel. From the very beginning, it was like we found our rhythm without even trying - our relationship is built on mutual respect and trust. We give each other space when needed, and t's refreshing to be with someone who values independence as much as I do.

The dates we've had so far have been perfect in their own way. Our second one was at this hidden gem of a restaurant tucked away in the city. I remember how he laughed when I spilled wine on the tablecloth, and how his hand brushed mine as we reached for the same napkin. We've done simple things too, like grabbing coffee early in the morning or working out. Once, we spent an afternoon at an old bookstore, getting lost in the aisles of dusty novels and sharing passages that made us laugh. Every moment with him feels like a memory in the making

And yet, it all changed a little last month when we were spotted. We hadn't been careful enough. A quick kiss in a park, something so innocent, but the paparazzi caught us. The next day, our picture was splashed across every tabloid and social media. That unintentional confirmation of our relationship wasn't what we had planned. Neither of us wanted the world in on our private lives.

Still, we've dodged every question thrown at us in interviews or on social media. But avoiding the questions doesn't stop the criticism.

The age gap. It's what everyone seems to latch onto. Hugh's used to it - He’s been doing this long enough to know how to handle the press, the rumors, the gossip. But me? I’m still learning how to deal with it. I try to act like it doesn't bother me. I nod along, tell everyone I'm fine, but inside, it's harder than I thought it would be. Some of the comments sting more than I care to admit. I've been in relationships before, but none of them were "public" like this. My exes were all from my private circle - well, except for Chris, but that doesn't count. That was way before either of us was well-known. This, with Hugh, is different. It's out there.

I didn’t want that. I wanted to keep us private for a while longer, to hold onto this little piece of normalcy for just us. But now it’s out, and there’s no taking it back.

Now everything is under scrutiny. People question our relationship and my motives. Of course there are fans who are supportive - sweet comments, even some who come up to me on the street and say they love us together. But then there are the others. The ones who say I’m only with him to advance my career, that I’m using him to get ahead. Ever since our last movie together, I’ve been getting bigger roles, and some people think that’s because of him. Like I can’t earn anything on my own.

I try to brush it off, but there are moments when those words hit hard. And even though Hugh has told me a thousand times to ignore it. I’m not like him. I haven’t been in the spotlight for decades. I don’t have the thick skin he’s developed over the years.

Our managers weren’t thrilled either when they found out we’d been seeing each other behind their backs. It wasn’t anger, really, more disappointment that we hadn’t trusted them enough to let them in on it. But in a way, I’m glad we didn’t. We needed this to just to be ours for a while.

Still, despite all the noise, the criticism, the rumors—there’s comfort between us. We act like a real couple. We’ve never had the talk, though, about what we are exactly. Are we officially together? I don’t even know. We’ve just kind of fallen into this routine, and honestly, love it. I love the way he makes me feel like I’m the only person in the world when we’re together.

My eyes drift back to him as he lowers the weights, his muscles tensing with the effort. He's ridiculously strong, and I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a turn on. God, he’s attractive. And sweet. And patient. And funny. Sometimes I catch myself even fangirling. I mean, it's still Hugh fucking Jackman. How did I get so lucky?

“You good, y/n?" Hugh’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I realize I’ve been staring.

“Yeah." I say, quickly covering up my awkwardness with a grin. “Just appreciating the view.”

His eyes narrow, that playful smile tugging at his lips. He walks over, sweat still glistening on his skin, and towers above me, crossing his arms. “You know, you could’ve just taken a picture.”

“Maybe I will next time,” I tease, leaning back on the bench.

He chuckles, the sound warm and rich. “Or you could just join me instead of sitting over there like a creep.”

“Please. I did twice as many reps as you did earlier,” I say, pretending to wipe imaginary sweat from my brow. “I deserve a break.”

“Is that right?” He raises an eyebrow, leaning down so we’re almost face-to-face. “Pretty sure I saw you struggling with those squats.”

“I wasn’t struggling." I protest, trying to keep a straight face, but his cocky grin is making it impossible.

“You say that now, but your form—”

“My form was perfect!” I laugh, pushing his arm lightly. “Stop acting like you weren’t impressed.”

“Oh, I was impressed." he admits, his voice dropping an octave. “Just not with your workout.”

The heat between us flares up in an instant, the way it always does when he looks at me like that. There’s this pull, this magnetic energy that I haven’t felt in a while. We flirt, we tease, we push each other’s buttons, and it’s exhilarating. But there’s always this line we haven’t fully crossed yet. We get close - so close - but we always pull back.

We go back and forth like this until we wrap up our workout. Hugh's leaving for Sydney tomorrow to visit his family for a few weeks, but his kids won't be able to join him because they're going on holiday with their mom, so it'll just be him this time

I'll admit, I already miss him so much. I don't really know what to do yet. So far, we've spent pretty much every day together, but now that the interviews are slowly getting fewer and everyday life is getting quieter, it's getting boring without someone to keep me on my toes. I guess Ryan and Blake will have to take over.

After the gym, we head back to his place, still bickering about who did better with which exercises. By the time we're on the couch, it's turned into playful shoving and teasing until his lips are on mine, and everything else fades away. God, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed the way his lips feel on mine, the way his touch sets my skin on fire.

But just as things are about to cross that line again, I pull away, leaving him breathless and staring at me in confusion.

"You’re impossible." he mutters, running a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice.

I smile sweetly, standing up and stretching. “I need a shower.”

"You’re an absolutely evil woman!" he calls after me as I walk toward the bathroom, but I don’t turn around. I can feel his eyes on me the whole way.

I can't help but smile to myself as I undress and step into the shower. The hot water cascades down my skin, but my mind is elsewhere - back on the couch, replaying the way his hands felt on me, the way his breath hitched when I kissed him. It's getting harder to hold back, to not give in to the growing desire between us. We've come close before - so many times - but for some reason, we always stop right pefore things get too far. It's like we're both waiting for the perfect moment. I'm not in a rush, but God, he makes it so hard to resist.

But it’s not just physical. It’s him. It’s the way he looks at me, the way he makes me feel seen. I’ve never been so comfortable with someone, and that scares me a little. I’m falling for him - hard - and I’m terrified of what that means. We’ve never even talked about what we are, and here I am, thinking about how much I want him, how much I love him.

The thought stops me in my tracks. Am I in love with him? My heart pounds in my chest, and I realize that, yes, I probably am. But I don’t know if he feels the same way. What if this is just something casual for him? What if I bring it up, and he doesn’t feel the same? He’s never pressured me, never pushed for more, and sometimes I wonder if he’s happy with how things are - just casual, just fun.

When I'm done, I slip into my pajamas - just a simple tank top and shorts - and head into the bedroom. Hugh's sitting on the edge of the bed, scroling through his phone, but he glances up when I walk in.

"Took you long enough." he says with a mischievous grin. "Were you thinking about me in there?"

I smirk, leaning against the doorway.

"Maybe?"

He laughs, setting his phone down and standing up. He walks over to me, placing one hand on my hip, the other cupping my face. His lips brush mine in a teasing kiss, his hand sliding down to give my ass a playful squeeze.

"Behave." I mutter, but my voice betrays me, sounding more breathless than I intended.

"Why? I thought you like it when I don’t." he says, that teasing grin never faltering.

Before I can respond, he pulls away and heads to the bathroom. "I'll be right back."

I sighed and lay down on the bed and looked thoughtfully at the ceiling.

Before I can lose myself in my thoughts again, I hear the water turn off, and a minute later, Hugh steps back into the room, still dripping wet and wrapped only in his towel, which hangs dangerously low. I can't take my eyes off him. He's searching through the dresser, muttering something about forgetting his boxers, but I don't hear the words. My heart pounds in my chest, and I know - I know - this is it. I can’t hold back anymore.

Without second guessing, I get up and cross the room, moving toward him without a word. He watches me, his brow furrowing in slight confusion, but there’s something else there too.

When I reach him, I stop, just inches away, and look up at him. I don’t say anything for a long moment. I just let myself feel the weight of this moment.

---

Finally, I find my voice, though it’s softer than I expected. “I want you.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, I think I’ve surprised him. But then, something shifts in his expression, and the air between us thickens. He steps closer, his hand coming up to cup my cheek as he studies my face.

“Are you sure?” His voice is low, husky, and I can see the restraint in his eyes. He’s giving me an out. One last chance to change my mind. But I don’t want out. Not anymore.

“Yes." I whisper, barely able to speak past the lump in my throat. “I’m sure.”

That’s all it takes. In an instant, his lips are on mine, and the kiss is different this time - deeper. Hungrier. His hands move to my waist, pulling me against him, and I wrap my arms around his neck, melting into his touch.

Before I know it, he’s lifting me off the ground, my legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. I can feel the heat radiating off him, the roughness of the towel against my skin. His grip tightens, and I’m suddenly aware of just how much I want him - how much I’ve always wanted him.

The kiss grew more intense, more desperate, and I can feel the last remnants of our restraint crumbling. He carries me over to the bed, his towel loosening around his hips, and gently lays me down. Our breaths are ragged, our bodies pressed together in a way that makes it impossible to think of anything else.

His kisses moved to my neck while one of his hands disappeared under my top. I gasped softly and ran my hands over his strong back. He began to gently squeeze my breast as I pressed his hips against mine with my legs, clearly feeling his arousal. Breathing heavily, he rubbed his groin against me and applied more pressure to my breast.

"Please." I said softly and looked at him greedily. "Please what, love?" he broke away from my lips and straightened up a little to get a better look at my face.

I couldn't help myself and looked down to his towel, which was now hanging down so low that you could see his perfect v-line clearly, as well as the vein under his belly button.

I swallowed and also straightened up to pull my top over my head.

"Fucking hell." he muttered quietly. I lay back down with my arms over my head and looked straight at him. "Just stop holding back and fuck me already."

He didn't need to be told twice and leaned over me again. The kiss was wilder than before and I felt like his hands were everywhere. I was in such a trance that I didn't even notice that he had already thrown my shorts on the floor. It was only when I felt his fingers on my clit that I realized it. I gasped out loud and dug my fingers in his hair and shoulders as he caressed my neck and circled his thumb over my clit. I was a complete wreck. Everything happened so quickly, but somehow it also didn't. I pressed my knees into Hugh's sides and pushed my pelvis towards him as he slid two fingers inside me. I moaned loudly and pushed my head back into the pillow. Suddenly I felt an electrifying sensation as he ran his tongue around my breast and sucked on it. He curled his fingers in and moved his hand faster. I moaned loudly again and pressed my nails firmly into his shoulder as a pleasurable feeling came over me in my abdomen.

Hugh's kisses moved back up to my lips until he released his heavy breath and slid his fingers out of me.

He looked at me full of lust and totally befuddled. I had never seen him like this before. But seeing him like this almost made me go crazy myself. He smiled gently at me and stroked a few strands of hair from my face. "You're so damn beautiful."

I felt my face flush and ran my hands down his torso to his dick, smiling. He breathed heavily and closed his eyes as I slowly began to stroke him.

I clenched around nothing and bit my lip as I looked at him.

He looked at me again, bent both my legs and pulled my hands away, to stroke his own member. He rubbed his pre-cum wet tip against my clit and looked deep into my eyes. It made me absolutely feral.

"Hell. Stop fucking teasing!" I growled. Without another word, he slid into me and put my legs over his shoulders. I moaned loudly and curled my toes. He was breathing heavily and you could see how much he was controlling himself.

"You're so fucking tight." He slowly began to move his hips and it drove me wild when I felt him filling me up. "Baby please don't hold back." I moaned and closed my eyes.

"Eyes on me my love." he groaned and thrusted harder. I gasped, a little startled, and looked him straight in the eyes. My hands disappeared into his hair again and his speed increased steadily. I felt everything slowly boiling up inside me and I clenched hard around his dick. That eye contact. His moans. The sounds of our bodies hitting each other and the thick air in the room. Everything began to spin around me and I could no longer maintain eye contact.

"I'm gonna cum!" I moaned as I felt him thrusting even deeper than before. Hugh now closed his own eyes, let my legs off his shoulders and pressed both my hands over my head with one hand to stimulate my clit with the other. He was panting loudly himself. "Cum for me baby. I wanna see how you cum all over me."

That gave me the rest and for a brief moment I thought I was seeing the white light. My legs were shaking like crazy and I felt an incredible pull in my abdomen. Hugh moaned with me and let go of me to support himself with his forearms next to my head instead.

Panting, he rested his head in the crook of my neck while I stroked his sweaty back. Shortly afterwards, I felt his rhythm become more and more irregular until he did a last hard thrust and moaned loudly. The sound of his voice and the feeling of his pulsing dick made my skin crawl and I pressed myself tightly against him with my legs and arms.

There was complete silence for a moment. I could only hear our panting and our heartbeats in the room.

I felt his semen leaking out of me and slowly running down my bottom.

Hugh pulled away to lay down next to me and pulled me to his side before kissing me on the forehead. I smiled at him and stroked his sweaty chest with my hand.

"We should probably have done it before the shower." Hugh said with a smirk and looked at me.

"Or in the shower." He laughed and nodded.

---

After cleaning up, we lay together, our bodies entwined under the blanket. The room is quiet, except for the sound of our breathing slowly returning to normal. Hugh is beside me, his arm draped over my waist, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on my skin. I can feel the rise and fall of his chest against my back, and there’s a comfort in the silence between us.

But there’s also a weight, a need to say something. To define this.

I shift slightly, turning so I can face him. His eyes meet mine, and for a moment, neither of us says anything. Then, softly, I ask. "Do you ever… worry? About what people say about us?”

His brow furrows slightly, and he brushes a strand of hair from my face before answering. “What people say? You mean the age thing?”

I nod, feeling a lump in my throat. “Yeah. And the way they watch us. The paparazzi, the rumors… It’s just hard sometimes.”

He presses a soft kiss to my forehead, his hand gently cupping the back of my head. “I know it’s hard, y/n and I’m sorry you have to deal with all that because of me.”

“It’s not your fault,” I say quickly. “I just… sometimes I don’t know how to handle it. But I don't want to be that person who lets the outside world affect what we have." I whisper. "But sometimes it just... gets to me."

"You're not that person." he assures me, his voice firm but gentle. "You're human. And it's okay to feel that way. The important thing is that we talk about it, like we're doing now.. And you don’t have to handle it alone." he murmurs, his lips brushing my temple. “I’m here. We’re in this together.”

His words are soothing, but there’s still a part of me that struggles with the reality of our situation. I bite my lip, hesitating before speaking again. “Sometimes I wonder… if maybe we shouldn’t—”

“Hey." he interrupts softly, his thumb grazing my cheek. “Don’t go there. We’re good, okay? We’re more than good.”

I close my eyes, leaning into his touch. “I know. I just don’t want it to get too complicated.”

Hugh is silent for a moment, then he asks quietly. “Would it help if we made it official?”

I blink, my heart skipping a beat. “Official?”

He gives me a small smile, his eyes soft as he looks at me. “Yeah. Maybe then they will stop harassing us with their questions." For a moment we both were silent before he started to speak again. "Like… would you want to be my girlfriend?”

My heart swells at the simplicity of his question and made me speechless. Then I slowly nod, a smile spreading across my face. “Yeah." I whisper. “I’d like that.”

He grins, pulling me closer and pressing his lips to mine in a soft, lingering kiss. We stay like that for a while, wrapped in each other, content.

After a while, he pulls back, looking thoughtful. “You know, I’m heading to Australia tomorrow to visit family.”

I nod, already knowing. “Yeah, you mentioned that. How long will you be gone?”

“A few weeks." he says, his fingers brushing over my arm absently. “But… I was thinking. What if you came with me?”

I blink in surprise. “To Sydney?”

“Yeah. I mean, only if you want to. No pressure. I just thought it’d be nice… spending some more time together. Away from all this.”

I hesitate, the idea both exciting and terrifying. “I don’t know, Hugh. It feels… fast. I haven’t even met your family yet.”

He chuckles softly. “You wouldn’t have to. Not unless you wanted to. It can just be the two of us. We can do whatever you want. I just want to spend time with you."

I smile softly at his words, feeling my heart swell.

“I’ll think about it,” I say softly, leaning my head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, a calming rhythm that soothes the anxiety swirling in my mind.

“Good,” he murmurs, running his fingers gently through my hair. “That’s all I ask. No pressure.”

I bite my lip, thinking it over. The idea is tempting - really tempting.

"Okay." I say, making the decision. "I'II come. But maybe I'll fly out a week later. That way I can maybe meet up with Blake and Ryan, maybe even visit Chris in Boston."

Hugh nods, a relieved smile spreading across his face. "Deal. A week later, and we'll have the best time. Just you and me."

We share another soft kiss, and can't help but laugh against his lips.

After our conversation, we lay there for a little while longer, basking in the afterglow of everything we’d just shared. The weight that had been pressing on my chest for weeks felt lighter now that we’d talked about it.

Eventually, we sat up, and the idea struck me - if we were really ready to move forward, maybe it was time to let the world know about us on our own terms.

“I was thinking…” I start, glancing over at him. “We should post a photo of us."

Hugh’s eyebrows lifted in slight surprise. “You sure about that?”

I nod, feeling a sense of resolve I hadn’t felt before. “Yeah. I mean the media already knows about us and we can't hide anymore. So why not?"

A smile tugs at his lips, and he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. “Alright, I’m in. Let’s take a picture then.”

I chuckle. “But maybe we should put on some clothes first?”

Hugh laughs softly, the sound sending a warmth through me. “Yeah, I suppose we shouldn’t scandalize the internet too much.”

As I sit up, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the bedroom mirror and grimace slightly. My hair’s a mess from… well, everything, and I’m definitely not looking my best. “Ugh. I look awful.”

Hugh stands up and shakes his head with an amused smile. “You look perfect,” he says, casually reaching into his closet for a shirt. He pulls one on, his muscles stretching the fabric in a way that makes it hard for me to focus. “Come on, we’ll take a cute one.”

I roll my eyes playfully but grab one of his T-shirts from the drawer. “Fine, but if I look weird, we’re deleting it.”

“No way!” he teases, pulling me into his arms once I have the shirt on. “You could never look weird.”

I can’t help but laugh as he wraps his arms around me from behind. He holds the phone up in front of us, angling it to get the perfect shot. “Okay, smile!”

I glance up at him just as he snaps the picture. My smile turns into a laugh, the joy bubbling out of me before I can stop it. I look ridiculous, but when I see the photo, it’s kind of perfect. Hugh’s grinning at the camera, looking all charming and effortlessly handsome as always, while I’m gazing up at him, clearly laughing and obviously so in love.

I bite my lip, hesitating. “I don’t know… I look a little -"

“You look great." Hugh cuts in, his tone firm but soft. “Come on, y/n. This is us. It’s real.”

I glance at the picture again. He’s right. It’s not some polished, perfect photo shoot - it's just us. Happy, in love, and completely ourselves. I sigh, giving in. “Okay, fine. Let’s post it.”

He beams at me, clearly pleased, and starts typing a caption on his phone. I lean over his shoulder to read it:

>>thehughjackman: Caught laughing at all the rumors... guess they weren't all wrong🤫 #couplegoals<<

I laugh, rolling my eyes playfully "#CoupleGoals? Really?"

"You're right." he says, smirking as he backspaces. "How about.. #HughJackedY/n?"

I swat him laughing, and he finally posts it without any hashtag.

I take my smartphone and also post it with another caption:

>>y/ninstagram: Who knew Wolverine was such a softie?❤️🐺<<

And just like that, it’s out there. The world now knows officially. My heart pounds a little faster as the notifications start rolling in almost instantly. I feel a rush of nervous excitement—what will people say?

We sit there, watching as the comments flood in, one after another.

>>vancityreynolds: Took you long enough!<<

>>blakelively:This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Love you both!<<

>>ChrisEvans: Treat her right or Cap's coming for you!💪🏻<<

>>zendaya: Omg, stop! You guys are ADORABLE<<

>>officialladydeadpoolmovie: Deadpool approves of this union. Carry on.<<

I glance at Hugh as the comments keep pouring in, feeling a strange mixture of warmth and relief. There’s so much love here—so many people supporting us. It’s overwhelming in the best way.

“I told you it’d be fine,” Hugh says, his voice soft. He nudges me gently with his shoulder. “And look, everyone’s happy for us.”

I smile at him, feeling lighter than I have in days. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

More comments continue to roll in, some from fans, some from friends:

>>florencepugh: I KNEW IT!!!<<

But it’s the fan comments that really make me smile:

>>lordyx3z: Omg, I knew they were together! This makes me so happy!🥹😩<<

>>serenax77: Remember when y/n literally said 'fuck me' during an interview? Manifesting at its finest😂😂😭<<

>>hugh4ewa: Hugh, blink twice if y/n's forcing you to post couple pics😂<<

>>y/nno1fan: About damn time! Y'all had me waiting like the post credits scene of a Marvel Movie!<<

>>mynameseve: I need somebody to look at me, like y/n looks at Hugh😭❤️<<

>>girlpoolxpoppins: Can somebody pls check on Ryan? ASAP<<

>>boyinyellwspndx: y/n: "fck me!" - Hugh: "Say less". Dreams come true folks<<

I can’t help but grin at the flood of positivity. Sure, I know there will be some haters - there always are - but for now, it feels like we’re surrounded by love and support, and that’s all that matters. I glance at Hugh again, my heart swelling as he scrolls through the comments, laughing at some of the more playful ones.

“This was a good idea.” I say quietly, resting my head on his shoulder.

He turns his head slightly, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Of course it was.” he murmurs. “Now everyone knows you’re officially mine.”

I laugh softly, my heart feeling full. “And you’re mine.”

We sit there for a while, reading through the comments and enjoying the moment. It feels like a weight has been lifted, like we’re finally free to be ourselves without worrying about what anyone else thinks.

And honestly? It feels perfect.

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

@spectorrrhgf @tinawantstobeadoll @appetencyfortacos @weskerussy @kellyxo1 @larkkyoris @shukirschtein14 @corvusmorte @carefree-flowerchild @rexmeshlasblog @melmel-fandom @needz1nk @nonamevenus @morganlolitta @angelofthorr @pickuptruck01

Next part

[whizzing-fizzbee]

Black Butterflies & Deja Vu

Sebastian Sallow x Reader (F!MC) Rating: Explicit 18+, MDNI (smut, profanity), all characters are 18+ Words: 5,474 Themes: friends to lovers, angst, fluff, shameless smut

Summary: Your best friend Sebastian Sallow has been downright angsty lately. You have no idea it's because he's lovesick over you, until Anne and Ominis force your hands.

Notes: Thank you to the lovely anon who requested some Sebastian Sallow angst and smut. Decided to write this one inspired by the song "Black Butterflies & Deja Vu" by The Maine. All characters are 18-year-old seventh years. Reader/MC is a Ravenclaw.

Read on AO3 or below the cut.

Sebastian Sallow sighed and hurled another stone into the Black Lake. It pierced the water’s surface with a sharp splash and sank to its deep demise. Sebastian wished he could do the same.

Perhaps that was a bit dramatic, but Sebastian was feeling rather melancholy. Another Saturday spent alone while you were whisked off to Hogsmeade by yet another suitor.

Or so he thought.

In truth, you were only with Amit Thakkar to help your fellow Ravenclaw craft a plan to ask out Poppy Sweeting. You were fond of Amit – he was handsome and thoughtful – but the notion of any romantic interest between the two of you was laughable. You were gutsy; the type to charge into combat and to speak your mind. Amit was introspective; more of the type to read up on his enemies rather than fight them.

Besides, Amit had it bad for your friend, Poppy. He told you her kindness toward creatures was endearing to him, but he also appreciated how she fought for her convictions. Ever since you and Poppy took down the poachers of Horntail Hall, Amit admired her creed.

Now, it was your seventh year and Amit felt like he was running out of time. You assured him that Poppy would likely say yes to a date. She often spoke highly of Amit, noting his kind and studious nature. Sure, Amit wasn’t the most adventurous student, but you’d seen him hold his own in combat the time you took him to a goblin mine. He had more moxie than he let on.

So when Amit asked you for help, you eagerly agreed. Now that you no longer had to worry about goblin rebellions or Anne Sallow’s curse, you had time for more fun and frivolous quests – like playing matchmaker for two friends.

You spent the afternoon in the Three Broomsticks with Amit to help him decide how and when to ask Poppy on a date. Once it was decided that you’d let him use your vivarium so that he and Poppy could spend time with your unicorns, you toasted to your plan with a round of butterbeers before returning to the castle.

You were practically skipping with satisfaction. Your plan was bound to work and you couldn’t wait to see what may come of Poppy and Amit’s romance.

But Sebastian didn’t know that. To him, Amit was just another sorry bloke who had joined the long line of people desperate to know you on a deeper level. But no one knew you the way Sebastian did. It was more than your secrets, though; sure, he knew those – about Ranrok, your ancient magic and the Keepers – but he also knew your feelings. He knew your fears, sorrows and your emotional triggers. He knew how you liked your tea in the afternoons. He knew you couldn’t fall asleep without reading before bed each night. And he knew you dreamed of a life free from the pain and suffering you’d been forced to live since your fifth year.

That’s why Sebastian never spoke a word of his feelings for you. You were strong and sensible; kind and clever. You were brilliant in every way possible; beautiful inside and out, worthy of all the admiration you received. He decided he was too weak and insignificant to ever deserve you. He was reckless and weak; he gave in to dark magic and it nearly ruined his life – and yours. You deserved a world of warmth and prosperity. Sebastian carried too much darkness. 

Of course, Sebastian had spent every day since Solomon’s death trying to make up for it. You were proud of the work he’d put in to resurrect himself from the dark cavern he’d been drawn to because of that relic. You often told him so, because you wanted him to forgive himself and see himself as someone who deserved to be happy.

But Sebastian loved you far too much to risk tainting you with any more of his poison. So instead of simply telling you how much you meant to him, he remained in the shadows as a bystander, witnessing all the ways your glow captivated anyone privileged enough to cross your path.

Of course you’d chosen Amit, Sebastian thought. Amit was polished and smart, generous and astute. He calculated life with consideration rather than sprinting headfirst without reason the way Sebastian did. Amit had a wealth of information and creativity, always writing in his stacks of notebooks or gazing at the stars in awe. The only thing that left Sebastian in awe was you. You were his North Star.

As you returned to the school grounds, you spotted a familiar figure sulking by the lake. You said goodbye to Amit and tread carefully toward Sebastian.

“Seb,” you said, pulling your sweater tightly around yourself. The early stages of fall were creeping across the Highlands, bringing a new chill to the air. “Seb, what are you doing out here?”

“Nothing,” Sebastian answered tersely. You flinched at his coarse tone. Sure, Sebastian could be brooding and moody, but not usually toward you. He adored you.

You and Sebastian were closer than ever. The events of your fifth year left you both fragile and forlorn; you, because you lost your mentor, Professor Fig, while the repository remained your burden to bear; Sebastian, because he lost more than his uncle when Anne refused to forgive him. The two of you were left with each other, so you leaned inward and formed a bond that could only be understood by two people who shared an unspeakable trauma.

Then you killed Victor Rookwood and Anne Sallow’s curse was lifted. When she began to heal, so did her relationship with Sebastian. He had you to thank for it, and you were merely happy to see him smile again. It brought you even closer.

But something shifted as time passed. You and Sebastian remained bonded, but the new layers of adulthood began to stack between you. He watched your classmates eye you like candy in the corridors. You listened to them whisper and giggle when Sebastian returned tanned and taller after a summer growth spurt.

But for all the rumors and mumblings about the nature of your relationship with Sebastian – “Are they together yet? Is it true they snogged in the Restricted Section? Will they or won’t they?” – you and Sebastian had never broached the subject. 

It broke your heart every single day. Everyone else thought you and Sebastian belonged together. So did you. But you were merely one half of the equation and Sebastian never seemed to count you as a love interest.

“Sebastian, what’s wrong?” you asked, frowning at his cool demeanor.

“Just hanging out,” he said simply. He skipped a flat rock across the water, scattering a cluster of butterflies that hovered near the surface.

“Why weren’t you in Hogsmeade?” you asked innocently.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you care?”

You swallowed, hurt by the way he was lashing out. He was known to have a short fuse – his emotions often got the best of him – but he always treated you with more delicate tact.

His eyes always softened when he looked at you. His touch became gentler and his words became tender. You were the calm to his storm, so it scared you to see dark clouds in his eyes.

“Sebastian, what is wrong?” you demanded. “Have I done something?”

“Other than Amit Thakkar? No. Well, unless you include Larson and Weasley too.”

“What? What do they have to do with-”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sebastian snapped.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Are you angry at me for going to Hogsmeade with Amit?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he repeated.

“It does matter,” you pushed back. “It wasn’t a date. In fact, I was helping him plan a date. With Poppy.”

“What?” Sebastian finally pulled his gaze from the lake to turn toward you, his own eyes narrowed in confusion.

“I was helping Amit form a plan to ask Poppy out,” you said. “He’s fancied her forever.”

“Oh.”

“What’s this about, Seb? Is that really why you’ve been pouting here by the lake all day?”

“I wasn’t pouting.”

You rolled your eyes and hugged your arms around his torso, resting your head against his back. You did this often, as it always seemed to relax Sebastian when he was moody. 

“Tortured and forlorn isn’t a good look on you,” you quipped before you released him. 

He sighed and turned to look at you. “Sorry. I suppose I’m just feeling a bit down, is all,” Sebastian said.

“I know,” you said gently. “I know it’s nearly Halloween.”

Halloween was a difficult time of year for Sebastian. The holiday wasn’t fun and frivolous for him the way it was for others. For him, it was the anniversary of his parents’ death.

Sebastian’s lips thinned as he stilled himself. You reached downward to give his hand a gentle squeeze and spent the remainder of the afternoon comforting him by the quiet lake.

---

Later that evening, you sat with Ominis Gaunt and Anne Sallow in the Undercroft. Sebastian had trudged off to bed, leaving the three of you to continue your Ancient Runes studies. 

The Undercroft was quiet as your quill scratched quietly over parchment, a stark contrast from the roar happening inside your head. Finally, you tossed your quill onto the table and sat back in your chair. Anne looked up at your sudden movement and Ominis leaned forward.

“I’m worried about Sebastian,” you said.

“Get in line,” Ominis muttered dryly.

“I know the anniversary of your parents’ death is approaching, but I think it’s more than that,” you sighed as you looked at Anne, who nodded in understanding. “He just seems so… sulky.”

“Sulky?” Ominis mused. “I suppose that’s one word for it.”

“So you’ve noticed it too?”

“Of course, I have,” Ominis said. 

“You’re right, it’s not just our parents,” Anne said. She and Ominis shared a glance that made you uncomfortable, as if they knew something you didn’t.

“What is it?” you demanded with a frown.

“We think he’s lovesick,” Anne said with a soft laugh. You blinked as you processed her words, your stomach deflating as if she’d punched you there.

Sebastian was in love. That was the hardest pill to swallow, but the fact that he hadn’t told you made it even more painful. He told you everything. 

“Lovesick?” you repeated. “Sebastian?” Anne nodded while Ominis folded his arms across his chest, the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “But he hasn’t mentioned anyone to me. And I haven’t seen him with anyone lately.”

It was Ominis’ turn to blink. “He isn’t dating anyone,” he said. “He’s distraught over someone he thinks he can’t have.”

“Who?” you pressed. “Is it Nerida? Because-”

“Oh, please.” Ominis snorted. “Sebastian wouldn’t be arsed over someone as scatterbrained as Nerida Roberts. Give him some more credit than that.”

“But I heard they hooked up.”

“Even if they did, she’s not the one Sebastian’s pining after,” Anne remarked.

“Then who?”

Another silent exchange of glances and you glared at your friends. “What aren’t you telling me?” you demanded, hurt that they were keeping a secret from you. There were no secrets when it came to Sebastian and you.

“And I thought Ravenclaws were smart,” Ominis teased. 

“Why won’t you tell me?” you pushed, your hurt frustrating beginning to surge. It was bad enough Sebastian was in love with someone else, but your friends withholding it from you twisted the knife deeper.

“We don’t need to tell you,” Anne said. You couldn’t decide if she was amused or annoyed.

“Why not? I clearly have no idea who it is.”

“Clearly,” Ominis said dryly.

“So then tell me!”

“We can’t,” Anne said simply. “If it isn’t obvious to you, you aren’t ready to know.”

Tears stung your eyes at your friends’ callousness. Was this their payback for the secrets you kept from them your fifth year? Of course, you’d never told them how you felt about Sebastian. How could you? Ominis would tell you to run far, far away from your chaotic friend. And Anne was his sister. She’d never understand.

“Fine,” you snapped, shuffling your parchment and quills into a pile. You shoved your chair back as you rose to your feet and gathered your study materials in your arms. “It’s also obvious to me I’m not meant to know, so I suppose I’ll call it a night.”

You scurried from the Undercroft, hurt and confused.

---

The following day, Sebastian seethed over his breakfast. He watched you from the Slytherin table as you laughed with your fellow Ravenclaws. Andrew Larson was leaning in particularly close to you and Sebastian hated the way he was looking at you. Sebastian looked at you the same way.

He couldn’t help it. He didn’t want to lust over his best friend, but everything you did, every move you made, forced him into a wild spiral. Sometimes he even forgot how to string together a coherent sentence when you were around, like when you’d subconsciously bite your bottom lip while deep in thought, or the time you fell into a creek and he could see through your blouse.

Sebastian was so busy glaring daggers at Andrew, he didn’t notice the arrival of Ominis and Anne. Anne turned to see the source of her brother’s miffed expression and sighed as she sat down.

“Sebastian, stop,” she scolded. “If you scowl any more, you’re going to accidentally hex half the Ravenclaw table.”

“Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if it includes Larson,” Sebastian muttered as he tore his gaze away.

“What’s wrong with Larson?” Anne asked. “He seems nice enough.”

“Don’t be so daft,” Sebastian mumbled. Anne set down her water goblet as her eyes pierced Sebastian with annoyance.

“Sebastian, this has got to stop,” she said forcefully. “You’re acting insufferable.”

“She’s right,” Ominis chimed in. “All of this moping about is becoming unbearable. Just tell her already.”

“Tell who what?”

“Who’s the daft one now?” Anne clucked her tongue. “Come on, Sebastian. It’s clearer than crystal. Everyone knows you’re in love with her.”

“In love with who?”

“Don’t insult my intelligence,” Anne snapped. “Now either tell her or we will.”

“You won’t say a word,” Sebastian threatened. “Mind your business.”

“You’re making it our business with your sour attitude,” Anne said. “We can’t stand it anymore. And frankly, neither can she. You’re just lucky she’s too in love with you to gain any sense.”

“She’s what?”

Anne sat back and smirked. “Come on now,” she continued. “Even you aren’t this dense.”

“Did she say something to you?” Sebastian demanded.

“No,” Anne said simply. “Sometimes the truth is in what we don’t say.”

---

After dinner, you decided to check on Sebastian. You hadn’t seen much of him that day, but you had seen the way he seemingly scowled at you in the Great Hall.

You descended the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower to make the trek toward the Slytherin Dungeons. But as you approached the Quad Courtyard, you were met by Anne.

“There you are!” she exclaimed, causing you to stop dead in your tracks.

“Anne? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been looking for you. Have you forgotten about your detention?”

“Detention?” 

“Remember, for last week’s Potions incident?”

“But that wasn’t me. That was all Garreth’s f-”

“But Sharp gave you both detention for it, remember?” Anne asked. “He said you were complicit in the explosion since you were Weasley’s partner that day.”

“But…” your voice trailed off as you racked your brain to remember. You couldn’t recall Professor Sharp scolding you or giving you detention. Surely, you would have remembered that.

“You need to get down to the Detention Chamber,” Anne said urgently. “You’re fifteen minutes late.”

“But-”

“Go! Sharp’s already livid. He sent me because I happened to be walking by. Weasley’s already there.”

You groaned. How did you forget? This surely meant you’d receive a second detention for your tardiness. 

“Alright,” you sighed. “I’m on my way.” You thanked Anne and hurried to the dungeons.

“Sorry I’m late, professor!” you exclaimed as you shoved your way through the door to the Detention Chamber. You froze when it became clear Professor Sharp wasn’t there. Neither was Garreth Weasley. Sebastian was the only other occupant, sitting at the front of the room.

“Where’s Sharp?” you asked, confused.

“Sharp? No idea,” Sebastian answered, looking equally confused. “Where’s Binns?”

“Binns?”

“He apparently gave me detention for falling asleep in class last week,” Sebastian explained. “I don’t even remember it. But Anne said-”

“Anne said you had detention?” Your brow furrowed as your suspicion spiked. “But Anne told me-”

A sudden click from the door behind you made you whirl around. You reached for the door handle and found it was locked.

“Hey!” you shouted. “There’s people in here! Unlock the door!”

“No.” 

Your eyes widened at the voice on the other side of the door. “Anne?”

“We’re not letting you out until the two of you confess,” Anne’s voice said.

“Confess? Confess what? And who’s we?” Sebastian appeared next to you, his arms crossed as he frowned at the door. 

“You know what,” Anne’s voice replied pointedly.

“What’s she talking about?” you asked, turning to stare at Sebastian. He shrugged.

“I have no idea. Anne, open the door.”

“No.”

“Ominis? Are you out there too? Are you in on this?” Sebastian asked.

“Yes,” came Ominis’ voice.

Sebastian cursed. Neither of you had your wands – students had to place them in a lock box outside the chamber upon entry so that you couldn’t use magic during detention. The box wouldn’t unlock itself until the full detention was served.

“Let us out!” you shouted at the door. “This is ridiculous! You can’t keep us in here!”

“You can and we will,” Anne responded. “We’ll be back soon.”

You pressed your ear to the door and could hear their footsteps fading down the corridor. You sighed and turned to press your back against the door.

“What’s this about?” you demanded, your eyes narrowing at Sebastian.

“I don’t know,” he said as he ran a hand through his already tousled hair.

“What do they want you to confess?” you asked.

“They said ‘the two of you,’” Sebastian pointed out. “We’re both meant to confess something.”’

“Confess what? We don’t keep secrets from one another.”

Sebastian sighed and paced toward the front of the classroom. He leaned forward against the large desk at the front of the room, his hands gripping the desktop while he appeared deep in thought. 

“They think we… have feelings for each other,” he said, his back still to you as he gazed downward at the desktop.

“What?!”

“They think you and I have romantic attractions,” he said. He turned to face you and crossed his arms again. 

“You can’t be serious,” you laughed nervously. Heat began to creep up the back of your neck. “Why do they think that?” Sebastian gazed at you with tired eyes that startled you. Your tense posture slackened as you frowned in concern. “Sebastian? Are you okay?”

“No,” he said quietly. “I’m not. I’m exhausted.”

“Do you want to sit down?” you asked as you crossed the chamber to approach him. “Maybe you’re ill.”

The conversation you had with Anne and Ominis drifted to the front of your mind. 

“We think he’s lovesick,” Anne had said.

You paused. Dare you ask? What if the answer killed you?

“Sebastian,” you started carefully. “Are you… have you got a crush on someone? Is that why you’ve been so moody lately? Anne mentioned you’ve seemed a little lovesick.”

And to your absolute, utter shock, Sebastian began to laugh. Dread coursed through your blood as you waited for him to regain his composure. 

“Anne’s right, this really is unbearable,” he said as he shook his head. He sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face, so you closed more distance and leaned backward against a desk across from him.

Sebastian’s eyes roamed you up and down. It made you shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

“The answer is yes,” he finally continued. “I do have feelings for someone. That’s what Anne and Ominis want me to confess.”

“Who? Who do you have feelings for?” you asked, ignoring the sting that was twisting shards of heartache inside your chest.

Sebastian’s expression didn’t change. His eyes lingered on you as he seemed to be fighting impatience.

“You really don’t know?” he asked.

“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” you complained. “Clearly I don’t.”

Sebastian dug the palms of his hands against his eyes as if seeing clearer might make you see clearer. “They keep asking because the answer is obvious,” he said. “The answer is you.”

His words seemed to hover between you, an invisible line begging to be crossed. All you had to do was break the plane.

“Me?” you asked stupidly.

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile at the naivety plastered all over your face. “Yes, you,” he answered. “It really can’t be that much of a surprise, can it? I haven’t exactly been subtle about it.”

“I thought you were just being protective of me,” you said breathlessly. The cool dungeon felt hot and your hands were clammy. This wasn’t happening. You had to be lost in one of your countless dreams about Sebastian, fantasizing over all the ways he’d show you how much he loved you.

“I was,” Sebastian said simply. “I was protecting you from me.”

“What?”

Sebastian paced in front of the desk. “You deserve so much more than someone like me,” he confessed. “I mean, look at you. You’re… everything. I’m just the fool who got lucky enough to call you a friend.”

“Sebastian, that’s not for you to decide,” you said, your eyes still wide at the stunning revelation. “You don’t get to pick for me. And I’ll always pick you.”

“What?”

Suddenly, you understood the frustration that Anne and Ominis felt. You were stunned the two hadn’t strangled you and Sebastian both by now. You were no longer angry with them; you were grateful.

“This is all so ridiculous,” you breathed with a laugh. You stepped toward Sebastian and it was his turn to look surprised. “Sebastian, can we both just confess already?”

“You… you really mean it? You’re not just trying to get out of here?”

“On the contrary,” you said as you took another step toward him. “I’m trying to make the most of our time.”

You grabbed him by the front of his jumper and pulled him into a kiss. It was soft at first, but you grew hungry for more until your hands became balls of taut wool and your tongue was dragging along Sebastian’s bottom lip.

His hands snapped to your waist and pulled you against his body as he kissed you deeper. His tongue clashed with yours until you were gasping for air.

“Wait,” you laughed as you broke apart to catch your breaths. “We still need to confess.”

“I love you,” Sebastian said immediately. His eyes were heavy with a new level of affection that was foreign to you. It made your chest swell and heart race.

“I love you too,” you breathed. Sebastian smiled and leaned in to kiss you more gently this time. 

“This was a lot easier than I thought it’d be,” you murmured once he pulled away.

Sebastian laughed as his thumbs traced gentle circles over your hip. He smiled at you with so much love and lust, your knees would surely give out. Luckily, you had a solution for that.

You pulled him into another forceful kiss, tugging on his jumper until he moved away from the desk. You spun so that your own back was pressed against it, pulling him into you until he lifted you onto the desktop. You wrapped your legs around him, your hands tugging at the hem of his jumper.

You could already feel his erection digging into the skin of your thigh. You’d never wanted anything so badly in your life.

You slipped the sweater over his head and dragged your palms over his bare chest, the feeling of his skin sending shockwaves through your fingertips. You couldn’t believe you were finally touching him in the sinful manner that only existed in your forbidden fantasies.

“Can I take this off?” Sebastian asked as his fingers grazed the top button of your blouse. 

“If you don’t, I will,” you replied. He grinned at your response and kissed you.

Once all the buttons were parted, Sebastian shoved your shirt onto the desk behind you. His hands skimmed over your waist and held your hips as he pulled you hard against him, your inner thigh grinding against his erection. 

You decided you hated the feeling of his trousers against your skin. You fumbled with his belt buckle and zipper until you could shove his remaining clothing to the floor, freeing his cock from the layers of fabric.

Your breath hitched at the sight of it. Sex wasn’t new to you but someone of that size certainly was. You internally scolded yourself for depriving yourself from this for so long.

Sebastian’s hands snaked beneath the hem of your skirt, the pads of his fingers stroking the tops of your thighs. He licked his lips at the heat radiating from your body. 

As he leaned in to kiss you, one of his hands found the apex between your thighs, grazing two fingers over the fabric of your panties. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned as he felt the moisture of the fabric. He planted a trail of kisses from your neck across your collarbone, stopping with one final peck to your right shoulder.

His thumb brushed patterns over your entrance and you whimpered in frustration at the fabric separating your flesh. Sebastian smirked and inched your panties to the side with his thumb and index finger until your entrance was exposed. His thumb returned, this time running up and down over your wet folds. You could feel his cock twitch against your thigh.

But he had to taste you first. His lips left a trail of kisses from your neck and between your breasts until he lowered himself to a kneeling position. One more kiss followed above your belly button until he was pushing your skirt hem upward. He eyed your most precious asset and attacked it with his tongue.

Your gasp hissed throughout the chamber on contact. The sounds of Sebastian’s tongue immersed in your folds was music to your ears as he hummed a moan into your flesh. The vibration made you buck your hips forward.

His tongue swiped patterns over your clit until you fisted his hair in your hands. You pressed your fingertips into his skull, begging him for more pressure. He obliged, his tongue flattening and flicking against your clit until you were moaning repeatedly.

His lips enclosed your clit and he sucked against it, the sound drawing scowls from the portrait paintings on the walls.

“Don’t stop,” you breathed, your eyelids heavy as you gazed at the erotic vision between your legs. 

Sebastian sucked harder, the tip of his tongue pressed against your clit until your thighs twitched in his hands. You were afraid to know what it’d be like to fall apart on Sebastian’s tongue – not because you were embarrassed or self-conscious, but because you knew it would ruin you for life.

And when it finally started, the sweet sensation shooting through your nerve endings in the form of a convulsion across your cunt, you forced your hips forward as Sebastian’s tongue danced against your clit. Your shaking thighs clamped either side of his head and he groaned at the surge of wet arousal that surfaced from your entrance. His tongue glided inside you to collect the reward of your climax.

As you recovered, your chest rising and falling while you caught your breath, Sebastian kissed both of your thighs and stood, smirking at you with sensual eyes as he returned to his standing position between your legs.

You realized the top of your thigh was wet from the tip of his cock. You took it in your hand and stroked, your thumb appreciating the sensation of its velvet head. Your core began to throb with desire for it.

“I need you. Now,” you whispered. You didn’t need to ask twice.

Sebastian lined the tip of his cock against your entrance and took a moment to behold the sight. He decided he’d burn the entire castle down if he were to wake up and learn this was merely another dream.

But the feeling of your slick, warm arousal coating the head of his cock was far too real. He moaned at the sight of himself disappearing inside your entrance. He sank further into you while you held your breath at the size of him. 

“Relax,” Sebastian said gently. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded silently and exhaled, willing the tension to vacate your body. Sebastian continued to ease himself inside of you, his jaw clenched at the sensation of your walls stretching to accommodate him. 

“My god,” Sebastian groaned as his gaze drifted downward to where you were joined. You bucked your hips to indicate your readiness. 

Sebastian pushed his hips forward, his cock parting your walls again. You moaned at the pressure mounting within your core. 

His cock drove steady strokes against your walls as his hands gripped the tops of your thighs. You whined for more, your hips rocking forward as the desk creaked beneath you. 

You clutched Sebastian’s shoulders to pull him closer. He snapped his hips harder, the sounds of his thrusts growing louder as they became more erratic. 

Your legs clenched around his torso tightly, willing him to drive deeper inside you. You could feel the smoldering climax searing hotter within your twitching walls. When it finally began, your tight cunt released, pumping pleasure through your walls while you cried out. 

Your nails sank into Sebastian’s shoulder blades, leaving sharp crescent divots in his skin. Sebastian’s cock pumped you through your orgasm until your twitching cunt was spent. 

Sebastian’s hands drifted to your back, a flick of his fingers snapping your bra apart. He flung it onto the floor behind himself and buried himself inside you again. 

He kissed you hard, easing you backward until you were lying flat on your back. He couldn’t help himself from roaming his hands over your body, cupping and squeezing your breasts as he slammed into you. You moaned as he gripped your hips, pulling you into him as he fucked you. 

“Oh my god,” he moaned. The sight of you, splayed out flat on your back, breasts bouncing with each thrust, was better than any vision his head could conjure. 

The smacking of your bodies chorused across the chamber, your whimpered moans growing louder in rhythm with them. The delicious incline to another peak was mounting in your core, bringing you so close to the edge of ecstasy. 

Sebastian reached down to drag a thumb over your clit, nudging you to the climactic cliff. The sound you released was anything but subdued; an unrestrained wail as your walls convulsed around Sebastian’s driving cock, sending your back into an arch as you clamped your eyes shut. 

The aftermath was more than Sebastian could handle; your heaving chest panting for air; your heavy eyes dark with satisfaction; your arousal slowly dripping onto the desktop. 

Sebastian thrusted hard until his cock was fully enveloped in your warmth again, his tip buried deep within your plush walls. He grunted as he held you against himself, his cock throbbing with his own climax until he painted your core with his release. 

“Fucking hell,” he groaned once it was over. 

He slumped forward. It felt as if his frame might collapse amid its boneless state. Beneath him, you were grateful for the desk keeping you off the ground. 

Once you felt lucid enough to move again, you sat up slowly. Sebastian dipped his head to rest his chin against your forehead as you both recovered in silence. He didn’t want to part from you, so he remained still, savoring your warmth as he draped his arms around you. 

“You really didn’t think I was in love with you?” you murmured softly against his chest. 

“You really didn’t realize I was in love with you?” he mused.

“We really do owe Anne and Ominis an apology,” you laughed softly. “Or a thank-you.”

The door suddenly creaked open and the sound of hurried footsteps stopped with a sharp halt. Anne stood in the doorway, her face twisted in an expression of horror as Ominis stood behind her, unaware of the sight before them. 

Sebastian winced at the intrusion.  “We should probably start with an apology.”

[fujoshirat]

✩₊˚.Belated Housewarming—Literally!

Shouto Todoroki x reader

Summary: After your husband's job as a hero deprives you of intimacy and loving, you decide to make his birthday unforgettable with a heartfelt surprise that reminds him just how much he’s missing. The most important part of your plan? That damned lacy, frilly, pink apron hanging in your closet.

Warnings: A18+ (MINORS DNI), FILTHY smut, porn w/ plot, sex marathon, dom!Shouto and sub!reader, cursing, pet names, missionary, doggy style, squirting, oral (female receiving), upstanding citizen, three-legged stance, inappropriate use of a home but whatever floats your (Shouto’s) boat, breeding kink, domestic kink, temperature play, slight angst in the beginning but overall fluff and smut :)

Author's Note: Happy birthday to the man I fell in love with in 2020 ( ˊᵕˋ )♡ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The soft clunk of the dryer shutting off echoed through the quiet house, signaling the end of yet another cycle. Bending down, you toss the clean clothes into the laundry basket and walk to the dining table. The entire house is quiet, save for the soft sound of rain outside and the ruffling of clothes being folded.

Yup, this was your married life: silence in a punctual routine while living in an empty house that felt too large without your husband. For all the joy your wedding brought, no one had warned you how lonely it could feel to be married to the second-best pro hero in Japan.

And you have had enough!

It’s been one year since he proposed, 10 months since you moved in together, and 3 months since you both got married. You knew about what you were signing yourself up for. However, nothing could prepare you for what it was really like being married to a pro hero, no less the second best pro hero in all of Japan! A month after your wedding, Shouto had to hop on a plane to America for a mission with other pro heroes, leaving you alone in the house for three weeks. And in the weeks leading up to Christmas, Shouto would come home exhausted from work and patrol. It would be just past 11, just as you were tucking yourself in to bed (Shouto begged you to go to bed at an early time, even if he wasn’t home yet, but you found that hard to do), and your husband would open the front door. You would feel your heart skip: finally, he was home. But then, he’d stumble through the bedroom door with a tired sigh, eyes heavy with fatigue, and you could see the toll his day had taken on him. His uniform would be rumpled, his hair slightly damp from sweat and snow, and his pretty heterochromatic eyes would be soft and dazed as he quietly greeted you.

“Welcome home, Shou.”

“Tadaima.”

“Long day?”

“Mhm…”

“Are you hungry? I made chazuke for dinner earlier.”

“…”

“Perhaps a warm bath?”

“…”

You’d try to stay awake, to offer him something, anything that might lift his spirits—your smile, a warm meal, even a conversation. But all he seemed to need was sleep, and that’s what he’d do. He’d change into his pajamas (simple black shorts), kiss your forehead, and collapse into bed next to you (whose exhaustion was also a massive headache).

You were absolutely sexually frustrated and terribly missed your husband. As days went on, you longed for more than just his presence in the room. You wanted him. But the mission schedules, late night patrol shifts, and endless demands of Japan left you feeling distant.

Yeah, you were screwed.

And you couldn’t blame him. It had been his dream to become his own hero, not for his father, not to surpass All Might, but for himself. It was his calling, and the nature of his work, no, responsibility, naturally required much time and effort. However, you felt like it only widened the gap between you two as the days went on.

At least Christmas was decent. He finally took off time from work for the important holiday and stayed home with you for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Those two days consisted of cuddling on the couch, hours of talking while a random TV show played in the background. You also visited his family for Christmas Eve dinner and stayed home the entire time on Christmas day.

And now, it was January. It was a new year, but most importantly, Shouto’s birthday was fast approaching. You were sick of this abstinence, it needed to end already! The last time your husband had touched you was 4 months ago on your honeymoon! Grumbling to yourself, you dig a hand through the laundry basket until you find the matching sock and continue your folding. ‘Don’t be selfish, Y/N! You knew that marriage wouldn’t be picture perfect! Get a grip!! Ugh, but I’m so pent up! I need the affection!’

You must be ovulating or really really REALLY horny right now because look at you, arguing with your voices in your head! Sighing to yourself, you finish the last of your laundry and head upstairs to start putting it away. After doing so, you check the time on your phone, the lock screen a picture of you and Shouto cutting the wedding cake at your wedding (photo courtesy of Izuku), and it brings a wistful smile on your face. You looked so happy, and so did he. Shaking your head, you pout and check the time: 10:59am. Getting ready to put the laundry basket away so that you could figure out what to eat for lunch, you spot something in the corner of your eye in the closet.

Upon closer inspection, you open the closet door and see your pink, frilly cooking apron hanging. ‘Huh, weird, I must have been so tired cooking dinner last night that I threw it in here.’ Taking it out, you put it on mindlessly in preparation for in case you need to make lunch because there aren’t enough leftovers. As you walk past the mirror and to the bedroom door, you pause in your steps. Your eyes widen when you an idea comes to mind as you remember how you looked in the corner of your eye when you passed by the mirror.

The apron, with its delicate trim, was really nothing special. It was a simple, pink, frilly apron that you had bought before moving into the house with Shouto. However, in this instant, the delicate lace trim, extra pink bows, and its slightly playful charm instantly sparked a thought. You had always loved cooking for Shouto (and he loved your cooking too), but it wasn’t just about the meals anymore. It was about what you could do for him—what you could show him. You could almost picture the look on his face if he found you, wearing nothing but that apron, waiting for him to come home. That thought sent a thrill up your spine, and you quickly caught your breath, heart racing a little too fast for comfort.

That idea was what you needed, and you knew exactly when to do it and what to prepare. Running down the stairs, you eagerly check the pantry. ‘Y/N! You naughty girl! What are you thinking?’ God, you were mad, insane, the surge of excitement building up in your head like your bottled emotions these past few months. You make a mental note to buy more soy sauce and extra buckwheat noodles tomorrow on your daily grocery store run. It was currently January 03, and you had exactly one week to prepare for Shouto’s birthday. Your idea felt so right, so tantalizing. Surely Shouto was pent up as well? Prior to engagement or marriage, you two never avidly had sex, nor did you avoid it.

And it was his birthday, more importantly, his first birthday celebrated with his wife, you. You wanted it to be extra special, to be a sexy happy memory made in this house. You wanted to make the day about him, so why not kill two birds with one stone? Squealing to yourself, you start cooking up lunch while scrolling through Instagram to find the open hours of a bakery down the street.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

At 6:45am, you slipped out of bed as quietly as you could with as little movements as possible. Taking off your pajamas, you could feel the warm, tantalizing bed with the most handsome birthday boy on earth trying to entice you back to bed. But, no, you were stronger than this! You threw the silky pajamas in the hamper and easily put on your “lingerie:” the lacy, pink, frilly apron. Next, you brush your hair as neatly as possible and put on light blush and mascara to look even more delicious. You have to hold back a squeal when you look at your appearance in the mirror. The flimsy material covered enough to leave room for imagination as well as exposed your body just next to those enticing areas. You felt like the epitome of the balance of sweet and sultry—like Sabrina Carpenter concert outfits—exactly what you were going for!

Your thighs weren’t killing you as much as they did these past few days (you did 50 squats from January 03 to 09, and then 30 yesterday to soothe your poor muscles and give them a break before the real workout you desired). Squats are no joke, but anything to be closer to a BBL on this special day! Entering the kitchen, you open the fridge and pull out a simple, white box. You place it on the counter and hum to yourself, ‘Do I make the cold soba now? Or should I wait?’ You tapped a finger to your chin, glancing at the clock on the wall: 7:01 a.m. There was still plenty of time before you planned to wake Shouto up, so you decided you might as well start cooking. The sooner everything was ready, the smoother your plan would go (plus, you weren’t sure if your legs would be okay if you had to cook lunch in between ykw).

After making your husband’s favorite meal, you quickly throw it in the fridge and grab the cake. Running upstairs as quietly as you can, you let out a relieved sigh when you see that Shouto hasn’t woken up yet—still sprawled on his side, one arm tucked under your pillow (that was “pretending” to be you). Your heart pounded with excitement, and at 7:30am, you place the cake on the dresser. Leaning over, you gently brush a strand of hair from his face.

“Shouto,” you quietly murmur, “wake up, birthday boy.” He stirred slightly at the sound of his voice, his soft expression shifting as his brows furrowed slightly and his nose scrunched up. “Mmm…” You have to hold back a laugh—he’s so cute!

“Shouto,” you call a little louder, amusement evident in your tone, “time to wake up!”

This time, his mismatched eyes flutter open, clouded with sleep. His left hand reaches up to caress your cheek as his right hand rubs his eyes. For a moment, he blinked his sleepiness away, still looking up at your face.

He smiled tiredly, exhaustion from last night’s patrol evident, until, in the corner of his eye, Shouto swears that you’re wearing a tank top. Tilting his head slightly downward, his gaze lands on what you’re wearing.

“Good morning, and happy birthday!” you smile shyly, desperately trying to ignore the burning feeling in your cheeks. “Did you sleep well?” Face filled with confusion, his eyes wander down further, and he takes in what you’re wearing (or rather, not wearing)—just one article of clothing (if it could even be called that):

That damned lacy, frilly, pink apron that you use when cooking.

Pink dusts his cheeks, mouth opening to speak, then closing. Shouto was speechless, realizing what today’s occasion was.

“Y-you’re—” His voice gets caught in his dry throat, and he swallowed hard. “Y-you’re wearing just that?” You tilted your head innocently, pretending not to understand. “Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Shouto blinked, his hand reaching out almost instinctively to rest lightly on your hip, his fingers brushing the soft ribbon tied around your waist. “No, nothing’s wrong,” he said softly, his voice barely above a murmur. You giggle at this and move his hand away. “Ah-ah-ah! That, is for later. Aren’t you hungry for breakfast? I got you a cake!” You cheerfully open the cake box and hold it up to him. The fluffy sponge and layers of whipped cream topped with plump, glistening strawberries all add to the strawberry shortcake’s appeal. You watch Shouto sit up straighter, eyes practically sparkling at his breakfast.

“Strawberry shortcake,” he murmurs, “my favorite.” You smile and stand a little closer to him. “I know! That’s why I got it-” Suddenly, you’re cut off when his palm grabs your plump flesh. Not expecting this, you slightly jolt in surprise and grip onto the cake so to not let the beautiful creation get destroyed.

“I want this cake for breakfast, Y/N.” His velvety, smooth tone sends shivers down your spine—and the smirk on Shouto’s face and his mismatched eyes full of mischief blatantly focused on the furious blush on your face tells you all that you need to know: That bastard knows that he’s doing!! “Shou!” You huff, voice wavering as you try to ignore your burning cheeks, “Behave yourself! Let me feed you your breakfast.”

Your husband visibly pouts but lets out a sigh and leans back slightly. Who was he to deny his pretty wife from feeding him? You smile triumphantly, setting the cake box on the nightstand and sliding onto the edge of the bed beside him. Grabbing a fork, you carefully cut a perfect bite from the Strawberry Shortcake, making sure to get just the right balance of sponge, cream, and strawberry.

“Open wide, birthday boy,” you quip cheerfully, holding the fork up to his lips. The man smiles and obediently opens his mouth. “Ah~” Taking a bite, his expression turns even softer. A soft hum of appreciation escapes his throat, making it known that the cake was delicious. “It’s really good, love. Thank you.” “Mhm! It’s no problem at all!” Waiting for him to finish chewing and swallow, you bite back a smirk as you prepare for the next bite.

It was time for part 2 of your plan.

Reaching over to the cake, you use the plastic butterknife (harmless, I promise!) to scoop up a little bit of the frosting from the cake. Your husband looks at you curiously, unsure of what you’re doing.

And then, the cool feeling of the sugary frosting hits just above the valley of your chest, right where the top of the apron above your cleavage is. To add the cherry on top (or should I say, strawberry hahahahaha okay fine i’m not funny ig sorry), you place a plump strawberry right in the middle of the cream. Shouto’s eyes widen, and it widens even further when you teasingly tug the apron a little lower to show off your bare body for a few seconds. Innocently, you look at your husband. “Shouto,” you speak sweetly, feigning innocence. “What’s wrong, love?” You watch him swallow. Hard. His gaze lingers on the frosting, then flickers back up to your face.

“I said I was gonna feed you, right?” You bite back a giggle when you notice his hands gripping the blanket.

“Come and eat, birthday boy.”

Shouto gulps, eyes glued to your chest, as he moves over to you. His strong arms wrap around your waist as his warm breath hits your collarbone. He looks up at you with lidded eyes as he slowly rubbed your hands along your exposed hips. “If I come and eat, I won’t let you escape, okay?” You couldn’t tell if your husband was horny or trying to be cute, but his cheeks were still painted that lovely shade of red. Not thinking much of it (have we learned nothing??), you nod. “Mhm! It’s your birthday breakfast, remember?” Shouto’s eyes darken as he moves his face close to your exposed breasts.

“Itadakimasu.”

Warm, wet muscle dances along the valley between your soft chest. Biting back a moan, your head tilts upward, hands flying to Shouto’s hair. “S-shou…” No response: the red and white haired man was too busy going down on your divine body. He licks off the whipped cream frosting and starts eating the strawberry. Suddenly, he nips at your soft skin, eliciting a yelp from you. “Shouto!” you chastise him, but he interrupts you with another bite.

“God,” he mutters, “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks flush red again and you bite your lip to stifle and noises. You don’t even notice that Shouto has finished the dessert on your body and is looking up at you with a lovestruck expression. His calloused hands rub small circles at your waist to calm you. “My love, are you alright? Was I too rough?” You nod and look at him with a smile. “I’m okay!” The man lets out a breath that he didn’t realize he was holding in.

“You know, I really like this surprise. It’s been so long and I didn’t realize how much I was holding in.” His eyes look down a little shyly from his honesty, and your heart melts.

“Oh, darling, I’ve been pent up too.” You gently touch his cheek while Shouto’s eyes widen at the revelation. You’ve been pent up this entire time? “Since when?” You let out a gasp at the question and look away shyly.

“D-don’t laugh!” "I won't laugh, I promise," he says, his voice tender without any trace of mocking as he reaches up to lift your chin so you can meet his gaze.

“U-uhm… Since you left to America...” His eyes widen in shock. “That long?” You watch his face contort from one of shock to one of regret once realization hits him like a wave.

He had been neglecting you, and he didn’t mean it.

“Y/N, I…” He bites his lip and runs a hand through his hair, shorter than when you first met him. “Shit, I… I’m so sorry I didn’t notice-” “No, no, no! It’s okay, it’s not your fault!” You wave your hands around in front of you as you try to reassure him. “I just didn’t want to say anything or bother you because you’ve been so busy and tired and stressed and-!” Shouto cuts you off mid-frenzy-of-an-explanation by grabbing your chin and forcing you to look into his eyes.

“I should have noticed how much you were holding in,” he murmurs regretfully, and you could hear the frustration in his voice. He wasn’t frustrated with you, he was frustrated with himself. “God, how many times did I ignore you? Every time I went straight to bed from patrol? Shit, love, I…” Shouto’s voice falters, and you could see the guilt weighing on him.

“I never meant to hurt you,” he says quietly, his voice thick with regret. “I was so focused on missions, and I just... I didn’t see how badly you were hurting, how much you needed me here. I wasn’t there when you needed me most.” You have to blink back tears at his statement. What he said was true, but you didn’t want him to shoulder the blame. It wasn’t his fault. “Shouto,” you whisper, “It’s okay. I know how important your work is for you, and I support you.” He shakes his head, rendering you confused.

“No, Y/N, I should have made you my priority, not my work.” His eyes burn with fierce intensity, gazing into yours as if they were wishing stars.

“You are my priority, and as your husband, I’ve completely failed in showing you that you are my priority.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes as you sniffle. “D-don’t say that,” your voice is wobbly as you reach up to wipe a stray tear, “Y-you’re gonna make me cry and I worked hard on this makeup.” (thank god for waterproof mascara) He laughs at your attempt to lighten the mood and kisses his forehead. “You look beautiful, baby, you know that?” he says, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His lips linger for a moment, and when he pulls back, there's a lightness in his gaze, something playful.

"Okay, okay, enough with the tears for now," you say, trying to change up the sappy, sad mood. You wipe your eyes and take a deep breath, giving him a small, teasing smile. "I wanted today to be special, so let's enjoy it. Plus..." You pause, the mischievous twinkle in your eye returning as you lean closer.

"I want you to make me cry for another reason."

Shouto’s eyes widen in surprise for a brief moment before he catches the playful spark in your gaze. A grin slowly spreads across his face, and a quiet chuckle escapes him. “Is that so?” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, but there's something else there too—a promise.

"Well, then, let’s see if I can make that happen."

Arms wrapping around you, Shouto presses his lips against yours. The kisses are soft at first, testing the waters and giving you the chance to back down (not that you were ever going to). But as the seconds go by, once your consistent kissing back makes it evident to your husband that you weren’t going to stop, the kisses become hungry and urgent.

His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue gently traces the line of your lips, begging for more. You respond in kind, your body melting against his, as you part your lips to let his tongue in. The heat between you both intensifies, every brush of his lips, every movement of his hands, making your heart race.

Suddenly, you pull back breathlessly. Shouto pants softly, eyes clouded with lust as the thick tent in his pants press into your bare pussy. You move your hips teasingly, grinding against him, drawing out a moan from your husband. “B-baby…” he murmurs out, squeezing your hips. You respond with a smile and reach down to remove his underwear. “If you’re okay with it, love, I’d like to take the lead this time.” Shouto’s eyes widen, but he smiles and nods.

“Okay, Y/N, but tell me if you need help or if it’s too much, okay?” Your heart warms at his offer, ever the gentleman, and you nod. “I don’t think I’ll need help but thank you, darling.”

Carefully, you lower your body down on his cock. You gasp when you feel his thick tip stretch your sweet cunt. He’s big, so so big and delicious. As your walls are practically split open, you have to go reeeeeally slow so to not hurt yourself. Hands gripping the sheets, you let out a slutty moan at the sensation. Your husband’s eyes are half-lidded, lust and love mixed together in the perfect ratio. He was only a little more than halfway in, and you already felt so full. Biting his lower lip, he gently reaches a hand over to hold your waist, thumb rubbing loving circles to help soothe whatever pain you may have been feeling (so sweet :( ).

And then, you go all the way up, just until only the tip is inside, and slam yourself down. Shouto lets out a choked, guttural moan, biting his lower lip. “F-Fuck…” His hands grip your waist tighter as he braces himself for more loving from you.

However, your hips do not move as he planned. Rather, they do not move at all and you remain planted on him. Slightly frustrated, Shouto looks up at you curiously.

“Love?”

There is a dangerous, mischievous glint in your eyes as you sweetly bat your pretty lashes at him, hips still not moving. “Yes, Shou?” Reaching over, you cut a piece of the cake and hold the fork up to his lips.

“You’re hungry, right? Say ‘ah’!” He frowns, clearly expecting you to ride him, but he obediently eats the cake. Swallowing, his fingers rub your waist. “Darling, are you going to move now?”

His frown deepens when you shake your head and hold up another forkful of cake to his mouth. “I can’t let my husband go hungry, right?” Before he can interrupt, you giggle. “We never really had a personal housewarming did we? Why not do it now?”

Oh, that’s what you’re plan was. Teasing him by fucking cockwarming him, a dirty move.

And Shouto Todoroki, as much as he loves you, does not like that.

Yeah, you probably should not have teased him so much, because strong hands grab your hips and lift you off your husband’s hard dick. Your back hits the soft mattress and you let out a soft “oof-!” The fork discarded onto the nightstand (a miracle it didn’t drop to the floor), Shouto’s darkened gaze pierces into your soul. Brows furrowed, his expression tells you all that you need to know: He’s had enough with your game, and it’s time for you to face the consequences.

Before you can protest, defend your playful teasing, his lips roughly press against yours, hungrily making out. He bites your bottom lip softly, hands roaming up and down your body, asking for permission to slip his tongue in. You open your mouth submissively, his wet muscle entering the warm cavern. His lips trail downwards to your jaw, nipping and kissing it, before settling onto your neck and biting the sensitive roughly. A whine escapes your throat, body burning with desire and need. “Shouto!! Haah, please…” Your body jolts with slight pain and pleasure when his left hand swats your ass, leaving a pinkish mark.

“Please what?” he asks, tilting his head slightly, feigning innocence as his fingers trail up your sides, leaving a tingling sensation in their wake. “You were so confident earlier. What happened, hmm?”

“I… I didn’t mean it,” you stammer, your cheeks burning as you look up at him with wide eyes. “Don’t tease me, please…”

His smirk deepens, and he leans in again, this time pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of your jaw, his voice a low rumble against your skin. “Oh, but darling,” he purrs, his lips moving down to your neck as his hands tighten on your waist, holding you in place. The teasing tone he used while calling you such a sweet nickname makes your pussy clench around nothing, making even wetter. “Weren’t you just having fun teasing me?” Your eyes widen when one of his hands roughly pin your smaller hands down on the pillow above you.

Oh fuck, you were screwed.

Shouto lines up his shaft to your pussy, angry red tip swollen and leaking. He playfully slaps his cock on your clit, eliciting a soft moan from you.

“You know that I don’t like it when you tease me,” Shouto notes calmly, his eyes telling a different story. “Are you going to remember that next time? Or do I have to fuck you stupid to remember that, my sweet wife?”

Your pussy clenches around nothing at the sound of that nickname. But before you could respond Shouto begins to push the bulbous tip inside your tight hole. You throw your head back into the pillow, hands gripping the sheets at the stretch. Just the sheer stretch of his tip alone made your brain fuzzy. Shouto hisses at the feeling of your goey, tight walls. “D-damn, baby,” he breathes out, eyebrows furrowed sexily, “S-so fucking tight…” After a minute, he was balls deep, all of him buried inside your sweet pussy.

Yet, this was not enough for Shouto.

He slides himself all the way out (getting back at you), and rams himself back in. A soft cry escapes your throat, and Shouto almost hesitates to continue. However, your lewd expression and hips desperately moving to feel his cock move again quenches his fears of it being too much for you. He begins thrusting, pants and groans slipping out of his lips.

“Ah ahh—Shou—!! Y-you’re s-so deep-” Fat crystalline tears well up in the corners of your eyes as you whimper. Your husband suddenly thrusts harder, prompted by your comment. “Y-yeah baby, nice and—fuck—deep, gonna cum inside, okay?” Pupils practically heart-shaped, you nod eagerly.

“Yeshh-! Pleasepleaseplease-” Your husband continues mercilessly pounding into your sensitive cunt, soft thwacks! and squelching noises made from the way his mushroom tip kissed your cervix.

“Oh!! So—hngh!—good!!” Shouto toys your clit sweetly with a few circular brushes of his thumb against your neglected clit, pushing you over the edge. “Ahh-!! C-cummin’!!” Eyes squeezing shut, your pussy clenches around your husband’s dick, body jerking up in pleasure as you ride out your high. This seems to have pushed Shouto over the edge as well, because with a final thrust, he empties his balls in your sweet womb, filling you up with his hot, thick cum. Gently, you pull his face down to kiss you softly, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down.

However, as you reach for a towel on the nightstand, beefy, muscular arms grab you and flip you over on your stomach. A pillow is pushed underneath your abdomen as Shouto lifts your hips up to his cock. “D-darling!?” You squeak in surprise, not expecting his actions. Suddenly, Shouto plunges his dick back into your pussy, cum dripping down and onto the bed. A pathetic sob escapes your throat, along with moans and whines. “T-Thought we were done—ah!”

“You thought we were finished? Love, you should know…” His voice drops down to a husky, seductive whisper when he leans down to your ear, warm breath ticking you. His cock twitches in your hole, keeping your gummy walls nice and warm and stretched.

“I fully intend on making this house a real home with you, and ensuring that your womb is nice and full is step one.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Currently, you were getting your brains fucked out in the kitchen, body practically sandwiched between the kitchen island and your husband. It had been hours since you both started going at it. Only your right leg was touching the ground, buckling knee desperately trying to support your body. Shouto was holding your left leg, one hand looped underneath the knee of your left leg and the other grabbing your slutty waist as he ruts his cock into your cunt.

You couldn’t even form a sentence, your moans and mewls and Shouto’s groans filling the house. Manicured nails gripping the countertop, a gasp escapes your throat when you feel the familiar tightening in your stomach. Eyes widening, you know what was up: you were going to cum for the nth time.

Your eyes trail to the bruises on your hips from how hard he had been gripping you, then to Shouto’s face. “S-Shouto,” you moan breathlessly, a gasp slipping from your lips when his pelvis begins thrusting faster. “C-Close!!” The smug man smirks, biting his lower lip sexily and pulling your body closer. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you feel an unfamiliar feeling begin to build up in your abdomen. Cock drilling your insides, kissing your sweet, spongy g-spot, Shouto continues pounding hard. “B-baby-!! Oh! Ahn-! GonnA-!!”

Suddenly, the pressure is too much for you and a strangled sob escapes your lips.

Translucent liquid splatters onto Shouto’s abs and pours onto the floor. When you realize what just happened, your blood runs cold. Shouto’s eyes widen when he realizes this as well and his movements stop.

“…”

It’s quiet for a few seconds, and then, blood rushes to your cheeks. Shit. You hide your face in your hands, groaning from embarrassment. “Shit-! Shouto! I-” You what? You couldn’t even say it.

You fucking squirted all over him and the kitchen floor.

Just when you’re about to spew out an endless number of apologies, the breath is knocked out of your lungs when Shouto’s hips start to move again. Your hands fly to grab at the marble countertop of the kitchen island again.

“Oh-! Ahn-! S-Shouto-!! Too much!!” The sensation was overwhelming, and you were still overstimulated from your recent climax. His fingers dig deeper into your soft flesh, kneading your waist.

“Hnngh-! I-Isn’t it—ngh—gross?” Your husband shakes his head, hips continuing to meet your pelvis, and a deep gasp escaping from his throat. “Not at all, love.” He pulls your waist closer to meet his hips, eliciting a sweet, harmonic moan from you. Leaning down, his hot breath hits your ear as he whispers seductively.

“It was hot.”

Your face burns from his honesty, not expecting his reaction. Whining, your eyes roll to the back of your head at the overwhelming sensation of a particularly harsh (yet pleasurable) thrust. Your blood boils in your veins as you tried to maintain your grip on the marble island top. Soft pants escape your husband’s lips, a curse word sprinkled in every now and then. Suddenly, Shouto bites his lip. He was getting close. Despite your lower half feeling like jello, you rocked your hips as best as you could to meet his hips, anything to get him close to finishing!

Through your clouded, fucked-out mind, you were still able to count how many times Shouto had finished so far today: four times (twice on the bed to fix your attitude, once in the bathroom when he was “cleaning you up,” and once on the stairs—wait… how did that even happen!?!?). “S-shou,” you pant out, one arm reaching up to wrap around his neck and stabilize yourself. “T-this is —ngh— s’pposed to be about you!” He smiles softly at your remark and slows down. Tenderly, he takes your other arm leaning on the kitchen island and has you wrap it around your neck as well. “I know, but I can’t help wanting to make you feel good.”

Without letting himself slip out of your heavenly folds, Shouto easily picks you up and carries you to the wall. The taller man pins you against it before resuming his lovely assault on your pussy. You writhe against him, babbling mindless nonsense and singing his name with your moans. You were so close again! Heat coils up in your abdomen again as you cling tighter to Shouto. His fingers dig even deeper, and he lets out a guttural moan.

“God, baby, y-you’re—fuck—divine.” His pace grew more erratic as he began thrusting faster. Tears form at the corners of your eyes as you sob pathetically, nails digging into his back. Shouto’s mouth presses against yours yet again, hungrily kissing you. Your legs quiver and your body jolts in pleasure as you come again. Your orgasm hits you like a truck, sensitivity heightened from the overstimulation. A few seconds after, Shouto thrusts one last time and fills you up, hot cum flooding your tight walls. Your body shakes as you come down from your high, euphoria surging in your veins again.

Carefully, Shouto lets your legs touch the ground—not that that was any good (he just pounded you!), but hey, the thought counts, right? Still holding onto you, he kisses your forehead softly, body pressed up against your bare skin and the pink apron. “Are you okay, sweetheart?” You smile cheerfully and nod. “Mhm! My legs are a little sore, though.” Your gaze flickers down to the pool of fluids a few feet away from you, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Let me just go clean that up.”

Getting down on your knees, you unintentionally flash Shouto with your perky, round ass on full display (keep in mind, you’re still wearing that flimsy, probably crumbled up by now apron). Shouto gulps, adam’s apple bobbing as he watches you grab a rag and wipe up your mess. Cum was still leaking from your cunt, dripping down your thighs and even leaving drops on the floor.

Just as you finish cleaning up your mess with a light, undignified blush, rough hands grab your waist and the familiar hard dick presses up against your ass. You gasp at the feeling. “S-Shouto?” Your response is an icy smack on your left ass cheek, making you yelp. “Shouto!” But before you could get mad at him further, your breath is knocked out of your lungs yet again when he slams his dick into your pussy. You fingers dig into the rag underneath you, knees wobbily trying to maintain balance on the hardwood floor.

“Hnngh!! Not again!!”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

It was only 11:51am, and sweet Jesus were you tired.

You felt like you did every position already: on the bed, on your knees, against the wall, bent over the countertop, on the fucking stairs!! You were exhausted! And to your right, the birthday boy was cheerfully slurping his cold soba noodles for his birthday lunch. You weren’t very hungry, but you took a few bites earlier (he practically forced you to eat, concerned for your well-being). It didn’t even look like he broke a sweat, the only evidence of your nasty morning being the scratch marks on his back.

As you take a sip of water, your husband sneaks glances at you. Eyes full of concern and worry, he observes the various bruises, hickeys, and the state of your apron.

Right, that damn apron.

It was a wonderful surprise, a surprise that Shouto would have never thought would ever greet him in the morning, even more so his birthday. If he were to ever tell his first-year high school self of this life, he would probably scoff and tell him to focus on his hero career. But right now, as he looks at you—the person who’s turned his house into a home (and the reason why he even has a big house like this #proposal)— he can’t imagine anything better than this. Finishing his lunch, he places the plate down before wrapping his muscular, warm arms around you. Shouto presses a soft kiss to your forehead, eyes on yours.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” His voice is soft and tender, full of love that makes your heart melt.

“Mhm!” You quip cheerfully and place the glass down. “I told you, I’m not hungry. You worry too much baby.” “I’m allowed to worry,” he murmurs, his hand resting against your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “Especially when it’s about you.”

Your heart swells at the sincerity in his voice, and you rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. “Well, I’m not going anywhere,” you say with a smile, looking up at him with a teasing glint in your eyes. “You’ll have to put up with me for a while. ‘Till death,' you know?”

His lips curl into a small smile at the reference to your vows, and he leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he whispers, pulling you closer. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

‘Till death’ was what he had promised. ‘I promise to love you until death, until death do us part. Yet I will love you even after death, for an aeon of eternity.’

And everyone knows that Pro Hero Shouto Todoroki never does a half-assed job. Especially as your husband. Looking back at your adorable figure, his smile reverts to a frown when he spots that lacy, frilly, pink apron.

Right, that damn apron.

The sight of it stirs a conflicting swirl of emotions in Shouto. On one hand, it’s adorable—seeing you proudly donning the frilly, slightly-too-thin fabric while bustling around the house for his birthday. But on the other hand... it’s too flimsy, too distracting, and it’s been on you for too long. It takes everything in him not to reach out and tug it off, not because he’s impatient but because it feels like the apron is mocking his already limited self-control. ‘You might be upset,’ he thinks to himself, lips pressed together in a thin line. Shouto knows how much effort and planning you’ve put into your plans today, and he doesn’t want to ruin it.

But at the same time, he wants to see you fully naked, bathed in your usual goddess beauty, all unwrapped just for him.

Besides, it was fine, right? That poor article of clothing needed a break: cum stains everywhere, smelling like a mix of Sol De Janeiro cherirosa and sweat from your lovemaking. It was crumpled up in areas too, no matter how much you tried to smooth it out.

The final string of restraint snaps in him when you put his empty plate in the sink, cute ass on display once again. Before you know it, the knot of the apron is undone and you’re tossed onto the couch.

“Shouto!” You huff, voice full of surprise. But before you can continue your complaining, the pink apron is pull off of your body and tossed to some corner of the living room. Shouto eyes you hungrily, like a wolf looking at his prey. You swallow nervously.

“B-baby?” His hand moves to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek with surprising tenderness. “You look beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice softer now but no less earnest. “And I’ve missed you more than you can imagine.” He begins pressing featherlike kisses to your body, making you giggle and smile.

You were not prepared for what was coming next.

Cold fingers teasing your entrance suddenly press down on your clit, making you scream. You’re soaking wet again, face burning. “My lunch was delicious, like how you always make it,” your husband notes, teasing your hole by rubbing his hot fingers along your entire slit (from clit to ass).

“But I want to eat my dessert now.”

Your cunt makes embarrassing squelches and sounds, music to Shouto’s ears as he continues to eat you out on the couch. It’s been how long? 5 minutes? 10 minutes? 20? His tongue swipes your sweet bud while his middle and ring finger curl slightly and hit just the right spot. Shouto’s name tumble out of your mouth, recited like a prayer. At a particularly rough suck on your clit, your hands fly to Shouto’s hair, gripping it tightly. He moans at the feeling and flicks the bud teasingly. This sends you over the edge, eyes rolling to the back of your head and thighs spasming around your husband’s head.

Pulling his head away from your womanhood, he gives it a light, playful slap, watching your thighs jolt up. “S-Shouto!” You scold him lightly, out of breath. That was your third orgasm from just his fingers and tongue alone. He chuckles and reaches over to kiss you. “Sorry, love, I was just teasing.” Sweetly, he helps you sit up on the couch and rubs your arms to soothe you.

He presses a gentle kiss to your temple and pulls you into his arms, resting his chin on top of your head. “You’ve made today perfect,” he murmurs, his voice soft. “And I want to spend the rest of it making you feel just as special.”

Your heart swells at his words for like the fifth time today, and you relax against him, the earlier tension melting away. “You always make me feel special, love.” your tone is filled with warmth as you gaze up at your husband’s perfectly mismatched eyes.

As he lets you cool down, Shouto turns on the TV to check the news. After a few minutes, you suddenly get an idea that you almost forgot about in your plan.

“Shouto?” you quip, gently tapping on his shoulder. He looks at you with a curious look. “Yes, love?” You grin, twirling your hair with a finger.

“There is one more place we haven’t quite warmed up yet.” Eyes filled with curiosity, he watches you stand up start walking. Shouto frowns and puts the remote down before following you. “Love? Where are you going?” Like a lost puppy, he follows you around the house.

You open the laundry room and walk to the washing machine. All of a sudden, you grab a dirty laundry basket and drop down to your knees. Digging your hands through the clothes, you begin tossing the clothing into the machine. “Y/N? Let me help y-”

All of a sudden, you stick your upper half inside, your bare butt on full display. Shouto’s jaw drops, throat drying up. You wiggle your legs in mock distress, fighting the smile on your face.

“Honey! I think I’m stuck in here. Can you help me out?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

[srjlvr]

,, 10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT MY EX ’’

JUST when you thought your life couldn’t get any worse after your biggest break up of the year, someone posted your (very) much hateful list about your ex.

PAIRING. Ex!jake X Ex-fem!Reader

GENRE. fluff(look at me putting this first in genre) , angst , exes to lovers.

WARNINGS. y/n is kind of a bitch towards jake ig, jake is a big big player, lots of miscommunications, also very much not proofread!! i shall add more if i missed something!

WORD-COUNT. 7.8k+

NOTE. there we go again with this story cover, im outta here, graphics and me are not friends UGH i gotta start paying for someone to actually do this for me smh. anyways!! everything here is FICTIONAL!! i do NOT see jake nor any of the characters like that in any way!! if you don’t like it—youre very welcomed to skip!!

you thought you had your brightest future in your hands.

being an ace student, scoring A+ in all of your tests and winning the teacher’s favoritism, all of that while also being the most popular cheerleader of your school.

you’re literally living everyone’s dream, not only being a popular student, but also dating the most popular student who also happened to be your highschool’s basketball team leader, jake sim.

girls swoon for him, beg him to notice them, even go as far as to send him gifts that costs probably more than their own house, but no, his eyes search for one person and one person only, and that’d be you.

“i’m sorry, i can’t continue all of this”

“this? what do you mean—“

“i mean us, this relationship, i don’t think it’s going to work anymore”

“oh”

“that’s all you got to say?”

“do you expect me to cry and get on my knees, begging you to regret this?”

“what?”

“speechless now, are we? i’ve been waiting for this day”

denial was your best friend, and you might’ve realized it a bit too late.

you were hurt, fuck you wanted to break down and cry. but he doesn’t deserve to see that.

you ignored so many red flags in your relationship, you were lovesick and pathetic, all for him, it broke you apart. but you do not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry.

“y/n…”

“i don’t want to hear it jake, i’m actually glad you took this step”

you’re not glad at all, you do love him.

“i wish you the best” he said quietly and left.

this whole relationship felt like a mistake for the both of you, it was toxic, too toxic.

like those you see on TV shows where the popular girl and guy just date for fame and nothing more, yeah, just like that.

but you loved each other, you really did. communication was your biggest enemy, and that’s what lead to this whole toxic relationship mess.

“what a fucking asshole! it hasn’t even been a month and he’s already all over the girls! pathetic”

“yeji!”

your best friend rolled her eyes, “am i wrong? he was always a player”

you shook your head.

she wasn’t totally wrong, even before you started dating he used to hold a different girl in his hands every other day.

big player indeed.

you on the other hand, no matter how popular you were, you stayed reserved. many boys tried their luck, but it was no use.

though being reserved, you didn’t mind the looks the other boys gave you, and took every chance you had to show yourself off.

therefore it was so surprising to everyone that you and jake started dating.

the biggest player and the reserved popular girl, dating? this had to be a joke.

the truth is that jake had been keeping his eyes on you for long, and he knew that he has to hold you in his arms and show you that a player like him can actually love.

at first it took him time to break down your walls, but he did his best to assure you that he’ll never let anything bad happen to you.

that was….well, until he decided to break things off.

“yeah, he was, once a player, always a player” you agreed with her, glancing at jake and rolling your eyes when noticing that the girl he was flirting with is having too much fun.

“let’s just go, i’m tired of watching those clowns” you sighed and walked away.

“y/n! i’m sorry you had to witness….well—“

“it’s okay sunghoon, really”

before you and yeji could walk too far, sunghoon stopped you.

sunghoon is jake’s best friend, you and him weren’t the best at making conversation while you and jake were still together, but when you broke up, something changed between the two of you.

“don’t mind him, he can be a total asshole sometimes”

“sometimes?” yeji chuckled and sunghoon nervously scratched his nape.

“thank you sunghoon, i’m fine though” you gave him a weak smile and walked away.

“well if there’s one thing that’s good about jake is that his best friend is smoking hot and totally into you!!” yeji clapped her hands.

you rolled your eyes in disbelief, “yeji i don’t think you get it, he’s just being nice because he feels bad about his best friend acting like a dickhead”

“oh y/n, i can read face expressions, he’d definitely ask you out if only things weren’t so difficult”

“don’t push it!”

“that’s the ONLY good thing about jake though, i feel bad for that walking red flag, he’s so bad at keeping his relationships”

“i should make a list of things that i hate about him and send it to every girl in school so they’d know they need to run away from him!” you joked.

“i’d definitely help you, i’m sure as hell that it’ll make his ugly face vanish” she was joking as well.

you both were joking, you knew it very well.

so how the hell did you find yourself sitting in your room desk, writing a list about the things you hate about your ex?

“one, he’s smoking hot, his visuals can mess up your mind” you’re writing everything down as you’re saying them out loud.

complimenting him on your first point? way to go girl!

“two, he’s a big fat player, once your date is over he’s already probably running to find his next” you rolled your eyes to this one.

not even a month passed and he’s already flirting with others? what a loser!

“three, so full of himself! it actually hurts to see a person who loves himself so much he could probably die!”

that one time he wouldn’t stop talking about how many girls asked him out in one night? yickes!

“four, so toxic and possessive! don’t want you around any guy while he walks around and talks with any girl he sees”

when he got jealous that you spoke with your childhood friend about the most random thing ever? disgusting!

“five, puts milk before cereal, i don’t even need to explain!”

a walking red flag or what?

after finishing the rest five points you had to make, you decided to call it a night and drifted away to dreamland.

“psst”

“hm?”

“i know we were joking about the hateful list yesterday, but i actually made it”

“what?!”

you put your hand over yeji’s mouth and giggled.

“it just felt so good! i feel so relieved now! i don’t even want to post it, but it just felt so right to just let everything out”

“so proud of you, girl! finally let it go and move on!!” she pat your shoulder and then proceeded to hug you.

“where did you hide that list?” she raised her brow.

“i just brought it with me today, i put it in my locker and i’ll probably burn it by the end of the day, i just wanted to show it to you first before i do it”

“now that’s my girl!”

yeji is the bestest friend you could’ve ever asked for. she was always there for you.

ever since you were little you were stuck like a glue, you had each other’s backs and you were more than thankful to have her in your life.

“hey y/n! i was just wondering, do you perhaps have notes for the last maths class? i missed it because of practice and i’d really like some help” sunghoon showed up with a grin.

“sure, they’re in my locker, i’ll bring it to you” you nodded and he shook his head.

“i’ll come with you”

“oh? okay”

he followed you to your locker and waited for you to give him the notes.

“what’s in this paper?” he asked as he looked at the very cute designed paper.

“oh? that’s nothing really” you shrugged it off and quickly closed your locker, “bring them back to me when you finish”

“i will, thank you!” he said and walked away.

you opened your locker again to take out the paper, you sighed heavily and shoved it into your bag.

“six, he can’t keep his promises! if he’ll ever tell you he’ll play some video games with you, don’t believe it!!” yeji read it out loud and laughed.

you laughed with her, suddenly finding this list so funny.

“seven, his puppy eyes are definitely misleading! he’s a one manipulative bitch and he won’t be afraid to use his cute puppy eyes!” she rolled her eyes, “is that a good or a bad thing?”

“bad thing obviously! it’s literally written there that he’s manipulative!”

“girls love puppy eyes! you should know that!” she preached and you rolled your eyes.

you spent the rest of your lunch break giggling and laughing about this stupid list.

“i’m returning this to my locker, i’ll burn it after practice today” you told her and she nodded.

“i need proof of that, video call me when you do it!” she said and sent you off to practice.

arriving at the field, you found your friends and practice started.

“hey, y/n!” as you were packing everything in your bag and exiting the dressing room, sunghoon, who was already there waiting for you called you.

“hey, you” you grinned.

“will you let me do the honor and walk you home today?” he asked ever so nicely.

“sure!” you smiled and began to walk with him, completely forgetting about the paper you had to burn.

“i can’t believe you forgot the paper in your locker! what if someone steals it?” yeji complained over the phone right after you texted her that you forgot about it.

“yeji! no one knows it’s there except you! it’s not ‘to all the boys i’ve loved before’ story! you can calm down” you sighed.

you were right though, who knows this locker holds up something that can completely ruin not only yours but also your ex’s image?

“i guess i’m gonna let this slide today, but i’m going to burn this paper with you tomorrow!”

“hm”

“how was your walk with sunghoon~?” she teased.

“it was cool, he’s such a cute guy, surprised that he’s still single honestly”

“i think we both know why”

“i’m gonna go sleep!” you changed the subject and before she could ask any more questions you hang up.

the next day you found yourself yet again a victim to yeji’s new gossips while trying to take out a few things from your locker.

“so as i was saying—are you even listening to me?” she looked at you while you looked at the mirror that was hanged in your locker and applied your lipstick on.

“hm? oh yeah”

“you’re a lost case”

“we’re gonna burn this paper today! and then i will finally be able to feel free from this relationship” you smiled, explaining to her that it was the only thing on your mind.

“you’re damn right! this hate list about jake is going to be burnt today!!”

“this hate list about who?”

you jumped hearing someone else’s voice behind you.

“oh! yena, didn’t see you here” you chuckled nervously.

“just here to tell you that coach said there’ll be another practice today, i came here privately because, you know, you’re too busy in other things to care” oh she’s a one of a kind bitch.

you gave her a sarcastic smile, “i already know that, but thank you”

she returned the fake smile and walked away.

“that was so close!”

“you should be more careful, this girl is just looking for something that’ll bring you down” yeji whispered and you nodded, “i guess you’re right, at least she didn’t really hear all of this”

school ended and so did your practice, yeji leaned on the wall next to your locker as you searched for the paper.

“i could’ve sworn i put it right there!!”

“y/n think!! maybe you put it in your bag?”

you handed her your bag for her to search it.

“oh! i found it! it was between those notebooks” you giggled, “but i could’ve sworn i put it under all of my books”

“at least you found it” she sighed and put her hand over your shoulder.

“let’s burn this bitch!”

looking at the little fire you made with yeji made you feel excited and mostly happy.

you let all your thoughts together with this paper to burn.

your relationship was toxic, but this time was the most beautiful time in your life.

you and jake really did love each other.

one time you were sitting together in the library, trying to study the new material your teacher gave you.

“what are you up to?” he asked.

“studying, that’s why we’re in the library” you smiled.

“that’s so boring!” he pout. you giggled and pecked his lips, “you can be on your phone or something until i finish”

“no” he shook his head, “i want to do something with you”

“jake—“

“let’s go! i’m taking you on a date!” he grabbed your hands and dragged you out.

you spent the rest of your day together, sharing a few snacks and joking around.

it was the perfect kdrama couple everyone dreams of.

you ended up sleeping at jake’s house that day, and he made sure you knew how much he loves you.

“i can see our future together,” he smiled and held your hands, “me, a famous basketball player and you, my pretty partner”

you were sitting right across him on his bed and raised a brow, “oh? so i get to do nothing?”

“i’ll make sure to work hard so you could rest and never work for your entire life” he hugged you and pecked your cheek.

“remember that promise, i’ll use that against you in the future” you joked.

“that means…..you too see a future for us?”

“of course”

he put his hand on your cheek and moved you closer to him, he kissed you so deeply you could feel his love to you was sincere.

that small flashback of this romantic moment made you smile, you really do miss him.

but a dark memory came right away, not leaving any place for the sweet memories to stay,

“oh so i didn’t pay attention for you for once and now you’re giving fuck eyes to my best friend?” he yelled.

“you’re such an idiot sometimes! sunghoon was actually kind enough to apologize on your behalf! you were basically embarrassing me in front of everyone!”

“so now sunghoon’s the hero? go to him then!”

“why are you so stup—“

“i don’t want to hear your complains, y/n!”

“oh really?—“

“yes! go away!”

thinking about those moments reminded you why you’re still here looking at the hateful list you made about him.

he was toxic, possessive, and full on narcissistic, it was so hard to love him sometimes.

yeji came up to hug you when she noticed a few tears streamed down your face.

“let it go now, you already proved yourself you don’t need him” she smiled and you nodded.

“let’s go home”

the next day felt a lot better than the others, the sun was shining brightly, birds were singing, a big smile was smeared all over your face and most importantly, you felt free.

“morning, y/n!”

“morning yeji! lunch is on me today”

“i look up to you so much, my queen” she faked a bow and you giggled.

the day is going to be amazing, and so are the other days! you’re so sure of it.

you decided to keep up with jake’s game and even started flirting with other guys, not even minding if your ex was watching or not.

usually you would, but not now, or never again.

“what’s your fucking problem?”

while talking to some guy you don’t even remember the name of, jake grabbed your wrist and stopped the conversation.

“what do you mean—“

“i mean flirting with him, he’s supposed to practice—“

“you don’t return from break for the next ten minutes, i can talk with him in the meantime” you rolled your eyes.

“coach said—“

“don’t make up things now and don’t act like you care, we’re already over”

“y/n—“

“don’t play this game with me now jake, you can return to your fangirls and leave us alone” you scoffed and released his hold on your wrist.

he rolled his eyes in annoyance and walked away.

“did you see the way he looked at you? i bet you my whole money that he still loves you” yeji sounded as annoyed as he was.

“be ready to go bankrupt because there’s no chance”

“this asshole thinks you’re still in a relationship, he’s sooooo pathetic!”

“yeji, let’s stop talking about him” you groaned and she nodded.

you were in a really good mood today but he totally just ruined it.

the next few days went by so fast, you felt happier by each day that comes by, and nothing could ruin your mood.

that was until today’s morning.

as soon as you stepped your foot in the school’s hallway, people started gossiping.

“y/n! about point five, does he really put his milk before cereal? that’s disgusting!” a random student just popped up and asked you that question straightforwardly.

“huh?”

a few more students gathered around you and you couldn’t even understand a bit of what they were saying.

“excuse me! coming through!” yeji yelled and pushed everyone aside.

when she noticed you in the middle of the circle, she grabbed your hand and dragged you away.

“are you crazy? why would you post the list?!” she asked frustratedly.

“what list?”

“don’t play dumb!”

“no i’m really serious, what are you talking about?”

she glanced up at you and showed you her phone.

“no way!” you gasped.

someone posted your list!

“yes way! are you that stupid?”

“yeji that wasn’t me! i would never do something so dumb!” you reasoned yourself.

right, why would you even post this if you knew it was going to ruin your reputation?

she sighed and walked back and forth.

“it wasn’t me either!” she said almost instantly.

“yeji, you’re the only one who knows about this list” you said suspectedly.

“y/n, do you really think i’d post this? after shit-talking about him and threatening to kill him multiple times?” she looked genuinely hurt.

you know her ever since you know yourself, she wouldn’t do such a thing.

“you’re right” you sighed.

“so,” she spoke, “who’s the asshole?”

“i wish i knew” you scoffed, “i’d like to know who wants to ruin my image”

there were a few seconds of silence, “yena!” you and yeji shouted together with wide eyes.

“this bitch!” yeji spat, “she probably heard us talking about it!”

“oh i’m gonna give her some good bea—“

you were cut off by the bell and had to head straight to class.

you waited for everyone to get in and told yeji you’d come right after you get to your locker and take your notes.

the hallway was empty and you sighed in relief.

“YOU!!” you heard someone shouting across the hallway.

guess it wasn’t so empty after all.

you looked at the person and found the last person you wanted to see.

“you ruined my life!” the person just got closer and closer and you closed your eyes tightly.

“is it because of our break up? that’s how you get back at me? you ruined everything!”

you sighed heavily.

“and what’s with those points? eight, he’s such a nerd for physics it actually hurts, he won’t stop talking about it all the time, nine, thinks his dog is the cutest and will argue you if you don’t think like him, and ten, he’ll use your deepest secrets against you, he cannot be trusted???” he read out the list for you in disbelief, although you already know it.

“those are all lies aren’t they? why did you even—“

“well what am i supposed to do now? it’s already posted, and no! these are not lies! they’re the truth, if you only cared about how i felt in our relationship you’d realize how much of a dick you were” you scoffed and closed your locker, prepared to go to class since you were already too late.

you glanced at jake one last time, he looked speechless, confused and hurt.

were you too much? maybe. but he deserves it.

“hey y/n! should i be careful if i want to date you? i don’t want a hateful list posted about me if i ever break up with you” a random student yelled from across the hall as you were busy talking with yeji.

you glared at him and decided not to reply.

“ignore them, this whole thing will probably vanish in a few days” yeji caressed your back and you sighed.

“i hope you’re right—“ before you could continue, a hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you away from yeji.

you looked at the person in charge and when you noticed it was very angry looking jake, you started panicking.

“hey, let me go!” you tried to let go of his hold but it was no use.

“why didn’t you delete it yet?” he asked angrily when you got into an isolated place.

“delete what?”

“are you that stupid?”

“obviously if i’m still talking to you”

“i’m talking about the post”

“it wasn’t me!” you argued.

“sure, and i’m actually queen elizabeth” he rolled his eyes, clearly not believing you.

“think about it, why would i ruin my reputation?”

“i don’t know, to get sunghoon’s attention? that’s all you ever did” he shrugged.

“you’re a piece of shit, you know that? try to figure who it was on your own” you spat and walked away, leaving him deep in thoughts.

“oh! there you ar— are you okay?” sunghoon who casually bumped into you noticed your frowned eyebrows and tightly closed fists.

“go to your friend, i think he needs you more than i do”

he slowly nodded, still worried about you but you just kept walking away.

“hey dude! what’s going on?” sunghoon noticed his friend’s weird behavior.

“sunghoon,” jake spoke, “who do you think posted it?”

sunghoon shrugged, “it could be anyone”

“who wants to destroy my image? do you think there’s someone that does?”

sunghoon looked at his friend in disbelief, does he really think only about himself now?

“maybe it was someone who wants to get back at y/n and not you? not everything revolves around you, you know”

ouch. truth hurts sometimes.

but it seemed to hit a nerve and jake suddenly got up.

“yena!”

“ugh! just when i thought my life got better without him now i have a huge scandal because of him” you whined.

“are you sure it was only because of him? i mean, you did leave it in your locker and…” yeji was about to continue but stopped when she noticed your glare.

“on who’s side are you?”

“every coin has two sides and you know it” she pressed her lips and you sighed.

maybe she’s right, instead of always blaming your ex about your life problems, you should face the truth sometimes.

“well if it isn’t the famous y/n!” you heard a voice you wished you’d never hear again.

“yena! it’s so good to see you here” you faked a smile, “what brings you here?”

“i study here” she answered sarcastically and you tried to resist the urge to punch her in the face.

“anyway, your list got so famous that everyone at school talks about it! i think you should thank whoever posted it”

“maybe i should! it really got me some fame, even your boyfriend came up to me today” you teased and her face turned red.

“you’re lying!”

“your boyfriend would say otherwise”

she scoffed and ran away, “tell him i agree to go on a date with him!” you shout as she walked away.

“you should go easy on her” yeji, who was there to witness everything that happened shook her head.

“it was her who posted it, she deserved it” you huffed and sped up your walk to the classroom.

your last class was finished after what felt like a year and as you got out you finally took a deep breath.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, try not to think about what happened today!” yeji sent you off and you smiled at her.

as soon as you stepped your foot in school you wished you could run away.

before anyone would notice you, you tried to sneak around and look for yeji.

“y/n!” god how much you hate universe.

“what do you want jake?” you answered rudely.

“just wanted to say thank you for that list,” he said sarcastically, “it’s not like you ruined my reputation or something like that, hey by the way! do you think i should make one too? i think that would be fun”

“don’t you dare” you groaned.

“then let’s date again”

“what?”

“are you deaf? i said let’s date again”

“what makes you think i’d actually do that?”

“well, we could lie to everyone that we tried to trick them into thinking that we hated each other to see how others will react” he shrugged, “think about it, it’ll save our image, plus you owe me”

“i owe you nothing”

“it’s because of you that we’re in this shitty situation!”

“you can just let it be and people will forget about it sooner or later, now let me go—“

he caught your wrist before you could leave.

“one week, one week of just pretending and then we’ll part our ways peacefully”

truth is, his idea didn’t ring so bad, but you were scared. you were scared you’d fall in love with him all over again.

“what is it, some fake dating love story? you can go fake date sunghoon and that’ll create a bigger scandal than this one” you shoved your hand and rolled your eyes while walking away.

a part of him just wanted to hold you back again in his arms, for real.

“hey jake!” sunghoon greeted him and jake gave him a weak smile.

“did you just talk with y/n? i thought you were angry with her?”

“i don’t know, sunghoon” he sighed, “i just want my old life back”

“yeah you kinda fucked up your life, hey why did you even break up with her in the first place?”

when sunghoon heard about your break up, he was the first to come up to jake and ask him about the reasons, only then he realized jake didn’t really want to speak about it at all.

but now jake felt ready, he felt like he needed someone to hear his side of the story, every coin has two sides right?

there they were, sitting in the field’s seats, looking at the empty space, it was just the two of them.

“when we first got together i was so happy, you already know how much i liked her that time, you even helped me planning all those dates” jake sighed.

“‘sunghoon how do you take someone on a date without telling them straightforward it’s a date?’ i remember you asking me those questions nonstop!” sunghoon laughed.

“yeah, i was on cloud nine, but,” jake paused, “i was scared to lose her, i was so scared to lose her to the point i became overly possessive and anxious when she was around other boys, i was so used to have a one time thing and i didn’t know how to keep relationships, it all became messed up, this whole relationship happened in the wrong time”

sunghoon pat his friend’s shoulder, feeling sad for him.

“each time i tried to fix it, it got worse and i didn’t know how to stop, so i just decided to break it off, it’s better to let her live her life than to stay selfish and keep her to myself” jake sighed yet again, emphasizing the disappointment he feels with himself.

“i actually wanted to say this for awhile, but deep down i know you’re insecure about yourself, and you tried to hide it by boosting your ego and lying to everyone about your true self” sunghoon chuckled, “you were some kind of an asshole before you started dating y/n, and even became more of an asshole after getting into a relationship, you should’ve just talked it out with y/n”

“well it’s too late now isn’t it? she made that very clear that she hates me by writing down that list” jake groaned.

“maybe you should just make one about her and ruin her chances to have any relationship in highschool as well” sunghoon shrugged but jake looked at him curiously.

“i was joking! don’t do that!”

“well? how are we feeling today?” yeji handed you your favorite snack to cheer your mood up.

“thinking about ways to kill yena, how about i poison her food?”

“how about you just talk it out with her?”

“not a chance! i can’t look at her face without fighting the urge to punch her”

“well it isn’t going to help you, is it?”

“no, but it’ll make me satisfied”

“maybe i should just accept his offer?” you murmured.

“offer? what offer?” yeji asked.

“promise me no matter what happens, you’ll never abandon me” you grabbed her shoulders and forced her to look at you straight in your eyes.

“have you gone mad? i—“

“promise me!”

“okay, okay!” she laughed, “you’re acting like you’re planning to get back with jake”

your silence told her everything.

“don’t you dare—“

“i have the perfect plan! you know how yena always wanted jake, right?”

“doesn’t she have a boyfriend—“

“boyfriend my ass, she was all over jake all the time”

“continue please”

“she probably posted my list to make sure i’ll never date him again, so she could have her chance,” you raised a brow, “by dating him i could only piss her off, but maybe that’d actually get her to confess about it”

“and then what?”

“then HER reputation would be ruined forever, boyfriend? gone, cheerleading? gone, friends? gone!”

“y/n,” yeji held your hand, “you’re so smart i feel like a proud mom!” she wiped her fake tears away.

later then you searched for a specific person you knew you’d find in the field.

“so,” the person said, “you actually agree?”

“jake, don’t make it harder than it already is” you rolled your eyes, trying to keep up with your cool girl energy, but deep down you were so excited to be close to him again and to hold him in your embrace.

“have you heard? jake and y/n are back!!” as you were walking towards your classroom you heard mumbling from other students.

“i literally just now agreed to this stupid idea how-“

“you know how fast rumor spread here, it’s actually scary”

your thoughts kept running through your mind all the way to lunch break, which was the only time you could ever relax and—

“attention please!” oh no.

“yes, me and y/n are back! this whole list thing? it was just to check everyone’s reaction about it! it’s so smart isn’t it? my sweet baby thought about this idea, and we did figure some weird actions after this whole thing blew up” jake dragged you right next to him and stared right into your eyes, “you’ll never break us apart”

cheers and claps were heard all over the hall and the only thing you thought about now is how to run away.

“congratulations! i was so scared it was real, was just now about to pay (student’s name) a hundred bucks, who lost the bet now huh loser?” one of the students came up to you with a wide smile.

you awkwardly smiled back as you set her off.

“did you really have to do that?” you glared at him.

“i did, see? now no one’s talking about it again” he shrugged.

“everyone stopped talking about it a day after! you’re just too busy thinking about yourself to notice your surroundings” you rolled your eyes.

“you agreed to do that, so be my guest, you knew there will be consequences”

“you’re the worst!”

“you don’t mean that”

you just rolled your eyes in return and stormed off.

“hey my sweet darling, how’s your day?”

“jake, we’re out of school, drop the acting”

you failed to notice his smile dropping.

“can’t i just be curious about your day?”

“jake, it’s weird, it’s been a while since we last talked or had a normal conversation, don’t act like nothing happened”

“what do you mean?”

“see you always does that! even when we were in a relationship! you fail to understand how badly you always hurt me and proceeded to just move on so fast, always running away from your problems”

he stopped his tracks as you continued walking away, this left a huge impact on him.

the next day you were back to acting, according to you, to jake it seemed very real.

you were sitting on one of the benches, casually talking with sunghoon about whatever.

jake seemed to notice every small detail about you.

the way you smile when he’s complimenting you, the way you crack at any of his jokes, even those who weren’t so funny.

you never laughed at his jokes.

“hey, can i steal my girlfriend?” jake sounded calm but his whole face screamed anger.

sunghoon, his best friend who had already recognized that face, slowly got up and smiled, “she’s all yours”

“hey, what was that?” you scoffed.

“you were being too close to him”

you rolled your eyes, “i can’t believe we’re back at it again”

“again?”

“yes, again! jake, get it right into your mind, we are not together! we’re just putting a small show for everyone’s entertainment and that’s it, it’s all about saving your ass here as well” you sounded really pissed off.

jake was taken a back for a few seconds but got right back to his senses, “oh”

“yes, oh! we’ll act like a couple when we’ll really need it” and with that you walked away.

“so,” you heard a devilish voice haunting you from behind as you were taking books out of your locker, “you and jake?”

“oh hey yena!” you smiled, “fancy seeing you here”

“answer my question” she furiously said.

“why are you curious? dropped your boyfriend because you thought you’d get a chance with him?” you smirked.

“oh! here’s my boyfriend!” you called jake who seemed to be very deep in thought.

he looked straight into your eye but decided to just walk away and ignore you completely.

“what the hell…” you cursed under your breath.

“boyfriend, huh?” yena was the one who’s smirking now, “well have fun!”

“what the hell was your problem back then?” you let yourself yell at him as you were out of school and on your way home.

“oh, i thought that we need to act like a couple when we really need it—“

“don’t play dumb right now!”

“i don’t get you y/n seriously! you’re always saying something but mean the exact opposite, what do you want, really?” he returned the attitude.

“what?”

“if you’re that suffering you should just go to sunghoon!”

“again with the sunghoon scandal—“

“yes, again with him! how come you never laughed at my jokes? how come you never smiled at any compliment i’ve given you? why did you always push me away when i tried to get closer?” the heated conversation turned into a quiet one, his tone made it very clear to you that he was hurting.

“w-what…” you whispered.

“you just don’t get it do you?” he chuckled, “my reason to being this jealous”

you stopped to think, all this time, all those arguments, he didn’t mean any bad at all.

“have you tried thinking about those beautiful moments we had? those were the most precious moments that ever happened in my entire life” you voice came quiet, “it was my first relationship ever, my first love, my first everything, i didn’t know how i should react, or what i should do in order to keep you to myself”

his glossy eyes were looking at you.

“you were so not used to doing ‘first time’ things that you failed to notice every little thing that i tried to do to keep us together, have you ever thought about that?” you preached, “i loved you, maybe i still do, but that won’t change anything, will it? it just doesn’t matter anymore”

he tried moving closer to you but stopped, “i-i’m sorry…”

“just go” you wiped the tears that were already streaming down your face.

both of you were hurting, but you didn’t know how to fix it all, it’s so stupid really, you think you’ve grown up to be a better person, but somehow communication puts on a wall that stops it all.

“have you heard? i think y/n and jake are over now, for real!”

“how the fuck did i became the hot topic again? and how come everyone knows about what happened yesterday?” you asked yeji.

“rumors, they spread so fast here” she shrugged and you rolled your eyes.

you watched jake pass you, you took the time to focus on his face.

his eyes seem so tried, puffy and hurt…. you thought.

“well someone had a rough day yesterday” yeji commented and you nodded slowly, still lost in thoughts.

“hey, can you let teacher know i have a meeting with coach today?”

“hm? but you don’t have any—“ “thank you!” you ran off quickly before she could ask any more questions.

“psst! sunghoon!” you whispered as you watched him getting ready for class.

“oh? y/n!” he smiled widely.

“come with me!” you grabbed his hand and dragged him outside the school building all the way to the back.

“y/n can we do this other time? class starts soon and—“

“shh!!” you put your finger over his lips and kneeled down with him, hiding from any teacher or student.

“i need you to help me” you gave him puppy eyes.

“yes of course, what happened?” he instantly asked.

“i’m gonna guess that you’re already aware of what happened yesterday”

“yeah, whatever that was i’d rather forget hearing about this”

“focus! i need you to help me figure out this!”

“what do you mean by ‘this’?”

“i mean everything! you’re his best friend, i’m sure you know about our whole relationship status, i-i just need to know why he broke up with me in the first place” you sighed.

“y/n, you’re not going to like what you’ll be hearing, are you sure you want that?” he genuinely asked.

you looked down to the ground and sighed, “yes, tell me everything please”

maybe asking him not to drop any detail was a mistake, because now after he told you everything and left you alone to get some time to think, you can’t help it but overthink about any step that you did.

“that only shows how bad you were for each other” sunghoon’s last words sent shivers down your spine, maybe he’s right.

“miscommunication sucks!” you laid back on the wall next to you, was this whole relationship a big mistake?

it did nothing but to hurt the both of you.

“there you are!” yeji sounded out of breath.

“so, jake might’ve gotten himself into a tiny fight and—“

“what? where!”

“it was right outside of our classroom but—“

before she could even finish her sentence you ran all the way back to your classroom and she after you.

“there’s no one here” you frowned, “you did this on purpose!”

“i tried to tell you he’s already in the nursery!” she yelled after trying to catch her breath.

“fill me up with information please” you asked quietly.

“you asshole!” as soon as you stepped into the nursery and saw jake laying down on one of the beds, a few tears came down your face.

“y/n! be careful he’s still recovering!” the nurse warned you from causing any more harm.

jake slowly opened his eyes and you scoffed, “fight? really? because of me?” you looked at him in disbelief.

he stayed silent, as if he knew what he did was wrong.

“you have nothing to say?”

“he called you a whore who likes to play with any boy that comes around, what did you expect me to do?” he sounded defensive.

“oh, i don’t know, maybe try to insult him with words and not physically! you got yourself into trouble now because of me” you complained.

“it was worth it” he smirked.

“jake, i’m being serious right now, you can’t act like we’re a couple when we’re absolutely not” as soon as you said this the nurse got the clue and went out of the room.

“that is exactly the problem!” he shout, “i can’t pass another day without you being by my side, you drive me crazy only by looking at me, and hell, i cannot look at any other man flirting with you without fighting the urge to punch him!”

“jake…” you whispered.

“i still love you, don’t you get it?…..i feel like i just can’t continue my day without holding you in my arms….” he held your hand.

you wiped the tears that continued to stream down your face, “you’re probably still suffering from concussion after the fight, i’ll go speak to the nurse”

you let go of his hold and walked out of the room.

a lot of thoughts were haunting your brain, how you wished things would be as simple as they sound.

he confessed to you and you love him, what’s stopping you from running into his arms?

“you’re just scared of giving whatever this was a second chance” yeji said as she took a bite of her food.

“whatever this was, it was toxic, i don’t want that to happen again” you sighed.

“yeah, it was pretty shitty to watch from the side, but i think he genuinely mean it this time” she took another bite from her food.

“how do you know that?”

“i mean really, ever since that list was posted he was around you 24/7, probably looking for excuses to be with you, that whole ‘oh we were just joking, we’re still dating’ thing was a dumb excuse for him to be next to you more, any nine years old can tell you that”

“you don’t have to be that harsh” you scoffed.

“i’m telling the truth babe, as much as i hated his guts, and still do, i think he was genuine about his feelings this time, and by the way you told me everything that happened, i think he really wants to fix it and try all over again” she shrugged.

“i….i don’t know what to say”

“just go and tell him yes already” she rolled her eyes and you nodded.

it’s time to fix your broken relationship.

you walked—ran back to the nursery only to find it empty.

“um…do you know where’s—“ “i saw him going to the field” the nurse answered before you could ask.

“thank you!” you smiled and walked excitedly to the field.

“i did it” you heard a familiar voice, “i posted that list”

before you could see who’s talking, you quickly hid behind a side wall.

“what?” you’re 100% certain this is jake’s voice, but who is he talking to?

“i thought this would finally break whatever you had going with her, i mean, you always had heart eyes for her even after your break up, it was making me sick”

“still, how could you do this to me?” jake sounded betrayed and…hurt.

“you had to move on, seriously, it was becoming unhealthy, i didn’t think it’d only bring you closer, it was such a mistake”

“please stop…”

“when you broke up i thought i’d finally have chance with her, but she was actually always looking your way, not even batting an eye at me”

“sunghoon just stop! i can’t believe my best friend would do this”

was it sunghoon this whole time?

“so it was you?” your thoughts voiced out.

“y-y/n?” you saw jake and sunghoon standing right in front of the other, sunghoon wore a shocked expression while jake just stood there looking completely hurt.

“what kind of an idiot would call himself a best friend? and to think you did all of that for what? to hurt not only him but me as well” you tched, “you’re nothing but an egoistic asshole”

“please just—“

“just go the fuck away! you did nothing but to hurt people, you’re disgusting me” you tried to shoo him but he didn’t budge.

“not going? okay then” you grabbed jake’s hand and walked away, not before shooting him an angry glare.

after a few minutes of walking you sat him down on one of the benches.

“you okay?” that was the first thing you asked.

“yeah, not like my best friend tried to sabotage me or anything” he chuckled.

“i’m sorry for that” you placed your hand on his shoulder, pressing it lightly, “he does not deserve to be called your best friend though”

he looked up to you and his eyes were filled with tears. you wiped the tears away and smiled at him.

“i don’t know if it’s going to help, but i didn’t feel anything for him, and never will”

he chuckled and sniffled, “i always trusted you, but i couldn’t find myself to trust him, i guess now i know why”

you rolled your eyes, “yeah, yeah you were right, i was wrong”

he gave you his infamous smile and the butterflies you felt never felt this good, “thank you” he said.

“for what?”

“for being there for me, and even if you don’t want to fix things right now, i think we might be—“

you shut him down by kissing his lips, he was shocked at first but quickly caught up, caging you in his arms and holding you tightly.

as you broke the kiss you smiled, “i do want to fix things, i want that more than anything”

“do you mean it? aren’t you afraid?”

“as long as i’m with you i have nothing to fear” you smiled.

“ugh! you’re back again? i can’t keep up with this anymore!” you heard an annoying voice.

“hey yena? fuck off” you flipped her off and she stormed away.

“since when did you become so confident?”

“ever since i realized i want to cherish and hold the most precious thing to me forever”

“i love you” he held your hand and kissed it, “i love you too” you replied with a quick peck on his lips.

“aww lovebirds, get back in class now the day’s not over yet!”

PERM TAG-LIST ; @sungwhoonz @unlikelysublimekryptonite @deobiis @manooffline @miumiuoi @in-somnias-world @filmofhybe @wonbinsnovia @daegutowns @aurumiee @soobywon @firstclassjaylee @watamotee33 @moons-v @s00buwu @hoonheepretty @jjeoni-7 @dimplewonie

••• copyright © srjlvr all rights are reserved.

[ldydeath]

We Can Love Again | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Your boyfriend of two years breaks up with you suddenly. Jiyong, your best friend comes to comfort you and also to admit his own feelings.

Warnings: mild language, angst.

Author's note: considering making this a two part fic. We shall see. 🖤

Today was supposed to have been a really great day. Dinner with your boyfriend and then an event with your best friend, Jiyong. You lived for nights like this. You hadn’t been expecting to get dumped at dinner, though, which is how you found yourself curled up on the couch tears streaming down your face. Sure, it hadn't been the most perfect relationship but that hadn’t made your feelings any less real. You’d loved him and he just up and dumped you for no reason after two years. .

Not wanting to make a scene you’d left as soon as you’d felt the tears pooling in your eyes and beelined it straight home, turning your phone off in the process. The Gala event with Jiyong had completely left your mind the second your heart broke. You had no idea how long you’d been sitting in the dark, you didn’t really care either. It’s not like you had anything better to do.

A knock at the door shook you from your thoughts and you stood up, wrapping a blanket tightly around your dress. You hadn’t even bothered to change out of it. “Oh thank god” your best friend's voice greeted you as you opened the door. His eyes widening when you met his gaze. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for hours. What’s wrong, why have you been crying?” His words came out rushed, worry etched in his face. You moved to the side, allowing him room to enter your apartment.

“We broke up.” You chewed on your bottom lip, trying to keep the tears at bay as you sat back down on the couch, wrapping the blanket tightly around you. Jiyong sighed as his eyes surveyed the room. You couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed as he looked around the dark room. He moved to turn on a light before sitting down next to you, a protective arm wrapping around you, pulling you closer. He had never liked your ex.

“He’s an idiot.” Your head moved to rest on his shoulder and you sniffled, a small nod of agreement following. “I’m sorry.” He kissed the top or your head and you closed your eyes as more tears fell from your eyes. Jiyong hated seeing you like this. You were his entire world and seeing you in so much pain caused him pain too. The two of you sat there in silence for a long while, the only sound to be heard was your occasional sniffle as you tried your best to compose yourself.

You moved slightly, wiping the tears from your cheeks, catching a glimpse of your best friend's outfit. “Shit!” You sat up fully, the blanket falling off your shoulders. “The gala, I completely forgot.” You reached for your phone, turning it on, your heart sank as you saw the time. When did it get so late? He shook his head, grabbing the phone from your hands and movig it to the coffee table.

“It’s fine, the guys were there so I wasn’t completely alone.” His reassurance still made you feel awful, and you threw your head back on the couch, a groan escaping your lips. You weren’t this person, a flaky friend who cried in the dark. You vowed to yourself that you would make it up to him. Lifting your head to look at your friend, you gave him a small smile. “I still feel bad.”

Jiyong chuckled, pulling you back into his arms. “I would’ve skipped the gala, you know. You could’ve called me. But there is absolutely no reason for you to feel bad.” Your heart raced at the close contact and you quickly chased those thoughts away. You were sad, any close contact despite who it was was going to garner that reaction. That was all. You didn’t like Jiyong. And even if you did, he definitely didn’t like you back.

It was nice being comforted this way. It made you feel silly for not calling him the second it happened. “Thanks for being here.” You leaned up giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek, finally starting to feel slightly better. The world wasn’t going to end, you’d be okay eventually. He tensed when your lips met his skin and you pulled back quickly, your brows furrowed in confusion. “You ok?” You’d kissed him on the cheek a million times over the years, but he’d never froze like that before.

He stared at you, visibly uncomfortable, as if he was at war with his own thoughts. “No.” He shook his head, his arm falling from your back. You instantly felt cold again and you wrapped your arms around your legs, as if holding yourself together would actually keep the world from falling apart. Why wasn’t he ok? What had you done? “I have to tell you something.” Well, that was never good. “Ok?” You rested your chin on your knee, giving him your full attention.

“I think I might be in love with you. I know the timing is shit and all, you know, considering you’ve been sitting here all night crying over some asshole who never deserved you. But I need you to know that I love you. I think I’ve always loved you.” Your eyes widened at his confession. You’d been expecting him to say he was repulsed by you, not that he was in love with you. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“I don’t know what to say…” you trailed off. You’d never really thought of him as more than just your best friend. Not until a few minutes ago when you realized you liked the comfort of his touch a little too much. But that was just the sadness talking, right? You glanced over at him, his eyes met yours, pleading with you to say something. Anything. “Jiyong. I- I can’t right now.”

He closed his eyes, hiding the million emotions swirling in his mind at your rejection. “Why not?” You almost didn’t hear the question, he whispered it so quietly and your heart broke for him. You hadn’t seen him so defeated since he’d made his grand comeback and you hated to be the cause of his pain. “I just can’t. You’re my best friend, I just got dumped. I’m in no condition to know what I’m feeling right now. I just need some time.”

He was off the couch before the words had even finished falling out of your mouth. Rejection had never come easy from Jiyong, stemming from years of having to proof himself. He never thought you’d ever reject him. “I have to go.” He made his way to the door in three long strides and before you could even process what had happened he was gone. Fuck.

Desperate for a do over, you grabbed your phone, calling him. “Ji, please.” You begged, willing yourself not to cry as you heard him pick up the call. “I need time too, ok?” His voice was broken up by the wind. “Time for what?” It was stupid to ask, you knew that. “To get over you.” The phone clicked and Jiyong was gone. How had everything gone to shit so quickly? You needed to fix this, you just weren’t sure how.

Tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi

[cheriecoke]

♰ skipping heartbeats — nanami kento

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🕸️🕷.𖥔 ݁ ˖ KINKTOBER NO. 3 - curse user!nanami

nanami wants to see every jujutsu sorcerer dead, but he might make an exception just for you

contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, sorcerer!reader, rough sex, slight overstimulation, begging, pet names, unprotected sex, villain nanami, jjk typical violence, tw mahito apperance :/, exes, angst, soft dom nanami, wall sex — 5.6k

He was never the same after Shibuya.

It's been two years, but you still remember that October with clarity. Memories blur at the back of your eyelids each night, carving images into your irises; each time you think you’ll get a full night of sleep, Nanami Kento returns to haunt your dreams, then lingers to steal your waking moments.

The change in him had been gradual, subdued. He’d hidden it well, so well, in fact, that everyone had believed that he was doing fine. Even you, the one who should’ve known him better than anyone, had never gotten him to reveal his darkest thoughts.

His succumb to madness was slow, but it was the consequence of a near decade. The burden of a sorcerer weighed heavily on everyone, but it hit Nanami the hardest, years and years of survivor’s guilt and misery bearing on his shoulders.

Then Halloween in Shibuya had happened; Nanami nearly lost his life, and something in him snapped. It wasn’t long after that he left. You haven’t seen him since.

Close to twenty-four months have passed since he disappeared, but his presence still lingers, twisting your world and your life into a den of chaos. No one is left at the school, and there are hardly any sorcerers left in Japan. Those who are still alive have moved anywhere but Tokyo, and those who stay know it won’t be long before they lose their lives too.

Your breath catches as you listen in silence, recounting every moment that led you here.

There is a scream from the other building, listlessly crying for help, but you won’t reach them in time, nor do you have the power to fight back. Despite your endless intelligence, your technique isn’t built for combat. It isn’t a threat to semi-grade one curses, and it certainly isn’t a threat to Nanami Kento.

You squeeze your eyes shut, slumping against the wall as you hold your arm, a bloodied wound seeping through your sleeve. There is no one here to heal you, no one left to help. Shoko moved away from the school months ago, once she realized that too many sorcerers are dying and Gojo is never coming back.

After that, many of the students left too; save for the few third years that had been determined to stay and fight.

The scream sounds again, before it’s cut off, abruptly. Another student gone. Another sorcerer dead.

You’d been such a fool to think you could take the place of people like Yaga, Gojo, Nanami; that you could bring together the last remaining sorcerers in the city. They’d been ones to look up to, strong and steadfast, but you are neither of those things.

You are the weak one who’d managed to stay alive, and the last person that probably should’ve.

Still, you persist, not giving into death so easily. There has to be an escape route; if you can’t save the students, maybe, just maybe, you can save yourself. There is still hope, as long as just one sorcerer is left in Tokyo. The school can be rebuilt, the curses can be exorcised, and things can go back to normal.

As long as you stay alive.

You listen, waiting for another sound before you move, attuned to your surroundings. The doors are shut, locking you in, and it’s too dark, too empty in the building for you to hide anywhere. Classrooms you’d once shared with Gojo open up like an endless chasm, the vending machine you got sodas from with Geto leers at you, and the hallways you’d kissed Kento in…

The memories are so soured.

You’re so close to the door, though. So close, and you can be free of the ghostly memories, and this time, you’ll leave Tokyo once and for all.

There is nothing left for you here now. With each day that passes, you start to realize more and more that no one is coming back. They’re all gone, and Nanami is not the man he’d once been.

You shuffle along the wall, trying to stay hidden in the shadows, away from the lights that flicker up above, destroyed by the veil of cursed energy. While your entire life has been a cacophony of evil, never before have you felt, so intensely, that you’re in a horror film. You are the final girl, ironically, without an ounce of heroine vigor.

All you have is a sliver of willpower to stay alive; just a few feet away, and you’ll be there, outside, able to escape from this pit of hell.

It’s so close—but not close enough.  

“There you are!” a voice cries out, ringing like a jovial song through the hallways. It is eerily familiar, much too high-pitched and enthusiastic for such a brutal warzone. “We’ve been looking for you.”

You turn, shoulders stiff as you try hard not to freeze. Behind you, a young curse stands casually, his blue hair rolling over one of his shoulders, a stitched face smiling at you evilly. He’s pleased to see you, that much is obvious, and he prances over to you, fingers waving in the air.

“Oh, I can’t wait! I have to make you last because we’re running out of sorcerors to play with!” The tone is horrifyingly amused, more frightening than Geto in his final hours, of any of the clan higher-ups, even of Gojo at his absolute worst.

It’s the tone of someone who feels nothing, who cares about nothing, and who will enjoy watching you bleed.

You open your mouth, throat dry as you scramble for words, for a way to defend yourself. Three seconds stretch out into a minute while you contemplate, but Mahito is already upon you, his eyes flashing with excitement.

This would be it, wouldn’t it? How poetic that this wretched curse would be the one to kill you, after he took everything from you two years ago.

He advances; but something stops him, another aura. It’s not as powerful, but it’s much more commanding, much more human.

“Mahito.” The tone is forceful, flat, without any nuance of sound. It comes from behind you, and you stiffen, knowing from the simple string of letters who it is. The sound of the voice has something unfurling in your chest, choking you, rendering you helpless. “Don’t touch her.”

“Why?” Mahito whines, curling his fingers around your hair, his cursed face and energy too close, too frightening for you to move. “There’s no one left to kill. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Find something.” Nanami’s to you in just a few steps, and you can feel his presence behind you, the voice that slowly sneaks up on you. He smells the same as he did back then, and you squeeze your eyes shut, try to remember that he’s not Kento anymore, and whoever he is, you don’t love him.

You can’t.

“I’ll take care of her.”

Mahito grumbles, but after a few seconds of staring down Nanami, he leaves, skipping off to some other corner of the school. It’s disgusting how pleased he is by the murders he’s committed, but why shouldn’t he be? If his goal is to rid the world of sorcerers, he’s done quite well at accomplishing it.

Which meant every one of your students is dead. Which meant any remaining sorcerers are gone for good. There isn’t a jujutsu sorcerer left in Tokyo but you, and even though you need to call for help, no one can get here fast enough to save you.

Nanami, slowly, comes around to glower before you, standing too close, his breath ghosting your shoulders. You feel his gaze like daggers, dragging over every inch of you, regarding you with a thinly veiled disgust.

You’re not ready to face him, not after all the time you’ve been apart, but you don’t have a choice. He’s in front of you within seconds, looking down at you from the bridge of his nose, his hair mussed, but still in the same style that he’d worn two years ago.

It is, really, the only thing about him that hasn’t changed.

“How the hell did you end up back here?” That’s the first thing he says, the tone crazed and so opposite of the flat inflection his voice had always held. The sound leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, and you twitch, trying to keep your expression from shifting. Not even a simple greeting before he’s already mocking you, judging your poor choices, the ones that will get you killed.

You say nothing, but regard him with a dry mouth, letting your eyes drift across his broad shoulders, down his chest. He’s covered in blood, stained deep maroon—evidence of his murders, the color so different than the gore of curses.

The old beige suit is gone, replaced by an expensive black one, tailored perfectly to every angle of his body. Nanami has traded in the blue button-up for a crisp burgundy one, and though the tie is different, it’s recognizable.

You’d gotten him that tie for his 28th birthday, one of black silk embossed with flowers, tiny white ones woven within the vines. You’d purchased it on your trip abroad.

It makes you sick. You’re not sure how long you can look at him without expelling the contents of your stomach.

“You know,” he says, not waiting for you to answer as he walks around, swinging his weapon that is now used for evil. “I thought that maybe when I left, you’d decide to do something with your life.” His irises that are now so dark, nearly black, pin you. Gone, too, are the old glasses, exposing his severe, narrowed eyes. “You stayed in Tokyo to rot.”

“What choice did I have?” you ask, wishing you could speak without your voice cracking. Yet, when Nanami stalks you like prey, calculating, the familiar blade in his hands, you feel a flare of fear start up in your stomach.

You don’t know the man before you. He’s beautiful, as handsome as you remember. Yet, he stares at you with disdain, and he’s cruel, so cruel. His lips are hardened into a permanent scowl, seeping through his merciless laugh.

“Well,” Nanami stops pacing and stands in front of you, running a hand down the side of the cursed tool, thoughtful. “I had hoped you’d come with me, but I knew better than to ask. Your moral convictions would have prevented that, darling.” A smile drips with poison as your steadfastness falters, the name sliding smoothly off his tongue, something about it still so sweet, even with his malice. “You always were too good for me.”

That isn’t true, at least, not in your mind. He had been a good man once, the very best. Maybe you could’ve done something to stop this, to help him. Yet, as many times as you run it over in your mind, even you can’t pinpoint the exact moment he’d fallen.

“You’re right,” you say, grateful that your voice sounds a little stronger, a little harder. “I never would’ve come with you. You’ve killed our friends. You’ve killed children, Nanami.”

Something shifts between you; his eyes widen as he takes another pace forward, nothing but inches separating you. Against every intelligent cell in your body, your heart skips, breath catching at his proximity.

“Nanami?” he asks, eyebrows pulling together with a sigh. The air grows stagnant around you as he notices the lack of warmth behind your apathetic eyes. “Here I thought you’d still call me by my name. We did once share a bed after all.”

“That means nothing to me now,” you spit, wishing he would stop staring at you with such hunger. You’ve never been immune to him, and you’re not sure you are now, not sure that you won’t waver at his feet, if even out of panic. He’s so solid before you, a resolute being of power. Perhaps he’s even stronger now than he was before. “Look at you. I don’t know who you are.”

Nanami points the sword at your throat, and though it’s blunt, not sharp enough to do any damage, you still weaken in the knees, stare back at him with something akin to dread. Your eyes are wide, but your breath comes out steady as your hands shake by your sides.

“I’m the person who decided to do something, finally.” Nanami raises his voice, every word punctuated by years of repressed anger. “Sorcerers grumbled for decades, centuries, but no one made any effort to make a change.” His jaw clenches as he drops the weapon back down, sniffing with abhorrence. Nanami’s in your personal space, his breath hot on your cheeks, and you feel tears well up in your eyes, even when you’re not sure why. “Even Gojo Satoru, who claimed to hate the higher-ups, who saved Yuuji Itadori, did little. I’m the person who realized that nothing’s going to change, not unless the system is burned from the inside out.”

A twitch starts from your heels, rising as he glares down at you. His features are tense, every muscle in his body taut. Still, there’s something about him. There’s something about the way he’s wearing the tie you once bought him, as familiar as the tall, strong frame that leers over you.

“There’s none of us left, Nanami,” you say, blinking away those tears, even though he’s already spotted them, the corner of his lips quirking with a crazed glint to his eyes. “You’ve made sure of that.”

“Then a new order of sorcerers can build its way from the ground up.” Nanami leans forward, his face near yours as he cocks his head. “I’ve succeeded.”

You squeeze your fingers into your shirt, twisting them around the stiff cotton tightly. Your heel slips just one inch back, away from him, and the movement doesn’t go unnoticed by your ex-lover.

He scoffs, a smirk widening.

“What’s wrong?” Nanami says. A veiny hand snakes between you, and he cups your cheek with a softness that goes against every fiber of what he stands for. “Are you afraid of me?”

Your lips part, but words don’t come out. Instead, you blink up at him with glossy eyes, your heart hammering in your chest.

“You probably should be,” he continues, his fingers brushing your jaw, luring you in, a security blanket that he will snatch away once you get comfortable. “I’ve ruined your life.”

The room feels colder than it did before, as terror starts pressing down on you, your entire body shaking with anxiety. Still, your eyelids flutter at his touch, every cell within you reacting out of muscle memory, weakened by the killer’s touch.

“A life that you once promised to protect.”

He smiles, and it’s so cold, a rival only to the devil's, even though it ignites a flame in your chest. “Why do you think I saved you for last?”

Your eyes burn with tears.

“Still as pretty as I remember,” Nanami hums on the edge of a sigh, and his gaze darts all over your face, searching for a secret buried there. His tone is rough, but, somehow, there’s an ounce of affection there too, like a part of him is still holding onto the near decade you were together. It’s no consolation, but it gives you some satisfaction; at least it meant something. “You have a new boyfriend?”

You turn hot all over at the way he grins at you, watches the flush form on your face as your eyes fly open. Nanami has you in the palm of his hand, easily, and whatever happens, it’ll be up to him. “N-no,” you stutter, his thumb sliding over your mouth, knocking against your teeth.

His grin is wild, predatory. “I knew I’d ruined you for anyone else.”

A breath catches in your throat, and your chest rises and falls heavily from the wave of desire that goes straight to your stomach. You feel as if your knees might give out, that you might need to grab onto him, just to stand upright.

It’s sickening, and you hate yourself, hate how much you want him, even though he’s the one that killed the people you care most about.

“Kento?” you ask in a small voice. “Are you going to kill me?”

“I don’t know.” He softens, just a hair, and easily, he’s back to the man you remember, the sweet, caring one you thought you’d marry one day. “I probably should… but I think I might just fuck you instead.” The words are muttered against your lips, and you stumble forward, gripping his strong biceps, a feeble attempt to keep from puddling at his feet.

His face clears once again, stoic, and harsh. Maybe it’s all a ploy to get you in his arms, to weaken you even further, but you don’t care. You’ve missed him, you’ve missed him so much, and you’d die to kiss him one more time. The blood on his face doesn’t matter; nothing matters except how much you once loved him, the love that never went away, even in the times you wanted to hate him.

You wonder whether or not Satoru would sympathize if he was here. Maybe he’d understand why you never went after Nanami and holed yourself up in the school instead. Although you tried to protect your students, you could never act out of violence, and that had cost you everything.

You know you've made mistakes, perhaps more than anyone, but you can’t control your heart; it’s a heart that is caged by steely ribs, and still the possessor of your fragile mind.

“Kento,” you say, running your hands all over him, the muscles that have only hardened, grown with time. “I miss you.”

It’s nothing more than a whisper, but it still changes his entire demeanor, turns him into something desperate. Kento comes on twice as strong; every caress sends a wave of need through you. When you whimper, toppling under his gentle touches, he kisses you hard, pushes you backwards into the wall.

The taste of his lips is almost too much, a conflict of memories piling onto you, transporting you into a version of yourself that is two years younger, much more hopeful. You kiss him like you’re twenty-two, unsharpened by the world, because despite what you have suffered, life was better seven years ago than it is now.

The illusion is short-lived, though; Kento is rougher than he used to be, and he shoves you hard, bruises your lips. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, sloppy kisses smearing saliva all over your cheeks.

He may not be as kind as he once was, but you’ll never be able to deny your attraction for him.

“Fuck.” Kento unzips his slacks, palming at the bulge that already lies within the tight material. “Look what you do to me, baby.” It catches you off guard; he’s never called you that before, never sounded so lewd instead of loving. “Think I started getting hard the second I saw you. Remember the last time I was inside you?”

You groan against his lips, breathing heavily as you thread your smaller hands in his hair. He tastes like alcohol, and you know that he’s always enjoyed a drink, but it was never this prominent on his tongue. That observation alone makes you wonder what else about him has changed; if he sleeps on the same side of the bed now that you’re gone, if he likes to read just as much as before, if he still takes his coffee with just a splash of milk.

The thoughts hurt, searing a hole through your chest. You try to ignore them.

As you kiss, Kento manhandles you backwards, his fingers spread over your collarbones. Your back hits the wall, a ghoulish crack reverberating throughout the room. It hurts, but the pain is outweighed by the feeling of him all over your body, the sheer anticipation for him to touch you like you need.

“Want you,” you say, as his hands clamp around your delicate wrists, pinning them against the wall. Kento’s palms are so much bigger; he’s so strong that it’s devastating. You have no choice but to let him take from you, to kiss down your neck and leave a bruise you won’t be able to cover up in the morning. “Please.”

“Dirty girl,” he laughs, breathless against your throat, the sound vibrating against the strained tendons there. Hastily, he spins you around, forces your face into the wall, your chest pressed into it. Your cheek is cold, smashed into your bone against the plaster. “I’ve killed everyone in this building, and here you are, begging me to touch you.”

The rough tone sends desire coursing through you, and you cry out against the wall as arousal bleeds out of you. Kento kisses you, across your shoulders, his cock pressing up against you, hard and thick.

A groan releases into your ear, and you squirm, rubbing your thighs together in anguish. Begrudgingly, Kento lets one of your wrists go so that he can drag your skirt down, leaving you with shivering legs in the cool October evening.

You reach back to grab at him, desperately needing him inside of you; but he stills you with his hand, laughing eagerly into your skin.

“So impatient. Thought I taught you better than that.” Though, he drags your panties down quicker, lets them pool at your ankles along with the dark-colored skirt. It’s obvious he wants you just as much; he wastes no time dragging a hand down his cock, the tip already beginning to leak.

“Kento,” you say against the cold wall, throbbing, swallowing down all your need for him. It’s too dark for you to see every one of his pretty features, but his shadowy eyes gleam ruthlessly in the moonlight. “Let me kiss you again—”

Kento tsks and shakes his head, brushing your hair over one shoulder. “Now, that can’t happen. You’ll fall in love with me again too easily.” A laugh forces its way out of his chest, and you hate that the sound creates pressure in your body. You’re already in love with him, but his grip is too tight on you; you can’t kiss him, even though you want to.

A finger runs between your folds as Kento reaches between your legs, gathering slick in the process. His skin is cold, and you whimper; he used to be so warm, a natural furnace. Yet, he’s teasing you now, listening to your breathy little whispers as you lean back into him.

Without thinking, you grasp his hand with your own, slide it forward as the veins and tendons flex under your palm. This time, he complies; he lets you push his fingers into your cunt, much thicker and longer than your own.

“Oh sweetheart,” he says, full of scornful sympathy, so contrary to the soft kisses on your neck. “You’re soaked. Have you really missed me that much?”

Your breath grows hot, heavy as he sinks his fingers deeper into you. You think about how much you loved him two years ago, and how much you still do.

Everyone you care about is gone, everyone but him. Perhaps Kento is the only one who’s truly ever mattered, because even if you’d been asked to kill him, you never would’ve done it, never could’ve; you’re not strong enough.

That’s where you and Satoru differ.

Kento slides his fingers in and out, stretching you, brushing against your swollen clit that’s begging to be touched by him. He bites down hard on your shoulder, blooms a bruise there and marks you as his forever, even if you’d never be anyone else’s anyways.

Already, you feel your climax building; you’re breathing heavier, crying out his name in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like your own. “I’m c-close,” you manage, and that is the wrong thing to say. He stills all at once and slips his fingers out of you, a web of arousal smeared over his knuckles.

Between your legs, you’re sticky, cold, but you barely notice. Your attention is directed on how aching and empty you are when his hands leave your body.

With a whine, you force your hips backwards, hating the chill that surrounds you all at once. “I wanna cum—”

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Kento smiles against your neck and drags his cock against the small of your back, swollen and hard. “But I know you can ask much nicer than that.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, “please, Kento, please, please, I need you, I—”

“There’s my good girl.” A breathy laugh leaves him as he angles the tip against your entrance, slow, pressing into you. “Fuck,” Kento groans, loudly, drawing out the syllables. “Squeezing me so tight, baby, you’ve been waiting just for me?”  

“Ken—” you say, and it’s all you can manage, the little nickname that no one’s ever called him but you. Kento buries himself inside you, his hot, muscular chest pressing into your back, pinning you against the cold wall. He’s so much bigger and wider, and his body encases you, shielding you from the agony that he’s dealt with his own hand.

You’re not sure if you can stand on your own — not under the weight of your solid and forceful affection for him.

“I know, I know," he says to the sweet sounds that escape you. "I’ve got you.”

Kento reaches around and cups your breast, squeezing hard. His thumb flicks over your nipple, the nail dragging against it cruelly as he swirls over the padded bra. Still, his blanketed touch is electrifying; your fingers curl into the wall, smooth, clawing without anything to grab onto.

He fucks into you, slowly, his strained cock rough against your walls. It’s just as you remember, and you long for your old life, wishing that there was a sorcerer out there whose technique could somehow turn back time. Then, you’d do something different, even if you’re not sure what.

With each thrust, his speed increases, hitting deeper and deeper inside you. Kento’s groans are so pretty, and tears roll down your cheeks at the feeling of him within you, surrounding you, the man you still touch yourself to at night, even when he’s a cold-blooded killer.

“It’s been a while since anyone’s fucked you like this, hm?” Kento says, cooing, almost sorry, even if he doesn’t realize how true that is. You feel dizzy with him, the sound of his syrupy voice, so deep and invigorating. “Need to cum so bad, don’t you, pretty?”

“Please,” you say, and you almost tell him you love him, almost let it slip, even though it can’t. This is nothing, this is nothing, this is nothing, you try and tell yourself, but you’re too distracted by the sounds, the utter sin that you’ve committed here in this school.

You’ve betrayed everyone, and you’re still betraying them now, your weak heart nothing but a burden.

Kento says your name, groans it around your ear as he presses harder into your body. His cock angles upwards, forces itself past your aching walls, and, he’s buried in you completely. There’s a lingering sting, a bitter pain, but Kento feels like home. Your stomach tightens, bursting with energy.

“You’re so perfect, aren’t you? So beautiful. Always take it like you were made for my cock,” he groans, and you suck him right back in, clamping around him tightly. “I missed this pretty pussy; maybe as much as I missed you.”

Tears well up in your eyes then, and you sob, reach around to grab his hair. You need to feel him all around you, remember what it was like for him to love you in return.

He hits a spot within you, and you arch into him, crying, a mess between your legs and on your face.

“There?” Kento says, but he already knows the answer, grinning as he kisses your cheek, your temple. “How could I ever forget the sweet sounds you make when you’re about to cum.”

You press his head closer, feel him kiss your neck again, softer this time, lovingly. He runs a delicate hand across your ribcage, your stomach. “You going to let go for me, angel? Surprised you lasted this long after two years. Think my sweet girl deserves it.”

“K-kento,” you whisper, but his name doesn’t get far; it’s cut off by your moan as he rips the orgasm from you, and you clench around him tightly, shaking.

“That’s it,” he says and shudders, grunting as he forces out the words. Your body jerks involuntarily into him as you slump against the wall, trapped between it and Kento. Already, you’re so sensitive, and your tears don’t stop falling as he pushes his cock into you again and again.

Kento’s heart is heavy within his chest, pounding against your back. You feel sick, helpless, missing him endlessly, even with him right at your fingertips. You can’t believe that you’ve lasted two years without him; how can you survive a lifetime?

“Take me with you,” you plead, your eyelids fluttering close as you try and remember the feeling of him, memorizing it in case this is the last time. “Please.”

“Can’t do that, sweetheart.” Kento jerks back into you, forcing your cheek further against the wall. His hand is stiff against your head, even though he strokes your hair gently, encouraging. “I’m supposed to kill you, remember? I’m supposed to rid the world of every last sorcerer.”

“I need you, Kento,” you cry, feeling close to another orgasm already. Tears are running down your cheeks, your lips wet with spit as your mouth parts. “Just like it was before. I love you; I love you so much, I’ll be so good, I’ll—”

Kento groans your name and cums inside you, thick ropes painting your insides. It’s too much, everything about this is too much, and you’re squeezing him again, painfully sensitive as you orgasm once more.

Nonsense spews from your lips, and you grab at him in desperation as he finally drags out of you, the absence of him shattering you completely. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, and his cum drips down your thighs, leaving you nothing more than a cold, ruined mess.

Kento shushes, soothes you with sounds that are closer to taunts as you spin around, grab at him, claw at his wrinkled red shirt. There’s still blood on his face, but even then, you accept him; you’ll forgive him for every wrongdoing he’s committed if he lets himself love you once more.

“I want to go with you,” you say, and though his face is hard, he’s caressing your cheek with an opposite sort of touch, sadness in his weary eyes.

“I know you do,” he says, and there’s a conflict within him as his features contort. It’s the only evidence that maybe, deep down, he cares about you still. “But I’m not the man you want. Not anymore.” It’s a whisper, a prayer, and goodbye.

You nearly slap him as he straightens, inches away from you. You feel that you’ve been pushed into a pit of inky chaos, left soaked and naked from the way down, humiliated. Your cheek is red from where it was pressed into the textured paint, stinging from the pressure.

“Kento, please,” you beg, and he takes a step back, hardening his eyes. “You can’t leave me again. I’d rather die. I’d rather you kill me.”

You’re not sure which of the statements snaps him back into himself once more.

Kento blinks, then lets a cold smile filter onto his face, one that lingers darkly on every corner of his expression. A smear of blood remains on his sharp cheekbone, and he wipes it clear, grazing his eyes along your body in a way that makes you feel so small. You’re nothing to him, then; even though you had been once.

“Oh, I decided I won’t kill you this time,” he says, pushing his hair back into place as his spine goes rigid, straightening like a marionette string. “I want to make sure I have a pretty girl to come back to every now and again.”

“What?” It leaves you forcefully, and you’re choking in shame, because you hope the words are true. You can’t stand a life without Nanami Kento, even if that life is nothing more than seeing him in the cracks of moonlight, the shadows where no one knows he’s lurking. You’d take that before a lonely existence, void of the sweet lips of the devil that you pray to.

“I’ll leave Tokyo,” you shout, red-faced and teary eyed, your words nothing more than empty threats. “I’ll leave the country. You’ll never find me.”

Nanami grins, laughs at you coolly, a sound that chills you to the core. “Oh, I’d find you.”

You don’t have time to formulate a response. A breath forces its way out of you, but the wretched curse reveals itself from the corner of the room, stopping any words from escaping your lips. His eyes hungrily roam every inch of you, lingering on the lower half of your exposed body; you wonder how long he’s been there, watching, not saying a word.

“Are you done yet?” Mahito asks, dragging his lurid gaze away to face Nanami. “You’ve had your fun, let’s kill her now.”

Nanami’s eyes flash. “Leave her,” he says, scoffing. “She’s already as pathetic as it gets. Killing her won’t make a difference.” He spits the words coldly, and turns, following the curse out of the room

tags: @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @annoyingpainterprincess

I GOT SO NERVOUS TO POST THIS ONE SHDHFHS

KINTOBER 2023 MASTERLIST

[chimcess]

Pitch Black || jjk (Prologue)

⮞ Chapter 0: Prologue Pairing: Jungkook x Reader Other Tags: Convict!Jungkook, Escaped Prisoner!Jungkook, Piolet!Reader, Captain!Reader, Holyman!Namjoon, Captain!Taehyung, Doctor!Jimin, Genre: Sci-Fi, Action, Adventure, Thriller, Suspense, Strangers to Enemies to ???, Slow Burn, LOTS of Angst, Light Fluff, Eventual Smut, Third Person POV, 18+ Only Word Count: 400+ Summary: Stranded on a barren planet lit by three suns, a group of survivors struggle to survive after their transporter crash-lands. Their situation grows dire when pilot Y/N discovers that every 22 years, an eclipse plunges the planet into darkness, unleashing swarms of flesh-eating creatures. Facing both external threats and internal tensions, the group forms a fragile alliance. As mistrust and secrets surface, Y/N's complicated dynamic with convict and murderer Jungkook intensifies, making the fight for survival against the darkness and the creatures even more perilous. A/N: When I decided to rewatch the Riddick movies and reread the comics, I never thought I'd get so inspired to write a fanfiction based off of a "what-if" scenario, but here we are. So, this story follows the main storyline in Pitch Black (I think that's pretty obvious by the title) with a pretty large twist that leads into the rest of the story that's to come. Like everything I write (I'm so sorry), this will be a massive series that's pulling from a few of my new obsessions as well as my own creative thoughts and feelings. Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you guys will follow along.

In the cold stillness of his cryosleep chamber, Jungkook's thoughts flickered like static on a faulty transmission, defying the stasis meant to consume him. They said cryosleep shut down most of the brain—all but the primitive side, the animal instincts that lurked beneath reason. Maybe that explained why he was still awake when no one else was. He didn’t question it much anymore. It just was.

Transporting him with civilians had been a bold choice, one he suspected someone would regret soon enough. The faint echoes of the world beyond his chamber filtered through his sharpened senses—a faint murmuring with an Saramic lilt, chanting low and steady. Likely a holy man, heading for New Mecca. But what route would they take to get there? He played out the possibilities in his mind, trying to map the path based on the faint hum of the engines and the sense of distance stretching endlessly ahead.

Then there was the scent. Subtle, but there: sweat mixed with leather, the metallic tang of tools, and the earthy grit of worn boots. A woman, no doubt—a prospector, maybe one of those free settlers who carved out a living on the fringes of colonized space. He imagined her kind: practical, determined, stubborn as hell. And he knew one thing for certain. They never traveled the main roads.

That brought his focus back to the real problem: Taemin Lee. The so-called lawman. A brown-eyed devil with a mercenary streak and a personal agenda. Jungkook knew exactly what Lee planned to do—drag him back to slam, back to a cage. But Lee had made a critical mistake this time. He’d picked the wrong route. The long route. The ghost lane.

A long time between stops. A long time for something to go wrong.

And as if summoned by that thought, something did feel wrong. Subtly at first, but unmistakable. The hum of the engines wasn’t right—too uneven, like a heartbeat skipping in the dark. The muffled sounds of the ship’s systems filtered through the walls of his chamber, distorted but insistent. Alerts, maybe. Warnings. He couldn’t make out the specifics, but the tone was unmistakable: something was off.

Jungkook’s jaw tightened, his senses sharpening as his body fought against the enforced stillness of cryosleep. The faint shiver of vibration in the chamber walls had changed, the ship itself broadcasting unease. It was subtle, but he felt it—like prey sensing a predator in the shadows.

A long time between stops, indeed.

© chimcess, 2025. Do not copy or repost without permission.