#and i was sitting across from them and i was like “i didn’t either…”

[16novvs]

in this together ˖ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

arcane season 2 spoilers!

councilor!sevika had a particularly rough day and her assistant (you!fem) not only stands up for her, comforts her, but also encourages sevika that everything is going to be alright. angst with comfort!!!! AND FLUFF???i honestly made this to cope with how the arcane ending fucked sevika over.. my beautiful wife T_T hope you enjoy!!

1.5k words

You had been there during Silco’s reign, working alongside Sevika, managing the details and data that went unnoticed by others. After the fighting ended, you followed Sevika into a new chapter as her assistant, trading the chaos of war and survival for the stream of governance.

The council chamber was as cold and unwelcoming as ever, the polished surface of the circular table reflecting the sharp, impassive faces of Piltover’s councilors. Sevika sat stiffly, her broad frame filling the chair that felt more like an insult than a seat of respect.

You sat at Sevika’s side, trying to take notes and keep track of the conversation as best you could, though your attention was split between the meeting and Sevika herself. You could see she was trying to shrink into herself. To others, she may have looked stoic, but this was your Sevika. You could tell she wasn’t comfortable at all. To make matters worse, Sevika had left her mechanical arm at home. Weapons weren’t allowed in the council chamber bullshit, and that left her feeling annoyingly vulnerable. Next meeting, you will encourage her to wear it regardless of what they think.

Today’s meeting was completely and utterly nonsensical. The past few weeks, the council members had been running in circles, with the main focus being on making Piltover and Zaun into a true partnership between the two cities. Sevika didn’t care about that, and neither did you. What you wanted were resources: systems in place to get kids a proper education, to get the homeless off the streets, to provide proper jobs and healthy diets. You both wanted Zaun to become a place one could live in, not fight to survive.

Sevika’s patience had worn thin hours ago, but she stayed, gritting her teeth as Piltover’s officials changed the topic every time her concerns for Zaun came up. They cloaked their disregard for her in polished semantics and false promises, but Sevika saw right through them.

You, on the other hand, were practically fuming. You’d stopped writing a while ago and didn’t care to hide the contempt on your face anymore. You’d think the world nearly ending would be enough to make people change their ways, but I guess not. Before you could continue your inner monologue, your thoughts were rudely interrupted by some pompous ass sitting next to Sevika.

“You know, Sevika,” he said, leaning in close and taking advantage of the bustle in the council room, “I admire your… confidence to sit here today. It’s rare to see someone rise so far above their means. It’s almost inspirational, really.”

Sevika didn’t respond, her eyes narrowing at she processed the veiled jab. You, however, understood it right away and couldn’t hold back. Your hand slammed the table between the two of them, a sharp noise ringing through the room.

“With all due respect,” you leaned in, your voice calm but sharp, “if Councilor Sevika hadn’t come to rescue this craven city, half of you would either be slaughtered or under the Herald’s control. If you truly admire her, maybe you should show it by addressing the issues at hand instead of throwing thinly veiled insults.”

The Piltover councilor blinked, clearly not expecting a response from you, let alone one with such bite. Across the table, a few of the other assistants exchanged glances, some looking shocked, others impressed. Sevika’s head turned slightly toward you, her eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. You could see the tension in her shoulders ease just a little, the corner of her mouth twitching in what could almost be a smile.

“Well,” Shoola, another councilwoman, said, clearing her throat, “Perhaps we should move on.”

The rest of the meeting passed in a blur of tense exchanges and unresolved issues, but Sevika held her head high, bolstered, you hoped, by your words. When the meeting finally adjourned, Sevika rose without a word, nodding to Shoola. You followed her out, the quiet tension between you growing heavier on the way home.

The apartment was dimly lit, the faint glow of sunlight filtering through the blinds. The heavy clunk of Sevika’s boots echoed against the floor as she stepped inside, her mechanical arm sitting limply on the coffee table. She didn’t say a word as she sank onto the couch, her head falling into her hand. You set your bag down by the door and crossed the room, kneeling in front of her. The council meeting had drained her; you could see it in the way her broad shoulders slumped and the faint tremble in her arm.

“Sevika,” you said softly, resting a hand on her knee. “Look at me.”

When she did, the sight broke your heart. She looked tired, worn down, like she was carrying the weight of Zaun on her shoulders—and she was. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Sevika refused to cry even when she found out Jinx was gone, and now the floodgates had opened. Your poor girl.

“Oh, come here, baby.” You planted yourself beside her, allowing her to sink into your embrace. And for the first time in a long time, Sevika finally let go. She cried for Jinx, for Isha, for Silco, and for Zaun. She cried because her strength, the one thing she’d use to make change, was useless here. She cried for the Zaunites who’d lost their lives fighting alongside her, and she cried because she was afraid it would have all been in vain.

You leaned back, cradling her head against your chest as she sobbed. With gentle hands, you traced soothing circles on her back, your soft reassurances and sweet murmurs helping to steady her breathing. The weight of her pain slowly eased as you held her. You stayed like that for a while, the sound of her muffled sniffling and quiet whimpers eventually fading into the stillness. When she was ready, Sevika sat up, brushing away the lingering traces of tears on her cheeks. You could see in her eyes that she felt lighter.

“Back in the council chamber,” she said finally, her voice low and gruff. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did,” you replied immediately, meeting her gaze. “They don’t get to talk to you like that. Not while I’m here.”

For a moment, she just stared at you, softness in her eyes. Then, to your surprise, she let out a short, dry laugh. “You’ve got guts,” she said, shaking her head. “That goddamn room is so stuffy.

You laughed. “It is, isn’t it?” you said trying to draw her out of the dark cloud that seemed to hang over her.

She didn’t respond right away, but she did slip her hand into yours, intertwining your fingers and caressing the back of your hand with her thumb.

You broke the silence gently, your voice steady and warm. “Sevika, you’re doing everything you can. I know it doesn’t always feel like it’s enough, but it is. Zaun has someone in their corner who truly cares—someone who fights for them every single day. That’s more than most people in that council can say.”

Sevika’s gaze dropped to your intertwined hands, her thumb brushing soft, absent patterns across your skin. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” she admitted in a whisper. “Silco, Vander—they always had a plan. Me? I’m just... figuring it out as I go.”

“And that’s okay, this is all new to you— to us,” you said firmly. “Silco and Vander weren’t perfect, Sev. They made mistakes—lots of them. You’re allowed to stumble or feel lost. What matters is that you care, and you’re still here, fighting. That’s exactly what Zaun needs.”

She let out a bitter laugh, her lips twisting into a faint, humorless smile. “What’s the point of trying when they won’t listen? When they look at me like I don’t even belong there?”

“Then you make them listen,” you said, squeezing her hand. “You’ve fought for Zaun every step of the way, and you haven’t stopped. They might not see it, Sev, but I do. I see everything you’re putting into this, even when it feels like you’ve got nothing left to give.”

Her hand shifted slightly, her fingers brushing against yours as she slowly lifted her head. When her eyes met yours, the vulnerability there made your chest tighten. Still, you could see the faint spark of resolve returning.

“You always know how to say the right thing, don’t you, doll?” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“Just telling the truth,” you replied, your own smile soft but steady.

“Come here.”

This time, you let her pull you into her arms, the familiar weight of you on top of her chest allowing her to relax. Her strong arm wrapped around your waist, the warmth blossoming against your waist and back.

“Thank you,” she said softly, nuzzling into your neck.

“Always,” you whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to her jaw. “We’re in this together, I promise.”

For the first time in a while, she let herself believe things would be alright. Wrapped in your warmth, the weight of the world seemed to ease, just a little, as she sank into you and allowed herself to breathe.

so this was supposed to be straight up fluff but i couldn’t help myself w/ the angst!! i apologize if this felt rushed + i barely proof. i hope you enjoyed reading nonetheless and i’d love to read your comments on this if you have any <3

[kitkatkitzune]

PRINCESS

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x Vampire!Reader

Summary: Elena, Bonnie, and Caroline find out the real reason Kol calls his lover princess.

Warnings: Violence I guess, Blood mentioned, Death, A bit of angst, Forced suicide, A lousy king, Age gap between reader and unnamed man she is meant to marry, A scene very obviously inspired by Star Wars (let me know if you catch it), Borderline excessive use of the word ‘princess’ (I fear that was implied by the title), Inaccurate historical depictions, The Mikaelson family being menaces (kinda), Kol being Kol, Caroline being Caroline, Implied Klaroline, Inconsistencies in the tense it’s written in (my bad), A few uses of Y/N

Notes: Let's pretend everyone gets along… for the most part. Kol got turned at nineteen because I said so. Those stars were formatted to be centered originally but they keep going back to the side and I don’t know why, sorry.

Word Count: 4.4k

———————

Present Day

Mystic Falls

For once in Mystic Falls, it’s peaceful. The Mikaelson’s decided that they’d all had enough running around, ripping the town apart, they wanted to relax and have normal lives for a bit. Klaus was the most reluctant of this idea, wanting to run off to create more hybrids but Caroline had asked him to stay, just for a bit before he’d continue his travels. He backed down a bit after that, behaving himself for the first time ever. All his siblings were shocked by this but chose not to taunt him about it. Well, all except for one, Kol. Kol would tease him relentlessly about it, using all the new terms he had learned, his favorite being ‘whipped’.

Oh Kol, your sweet, not so sweet, innocent, not so innocent, Kol. You had met Kol during the 16th century while you were still human. You had fallen hard for the Mikaelson boy but your feelings would mean nothing as you had already been betrothed to another man. The man was much older than you but that did not matter. It didn’t matter that you didn’t love him either, your fate was sealed. You were the only daughter to your parents, only child in fact. Your mother had tried to produce another heir, a boy, but fate would not allow it. Just as Kol would not allow you to marry that man.

You currently sat in the Mystic Grill, snacking on some french fries while you hummed quietly to yourself. Suddenly Caroline, Elena, and Bonnie all crammed into one side of the booth, sitting across from you. They were looking at you with wide eyes. You were in the process of putting a french fry in your mouth and sigh, setting it back onto your plate.

“What—“

Caroline shoves your plate of fries out of the way and slams a book in front of you, frantically pointing at a picture, “This is you? Right?!”

You look at the picture, it was a painting of you. In fact, this particular one was painted by Klaus.

“Yes, that—“

Caroline cuts in, “Is this before you were turned?! All it says is that you mysteriously disappeared at a ball! You’ve gotta tell us about this!”

Your eye twitches a bit, “I’m trying to!”

“Oh… right.”

You look at the picture of the painting again, it’s nothing compared to the original, “Nik actually painted this when he and his family—“

Caroline interrupts. Again. “Nik like, as in Klaus? He painted this? Wait so this was after you were turned? Or was it before?”

“Caroline!” Bonnie and Elena shush her.

“Sorry!” Caroline squeaks out, “I’m just excited…”

You laugh a bit, amused by the blonde's antics, “I’ll start with when I met the Mikaelsons…”

-★-

16th Century

England

“We thank you for welcoming our family into your home.”

Your father nods, holding his head high, still not too sure on the new family who would be staying around for a while. Your mother, on the other hand, had begun to gush over them.

The man continues, “I apologize, I have not properly introduced myself. I am Elijah Mikaelson.”

You watch as Elijah takes your mothers hand and brings it to his lips, she looks as though she is going to faint. You glance at your father who looks like steam is going to come from his ears. You try to suppress a giggle but fail. Your eyes widen when another boy immediately looks at you, you were caught. The heat rises to your face as you shrink back in on yourself. The boy was very attractive, they all were. He had brown hair and eyes to match, which glimmered with mischief. You knew immediately that he’d be one to cause trouble. He smirked at you and tilted his head to the side as he stared at you. You began to chew your lip and look to the ground, unable to meet his gaze any longer.

Your father clears his throat, bringing your mother back from her daydreams of Elijah. Your mother looks at you and grabs your hand, pulling you to stand in front of her.

“This is our daughter, Y/N, she is to be queen.”

The boy with the mischievous eyes raises a brow, “No sons?”

“Mind your tongue, Kol.” Elijah warns his younger brother.

The blonde girl next to who you now know as Kol begins to snicker. Elijah quickly turns his attention to her, “Rebekah.” he warns.

Another man steps up from behind Rebekah and Kol, “I do apologize for my siblings behavior. Kol and Rebekah can be rather… brash. Allow me to introduce myself, my name is Klaus.”

He takes your mothers hand and kisses it, she looks as though she is going to faint again.

Your father clears his throat once more and Kol raises a brow, “Are you ill?”

“Kol!” Elijah hisses. Kol simply shrugs.

Your father glares at Kol before choosing to ignore him, addressing the others while simultaneously answering Kol’s question from earlier, “She is to be wed soon.”

You tense up at the mention of your wedding. Something that Kol immediately takes note of.

“We are having a ball in three month‘s time to celebrate, it will be held the night before the wedding! You are all welcome to attend!” your mother quickly offers.

“Oh don’t be ridiculous, my dear. They will certainly have moved on with their travels by then.” your father looks at the Mikaelsons before narrowing his eyes, “Right?”

Kol and Rebekah glance at each other, clearly not impressed by your fathers attempt at intimidation.

Klaus smirks, “Nonsense! We wouldn’t dare miss a ball, would we Elijah?”

Elijah chuckles, “No brother, we would not. You have my word, we will be there, Miss Y/N.”

“Princess Y/N.” your father quickly corrects.

Elijah’s eyes narrow, “My mistake.” he then turns to you, “We will be at your ball, Princess.”

-★-

A week had passed since the Mikaelson family had arrived in your kingdom. You had grown to enjoy Rebekah’s company, laughing along with her as she complained about her brothers. Elijah would offer polite conversation if he saw you and you were scheduled to have Klaus paint your portrait (something your mother was ecstatic about). The only one you hadn’t had much interaction with was Kol. You could see him watching you from afar but he never approached you, though you couldn’t blame him because you never approached him either.

“For a girl that is soon to be wed, you don’t appear to be all that thrilled.“

You jump at the sudden voice and turn to see Kol. He’s smirking at you, “Hello princess.”

What was that saying? Speak of the devil…

You scoff and turn back to look at the trees, watching a squirrel run by. You often came to this spot in the forest to clear your head. It was isolated, just you with nature, and no one knew of it other than you and your mother. Until now that is.

“How did you find me?” you ask quietly.

“Oh! So she does speak!” Kol’s smirk widens.

Sitting up straighter, you clear your throat but before you can speak, Kol interrupts, “Does that run in your family?”

You narrow your eyes, “Does being an overly presumptuous arse run in yours?”

Kol lets out a whistle, “Sharp tongue.”

“Is there something you need, Mister Mikaelson?”

Kol raises a brow, “What I ‘need’ is for you to call me Kol, Mister Mikaelson makes me sound far too much like Elijah… so proper.”

“Then stop calling me princess.”

“Oh I’m sorry I can’t do that, princess. It is your title after all.”

“Very well…” you pause, “Mister Mikaelson.”

Kol chuckles, shaking his head and gestures towards the rock you’re currently sitting on, “Mind if I sit?”

“For some reason, I think you’d sit regardless of my answer.”

He smirks, “Pretty and clever.”

You turn to look away from him, heat rushing to your face. He chuckles a bit at your reaction. The two of you sit in silence for a moment, observing the nature around you. A bunny stops at a tree in front of you two, staring at you both. A smile appears on your face as the creature stares you down. You tilt your head to the side, letting out a small laugh as the bunny copies your actions.

Kol’s attention is not on the bunny though. He is focused solely on you. The way you smile, the way your hair is framing your face, the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the twinkle in your eye as you watch the animal… just… you. An unfamiliar warmth spreads in his chest, unfamiliar, but nice.

Kol is so distracted by you that he doesn’t even realize that the bunny has run off until you’re waving your hand in front of his face. Kol blinks a few times as you lower your hand, your attention entirely on him as you begin to giggle again. Kol’s face flushes a bit and that warmth begins to spread in his chest again.

You raise a brow at him, “Has something distracted you?”

Kol laughs, shaking his head, “I just… you’re full of such life, you have wit… you’re fierce yet nurturing. And yet, I’ve seen you around with that man who must be at least twice your age and you seem dead. It’s as though you lose everything that makes you, you when you’re with him.”

You chew your lip, tilting your head as though you’re thinking, “Perhaps you are different.”

“A good different?”

“I hope so.”

-★-

Three days later you were sitting at that spot once again when Kol found you. This time, he brought a basket full of treats.

“You cook? Bake?” you ask.

He smiles a bit, raising his hands in mock surrender, “Alright, you’ve got me. I had some help from Rebekah… and I may have stopped at the market on the way here.”

You try to hold your composure but begin to laugh, Kol smiles at this and begins to laugh as well. He sits on the ground in front of you even though you had told him he could sit next to you. He simply wanted to look at you without having to turn his body.

You pick up one of the pastries and take a bite, a few crumbs fall onto your skirt and you don’t notice the few that stick to your lip. Kol does though, he finds it adorable and can’t help it when he sits up straight, bringing his hand up to brush his thumb against your lip. Your eyes widen in shock as you look down at him. Without breaking eye contact, he pulls his hand back and places his thumb in his mouth, sucking the remaining crumbs of pastry away.

Amused by your wide eyes and flushed face he tilts his head to the side, a sly smirk appearing on his face, “What?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Please stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he sits up once more, your faces directly in front of each other, only inches between the two of you. Your noses are practically touching…

You will yourself to not break away from his intense gaze, “You’re teasing me.”

“Oh,” he chuckles, amused, “I’d be much too frightened to tease a princess.”

-★-

Kol and you had continued to meet at that spot at least twice a week. No one had known other than maybe his siblings. It was taboo enough for two people of the opposite gender to be left alone if they weren’t married or soon to be. It was even more taboo considering the fact that you were to be married soon, to another man. Not to mention Kol’s obvious flirting and the way you would become flustered just by his gaze alone. Something that your soon to be husband could never do, never make you feel.

Normally, when Kol would find you, you’d be humming a song or spinning in a circle or even just sitting there, watching. Today, though, when Kol arrived, your entire body was shaking. He could hear your sobs as he approached you.

“Princess?” Kol asks softly, sitting next to you.

You looked up at him and Kol’s heart broke at the sight of your tear stained face.

“He’s going to kill me Kol.”

“What?”

“My fiancé… I overheard him speaking with his brother, after we are wed he is going to have me executed. I am simply a means to an end for him, I tried to tell my father but he brushed me off as paranoid and trying to get out of the wedding!”

Kol rests his hand on your cheek, wiping away a tear and for a moment, just a split second you could have sworn you saw the veins beneath his eyes ripple, it must have been your tear filled eyes playing tricks on you. You were certain though, that his eyes became dark. You should have been scared at that look in his eyes but you weren’t. You felt safe.

“Will you trust me?”

When you don’t answer he asks again, differently, “Y/N. Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” you answer without hesitation this time.

“At the ball tomorrow, I’ll take care of everything, okay? I promise that I won’t let him hurt you. I will find you, okay? If I do not then one of my siblings will. If none of us can reach you, I’ll be here, at this spot, waiting for you.”

You nod, bringing your hand up to cup his that currently holds your face.

“I must confess something.”

You tilt your head, urging him to continue.

“I’ve never had any intention of allowing you to marry that man.”

-★-

You were preparing for the ball when there was a knock at your door.

“Come in.” You called out.

Your mother entered the room and dramatically placed her hands over her heart at the sight of you. She rushed over to you, placing her hands on your shoulders, looking at you both in the mirror.

“My little girl, you’re all grown up.”

You smile softly, “Well I think that I still need my mother to help me with my necklace…”

You reach for the necklace that you had planned to wear but you were stopped by your mother. You look at her in the mirror, confused.

“No no, you’ll be wearing this.” she held up a gorgeous necklace, it was bejeweled, specifically with your birthstone.

“Mama…” you say, turning around to face her, touching the necklace as gently as you could, “This is gorgeous, where did you get this?”

She smiles, cupping your cheek, “It was a gift, here, allow me.”

You turn back around and your mother lifts your hair as she clasps the necklace. You reach up to touch the jewels, a small smile on your face. You have a guess as to who the mysterious gifter was and you could only hope you were correct.

She kisses your cheek, “To think, tomorrow you will be married…”

Your mood is dampened at the mention of your marriage. One day closer to your death. You had to trust Kol, that he would help.

The door opened and Rebekah entered, she looked absolutely stunning in her blue gown. Her hair was in an updo that complemented the square neckline of the dress. She freezes at the sight of your mother.

“My apologies, I did not mean to intrude.”

“Nonsense!” your mother exclaims, “I was just telling my lovely daughter how beautiful she looks, I’ll leave you two to talk.” she makes a swift exit out of the room and you chuckle.

Rebekah turns and looks at you, “You do look truly gorgeous.”

“As do you, Rebekah.” you smile softly at her.

The blonde takes your hands in hers, glancing at the door to make sure it’s closed before she turns back to you, “How much has Kol told you about tonight?”

Your brows furrow, “Only that I need to trust him…”

Rebekah sighs, “That fool.”

“Rebekah? What is going on?”

She plasters on a smile, “You needn’t worry darling, we won’t allow anything to happen to you.”

“Where is Kol…?”

Rebekah’s smile falls, “He’s having a chat with your fiancé.”

-★-

You stand with Rebekah, chatting while sipping your drinks. You glance around the room and frown when you realize you still haven’t seen Kol around. You hadn’t seen your fiancé either.

When Kol finally enters the ballroom, he makes his way to Elijah. Elijah takes in Kol’s appearance, checking him for blood stains and when he finds none, he raises a brow.

“I do hope you did not leave a bloody mess behind.”

Kol smiles sweetly, but his words are anything but, “I’d rather choke than have a single sip of that pig's blood.”

Elijah raises a brow and hums, intrigued, “What have you done?”

There’s suddenly a loud crash and a scream, causing everyone to look to the stairs. A maid comes rushing from the room where your fiancé was getting dressed, she goes straight up to your father. Listening in, Kol and Elijah hear the maid tell him that she found your fiancé’s body in the room. Your father’s eyes fall onto you and he beckons you to come to him. Your mother chews her lip, looking absolutely horrified. You excuse yourself from Rebekah and make your way to the stairs. Kol shifts the way he’s standing as though he’s about to make an escape.

“Kol…” Elijah narrows his eyes at his brother, “What did you do to the man?”

“Relax brother… he’s just hanging out.”

-★-

That night you sat on your bed, staring out the window. Your father had forbidden you from leaving the room for any reason. He blamed you for what had happened. Your mother remained downstairs trying to keep the party alive even though the guests of honor were nowhere to be found. You had discarded your gorgeous ball gown to slip into your nightgown. The necklace still rested on your chest, you couldn’t reach the clasp to remove it, you began to fidget with one of the jewels.

The more you stared out the window, the more your room seemed to suffocate you. You brought your hand up to catch the cold, metal latch and unlock the window, allowing the cool air of the night to blow into your room. Then you make a decision you’re sure you’ll regret, you climb out of the window and begin to climb to the ground. Your bare feet freezing when they make contact with the cold rock.

When you hit the ground you immediately start running to the forest, to your spot. You wish you could say that you weren’t surprised to see Kol there, already waiting for you like he had said he would be.

“Princess, I was waiting for you to show up.”

You let out a shaky breath, suddenly aware of the cold air around you. Kol stands and walks over to you, his eyes fall to your chest and you begin to feel self conscious of the fact that you’re in nothing more than a nightgown. He carefully reaches for your necklace, fidgeting with a gem, just as you had done earlier.

“I see you got my gift.”

A small smile finds its way onto your lips, “I knew it was you…” he can’t help but think that your words are referring to more than just the necklace.

He smiles down at you, “I am disappointed that I could not dance with you tonight.”

“You still can.”

He smirks, taking a step back from you before offering you his hand, “Could I have this dance, princess?”

You laugh, doing a small curtsy as you take his hand, “Why of course, Mister Mikaelson.”

Kol pulls you into his arms and you wrap your arms around his neck, taking in his body heat. His hands rest on your waist and you jump a bit at the feeling.

He chuckles, “You must be freezing…”

“Only a bit.” you admit, quietly, “You’re quite warm though, enough for us both.”

You rest your head onto his shoulder and close your eyes, humming. All nice things must come to an end as you hear your fathers booming voice echo throughout the forest. The sound of footsteps stopping right near you. You wait for the shouting but it does not come. Reluctantly you lift your head and find your mother’s wide eyes staring at you.

“Mama…” you begin to pull yourself away from Kol.

She brings a finger to her lips, shushing you as she rushes to pull you into a hug. She pulls away and holds your face in her hands, “You must go. Run.”

“Mama, I—“

She shakes her head, “There is no time to argue,” she looks at Kol, “Your family, you have money?” he nods and she continues, “You will take care of her?” he nods once more.

Your mother swallows hard, “Then go, run far from here and be happy. This life… it is never what you wanted, you want adventure, you want to travel. You do not want to sit and deal with politics… I know how it bores you. It’s killing your soul. I want you to be happy…”

Tears fill your eyes as you pull her into a tight hug, “I love you, mother.”

“I love you too, my daughter.”

She pulls away, tears are in her eyes, “Now go.”

Your father’s voice gets closer and before you know it, Kol has picked you up into his arms and has begun to run, you wrap your arms around his shoulders. You watch over his shoulder as your mother stands still, getting smaller and smaller the farther you get away.

Kol seems to be running at an inhuman speed and you close your eyes not being able to handle the way things speed past you anymore, you feel as though you’ll be sick. Not even a minute later, Kol stops running.

“Kol.” Klaus’ voice warns, “What happened to getting rid of the fiancé and leaving the girl to find a better suitor?”

“She’s coming with us.”

“Kol…” Klaus begins.

“This is not negotiable brother!” Kol fires back.

Rebekah looks at you, curled up in Kol’s arms, practically shaking, “Did you steal her?”

“What?! Do you take me for an uncivilized fool?! She came with me!”

“I’m not judging! I’ve grown to like the girl as well!”

“My mother asked me to go with him…” you finally speak up.

“If she goes back, her father will be even more enraged than he already is. She’s coming with us.”

“Does she know?” Elijah asks, when Kol shakes his head, he sighs.

“She’ll have to kn—“

“I know, Elijah!” Kol snaps, “But now, we must go! The people are looking for her, we need to leave!”

Elijah swallows, “Very well. But we will be discussing this further Kol.”

Klaus throws his hands up, “You’re not serious, are you?”

He gets no verbal response as his siblings begin to run ahead of him. Klaus groans, “You are serious,” rolling his eyes as he reluctantly moves to catch up with the others.

-★-

“Would you turn me?” you ask suddenly, snuggling further into Kol’s chest.

He tenses up, he stops brushing your hair, “Where is this coming from?”

You sit up from his chest, “We’ve been traveling for almost two years now. I’ll be nineteen soon and you’re forever nineteen.”

You bring a hand up to brush the side of his face, forcing him to look at you, “I want to spend forever with you.“

Kol holds his hand over yours, staring into your eyes, “Do you understand what you’re asking of me? You’d have to die… and then you’d wake up like me, a monster. You’ll be thirsty for blood and no matter what you do that thirst will never go away.”

“You’re not a monster, Kol. I know the things you’ve done, and yet you can still be gentle. If I have to die and drink blood to spend the rest of eternity by your side then so be it. I want to stay with you forever.”

“Forever is a long time, princess.”

You laugh, “Perhaps it will be long enough to teach you to quit calling me that!”

It’s Kol’s turn to laugh, he pulls you back into his arms, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Neverrrr.”

You both lay in silence for a moment, until you look up at him again. He narrows his eyes at you before finally sighing.

“If that is really what you want once you turn nineteen… then I will turn you myself. Just don’t go running to Rebekah or God forbid, Nik.”

-★-

Present Day

Mystic Falls

“Soooo…” Bonnie pauses, “Kol killed your fiancé and you ran off with him?” she then points at your neck, “And you’re still wearing the necklace he got you.”

“Well that’s one way to shorten my story.” You mutter.

Elena laughs a bit at that before raising a brow, “So wait, you knew Kol killed him?”

“It was kind of obvious that Kol had something to do with it, he did tell me he was going to take care of it. I just assumed he had threatened him and it scared the man so bad he took his own life…”

“In reality I simply compelled him to, I never laid a finger on the man.” Kol announces as he slides in the booth to sit next to you.

“Speak of the Devil.” you tease.

Kol looks around for a moment before turning to you, “I don’t see Nik anywhere.”

He wraps his arm around your shoulder and presses a kiss to your cheek, “Hello princess.”

“Hi Mister Mikaelson.”

You then look to the three girls across from you, “How did you even find that picture?”

“School project on the time period. It’s in a few history books.” Elena answers.

You hum in response then look at Kol who slides out of the booth, offering you his hand, “I hope you ladies don’t mind, the princess and I have places to be.”

You roll your eyes at his antics and take his hand, getting about a foot away before you turn back around to look at the three girls, “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t do your school project on me.”

They all nod and you smile, leaving The Grill, holding Kol’s hand. The three girls sit in silence for a moment, still soaking in all the information they just learned when Caroline suddenly gasps.

“What is it?!” Bonnie asks, looking around, trying to find a threat.

“That’s why he calls her princess!”

“We know, Caroline.” Elena answers, a bit amused.

“Oh…”

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

If you are online a lot, especially in spaces or bubbles where people often share their experiences „for awareness“, you may feel like it’s your obligation to share your own life experiences as well. 

This can be a subconscious thing. You would likely never sign your name on „Every gay person who had a traumatic encounter with a homophobic person needs to make a TikTok about it or else they fail their community“ or „If you’re disabled and trans you need to post about your specific struggles or else you don’t even care about visibility for your own communities“. But you may come across people who did make a video or post about their struggles - and feel some guilt or shame when you realize you experienced the same but don’t talk about it. You may feel like they’re using their voice to do something and you just sit around. Or alternatively, you may see those things and feel „inspired“ to share your own story, so you rush to do it.. and later on you realize you actually didn’t feel inspired, you just felt uncomfortable. You didn’t actually want to share your story with strangers and you kinda feel worse now, but you had to do it for awareness, right?

If you relate to any of that, here’s some things I want you to know: 

You don’t owe anyone a list of all labels you identify with. You don’t owe anybody a list of your medical diagnoses. You don’t owe anyone a list of all traumatic events in your life. Asking you for that would be considered wildly inappropriate in almost all circumstances offline… so it definitely can’t be the measure for how „good“ or „brave“ you are online, either. 

Most people who share their stories online don’t really only do it for awareness. They also do it because they want to receive sympathy, comfort, praise, the feeling of community, the unbiased confirmation that what happened to them was wrong etc… or even just the relief of getting it out of their system. And there’s nothing wrong with that! We are all human beings who need each other. But it may take some pressure of you to remember that those posts are not always some selfless, heroic deed purely done for activism. 

Sharing your story online doesn’t necessarily do that much. Don’t get me wrong, it can be really brave and it can definitely start conversations! I don’t mean to discredit anyone who decides to share something deeply personal. But: not every post gets viral or reaches anyone besides the people who already agree with it. So if you don’t really want to talk about being bullied in school, you certainly don’t need to feel like you have to. Who says that it would be YOUR post, out of all the posts about bullying, that’d end up super viral and start some big conversation about bullying and end up in the news? Maybe it’d just get 15 likes and two bot comments. No need to feel guilty on missing out on that. 

Talking about a traumatic experience can bring relief and that’s valid.. but it can also be counterproductive to your healing process. Sharing it „for awareness“ will not be worth it if it makes you feel overwhelmed, unlocks memories you’re not ready to confront in detail, comes with the risk of putting you into a depression spiral, re-traumatizes you by bringing back feelings you felt in that situation etc. Put your healing first. 

People can be real mean, especially when they can hide behind the anonymity the internet offers. Sharing something vulnerable can spread awareness but it can also make you a target of hate, ridicule, disbelief and bullying. This is especially important to consider if it’s something you’re still struggling with or healing from. Not wanting to get mean comments is a valid reason to not share something. Again: Put your healing first. 

You know all that and still want to share your story? All the more power to you! My point here is not to silence your voice. If you WANT to share your story, it can be a really great thing to do. 

I just want to remind you that you should only do it if you truly want to. Never do it out of pressure or obligation - there is none. Your story is yours. You have the right and power to keep it or share it as you wish. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[bowsnstrings]

🎶🎼🎀Hit The Right Note!🎀🎼🎶

Onyankopon x original character

Warnings: 1.6k words! mentions of weed, mentions of food, descriptions of sex, (pnv) unprotected sex, original character with original descriptions.

Ony always had his brightest ideas when he was with Princess. Well mostly when he was high and around Princess. He couldn’t help it though, it was two of his favorite things combined, it was bound to make good things happen.

He was smoking in the studio listening to some new beats he was working on. Princess sat close by on his new loveseat he bought for her to sit on during late nights in the studio. He was trying to take a break after getting frustrated, huffing out a cloud to the ceiling as he reclined back.

Princess had suggested food to brighten up his mood, their cheat days “suddenly” aligning perfectly, so they settled on breakfast for dinner. The only thing open at midnight was Waffle House so they packed up and left for the night.

Ony let her pick the songs on the car ride, and she randomly picked Aaliyah’s classic. He laughed the hardest he had in a while when they realized how crazy they were for going to Waffle House at nearly one in the morning, but that was nothing new being around her.

“It feels like you try’na be New New or something.” Ony quipped at her for her song choice, poking her in the ribs at the red light to hear her giggle.

“Ony! Stooop!” Princess whined, smacking her lips, her lipgloss reflecting the red from the traffic light. Fuck, she looked good, wearing his most expensive jersey, hair just thrown into a ponytail. She was hard at work with him in the studio, putting her pen to paper too.

They pulled into the lot and sat in a booth, no security, no cameras, no fans. No one else was in there but the employees, and funnily enough they treated them so poorly that it was like they weren’t celebrities either.

Ony got his hashbrowns with cheese, bacon, toast, and waffles, happily scarfing down all of his food across from Princess. He was chewing as he watched her take her first bite, and then it happened. She gave a long humm, lower in her usual tone but still over the larynx. Still sweet sounding, but much dirtier.

He almost mistook it for a moan. He swallowed his food quickly, blinking at her in disbelief across the table. “Ony? Earth to Ony? Onya? Hello?” She called out, waving her hand to catch his attention.

That’s when Ony pulled out his notebook, quickly jotting down what she had just said, and following it up with some new lines. They stayed in that Waffle House, Ony writing, crossing out words, creating double entendres and punchlines until the workers were really giving them dirty looks.

He finished the song before they made it to his home, Ony rushing to pull her inside while Princess sleepily yawned at four a.m., still wondering what Ony was up to.

“Baby, I wanna put you in my song.” He leaned over her shoulder, rubbing his hands down her sides. “I want your voice, a piece of you in it forever.” Ony whispered to her gently.

Her hands rubbed up and down his neck, she stretched like a cat in his hands, and was purring too. “Okay, Ony.” She sighed into him, her body pressed against his. That was nothing, she’d been on plenty of his songs before.

“I want you to moan for me, Baby. On the song.”

Princess gasped softly, taken aback, but didn’t pull away. Still against him as his arms moved down soothingly. They came back up under her arms as he pulled away to look at her, worried that he was going too far.

“You don’t have to-”

“Okay.” She slumped back down, hiding her face from him in her hands. Her stack of bracelets shone in his face as he stood there in shock at how fast she agreed.

“Okay, what?” He asked to be sure, he had to be sure about this, and she did too.

“Okay, Ony. We can do it.” She blinked heavily, droopy lovesick eyes that were trying to avoid his. “Just promise me you won't let my Grandparents find out about it. Say it’s fake or whatever.” She rambled out, looking down at her feet.

“You really want to, Mama?” He put his hand under her chin, lifting it until they saw each other clearly. The only light was the moonlight from outside, but Ony was still able to see the way she held steady. “You can always say no. Even if we start and you want to stop.”

“I want to, Ony.” She eased out her words in one breath. Stepping back until her legs touched the bed behind her. Her hands shaking slightly as they reached for the hem of the jersey, pulling it up before pausing at her belly button. “Only if you keep loving me so good.”

“I promise.”

The rest is a bit of a blur now, hard, meaningful kisses exchanged as they helped each other strip out of their clothes. He needed to be able to hear her loud and clear, so he had his voice memo app open on his phone, recording right next to her face.

Her cheek laid on her hand, turning into the sheets in a beautiful arch for him. Ony rubbing a hand over her ass as she kept upright on unsteady legs, chest pressed to the mattress as she presented her pussy for him.

She was huffing out breathless pants, rocking side to side trying to soothe the ache between her legs as Ony stuffed her full. As soon as he tried to get the last three inches in she’d wiggle left or right. At first he couldn’t help but get mesmerized by the way her hips moved, teeth clenched tight trying to muffle his own sounds. Now, he was losing patience, needing to fuck her good.

The way she looked was downright filthy now, something straight out of Ony’s wet dreams as he pulled out, watching how soaking wet Princess’s pretty pink hole was as she tried to clench down on nothing. She was whining for him, wanting him back in, but still scared.

“So..so- hngh!”

Both of them were drenched in her, his fat tip catching on her entrance as he groaned, forgetting about the recording momentarily. Her puffy folds warm and inviting as Ony pushed back in slowly, hearing her shrill begging, keening musically as she was stuffed again and again.

“Common, Baby. You can do it, just let it out for me.”

His hands grabbing her waist to pull her into him, his hips pressed right against her until her eyes rolled to the back of her head.

“Ony! Ah! Too much-too full, hah hahh-”

No, not right, too high. Too short too. No, he needed the right one. Organic, natural, deeper. Ony wanted her to let out that part of her that was buried deep, he wanted her to really let it out.

“Ugh, please- please- pleaseeee!”

“Please what, Ma?” He tossed his head back after punching into her with a rough thrust, her legs scrambling to close. He forced his hips forward more, grabbing her ankles and holding up her calves as he rolled his hips in waves. “You can cum, you know you can cum.”

One of his calloused palms travels up her leg, rubbing so close where she needed him to touch. “Uh, uhh-” Princess almost did it, turning away into her elbow at the last second, hands gripping the sheets for dear life.

“You can do it, Baby. Just need me to help you, hmm? You need me, Baby?”

Smack, smack, smack. Ony’s hips driving in faster than before, both of them panting and sweaty, breathing heavily as Princess moaned and whined. None of them were right yet, he needed to get that hit, that next number one!

Ony quickly leaned down, one hand snaking around to grab her face, lifting it to his phone’s speaker where it was still recording all the sinful sounds in the room. It was a dripping mess between her legs, they were slippery as he dragged his fingertips up her thigh to her clit. He pressed down hard with his middle finger, following her as her hips tried to pull back, using the opportunity to plug forward again.

Princess screamed when he quickly began sliding his fingers back and forth, firm strokes that had her seizing up. Her knees trying to press together and her pussy trying to push him out as she squirted through her orgasm. Her back truly arched for him as he lifted her face higher, still rubbing at her clit.

“Breathe. Breathe for me, Mama.” She followed his order as soon as the words floated into her ear. A big deep breath into her lungs, gasping for it, then as she breathed out, there it was. That perfect moan, long and steady, right into the mic, but just for good measure he kept rubbing and got another one too.

Princess didn’t remember anything else after that, not even when Ony bathed her down and dressed her back up in warm clothes. Afterwards he left to head back to the studio, but not before swarming her face in soft kisses and tucking her into his bed to finally get some sleep. As soon as he got back in he set himself up to record and in four short hours the song was done, mix and mastered too.

It was safe to say that Princess was thoroughly embarrassed to hear herself sound like that ever, even though Ony reassured her that she sounded beautiful. It was downright pornagraphic the way she moaned, and Ony only accentuated her voice to make it really pop through people’s speakers.

They dropped the song that same day Princess approved it, and overnight it was a hit. Millions of people were trying to guess who’s voice it was, tweeting, commenting, spamming Ony day and night to find out. He’d take it to the grave, but whenever someone would ask where he came up with the idea he’d always say, “It’s just what my dream woman sounds like.”

Hey everyone, sorry for taking so long to post, I'm trying to get through finals and a class I'm taking during winter break. Give me like one more week for the next fic, but for right now here's a little something I wrote last night! xoxo - Bow🎀🫶🏾

[kingofbodyrolls]

REMMY—😭😭😭When you told me to check Tumblr because you’d left a review, I was NOT prepared for this emotional ambush 😭 The fact that you took the time to write something so thoughtful? For me?? ME??? 😭 Days have passed, and I’m still sitting here sniffling into my tea.

I’m absolutely over the moon that you’re enjoying your birthday gift so far! (Though my ignorant European ass did forget about those pesky Freedom Units again… 😂). It’s cozy without feeling cramped, right? ✨ And the way you called it a WHOLE ASS WORLD? 😭 I’m sobbing. I didn’t even think I did that much world-building for this one—I purposefully kept it light because I didn’t want to bog down the story with scene explanations and accidentally double its length. (Though let’s be real, you know I love doing that).

And yes! I normally don’t write Yoongi like this, but I decided to mix it up this time. He’s quieter, more reserved, but his actions? Oh, his actions. They’re practically shouting with love and warmth! He’s going to be there for Y/N in ways that feel so steady and genuine (don’t worry—no big bad angst! The only backstory drama is Jimin’s past, which… maybe was a spoiler? Whoops 😬).

His daughter? Adorable. Sweet, polite, playful—she’s everything 🥹 You’ll see (or should I say read). And oh, the location details! As I told you on Discord, this place is pretty far out—like five hours from the big city by car (even longer by public transport). It’s a poorer neighborhood, which is why everything is so affordable—Y/N’s house is dirt cheap compared to her city apartment.

AND JIMIN—😭😭😭 I’m actually tearing up again because this Jimin owns my entire heart. I’ve never met the man (obviously), but I poured so much of what I imagine him to be into this story. He feels so authentic to me, and I hope that comes across for you too! He’s warm, welcoming, and OH, you’re going to get so much more of him 😏

As for Y/N—YOU are Y/N! (Or not—you do you. Personally, I dissociate completely 😂 I write Y/N as someone totally different from myself.) But yes, the tea she’s drinking? Absolutely your favorite 🥰

THE BEST PRESENT YOU’VE EVER HAD??? 🥹 Now I’m straight-up bawling. I hope that’s just a sweet exaggeration, though, because surely you’ve received something better than this silly little story! Either way, I’m over the moon that it made you so happy. I was low-key terrified you might not like it 🫣Thank you so much for reading and leaving that incredible review, @remmykinsff 🫂 You know I absolutely adore you. And for the love of Jimin, don’t forget to eat! (Did you enjoy them, by the way?) Sending you all my love and a billion hugs 💜

Songs of the Heart (m) | pjm | chap 1: rebirth

Having just settled into a small house on the outskirts of the bustling city, you’re drawn into the haunting melodies of your neighbor’s sad love songs, echoing through the quiet walls day after day. Concerned, you finally gather the courage to knock on his door, unsure of what to expect—only to be face-to-face with Park Jimin, the renowned singer-songwriter whose voice has touched millions. What begins as a simple gesture of kindness soon unravels into something far more complex, as the melodies of his heart beckon you closer.

→ Pairing: jimin x reader (female) → AUs: musician!au (not completely idol!au), single dad!au, slice of life!au → Trope: strangers to lovers / neighbors to lovers → Genres: slow burn romance / fluff / angst / smut / comedy → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 5.6k → Warnings + triggers: nothing much, just heartache and small misunderstandings 🤭 → Read on AO3? [link] → Author’s note: Hi!!! How are you doing?? 😄 I hope you’re as excited about this new series as I am (and I really, truly mean it when I say this might be my last series for a long while… so buckle up, it’s going to be a ride!). Now, before you go thinking I’m just setting myself up for failure, let me be real with you: my last Jimin series didn’t exactly set the world on fire—sigh. But I adore it, like, adore it. (I know, I’m biased, but can you blame me?) Soooo, this time, we’re going for a more “mainstream” vibe. Think heavily inspired by Jimin’s album Muse (seriously, his whole vibe in that is chef’s kiss), sprinkled with some Face flavor, and, honestly, just Jimin being Jimin. Because, let’s face it—he’s my bias, and I’m OBSESSED. Like, full-on crush mode. So, yeah, it’s basically me writing about my ultimate crush 😳 Now, let’s clear the air about the smut—I’m not going all-out with it here (though there will be some spicy moments, don’t worry 😉). Why? Well, I have a sneaky feeling this series is going to do okay (I mean, I adore these characters so much already 🥹, but engagement might be a different story). So, I’m going to save my energy for what really matters to me—the heart and soul of the story, instead of focusing too much on the smut (which, honestly, I’m not as into writing as I used to be). Okay, okay—back on track. I’m super excited to share this story with you, and I really, really hope you enjoy it as much as I do. Don’t forget to tell me your thoughts—whether you love it, hate it, or just want to fangirl over Jimin with me ✨ This whole story (which will be posted every Sunday for the next eight weeks) is for my dear friend @remmykinsff! I hope you’ll love it 💜

| s.masterlist | m.masterlist |  next →

“Why the hell do you have so many boxes?” Yoongi groans, his voice slicing through the quiet winter air as he hefts a particularly heavy one—something he clearly should have let Namjoon handle. His breath fogs up like ghostly clouds, a silent testament to the biting cold.

You stand by the moving truck, arms crossed, the chill curling around you like an unwelcome scarf. The streetlamp above flickers weakly, casting long shadows over the small gathering of your life in boxes. You shiver, not just from the cold but from the weight of this moment—watching your brother Yoongi and your best friend Namjoon haul the sum of your memories into the truck, piece by piece, bound for a new beginning.

It wasn’t your choice to leave; the landlord had pulled the rug out from under you with a sudden hike in rent you couldn’t possibly manage. But this wasn’t just an ending. There was a glimmer of hope in the move—a small house on the outskirts of the city with a garden that you could already see yourself tending, sunlight warming your face. Perfect wasn’t something you’d often dared to dream of, but this felt close enough to touch.

Namjoon heaves the final box into the truck and straightens with a satisfied grin. “That’s the last of it. We managed to fit everything,” he says, his breath visible in the frost-tipped air.

Yoongi, less triumphant, leans against the truck, arms crossed, his usual scowl softened by exhaustion. “Not a lot of stuff, huh? Then why does everything weigh as much as a small planet?”

You roll your eyes at him, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “Tiny apartments don’t leave room for a lot of stuff,” you murmur, thinking of your now-abandoned shoebox of a home. What you own might not fill much space, but every piece carries its own story, its own weight. To them, it’s just heavy. To you, it’s everything.

“Yoon, you should really hit the gym more,” you tease, your voice laced with playful scorn, though the grin on your face betrays your fondness. The sibling bond—a language of its own, fluent in jabs and unspoken affection.

“Are you calling me weak?” Yoongi snaps, his tone sharp, but the flicker of indignation in his eyes is almost theatrical. He knows the answer. You know he knows. It’s part of the game.

You laugh, the sound light and unbothered, a knowing glint in your eyes as you glance at his slender arms. “I don’t have to say it, do I?”

Before the exchange can escalate, Namjoon steps between you with a calm authority that feels as solid as the ground beneath your feet. “Alright, easy, you two. I’ll take care of the heavy lifting. Yoongi, you drive.”

Yoongi scoffs, letting your remark go as he shoots you a withering look that doesn’t quite land. He climbs into the driver’s seat with a practiced air of resignation, his fingers brushing over the steering wheel as Namjoon closes the back of the truck with a satisfying clunk.

The three of you settle inside the truck, and silence slips in, gentle and familiar, as the hum of the engine vibrates beneath you. The radio crackles to life, filling the space with the soft strains of a slow love song. The melody spills out like liquid silver, sad yet hopeful, and the singer’s voice—a perfect blend of sweetness and longing—wraps around you like a blanket against the cold.

Your chest tightens as the words begin to take root, burrowing into the quiet corners of your heart: “Even though I was pitch black, I can’t stop thinking about you all day long. Without you knowing, I want to take one step, then another, closer to you. Stay with you. I will be your reason. I hope this feeling reaches you.”

You stare out the frosted window, the aching beauty of the lyrics mingling with the soft glow of the late afternoon light. The world outside shifts and transforms as Yoongi steers the truck with steady hands, the city’s sprawling chaos giving way to the calm, snow-dusted edges of the outskirts. Frost clings to the barren trees and lonely streetlamps, their icy shimmer catching the fading sunlight like quiet promises.

There it is—your new beginning, cradled in the quiet of the outskirts. The small house stands modestly, embraced by a low, whispering hedge that frames its quaint charm. A tiny terrace juts out at the front, its stone surface dappled with the faint traces of winter frost. You remember the cozy backyard from the last time you visited—a patch of earth waiting patiently for spring to bring it to life.

Yoongi eases the truck to a stop in front of the house, the engine humming briefly before falling silent. The three of you step out, boots crunching softly against the snow-dusted gravel. Your heart thuds louder with each step as you approach the door. It’s a humble thing—made of frosted glass that blurs the world on the other side, catching the dim afternoon light and casting it gently inside. You know that when the sun graces it, the whole entrance will glow like a promise.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you fit the key into the lock, turning it with a satisfying click. The door creaks open, and you step over the threshold into your new home. It greets you with its smallness—barely 80 square meters—but it feels vast compared to the cramped city apartment you left behind. Here, there’s space to breathe, to begin again. And the rent, blissfully lower than what the city demanded, makes it all the sweeter.

You glance at the neighboring house—a touch larger, its lot sprawling wider—but you don’t feel envy. This space is yours. Yours to fill with laughter, with quiet mornings, with life.

Flipping the light switch, the warm glow floods the entranceway. The layout unfolds before you in inviting simplicity. The entrance flows seamlessly into a snug living room, its openness spilling into the compact kitchen. The single bedroom feels intimate but holds a delightful surprise: a small walk-in closet that sets your heart alight with possibility. The bathroom, unexpectedly spacious, feels almost indulgent—a small luxury you hadn’t dared to imagine.

You stand in the quiet warmth of the space, letting it envelop you. Yes, it’s small. Yes, it’s simple. But it’s yours. For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re not just standing in a house. You’re home.

Namjoon brushes past you with a box in hand, his footsteps purposeful. “Where should I put this?” he asks, his voice cutting through the quiet hum of settling dust.

“In the bedroom, please,” you reply, recognizing your own messy scrawl on the side of the box. He nods, disappearing down the short hallway. Moments later, Yoongi follows, arms burdened with lighter boxes this time, his silent stare speaking louder than words. You’re not sure if it’s disapproval or exhaustion—or maybe a mix of both.

Together, the three of you move with practiced rhythm, unloading the truck, the occasional grunt of effort punctuating the soft winter stillness. One by one, your belongings find their way inside, until finally, after an hour and a half, the truck stands empty. Inside, your life now lies in disarray—boxes scattered like misplaced puzzle pieces across the small living room. Thankfully, the heavier furniture already sits snug in its designated spots, thanks to Namjoon’s methodical eye for order.

You all collapse onto the sofa, a symphony of sighs and tired exhales filling the room. The cushions envelop you like a long-awaited embrace, and you lean back, the ache in your muscles giving way to a fleeting moment of peace.

“Do you need help with anything else?” Yoongi asks, his tone more dutiful than eager. You catch the subtext immediately: he’s ready to leave, and who could blame him?

“No, I’m good,” you reply with a grateful smile, sinking further into the plush comfort of your sofa.

But Namjoon isn’t done yet. “Can we make dinner for you before we go?” he offers, sitting up straight as if a second wind has just hit him. You wave him off, declining politely, but he shakes his head, determined. “I saw a grocery store just down the street. Yoongi and I will grab a few things, and then he’ll cook for you.” He’s already on his feet, brushing invisible dust from his sleeves.

Yoongi remains rooted to the sofa, his arms crossed and his expression somewhere between incredulous and annoyed. “You think I’m going to cook for my baby sister?” he scoffs, throwing you a pointed look.

Namjoon doesn’t miss a beat, rolling his eyes like an exasperated parent. “What, are you planning to let your family starve?”

Yoongi’s brows twitch as he fires back, “She’s over thirty. She’s a grown-ass adult. She can take care of herself.”

Your lips part, ready to volley something back, but before you can, Namjoon grabs Yoongi’s arm, hauling him to his feet with an ease that speaks of strength and familiarity. “Come on, Mr. Grown-Ass-Adult,” he says dryly, shoving Yoongi’s coat into his hands while slipping into his own.

Yoongi grumbles under his breath, but he doesn’t fight it. As Namjoon steers him toward the door, he casts a helpless glance back at you, like a cat begrudgingly herded.

“We’ll be back in a moment,” Namjoon calls over his shoulder, his voice brimming with cheerful authority. “Relax. Or unpack. Your choice.”

The door swings shut behind them, leaving you in the stillness of your new home, the faint scent of winter air lingering. You let out a soft laugh, your heart warm despite the cold. Family might be exhausting, but they’re also everything.

Then the door closes, and for the first time today, you’re alone. The silence wraps around you like a fragile shell, amplifying the creak of settling walls and the faint hum of distant life. You sink into the sofa, letting the stillness settle, until your ears catch something unexpected—a faint thread of melody, a guitar’s quiet murmur drifting through the air.

Curiosity tugs you upright, your steps soft against the floor as you follow the sound. In your new bedroom, you pause, pressing your hand to the wall. The music is clearer now, gentle and raw, strings bending under someone’s practiced fingers. Your new neighbor, perhaps? The thought lingers as you drift back to the kitchen, the faint melody becoming a backdrop to the rustle of cardboard and clinking pans. You begin to unpack—the pans your brother will use to cook, the utensils that clatter together like an impromptu percussion. Cooking has always been his way of showing love, and you can’t wait to taste the comfort it brings.

As you move through the small kitchen, time slips through your fingers like grains of sand. You make progress—each box emptied feels like a small triumph. The living room is next, and though you didn’t bring much, your touch begins to transform the space into something warm, something yours.

The sharp chill of winter sweeps in as the front door swings open, announcing Namjoon and Yoongi’s return. Cold air rushes past them, carrying the earthy scent of snow and fresh groceries. Shoes and coats are shed in a flurry of motion, and Namjoon drags his bags to the counter, while Yoongi mumbles something under his breath—his version of commentary that you’ve long learned to ignore. Yoongi grumbles as he hauls two bags into the kitchen, while Namjoon shoulders four with ease, a playful smirk on his face as he shakes the cold from his hair. Your brother dives into the kitchen, already rifling through drawers to find the pans you just unpacked.

As you help Namjoon sort the groceries, you note their choices: fresh greens, vibrant vegetables, sturdy staples like rice, beans, and coconut milk. Practical and thoughtful, as always. Your brother doesn’t waste time, snapping orders your way to chop this and rinse that. Namjoon, wisely, steers clear of the chaos and retreats to the sofa, knowing better than to tempt fate near a knife.

You and Yoongi move seamlessly, a practiced rhythm born of years of shared meals and unspoken communication. The kitchen fills with the sizzling symphony of cooking: onions crackling, garlic blooming in fragrant waves, and the gentle stir of sauces melding together. The aroma wraps itself around you, warm and grounding, a promise of the meal to come.

When the food is done, the three of you gather at your small round dining table. The plates are filled with comfort—steaming rice, perfectly cooked vegetables, and savory flavors that speak of home. Yoongi hums faintly in approval as he eats, his silence a language of contentment. Namjoon, ever the conversationalist, smiles wide as he asks about the neighborhood. You don’t know much yet, but his enthusiasm fills the gaps.

The meal lingers, rich and satisfying, until the plates are empty and the room carries only the faint scent of what was. They stand to leave, hugs exchanged at the door, their warmth momentarily shielding you from the cold creeping back in. As they drive off, the truck rattling softly into the night, the quiet returns. But this time, it feels different. Not empty.

Your home, though still half-full of boxes, feels alive now, touched by their presence. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

Silence settles again, fragile and heavy—except for that faint sound of a guitar, now joined by a man’s voice. It drifts through the stillness, soft and haunting, the kind of melody that reaches into places you didn’t know were aching. From the little you can hear, his voice holds a quiet sorrow, tinged with a beauty that seems almost too fragile for this world. Wrapped in the haze of a full belly and the gentle pull of exhaustion, you sink deeper into the cushions of your couch. The music lulls you, and before you know it, sleep claims you.

When you wake, it’s to the sharp protest of stiff muscles, your body groaning in rebellion. You stretch, long and languid, wincing as you ease into movement. The living room light is still on, casting a warm but tired glow across the scattered boxes. Reaching for your phone, you blink at the screen: Saturday morning.

A sigh escapes you, accompanied by another stretch, your bones clicking softly in protest. As you yawn, the faint strands of music that lulled you to sleep the night before have grown bolder, louder, weaving through the quiet morning air. It’s coming from next door, a melody more insistent now, rising and falling like a tide against your walls.

You pause, half-annoyed, half-curious. Who plays music so loudly on a Saturday morning? Still, it isn’t unpleasant. The sound curls around you, melancholy and mesmerizing, coaxing goosebumps to bloom along your arms.

Shaking off the morning grogginess, you shuffle into the kitchen to make tea, the faint chill of the floor against your bare feet grounding you. As the kettle hums and hisses to life, your attention drifts back to the music. This song, like the one before, carries a sadness that pierces through its beauty, the kind of sorrow that feels personal yet strangely universal.

You sip your tea slowly, the warmth unfurling through your chest, and let the notes wrap around you. The lyrics, muffled but achingly tender, float into your thoughts. A sad love song, you think—heartache distilled into sound.

And then, for a fleeting moment, your mind wanders. Who is your neighbor, and what might they be feeling? It’s hard not to wonder. To play songs like this on a quiet Saturday morning—it speaks of longing, of loss, of someone trying to untangle the knots of their heart.

Exhaustion anchors you to the couch, your body heavy with the weight of weeks spent unpacking, working, and simply trying to adjust. The hours blur together as you let yourself drift, half-lost in the steady stream of music flowing from your neighbor’s house. Sad love songs, one after another, their melodies curling through the air like smoke, filling the silence with their ache. At least your neighbor has good taste; the voice is mesmerizing, familiar, tugging at the edges of your memory. And then it clicks: you’ve heard it before, floating from car radios or playing softly in cafes.  

Nearly two weeks slip by, the days stacked like unopened letters. Despite the proximity, you’ve yet to meet your enigmatic neighbor, though their music has become an unintentional soundtrack to your life. Namjoon, ever the social butterfly, has nudged you more than once to pay them a visit. “Just say hi,” he urged, grinning. But socializing hasn’t exactly been high on your list, not when there are boxes to unpack, deadlines to meet, and your energy drained to its dregs.  

Still, a seed of worry takes root. The songs haven’t changed—still steeped in longing, still carrying that unshakable sadness. Day after day, it’s as if the house next door is exhaling heartbreak. Maybe Namjoon’s right. Maybe you should go introduce yourself, ask about the neighborhood, and gently check if everything’s okay.  

Which is how you find yourself walking up the snow-dusted path to your neighbor’s door, nerves prickling like the winter air against your skin. Their house looms larger than yours, its quiet elegance a subtle reminder of its age and stature. Even the door, frosted glass like your own, feels imposing—a pale barrier between curiosity and the answers waiting behind it.  

Your footsteps crunch softly on the frozen ground as you approach. You hesitate, your breath clouding in the cold, before raising a hand to knock. For good measure, you press the doorbell too, its chime echoing faintly into the stillness.  

And then you wait, heart thrumming in quiet anticipation.  

The music drifts out from the house, faint yet achingly persistent, wrapping around you like the winter chill. You shift on your feet, blowing warmth into your hands, impatient as the cold nips at your nose and fingers. Just as the thought of retreating crosses your mind, the door creaks open.

Your gaze lowers, meeting a pair of wide, brown curious eyes belonging to a little girl. She’s impossibly small, bundled in a sweater too big for her, her dark hair a gentle mess. Her smile, shy but sweet, carries a warmth that momentarily pushes back the frost.

“Hi,” she says, her voice as soft as a whisper of wind through snow-covered trees. She studies you carefully, her head tilting as though trying to puzzle you out.

You return her smile, bending slightly to her level. “Hi, I’m Y/N. I just moved in next door.” A pause, then a gentle laugh. “I was getting a little worried with all the sad music coming from here. Are your parents home?”

Her smile falters, her gaze flickering downward before rising to meet yours again. There’s something heavy in her small expression, far too much for a child her age. “It’s just me and my dad,” she says quietly, her voice tinged with something you can’t quite name.

Your heart clenches at her words, though you don’t fully understand why. She’s so young, so sweet, and yet there’s a fragility to her presence that stirs something protective in you. For a moment, you wonder about her mother, where she might be, what might have happened.

“Is your dad home?” you ask gently, your tone as soft as your smile.

She nods, stepping back into the warm glow of the house. “I’ll go get him. Please wait here,” she says, her words so polite they make you smile again. She scurries off, leaving you at the threshold with the frosty air swirling in around your feet.

As you stand there, you catch glimpses of the house’s interior: the dim light casting long shadows, the faint smell of wood and something floral, and always that music—a bittersweet tune that seeps into every corner.

When she returns, she isn’t alone. A man follows her, his presence filling the doorway.

Your breath catches, your jaw slack as your mind struggles to process the sight before you. You’d expected the father of the sweet little girl to be ordinary, unassuming. But this? This man? He’s a vision pulled straight from the realm of angels.

The first thing you notice is his presence—tall, confident, yet carrying a quiet weariness that tugs at the edges of his posture. He’s dressed simply, but somehow that makes him all the more striking. A plain white t-shirt stretches across his chest, the sleeves rolled just enough to bare sinewy arms, and on his wrist, a faint tattoo peeks out like a secret. His black dress pants sit high on his impossibly small waist, falling loosely down his legs in elegant folds, a sharp contrast to the effortless way he carries himself.

And then there’s his face—soft yet devastatingly sharp, a contradiction of beauty. His jawline is so defined, it looks as if it could carve through stone, and yet his full lips, slightly parted as if mid-thought, ground him in warmth. His eyes—soft brown, tender, and framed by glasses and sleeplessness—pull you in, speaking of long nights and untold stories.

His hair, warm blonde kissed with streaks of brown at the roots, falls in uneven waves, longer in the back. It looks as if it was tousled by the wind or restless fingers, and you can’t help but wonder if he even knows how effortlessly beautiful he is. A few faint birthmarks dot his skin, adding something human to a face that feels otherworldly. As he steps closer, his features soften even more, and your pulse quickens.

“Hi,” he says, his voice a low, soothing melody that sinks into your bones. It’s angelic yet grounded, the kind of sound that lingers, reverberating long after the words are spoken. “What can I do for you?”

For a moment, you forget how to speak, how to breathe, how to exist. All your intentions, your purpose, your very reason for knocking on his door dissolve under the weight of his gaze. You can only stare, unmoored, helplessly captivated.

“This lady said she’s our new neighbor,” the girl chirps beside him, her bright voice cutting through your daze like sunlight through clouds. She looks up at her father with a grin, and he nods, clearing his throat.

He steps closer, extending a hand toward you, the motion deliberate and polite. His hand is warm when it meets yours, soft in a way that belies the calluses at his fingertips—marks of labor, of skill, of a life lived. 

“I’m sorry, where are my manners?” he says with a gentle smile, and you realize your heart is racing, thundering in your chest like it’s trying to escape.

“My name is Jimin, and this is my daughter, Hwa-Young,” he says, his voice soft yet resonant, like the distant hum of a melody that refuses to be forgotten. It’s only then that you realize—mortifyingly—that you’re still holding his hand, the warmth of his palm grounding you far too much. With a jolt, you release it, your cheeks burning like embers, the sting of your foolishness wrapping itself around you. This is why you don’t talk to people, you scold yourself silently. You’re a mess. A fool.

The moment blurs, and you barely register Jimin’s words as he politely repeats something—was it your name? Before you can respond, Hwa-Young steps in, her voice clear and chiming with youthful certainty. “Her name is Y/N,” she declares with the pride of someone who’s solved a puzzle.

Jimin smiles, his expression warm enough to melt the frost clinging to your thoughts, and opens the door wider. “Would you like to come inside for a cup of tea, Y/N?”

You nod mutely, words lodged somewhere between your heart and throat. Speaking feels too dangerous; your silence, you hope, can’t betray how tangled your thoughts have become.

Inside, the house welcomes you with a kind of quiet charm. You peel off your coat and shoes, swapping them for a pair of slippers left by the entryway. The hallway leads you into a living room bathed in soft, creamy tones, its minimalist style broken only by the unmistakable fingerprint of family. Children’s drawings hang on the walls in uneven rows, their vibrant colors a stark but beautiful contrast to the muted decor. A small clay sculpture, wobbling slightly on its base, sits proudly on a side table. It feels like stepping into a story—a place where every corner holds a piece of life lived and loved.

Jimin gestures toward the sofa, and you sink into its inviting cushions, the fabric soft against your fingers. Hwa-Young follows, nestling beside you with a quiet familiarity, her presence grounding. From the nearby kitchen, the faint clatter of porcelain and the rustling of tea packets signal Jimin’s quiet movements.

The room feels alive with warmth, not just from the home itself but from the gentle energy of its inhabitants. You take it all in—the way the light filters through the curtains in golden streaks, the faint scent of lavender mingling with the hum of boiling water, and the soft chatter of a child’s imagination as Hwa-Young shows you a paper star she made.

You glance toward the kitchen, where Jimin moves with unhurried grace, and a strange calm settles over you. Maybe, just maybe, this unexpected meeting wasn’t such a mistake after all.

“Are you from the city?” Hwa-Young asks, her voice bright with curiosity, her smile tugging at the corners of her youthful face. You nod, mirroring her smile with one of your own.

“Yes, I just moved in about two weeks ago,” you reply, the words tumbling out like snowflakes in the quiet. “How old are you?”

“I just turned ten!” she exclaims, her voice brimming with pride, her grin wide and unrestrained. Somehow, the innocence in her joy stirs something deep within you, a warmth that begins to thaw the cold edges of your weary heart.

“Congratulations,” you say softly, folding your hands in your lap as if to hold the fragile moment still.

Jimin enters the room, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. He sets them gently on the coffee table, the soft clink of ceramic against wood breaking the silence. With effortless grace, he disappears briefly, returning with a glass of water for his daughter. As he takes his seat in a plush chair opposite you, his presence feels both calming and grounding, like the steady rhythm of a familiar song.

“How are you liking the town so far?” he asks, his voice carrying a soothing cadence, as if he’s accustomed to drawing out answers with kindness alone.

Lifting the mug to your lips, you blow softly on the surface of the tea, the fragrant steam curling upward like a wisp of memory. “I like it so far,” you say, your tone reflective, as though you’re still making sense of this new chapter in your life.

The faintest flicker of realization ignites, and you remember the reason for your visit. You set the mug down, hesitating for a moment before continuing. “I haven’t seen much of it yet. Between work and unpacking, I’ve barely had a chance to explore. But, actually…”

He takes another sip of his tea, and you can’t help but let your gaze linger. The delicate curve of his lashes, impossibly long and casting soft shadows on his cheekbones, draws your attention. His lips—pink, full, and unassuming—meet the edge of the mug, and for a brief, absurd moment, you find yourself wondering how something so simple could be so captivating.

What are you even thinking? You shake off the thought, clearing your throat.

“Ah, yes,” you stammer, a little too loudly. “I couldn’t help but notice…” You trail off, grappling for the right words. “I’ve heard a lot of sad songs coming from your house since I moved in, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay. Like, not…heartbroken or anything?”

Your words hang in the air, an awkward tangle of concern and curiosity, and you silently curse yourself for blurting them out. Was that a question or a statement? Even you aren’t sure.

But then he smiles—a real, genuine smile—and for a split second, his eyes vanish into crescents of warmth. His teeth peek out, slightly crooked, but so charming it nearly takes your breath away. Running a hand through his tousled blonde hair, he chuckles softly, his laugh like a melody in itself.

“Oh, that’s me. I’m the one guilty of all the sad music,” he admits, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that makes you feel at ease despite your earlier awkwardness.

Your brow furrows in thought as you tap your pointer finger against your lips, the name of the voice eluding you. “What’s the name of the artist? I know I’ve heard him on the radio, but I just can’t place it…”

His smile blooms, radiant and unrestrained, his eyes crinkling into crescents of pure light. “That’s me,” he says, a giggle escaping his lips, soft and melodic like the hum of a lullaby.

You blink at him, utterly perplexed, your mind spinning as you try to piece together what he could mean. “Sorry?” you venture hesitantly, hoping for clarity, your confusion painted plainly across your face.

“The artist,” he explains, his voice effortlessly calm and sure, “is Park Jimin. And I’m Park Jimin.”

The name lands in your ears, but it takes a second longer for the meaning to sink in. His daughter bursts into delighted laughter, while you sit frozen, your expression surely something straight out of a cartoon—wide eyes, jaw unhinged, disbelief written all over you.

Your thoughts race, chasing one another in circles. His voice, angelic and hauntingly beautiful, had felt familiar from the moment you heard it. And suddenly, the puzzle clicks into place. The songs—the ones that wrapped around you like a bittersweet embrace—were his. His.

Your eyes dart toward one of the rooms down the hall, where the music had been flowing endlessly up until the moment he greeted you. But now, the silence is palpable, a stillness that confirms your dawning realization. It wasn’t the stereo at all. It was him.

“Daddy, show her a song!” Hwa-Young pipes up, her small voice brimming with excitement as she hops off the couch and scampers toward a room. The door is ajar, revealing a glimpse of equipment and scattered papers.

Jimin’s smile softens, his eyes meeting yours with a gentle invitation. Without a word, he rises and gestures for you to follow. And as though caught in a spell, you do, your curiosity pulling you forward.

His studio is a world unto itself—a symphony of black and white, sleek lines, and personal chaos. Guitars in all shapes and sizes line the walls, their polished bodies gleaming under soft light. A microphone stands at attention, its cable curling like a lifeline to the scattered pages of sheet music littering the desk and floor.

It’s not just a room; it’s a glimpse into his soul, a sanctuary of sound and vulnerability. You can’t help but let your gaze linger, taking in the effortless beauty of it all.

Hwa-Young leaps onto the couch with a boundless energy that only a child can muster, the cushions bouncing under her weight. She pats the spot beside her, a silent invitation laced with an innocent warmth. You accept, settling in as Jimin crosses the room with a quiet confidence, his every movement purposeful yet unassuming. He retrieves an acoustic guitar, its wood glowing faintly under the soft overhead light, and perches on a nearby stool.

“Play her that new song, dad,” Hwa-Young beams, her voice lilting with pride and affection. She leans back into the couch, her tiny frame dwarfed by its embrace, but her presence fills the room.

Jimin nods, a soft smile tugging at his lips, and then his fingers meet the strings. A single strum reverberates, low and tender, a sound that seems to dissolve the walls and pull you into a different world. 

And then he sings.

His voice flows like a stream over smooth stones—gentle, searching, yet laced with a fragile ache. Feather-light and haunting, it brushes against you, delicate as a whisper yet powerful enough to root you in place. “We never met, but she’s all I see at night.Never met but she’s always on my mind.Wanna give her the world,And so much more.Who is my heart waiting for?If every day I think about her,Yeah, every day of my life.Then tell me why I haven’t found her.”

Each note hangs in the air like a secret meant only for this moment, for you, for the stillness that has settled over the room. Your mind empties, swept clean by the sheer beauty of his voice, each syllable carrying raw emotion that you can’t help but feel, though it’s not your story to claim.

You watch him, this man who pours his heart so freely before a stranger, as if vulnerability were as natural as breathing. His fingers dance over the strings with practiced ease, but it’s the weight in his voice—the yearning, the quiet pain—that lingers in your chest.

A flicker of a question rises, unbidden, as you take in the scene—a renowned singer-songwriter, his talent unmistakable, living humbly in this crappy and cheap neighborhood. Why here? Why this place, when his voice alone could carry him anywhere? But the question dissipates as quickly as it forms, lost in the tide of his music. At this moment, none of it matters.

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv

→ Series taglist: @13-manggaetteok @mima795 @hnnnjm @flaneuseonthestreets @miniesjams32 @graydolan12

→ Author’s endnote: soooo?? Tell me everything! What do you think about Jimin? Is he stealing your heart yet, or is it his adorable daughter who’s totally got you wrapped around her tiny finger? 👀💜 And don’t even get me started on what’s coming next... are you excited? Nervous? Ready to cry?? Because trust me, the next chapter has all the feels™. Let’s hear your thoughts—I’m dying to know!

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[emphasisonthehomo]

Can you do a Buck POV of Tommy telling him that Ryan thought he was straight please?

From this.

NSFW!

•

Buck loves Tommy like this. Post orgasm relaxed. Shirtless and flopped against the couch. Head tipped back and eyes closed. Almost his entire upper body is still flushed, a sheen of sweat clinging to his skin. His nipples are hard, his breathing not quite settled.

Buck’s breathing hasn’t settled either, and his legs feel almost jelly-like as he stands. If Buck had his way they’d sit and cuddle for a little longer before doing anything, but Buck isn’t having his way about that because-

Well.

Tommy’s face and throat are covered in come.

Some of it’s smeared, a mess across Tommy’s cheeks and chin, from where Buck couldn’t help it and licked the taste of himself out of Tommy’s mouth.

“Hurry up, baby,” Tommy says, quirking an eyebrow up but keeping his eyes closed.

Tommy’s voice is rough from how he’d taken Buck’s cock into his throat earlier. Buck shivers.

“Yes, Sir,” Buck says, just because he knows it’ll make Tommy laugh.

It does, and the sound follows Buck as he hurries to the bathroom to get a warm washcloth. When he makes it back to the living room, Tommy’s relaxed even further into the couch. He tips his face in Buck’s direction once he hears Buck get close.

“How was your day?” Tommy murmurs, reaching out blindly to grab Evan’s naked hip, “We got distracted before I could ask.”

Distracted is an understatement. There had been maybe 30 seconds between Tommy opening the front door, and the two of them fumbling at each other’s clothes and tumbling onto the couch to suck each other off.

“Good,” Buck says, gently wiping at the come on Tommy’s eyelids first, “Went for a run, did some vacuuming, all that boring stuff.”

Tommy hates vacuuming and Buck hates the dishes. It’s a fair trade. Buck carefully slides the washcloth lower to clean up the mess on Tommy’s jaw, and Tommy’s eyes blink open.

“Mmm, thanks,” Tommy says, groping along Buck’s skin before resting his hand on top of Buck’s ass.

“What about you?” Buck asks, remembering to be curious, “You ever figure out what was up with Ryan?”

Buck’s not expecting how hard Tommy starts laughing. His entire face crinkles up as he giggles helplessly.

“I did,” Tommy says after a huge inhale, shaking his head, “God babe, you’re not gonna believe it.”

“What happened?” Buck asks, bewildered before he grabs at Tommy’s chin, “Stop cackling, I’m trying to clean you off.”

“Sorry,” Tommy snickers, going still again, “Anyways uh. Ryan thought I was straight.”

Buck freezes.

“What?” Buck demands, washcloth still mashed wetly against Tommy’s face, “How?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy says, looking up at him, “I have no idea. I thought he knew, but apparently he didn’t.”

“I’m confused?” Buck says, wiping across Tommy’s mouth, “He was mad that you’re gay?”

“Not quite,” Tommy says, voice muffled until Evan pulls the washcloth away, “From what I’ve been able to figure out, he thought I was straight and then you decided to stick your tongue in my mouth. Then he thought it might be a weird prank or something.”

“Helluva prank,” Buck frowns, “Also I’m pretty sure I only stuck my tongue in your mouth for like. A second.”

“I’m instituting a ‘no tongue while on shift’ rule,” Tommy rolls his eyes and adjusts his hand on Buck’s ass to start tugging him down, “That’s good until we shower, I’m getting cold.”

Dropping the washcloth unceremoniously onto the floor, Evan goes where Tommy wants him. Namely pressed close, nude and a little sticky. Buck reaches out to grab one of the blankets and throws it over them, and settles in for the cuddles he didn’t get earlier.

“Anyway,” Tommy continues with a happy sigh, sliding his hand slowly up and down Buck’s spine, “Somehow he missed that you’re a guy, and then was upset I didn’t tell him.”

“Sounds like a him problem,” Buck says, because he can’t imagine being upset upon finding out a coworker isn’t straight, “I thought pilots were supposed to be observant.”

“He’s a smart kid,” Tommy says, voice a little defensive, “I just assumed he knew because everyone else knows. But I’m also. You know… I’m not exactly flagging at work.”

“You should,” Buck says, “That’d be a good prank. Show up with a grey hankie in your left back pocket, see who says something.”  

“Absolutely not,” Tommy says, affronted, “I don’t want to know who knows what that means.”

[spencerrsmopbucket]

Tides of Venom (3) | Finnick Odair

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You. the Snake of Seven, had a knack for being efficient. You'd do what needed to be done to get out of the arena alive. But is it that simple?

Warnings: Death. Brutality, basically. The reader being the Snake of Seven.

(NOTE: I am writing the arena and the games differently. It won't be exactly like the movie. The arena isn't a clock, for one. It's very similar to the one in Katniss's first games -- except more water.)

The waiting area was oppressively quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the training facility. Gone were the sounds of clashing metal and grunts of exertion. Here, the silence was almost deafening, broken only by the faint hum of Capitol machinery and the soft clicks of heels against polished floors as attendants flitted in and out, making final adjustments to the tributes’ outfits.

You sat in the corner of the room, perched on a small bench as you tightened the laces on your boots. The gear they’d given you was lightweight but durable, designed for speed and agility rather than brute force. Perfect. The Capitol had spared no expense in ensuring every tribute had what suited them. Something practical. You cracked your neck as you closed your eyes, taking a deep slow breath.

You were strapping in. You were becoming her.

Across the room, Reid paced nervously, his fingers twitching at his sides. His dark hair was slicked back, but a few strands had already fallen loose, sticking to his forehead. He looked up at you every so often, his expression a mix of fear and determination. You could see it in his eyes: he knew he didn’t stand a chance out there. Not against the Careers. Not against the arena itself. And certainly not against you.

“You need to stop pacing,” you said sharply, not looking up from your boots. “You’re wasting energy.”

He stopped mid-step, glancing over at you with a sheepish expression. “Sorry. It’s just… hard not to think about what’s coming.”

You finally looked up, your cold e/c eyes locking onto his. “Thinking won’t help you now. You either act, or you don’t. That’s the only thing that matters in this arena." You say coldly, standing up.

Reid nodded, though you could tell your words hadn’t reassured him. He sat on the bench opposite you, his hands clasped tightly in his lap. “You’re not scared?” he asked after a moment, his voice barely above a whisper.

You tilted your head, studying him. Scared? No, that wasn’t the right word. Fear had no place in your mind anymore. Not after everything you’d been through. “Fear’s a luxury I can’t afford,” you said finally. “Neither can you.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked away. “I’ll try.”

You sighed, leaning back against the wall. Reid wasn’t going to last long. He was smart, sure. Probably the smartest person in the room. But intelligence only got you so far in the Games. The Careers would tear him apart the moment they got the chance. That thought settled heavily in your mind, twisting uncomfortably in your chest. You’d made up your mind days ago, but now, sitting here with him, it felt more real than ever.

In your own interest and in the best interest of Reid, you would take him down first. Before anyone else touched him. In some twisted way, in a way that you knew his parents wouldn't understand, it was an act of mercy. An act of kindness. You would be quick, keeping it as painless as possible.

Maybe you would take the coward's way and kill him while he was asleep. Maybe you would creep up behind him and snap his neck. Whatever it was, it would be your first act in the arena. You weren't going to let one of the bloodthirsty careers, especially Cashmere, who had shown an interest, get to him.

He was too soft, too gentle, too kind.

The waiting room’s oppressive stillness was broken by the sharp sound of the door opening. A Capitol attendant stepped inside, her polished smile as jarring as it was false. Her words were clipped, her tone professional, like this was just another day at work for her.

“It’s time,” she announced.

You stood immediately, tightening the last strap on your gear. The air around you grew heavier, the tension suffocating as you glanced over at Reid. He hesitated, his hands twitching at his sides before he rose to his feet. His face was pale, his jaw set, but his trembling hands gave him away.

“Stay close,” you said again, your voice firm. It wasn’t a suggestion.

He nodded quickly, following behind you as the attendant led you into the hallway. The stark, polished walls glimmered under artificial light, the hum of Capitol machinery filling the air. Your boots clicked rhythmically against the floor, a steady beat counting down the seconds until everything changed.

The launch pads came into view, their cold metal surfaces gleaming with a sterile finality. Capitol technicians bustled around, making last-minute adjustments and murmuring instructions you ignored. The attendant gestured toward your designated platform, and you stepped onto it without hesitation.

The metal beneath your boots was icy, a jarring contrast to the heat simmering in your veins. The glass cylinder descended around you, sealing you inside with an eerie hiss. Across the room, you caught one last look at Reid as he stepped into his own tube. He glanced your way, his eyes wide, searching for reassurance you didn’t have to offer.

As you started ascending, you once more closed your eyes, speaking to yourself in your head.

Don't be merciful.

Don't slow down.

Don't show weakness. For the love of God, don't show pain either.

Get what you need, nothing extra. Don't waste time.

Be smart. Always be one step ahead.

Ignore Finnick Odair.

When your final thought rang through, you opened your eyes. You were being lifted into the arena.

The arena was a brilliantly crafted nightmare. It was a perfect circle, with the Cornucopia perched on a central island surrounded by water. The golden horn gleamed blindingly under the sun, its shadow stretching across the pristine white sand that encircled it.

The water surrounding the Cornucopia wasn’t the refreshing blue of a tropical paradise. It was a dark, ominous teal, its surface deceptively calm, rippling faintly under the weight of the tension in the air. Beyond the water, the arena’s outer edge formed a ring of dense jungle, the foliage impossibly thick and teeming with life. Towering trees with unnaturally large leaves cast deep shadows, and the air buzzed with the constant sound of unseen insects.

Your eyes narrowed as you looked around.

The jungle beyond the water loomed like a living wall, an unrelenting mass of greens and browns that seemed to move and breathe on its own. Thick vines twisted like snakes around tree trunks, and the undergrowth was so dense you could barely make out what lay beyond the first few feet. The shadows within the trees were darker than they should have been, as though the jungle itself was hiding secrets, waiting for the right moment to reveal them.

The air was heavy with the oppressive heat, already making it hard to breathe. Sweat began to form on the back of your neck as you stood still, your boots firmly planted on your platform. The sound of the jungle’s distant life—the chirps, growls, and rustles—melded with the faint lapping of water against the shore. It was a cacophony of unease, designed to unsettle even the strongest minds.

You shifted your focus to the Cornucopia, your sharp eyes scanning the scattered supplies. Weapons glinted in the sunlight, their edges polished to a lethal shine. Packs of various sizes were scattered haphazardly across the sandy island, their contents unknown but undoubtedly essential for survival. The tantalizing glimmer of resources was a trap—a lure for the desperate and the greedy.

To your left, Reid stood frozen on his platform, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he took in the scene. His wide-eyed terror was palpable even at a distance, and you clenched your jaw. You had no room for distractions. Reid was a dead man walking; it was only a matter of when, not if.

The countdown began.

A booming voice echoed through the arena, counting down from sixty, and the tension became suffocating. Your hands curled into fists, every muscle in your body coiled and ready to spring. Each second that ticked away felt like an eternity, the sound of the clock reverberating in your ears. You inhaled deeply, steadying your nerves. You had one chance, one opportunity to grab what you needed and retreat.

“Forty-five,” the voice droned.

You assessed the tributes, your mind calculating distances, reactions, and potential threats. Cashmere stood with a smirk on her face, her hand flexing at her side like she was already envisioning her next kill. Finnick’s expression was unreadable, though his stance was loose, casual, and far too confident. Brutus practically vibrated with anticipation, his eyes locked on the Cornucopia like a predator eyeing its prey.

You noted their placements and trajectories, marking who would go where. You weren’t the strongest or the fastest, but you were smarter, more calculated. You wouldn’t waste time vying for weapons with the Careers—those were theirs for the taking. You needed supplies, something to sustain you in the hellscape that awaited.

“Thirty.”

The seconds blurred together now, each heartbeat syncing with the countdown. Your eyes darted back to the Cornucopia, mentally tracing a path to the nearest pack that wouldn’t put you in the Careers’ immediate line of fire. A medium-sized bag lay just off-center, near a long, slender blade half-buried in the sand. Close enough to risk. Far enough to escape.

“Fifteen.”

Reid shifted nervously, glancing toward you as if looking for direction. You didn’t return the glance. He needed to make his own choices now. The arena wouldn’t wait for you to hold his hand.

“Ten.”

The sound of your own breathing drowned everything else out. Your chest rose and fell rhythmically as you prepared to sprint. Your fingers twitched at your sides, aching to move, to act.

“Nine.”

The sunlight glinted off the Cornucopia, a final cruel beacon of hope for those foolish enough to think they’d find safety there.

“Eight.”

Your muscles tensed, coiled tight like a spring about to release.

“Seven.”

This was it.

“Six.”

No hesitation.

“Five.”

Every second counted.

“Four.”

A decision was a life.

“Three.”

The world stilled.

“Two.”

The game began.

“One.”

And then, the gong rang.

The instant the gong rang, you propelled yourself forward, your boots slamming against the metal platform as you launched into motion. The sand was firmer than you expected beneath your feet, but you didn’t let it slow you down. Your eyes stayed fixed on your target: the medium-sized pack lying just off-center from the Cornucopia, its muted green fabric almost blending into the sand.

Around you, chaos erupted. Tributes surged toward the golden horn or scattered into the jungle, their movements frantic and desperate. The sharp clanging of metal meeting metal filled the air as the Careers, with their practiced ease, went straight for the weapons. The sounds of screaming began almost immediately, some cut short, others turning into gurgles as blood spilled into the pristine sand.

You tuned it out. All of it. Your focus was singular.

The pack was closer now, and you adjusted your path to grab the blade lying beside it. You skidded to a halt, crouching low as your fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife. Its weight was perfect—light enough for precision but heavy enough to do damage. You sheathed it quickly, slinging the bag over your shoulder in one fluid motion before turning back the way you came.

You darted away from the Cornucopia, weaving between other tributes as the chaos continued to unfold. A boy from District 10 lunged at you with a spear, his face contorted with fear and desperation. You sidestepped him easily, slamming the heel of your boot into his knee as you passed. He crumpled to the ground with a scream, but you didn’t look back.

The jungle loomed ahead, its thick shadows promising cover but also danger. You pushed forward, your breath steady, your movements calculated. You didn’t hesitate as you plunged into the dense foliage, the cool shade of the trees enveloping you like a second skin. The sound of the bloodbath at the Cornucopia faded slightly, muffled by the jungle’s oppressive canopy.

You didn’t stop running until you were deep enough that the sounds of violence were just an echo. Finally, you slowed, your breaths coming hard and fast as you ducked behind a massive tree trunk. You slid the pack from your shoulder, quickly unzipping it to assess your supplies.

A waterskin. A few packs of dried meat. A coil of rope. A small first-aid kit.

Not bad. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to get you through the first day. You slipped the knife from its sheath, holding it tightly as you scanned your surroundings. The jungle was eerily alive, its sounds louder now that you’d stopped moving. Insects buzzed relentlessly, and the occasional rustle of leaves hinted at unseen creatures moving through the underbrush.

Your mind raced as you considered your next move. The Careers would consolidate their power at the Cornucopia, picking off stragglers who lingered too long. You had to stay ahead of them, keep moving, and find a vantage point to observe the arena’s layout. Knowledge was your best weapon here, even more than the blade in your hand.

Your eyes narrowed as you thought of Reid. He’d run in the opposite direction, veering off toward the water’s edge when the gong sounded. He hadn’t even tried for supplies, his fear and lack of instinct driving him to flee. You exhaled sharply. You couldn’t think about him now. Not yet.

A faint rustle nearby snapped you back to the present. You tensed, the knife in your hand at the ready. Your heart pounded in your chest as you strained your ears, trying to determine whether it was an animal or another tribute.

“Come out,” you said coldly, your voice steady despite the tension in your muscles. “I don’t have time for games.”

The underbrush parted slowly, revealing…

...a woman, a Victor you didn't recognize, her wide brown eyes filled with terror. Her hair was tied back messily, dirt streaking her face. She held no weapon, just her trembling hands raised slightly in a gesture of surrender. She was from one of the outlying districts—you recognized her as the girl from 11, the one with the quick hands during training.

She froze when she saw you, her chest heaving as though she’d been running for her life, which, in a way, she had.

You didn’t lower your knife. “What do you want?”

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. She swallowed hard, her gaze darting to the blade in your hand, then back to your face. Finally, she whispered, “Please... don’t.”

Your grip tightened on the hilt, but you didn’t make a move toward her. Your mind calculated the risks. She wasn’t a threat—not yet. If you let her go, she could alert others to your position. If you killed her now, it would be cleaner, simpler, less risky in the long run.

But her trembling frame, her pleading eyes—it twisted something in your chest. A pang of something unfamiliar. You shoved it down. Compassion had no place in this arena.

“Turn around,” you ordered sharply. “Walk away, and don’t let me see you again.”

She hesitated for a moment, her body rigid with fear. Then, with a quick nod, she backed away, keeping her eyes on you until she disappeared into the foliage.

You exhaled heavily, letting your arm drop as the knife remained at your side. A small part of you cursed your decision, but the rest—the part that still clung to a shred of humanity—felt relief.

You slid the knife back into its sheath and adjusted the pack on your shoulder. The jungle wasn’t going to wait for you, and neither would the other tributes. You needed to find higher ground, something that would give you a better vantage point to scope out the arena.

The faint sound of running water caught your attention, and you followed it cautiously, keeping low and moving quickly. The dense jungle opened up slightly, revealing a narrow stream cutting through the terrain. You knelt by the water, cupping your hands to take a quick drink, your ears tuned to every sound around you.

As you rose, your thoughts returned to the bloodbath. The Careers would be regrouping by now, and anyone who had tried to challenge them was likely dead. Reid’s face flashed in your mind again, pale and terrified as he’d sprinted toward the water’s edge.

He wouldn’t survive the night.

Your jaw clenched as you forced the thought away. Survival came first. Attachments—emotional or otherwise—were liabilities. You tightened the straps on your pack and began moving upstream, your eyes scanning for any sign of movement.

The arena was waking up now, and you could feel it. The air grew thicker, the sounds of the jungle louder, more chaotic. The Capitol’s hand was everywhere here, manipulating the environment to push you, trap you, force you into confrontation.

And yet, as the sun began its slow descent, you felt a flicker of resolve deep within you. You weren’t here to survive. You were here to win.

Whatever it took.

-

Hours had passed. The sound of the cannon was like a beautiful melody, reminding you of those that you wouldn't have to take care of. You were up a tree, glaring down onto the ground, waiting for someone to drop down on.

Alerting the others of your position was stupid. You wouldn't move until you had to. You wouldn't move until there was someone to get rid of, to get you closer to home.

Your bag hung on the branch securely as you sat next to it, your expression mildly bored. You prayed to yourself that Reid hadn't died yet.

As if on cue, you heard his voice.

Pleading.

Then, you heard Cashmere's.

Your body tensed immediately, muscles coiling like a spring as you shifted silently on the branch. The sound of Reid’s voice, frantic and desperate, cut through the humid air, sharp enough to make your chest tighten.

“No, please,” he begged, his voice trembling but still carrying that faint, foolish hope that someone might show mercy. “I don’t have anything you want. Just let me go.”

Cashmere’s laugh followed, low and cruel. It echoed through the jungle like a predator’s growl. “Let you go? Oh, sweetheart, it’s not about what you have. It’s about making a statement.”

You inched forward on the branch, your e/c eyes narrowing as you spotted them through the foliage below. Reid was on his knees, hands raised defensively in front of him, his face pale and streaked with sweat. Cashmere stood over him, a spear glinting in her hand, her posture casual yet predatory. She was savoring this moment, drawing it out like a cat playing with its prey.

“Please,” Reid tried again, his voice cracking. “I’m not a threat to you.”

“That’s the problem,” Cashmere said smoothly, twirling the spear. “You’re too easy, Reid. No challenge. No fun. But I’ll admit...” She tilted her head, smirking. “Your fear is so fun.”

Your grip tightened on your knife as you watched, anger simmering in your chest. Cashmere wasn’t killing him for strategy or supplies—she was doing it for the thrill, the spectacle. It was pointless. Cruel.

And you weren’t going to let her have the satisfaction.

Carefully, you secured your pack and shifted your weight, positioning yourself on the branch directly above them. Your mind worked quickly, calculating the angle and force you’d need to take her down cleanly. You couldn’t afford a drawn-out fight—not with other tributes potentially nearby.

“Any last words?” Cashmere purred, raising the spear with a flourish.

“Yeah,” you muttered under your breath, pushing off the branch. “Mine.”

You dropped like a shadow, landing squarely on her back with all your weight. The impact sent her stumbling forward, the spear clattering to the ground as you wrapped an arm around her throat, yanking her off balance. She thrashed wildly, her hands clawing at you, but your grip was ironclad.

“Reid, move!” you barked, your voice sharp.

He scrambled back, wide-eyed, as you wrestled Cashmere to the ground. Her nails raked against your skin, drawing blood, but you didn’t flinch. With a quick, precise motion, you drove your knife into her side, aiming just below her ribs. Her body went rigid beneath you, a strangled gasp escaping her lips before she collapsed.

You heard garbled speech as crimson poured from her mouth, her eyes still wide in shock. Moments later, they closed in what seemed to be exhaustion.

The cannon boomed a second later, the sound reverberating through the jungle like a judge’s gavel.

You shoved her body off you and stood, breathing hard as you turned to face Reid. He was staring at you, his face pale, his hands trembling. “You... you saved me.”

You barely registered the words before your gaze snapped to Reid, his eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and gratitude. But as you took a step forward, your instincts screamed at you. You were being watched.

A shadow darted behind a nearby tree, too subtle for Reid to notice, but not for you. Your heart sank as another figure emerged from the foliage.

It was the girl with the dark hair, the one who had been trailing behind you both. You didn't have time to think. She’d seen everything—Cashmere's death, your unguarded moment. She wouldn’t hesitate.

Reid was too distracted by the scene unfolding before him, too overwhelmed by the adrenaline and shock. You had to act fast.

Before the girl had a chance to make her move, you whirled around to face Reid, your hand snaking out like a viper. You grabbed his neck in a brutal grip, yanking him toward you with surprising ease. His eyes widened in panic, but he didn’t scream. He just stared at you, trying to process the sudden shift in your demeanor.

“W-what—what are you doing?” Reid gasped, his voice trembling.

“I’m doing what needs to be done,” you hissed, your face cold and emotionless. “I'm sorry. But this is the easiest way. I'm doing it for you.”

His face contorted with confusion, his body struggling weakly against your iron grip. His hands clawed at your arm, but it was futile. You could feel his pulse racing under your fingers, his fear palpable.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Don’t... please don’t do this. I trust you.”

But the trust was meaningless. You had your orders, your mission. And that mission wasn’t to protect him. It was to survive.

With a swift motion, you twisted his head to the side. His body went limp instantly, the bones in his neck snapping like a twig, the life leaving his eyes in an instant.

The cannon fired immediately after. The sound deafening, final.

Your breath came in ragged gasps as you stood over his lifeless form, your hands slick with blood. It didn’t matter how much your heart ached in that moment. It had to be ended before he suffered a worse fate. The worry was setting you off focus -- and even if you'd tried to save him, to bring him home, it wouldn't have worked. You couldn't act as well as Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. It would've cost you too much.

You stood over Reid’s body, your chest heaving with a mixture of exhaustion and something darker—something you didn’t want to acknowledge. But then, as you looked down at him, something unexpected happened.

A single tear, clear and cold, slipped from the corner of your eye and ran down your cheek. It was slow at first, as if the reality of what you had just done was finally settling in. The warmth of it contrasted sharply with the coldness of your heart, and for the first time in a long while, you felt the weight of your actions.

You quickly wiped it away, as if the motion could erase the moment. But it stayed with you, the faint trace of moisture on your skin, lingering like a whisper of the person you used to be—the one who might have hesitated, the one who might have saved him.

But you couldn’t afford that weakness now.

With one last glance at Reid, you turned and disappeared into the jungle, the tear still burning a path on your face, even as you moved further away from everything that had just happened. The silence swallowed you whole, and the only thing left was the sound of the jungle and the fading memory of a decision made in the name of survival.

[nevernonline]

✧.* pancakes for dinner; svt smau

chapter 11; late night talking (written)

synopsis: y/n while in her third year at greenwood international university finally gets an opportunity to move off campus into a new complex, she has to deal with the realization that her childhood rival is her new next door neighbor.

 paring: seungcheol x fem! reader. 

feat: non-idol! svt,  other passing idols ykyk.

genre/s: reader is super oblivious, fluffy, sexual themes. 

content: swearing, mentions of sexual relations, some drinking& mary jane 🍃

updates: weekly

word count: 7.7k. (written part in-between two sets of texts)

tag list - open

masterlist ▸ 10. cute undies ▸ 12. boo’s big bash

Finally exiting from the bathroom after her multiple deep breaths and compilations on why she agreed to sit across from her what some would call nemesis. Y/N dropped into the chair across from him, her movements sharp, deliberate. She crossed her legs and draped her jacket over the back of the chair, as though marking her territory. The gin martini she had begrudgingly ordered sat untouched in front of her.  

Seungcheol leaned back in his seat, the picture of ease. His arm rested casually along the back of his chair, his other hand nursing his drink. That maddening smirk hadn’t left his face, like he was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle of her reluctantly sitting across from him.  

“So,” he began, his voice smooth and infuriatingly calm, “what made you change your mind? The drink? My charm? Or were you just dying for my company?”  

Y/N arched an unimpressed brow. “Don’t flatter yourself. I came over because you don’t seem to understand boundaries. Consider this my final act of mercy before I block you everywhere.”  

Seungcheol chuckled, the sound low and warm, as though her words were the punchline of a joke only he understood. “Harsh, but fair. I guess I’ll take what I can get.”  

He took a slow sip of his drink, his eyes never leaving hers. Y/N hated how effortlessly magnetic he was, how he could command a room—or in this case, her attention—without even trying. It was infuriating.  

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze sharp. “You seem awfully proud of yourself for someone who’s clearly losing.”  

“Losing?” His smirk deepened, and he leaned forward just slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “You’re the one who walked over here, Y/N. I’d say that’s a win for me.”  

The way he said her name made her want to both glare at him and look away, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of either. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, mirroring his earlier posture, and folded her arms across her chest.  

“Don’t read too much into it,” she said coolly. “I’m just here to make sure you don’t order me another unwanted drink. Bartenders have better things to do than play delivery boy for your ego.”  

He laughed again, and this time it was louder, unrestrained. The sound was warm, genuine, and entirely at odds with how much he irritated her. “You really don’t hold back anymore, do you? I like that about you.”  

“I’m not here for you to like me,” she shot back.  

His expression softened, just for a moment, and she thought she caught a flicker of something sincere beneath his playful facade. “Maybe not. But you’re here. That counts for something.”  

She rolled her eyes, breaking the brief intensity of the moment. “Don’t push your luck.”  

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, though his tone suggested the exact opposite.  

For a few beats, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it wasn’t entirely hostile either. The sounds of the bar filled the space between them: the hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, the soft strains of jazz.  

Eventually, Seungcheol broke the silence. “So, what’s got you sitting alone in a bar tonight?”  

Y/N hesitated. She didn’t owe him an answer. But there was something disarming about the way he asked, like he genuinely wanted to know, like he wasn’t just making small talk.  

“It’s really none of your business, but in the spirit of trying to be nice to you. I just felt like it, simple as that.” she said finally, though her voice lacked the edge it usually carried.  

He didn’t push, didn’t pry. Instead, he nodded, as if her non-answer was enough. “Fair. All your friends were busy, huh? I get it. Me too.”  

Another silence settled between them, but this time, it felt different—less like a standoff and more like a truce.  

“You know,” Seungcheol said after a moment, his tone lighter, almost teasing, “you’re a lot more interesting when you’re not trying so hard to be intimidating.”  

She shot him a withering look, but there was no real heat behind it. “And you’re a lot less interesting when you talk.”  

He laughed again, and she hated how much she didn’t hate the sound of it.  

The conversation carried on like that—sharp, sarcastic, and laced with an undercurrent of something neither of them wanted to acknowledge. Y/N still didn’t trust him, and she still found him insufferable. But for the first time, she started to wonder if there was more to him than the cocky facade he wore so well.  

By the time she checked her phone and its unread texts, her martini was empty, and she hadn’t blocked his number.  

“You’re letting me off easy tonight,” Seungcheol said, leaning back in his chair with that same infuriating grin.  

“Don’t get used to it,” she replied, her voice as sharp as ever but, she caught herself smiling—just barely—and that annoyed her more than anything.  

“You’re not a regular here, are you?” Seungcheol asked, swirling the last remnants of his drink.  

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curling up in challenge. “Why do I not look the part?”  

“It’s not that exactly,” he said, smirking. “You seem more like the type who spends your time in your room, like all your high school nights at home, organizing your planner instead of, you know, being out and about.”  

Her jaw dropped, feigning offense. “Excuse me? I unfortunately know you know what I was like in high school.”  

“I do know,” he said smugly, leaning forward a bit. “You were the girl who always had perfectly color-coded notes and freaked out if someone borrowed her highlighters without asking.”  

“That is—” she began, then stopped, narrowing her eyes. “Okay, that might be true. But don’t act like you didn’t benefit from those notes. If I recall correctly, you borrowed them more than once.”  

Seungcheol grinned, shameless. “What can I say? You had great handwriting, and I had zero fucking interest in Chemistry.”  

“Right, and I’m supposed to believe you actually read through them,” she teased.  

“I did!” he said, feigning indignation. “Well, I skimmed them. Look, it’s not my fault that equations are boring.”  

Y/N shook her head, laughing despite herself. “You were the worst. Always showing up to class five minutes late, acting like you’d just conquered some heroic quest just to make it there. And the worst part is everyone ate it up.”  

“First of all,” Seungcheol interjected, holding up a finger, “those five minutes were essential. Do you know how hard it is to grab coffee and make it across campus in that short amount of time?”  

“Heroic, truly,” she said dryly.  

“And second,” he continued, ignoring her sarcasm, “admit it—you loved it. You were always so fucking serious, someone had to keep things interesting.”  

She scoffed, leaning back in her chair. “I was serious because someone had to be. While you were busy sneaking out of class, I was doing what I thought I had to do to be successful.”  

“Oh, come on,” he said with a playful grin. “It wasn’t that bad. I did my part… sometimes.”  

“Bare minimum,” she shot back. “And don’t think I forgot about that time you tried to pass off Wikipedia as a ‘credible source’ for our History project.”  

He laughed, a low, warm sound that made her stomach flip despite herself. “What can I say? I knew you’d catch it. Why do all the work when I have a perfectionist in my corner?”  

“Wow,” she said, shaking her head. “You’re really selling yourself here, Seungcheol.”  

He leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “And yet, here you are, sitting across from me. Funny how that works.”  

Y/N rolled her eyes, though the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “You’re insufferable.”  

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug. “But admit it—I made high school a little less boring for you.”  

She hesitated, then sighed dramatically. “Fine. A little.”  

“That’s all I needed to hear,” he said, grinning.  

“Don’t let it go to your head, it’s big enough” she warned.  

“I make no promises,” he replied smoothly.  

She shook her head, laughing softly. “Okay, so if you were the ‘bare minimum’ guy back then, what about now? Have you finally mastered the art of being responsible?”  

“Define ‘responsible,’” he said, smirking.  

“Right, I know that answer,” she said, laughing. “And it’s no.”  

“And you?” he shot back. “Still the same overachiever who used to rewrite her essays three times before turning them in?”  

“Of course not,” she said, lifting her drink with mock dignity. “Now I only rewrite them twice.”  

Seungcheol laughed again, the sound bright and easy. “Classic Y/N.”  

“You’re one to talk,” she teased. “Let me guess—still winging it through life and somehow making it work? Pretending to be perfect in front of Daddy Warbucks.”  

“Hey, don’t knock it,” he said, grinning. “It’s a system.”  

“A questionable one,” she said, shaking her head.  

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it got me here, didn’t it?”  

Their laughter softened, and for a moment, the teasing gave way to something warmer. The weight of shared history lingered between them, a connection neither of them could deny.  

“You know,” he said after a beat, his tone more thoughtful, “I always wondered what you’d be like now. If you’d still get flustered when someone borrowed your highlighters.”  

Y/N tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “And?”  

“And you’re not so different,” he said, leaning back. “Maybe a little sharper. But still you.”  

She raised her glass, her eyes meeting his. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”  

“It was meant to be one,” he said, his grin softening.  

The bartender called last call, breaking the moment. As they stepped outside into the cool night air, Seungcheol glanced over at her, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.  

“It’s late,” he said casually. “You headed back to the building?”  

Y/N nodded, pulling her coat tighter around herself. “Yeah, unless you’ve got a better plan.”  

He smirked. “I might. But considering we’re both heading to the same place, how about I walk you back? Purely out of neighborly concern, of course.”  

She arched an eyebrow, fighting a smile. “Neighborly concern, huh? I didn’t realize you were such a gentleman.”  

“Don’t let it ruin my reputation,” he said with mock seriousness, stepping to her side as they began walking down the quiet, dimly lit street.  

The night was crisp, and their breaths puffed in the air as they walked. For a while, the conversation stayed light—comments about the weather, a random observation about the neon sign flickering on a nearby storefront. But as they turned onto the quieter road leading to their building, Y/N glanced at him, her lips twitching with amusement.  

“So, I have to ask,” she began, the playful edge returning to her voice.  

“Uh-oh,” Seungcheol said immediately, side-eyeing her. “That tone tells me I’m about to regret this walk.”  

“Oh, you will,” she said with a grin. “What did I hear about you and karaoke night last week?”  

He groaned, immediately scrubbing a hand down his face. “Oh, fuck. We have to talk about that?”  

“Let’s just say the campus gossip page is very thorough as well as Soony.” she said, biting back a laugh. “Apparently, you gave a very heartfelt performance. You really know how to piss people off, huh?”  

Seungcheol winced but quickly recovered, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “Ah, I was wondering how long it’d take for you to bring it up.”  

“And you weren’t going to apologize to me?” she asked, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Do you know how many people sent me screenshots? I thought my phone was going to explode.”  

“Well, if it’s any consolation,” he said, shrugging, “it wasn’t entirely true.”  

She blinked, confused. “Wait, so you didn’t actually sing the song?”  

“Oh, I definitely sang it,” he said with a grin. “The dedication part might’ve been exaggerated, though. I mean, I got dared to sing something cheesy. Your name just came up because someone thought it’d be funny to make it look like I was serenading you. Seungkwan definitely was less than pleased with me though, he told me to stop being so obsessed with talking about you.” 

Y/N narrowed her eyes, trying to gauge whether he was telling the truth. “Uh-huh. And you just– what? Decided to ignore him?”   

“Not intentionally,” he said, grinning. “But, tequila and me don’t mix well I guess. I was, how do you say? Wasted?”  

She groaned, covering her face with her hands. “You’re fucking unbelievable. No wonder half the school thinks we’ve got some secret love-hate thing going on.”  

“Well, we do, don’t we?” he teased, nudging her lightly with his elbow.  

“That’s not helping your case,” she shot back, though her tone was more amused than annoyed.  

They walked a few more steps in companionable silence until a vibrant glow caught Y/N’s attention. A small bar down the street stood out, its bright neon sign flashing a rhythmic “OPEN” in a mix of blue and pink hues. She paused, the light reflecting in her eyes.

“Oh, I love this place,” she said suddenly, her tone lit with excitement. “The vibe, the music...”

Seungcheol followed her gaze, raising an eyebrow. “Never pegged you as the neon-bar type.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me anymore.” she shot back, her lips twitching into a grin.

“Well,” he said, tilting his head toward the glowing entrance, “can we change that? One more drink?”

Her brows lifted in surprise. “Seriously?”

“Why not?” he said with a shrug, already steering her toward the door. “It’s not like you’re turning in early anyway. Unless you’re scared I’ll outdrink you.”

“Oh, please,” she said, scoffing. “You wouldn’t stand a chance against me.”

The inside of the bar was cozy, illuminated by dim, colorful lighting that gave it a laid-back yet electric atmosphere. A jukebox hummed in the corner, playing a soft rock track that Y/N immediately recognized. The tables were a mix of polished wood and eclectic barstools, each piece mismatched but fitting perfectly with the aesthetic.

Seungcheol ordered for them—another round. This time beer, considering the dive energy of Y/n’s secret sanctuary—and slid onto a stool beside her at the bar.

“So,” he began, turning slightly to face her. “What’s so great about this place? Nostalgia trip? Secret past I should know about?”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “No, nothing like that. It’s just nice. A little out of the way, not too crowded. Good music, good vibes. Kind of like an escape.I just love that I can come here and not see anyone I know, just play pool, sit with myself.”

“An escape,” he echoed, his gaze softening slightly as he watched her. “Guess that makes sense. You always were the kind of person who found little spots like this.”

She gave him a curious look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grinned. “Back in high school, you had this thing for sitting in the weirdest fucking places—corners of the library, random spots on campus no one else even thought about. I used to wonder if you were plotting something.”

“Again, not a plotter,” she insisted, though the laugh in her voice betrayed her.

“Sure,” he drawled, leaning an elbow on the bar. “And what about that time during sophomore year when you climbed up on the gym roof because you said it ‘had the best view’?”

She blinked, heat rising to her cheeks. “How do you even remember that?”

“Oh, I remember a lot,” he said, smirking. “Like the way you used to doodle all over your notes, even during exams. Or how you’d always hum to yourself when you thought no one was listening. I noticed a lot about you.”

“Okay, stop,” she said, laughing as she hid her face in her hands. “I cannot believe you remember all that.”

“You and your weird ass habits are hard to forget,” he said simply, his voice dipping into something softer, more sincere.

She peeked at him from behind her hands, her heart skipping for just a second before she shook her head, deflecting the moment. “What about you, Mr. Star of the Basketball Team? You spent more time in fucking detention than class. Not exactly model-student behavior.”

“Detention builds character,” he quipped, raising his glass in mock pride.

Y/N leaned back in her seat, twirling her drink idly. Seungcheol eyed her with a playful smirk, tilting his head like he was sizing her up for a challenge.  

“So,” he started, his tone dripping with mock seriousness, “now that we’re being all civil and everything, I think it’s time I asked the hard-hitting questions.”  

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, suspicious but amused. “Hard-hitting? Like what? My favorite color?”  

“Please,” he scoffed, waving his hand dramatically. “I already know it’s blue.”  

She blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—how—”  

“Lucky guess,” he interrupted, grinning at her confusion. “Anyway, moving on. Let’s start with something juicier.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice like he was about to uncover a deep secret. “What’s the deal with Mingyu?”  

Her eyebrows shot up. “Mingyu? What about him?”  

“Oh, come on,” Seungcheol said, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. “You two are always hanging out. Laughing at your little inside jokes. Are you secretly dating him or something? I mean I did see him leaving your place”  

Y/N barked out a laugh, nearly spilling her drink. “Are you serious? Also what’s the concern?”  

“Hey, it’s a valid question,” he defended, though his grin betrayed his teasing. “The guy follows you around like a lost puppy half the time.”  

“He does not.” she protested, still laughing. “Mingyu’s just... Mingyu. He’s like a giant golden retriever. Sweet, chaotic, but no not together like that.”  

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “So, you’re saying he’s firmly in the friend zone?”  

“I guess,” she confirmed, taking a sip of her drink. “I think he might actually be more in love with testing my patience than anything else.”  

Seungcheol chuckled at that, nodding in agreement. “Okay, fair. But what about Hoshi?”  

Her face twisted in mock confusion. “Seriously? What about Soony?”  

“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging. “He’s fun, kind of weird. Seems like the type to sweep someone off their feet with, like, a mating dance or some weird song he wrote in his bedroom.”  

“Stop,” Y/N groaned, laughing harder now. “Hoshi would absolutely cry at that description. He’s my go-to for chill movie nights and random deep conversations, but romantic? No way.”  

“Hmm.” Seungcheol tapped his chin thoughtfully, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “So, what you’re saying is... no secret boyfriends in your inner circle?”  

She gave him a flat look. “Why are you so fucking nosy about my love life?”  

“I’m just trying to piece together the puzzle that is the great Y/N,” he said, feigning innocence. “You know, fill in the blanks from all those years we spent arguing.”  

“Uh-huh,” she said skeptically, crossing her arms. “And what about you Mr. Investigator? Any secret girlfriends I should know about? Maybe one you should have been serenading at karaoke?”  

“Touché,” he said, raising his glass in mock surrender. “But for the record, no. I’m currently unattached, thank you very much.”  

“Oh, the ladies must be absolutely fucking devastated,” she quipped, smirking.  

“They’ll survive,” he shot back, smirking right back. “Besides, I’ve been too busy dealing with you lately.”  

She rolled her eyes, but the playful banter warmed her more than the drink in her hand. “Well, consider yourself lucky. Not everyone gets the privilege of my company.”  

“Oh, I know,” he said, his grin softening into something more genuine. “And honestly? I think I’m starting to enjoy it.”  

The words hung in the air for a beat, his tone more sincere than she’d expected. She glanced at him, caught off guard but not entirely displeased.  

“Careful, Seungcheol,” she said, her voice lighter than she felt. “People might think we’re actually getting along.”  

“Maybe because we are,” he said simply, taking a sip of his drink.  

For a moment, the tension between them softened into something easier, something unspoken but understood. And as the jukebox switched to a new song, Y/N decided she didn’t mind the shift.  

Seungcheol took another sip of his drink, his eyes still on Y/N. There was something in the way the conversation had shifted, and for the first time, it felt like there was less of an edge between them.

“So,” he started again, a little quieter this time, “you really don’t think Mingyu’s into you?”

Y/N gave him a side-eye. “We’ve been over this like a thousand fucking times, Seungcheol. He’s not.”

“Mm, I don’t know,” he mused, leaning back in his chair, his grin returning, though it was less mischievous and more thoughtful. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not looking. It’s like he’s trying to decide if he’s supposed to be looking at you like a friend or something... more.”

“Don’t be fucking ridiculous,” Y/N scoffed, crossing her arms. “Mingyu would never. He’d rather trip over his own feet than admit something like that.”

Seungcheol’s gaze softened for a moment. “Are you sure about that?”

Her expression faltered for a brief second, before she shook her head. “Yeah, I’m sure. Besides, I wouldn’t want him to feel like he had to hide it. He’s one of my best friends. I’m not trying to complicate things.”

“I get that.” Seungcheol’s voice softened too, the tone carrying more sincerity than before. “Sometimes the simplest friendships get tangled when people start overthinking things. Kind of like how we were”

Y/N nodded, running a hand through her hair. “Exactly. And I like things the way they are. We all have enough drama to deal with without adding any more.”

Seungcheol chuckled. “True. Which is my fault. I’m sorry.” He tilted his head, eyeing her thoughtfully. “So, you’d never date someone from your friend group? Not even someone you’ve known for a while?”

Y/N looked at him sharply, her eyebrows furrowing. “Are you trying to psychoanalyze me now? I thought we were past that.”

“No, no,” he said quickly, hands raised in mock surrender. “I’m just curious. I mean, you’ve been surrounded by them for so long, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s ever crossed your mind.”

“Maybe,” she said, her eyes softening, “but even if it did, I’m not sure it’d be a good idea. Things would get complicated. People start taking sides, there’s awkwardness... I’m not about that.”

Seungcheol tilted his head. “So, you’re saying you’d never date someone like me?”

Y/N blinked, and her gaze shot to his face. “What?”

He leaned forward slightly, his grin playful again. “I mean, I’m not exactly the worst option. I’ve been known to be a pretty decent guy once you get past the sarcasm and the... well, the occasional obsession with bad jokes.”

Y/N’s lips twitched. “Wow, really selling yourself there, huh? And I tried that once, it ended so fucking poorly, you know it. So no, not a consideration.”

“Hey, I’ve got layers,” he replied, tapping his chest dramatically. “There’s more to me than meets the eye.”

Y/N leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs, her gaze narrowing slightly as she studied him. “You think you could handle me now? I’m not exactly an easy person to figure out anymore. You hurt my feelings so badly that this grudge has been lingering over us for a decade and you think I’d even consider you?”

“Please,” he said, waving her off. “I’ve been dealing with you for years. I know exactly what I’m getting into.” He smirked. “Or at least, I like to think I do. I know all of that was stupid and you don’t exactly know the full story I took accountability for it, I still feel fucking awful. You have to understand that.”

She raised an eyebrow. “I do. But I don’t think you’ve ever exactly figured me out.”

“Sure, I’ve got you pretty figured out.” Seungcheol grinned, leaning closer again, his tone playful. “You’re a bit of a control freak, a perfectionist, but deep down, you’re a big fucking softie who just doesn’t want to admit it and you don’t want to admit you sort of like me..”

Y/N snorted, shaking her head. “Wow, you really do think you have me figured out, don’t you?”

“I do.” He leaned back again, looking pleased with himself. “And if you ever decided to date someone like me... well, I think I could keep up with your charm.”

Y/N’s lips quivered at the corners as she shook her head. “You are a very bold drunk. But – Maybe you’re right. But for now, you’ll have to settle for being my most annoying nemesis.”

“Hey, I’m cool with that,” Seungcheol said, raising his glass with a wink. “You’re the most fun challenge I’ve ever had, times two.”

Y/N laughed, the sound light and easy, and for a moment, she felt like the conversation had just returned to the usual playful banter they always had. But beneath the teasing, there was something different—something that lingered in the way they looked at each other, a quiet understanding that maybe, just maybe, things weren’t as simple as they seemed.

“So,” Seungcheol said after a beat, breaking the silence with a teasing grin. “If you had to choose someone from the group, who would it be?”

Y/N considered him for a moment, then leaned forward. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll think about it if you do the same. Deal?”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow. “Oh, it’s like that, huh? I guess we’ll see who cracks first.”

Y/N smirked. “I’ll be waiting. But no pressure.”

For a moment, the playfulness settled back in, but beneath the laughter and the teasing, the question hung in the air, unanswered but not unwelcome. 

Seungcheol glanced over at Y/N, a thought lingering in the back of his mind. He’d always been good at pushing things off, but tonight felt different. He couldn't keep skirting around this tension that had been there for years. They’d shared countless moments, laughed together, argued, but there was always something unresolved hanging between them, like a shadow that neither of them fully acknowledged.

He waved over the bartender. “Two more of the usual,” he said with a casual smile, though the weight of what he was about to say sat heavily in his chest.

Y/N didn’t notice the shift at first, still absentmindedly sipping her drink and watching the crowd. When the bartender returned with the fresh glasses, Seungcheol’s grin faded just a little. He set his glass down with more care than he usually did, then leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice quieter than before, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in it. Her gaze flicked to him, catching the change in his tone.

“What’s up?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Seungcheol hesitated, unsure how to put it into words. His usual teasing was nowhere to be found now. He ran a hand through his hair and looked down, gathering his thoughts. "I know we’ve had... our share of messes between us,” he began slowly, his words careful, each one weighed down with meaning. “And I know I’ve been... Well, definitely not the best sometimes. I’ve said things, done things that probably made you feel like I didn’t really care, or that I wasn’t worth the effort."

Y/N’s expression softened, though she remained quiet, listening. She could feel the tension rise again, but this time, it wasn’t the usual playful back-and-forth. It felt... real.

“I don’t know if this is the right time to bring it up, or the right place considering it’s a sanctuary for you,” Seungcheol continued, meeting her eyes now, his voice lower, more vulnerable than she’d ever heard it before, “but I’ve been thinking about us a lot lately. About how we’ve been, and how I’ve been with you. And... I’m sorry. For all the stupid things I’ve said and done in the past that made things harder between us.”

Y/N blinked, taken off guard by the honesty in his voice. She opened her mouth to say something, but he held up a hand, shaking his head gently.

“No, wait. Please let me finish.” His voice was steadier now, more resolved. “I’ve always been kind of... blind, I guess. I thought I could keep things light, keep pushing, keep playing around with you. But the truth is, I’ve always respected you. I always thought you were way more than what I let on. And I think I took that for granted.” He leaned in, his voice a little more earnest. “I don’t know what you want from me, Y/N. But I want a chance to show you that I can be better. I can be someone who’s actually worth your time—whether that’s as a friend or something more. I don’t care what we have to go through, I just don’t want to leave things unfinished, or have this distance between us anymore. I want to be in your life. For real.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond. She could hear the weight in his words, the genuine apology. The teasing, cocky side of Seungcheol had been stripped away, leaving someone vulnerable and raw. She wasn’t used to seeing him like this—he had always been so confident, so in control. But now, there was no hiding the sincerity that poured out of him.

The silence stretched between them, and for a second, it felt like the whole world had paused.

Y/N looked at him, her heart racing. She’d spent so long guarding herself, pushing away feelings she didn’t want to deal with. But here he was, finally offering her the one thing she’d always wished for—the chance to start fresh, to move past the hurt and the misunderstandings.

“You’re really serious, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Seungcheol nodded, his expression softening further. “Yeah, I am. And I know it’s probably too late to change everything that’s happened. But I don’t want you to think I’m just some guy who’s going to disappear all the time when it gets tough. I want to be here for you. I always have, in my own messed-up way. But I’m ready to try for real this time.”

Y/N swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill over. “I... I don’t know what to say,” she admitted, her voice shaky now. “It’s not at all easy for me to just forget everything. The way things have been between us even our parents are involved, our friends I mean... it's a lot.”

“I know,” Seungcheol said, his voice gentle. “I’m not asking you to forget. Just  to consider it. Consider giving me the chance to prove that I can be the person you need. I know I’ve messed up, and I know it might take time, but I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

Y/N took a deep breath, her mind racing. She’d been so focused on keeping things light, keeping him and everything at a distance. But in that moment, looking at him—seeing the vulnerability in his eyes—she realized maybe it was time to let go of the past. Maybe it was time to see what could happen if they didn’t keep pretending.

She exhaled slowly, the weight in her chest easing just a little. “Alright, Choi,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’ve got one, like literally, one fucking chance. Don’t mess it up.”

Seungcheol’s grin returned, but this time it wasn’t cocky—it was soft, relieved. “I won’t. I fucking swear.”"

For a moment, the air between them felt lighter, the tension that had always existed now dissipating into something... different. There was a quiet understanding, a mutual agreement to try, even if it wasn’t going to be easy.

Y/N stared at him for a second longer, her heart still thumping in her chest as the weight of the conversation settled. She opened her mouth to speak but hesitated, a slight frown tugging at her lips.

“Hey, Seungcheol,” she said, voice quieter now, tinged with something almost sheepish.

“Yeah?” He tilted his head, watching her closely.

She shifted in her seat, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her drink. “I just... I don’t think I can tell anyone about this. About us hanging out tonight. Or about... this.” She gestured between them, her eyes not meeting him. “They’ll call me a hypocrite.”

Seungcheol blinked, surprised. “What? Why?”

She let out a small sigh, frustration and amusement mixing. “Because for years, I’ve been the one telling them not to trust you, to keep their distance. And now... here I am, talking to you like we’re on the same page. They’ll never let me live it down.”

He frowned slightly, understanding finally dawning on him. “You really think they’ll be that harsh?”

Y/N shrugged. “Probably. They know I’ve never been shy about how I feel about you. It’s gonna look like I’m going back on everything I’ve said.”

Seungcheol leaned back, his expression softening as he processed her words. “Look, I get it. You’ve had your reasons to keep me at arm’s length. But you don’t have to keep everything a secret just because of them. You should do what feels right for you, not for what other people think.”

She met his eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I know, I know. It’s just... it feels like I’d be betraying what I’ve always said. I’ve spent so long keeping things from getting too close, you know?”

“I get it,” Seungcheol said, nodding. “And I’m not asking you to do anything you’re not ready for. I’m not going anywhere, though. Whenever you’re ready to tell them, or not tell them, it’s up to you. Just don’t let it keep you from what you want.”

Y/N smiled softly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a little. “Thanks, Seungcheol. I’m not sure what I want just yet... but I think I’m getting there.”

Seungcheol gave her a reassuring nod. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

As they sat there, the jukebox playing softly in the background, it was clear that this conversation wasn’t the end of anything, but maybe the beginning of something different. Something that neither of them had fully expected—but something they were both willing to explore. And even though Y/N wasn’t sure how to navigate the fallout with her friends, for the first time in a long while, she felt like she had someone on her side.

As they walked back into the night, the streets were quieter, the hum of the city fading into the background as the two of them walked side by side, the cool night air wrapping around them. The usual banter between them had settled into a comfortable silence, but there was something unspoken between them—something new. Neither of them had figured it all out yet, but tonight had cracked something open, and it wasn’t something they could ignore.

Seungcheol shoved his hands in his pockets, glancing over at Y/N, who was walking a little slower, lost in thought. “So,” he started casually, his voice lighter than before, “how exactly are we going to pull this off without everyone calling us out?”

Y/N let out a small laugh, shaking her head. “I’m honestly still figuring that part out. Which is why I’m lost in my head. I don’t want to tell them we hung out. Not yet, anyway. They’ll just jump to conclusions, you know? Like they always do.”

“Yeah, they have a tendency to make things dramatic,” Seungcheol said, rolling his eyes. “But what, you’re just going to keep this all a secret? How long do you think we can get away with it?”

Y/N shrugged, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t know. I mean, it’s not like we’re doing anything wrong. We’re just talking, right? But they won’t see it that way. And I don’t want to make things awkward if it all goes south.”

Seungcheol glanced at her sideways, a small, teasing smile playing on his lips. “You really think it’ll go south? Just because we decided to be honest for once?”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “It could? But, I’ve spent so much time telling them how terrible you are, it’s going to look weird if I suddenly show up saying, ‘Hey, guess what, Seungcheol and I are actually cool now.’”

“Well, maybe it’s time to shake things up a bit,” Seungcheol said, nudging her with his elbow. “Who says you have to be predictable? Maybe they need to see a different side of me. I mean, it’s not like I’ve been all bad, right?”

Y/N let out a short laugh, glancing at him with a raised brow. “Oh, trust me, they know you have a charming side. Which really fucking bothers me. I don’t think they’d buy the whole us trying to be friends thing anyway, even if I did tell them.”

“I’m not saying we make a huge announcement,” Seungcheol said, his tone shifting to something more thoughtful. “Maybe we should just keep it low-key for now. Just, let things develop naturally. No pressure.”

Y/N stopped walking for a moment, glancing at him. “I just feel bad, I guess. I know it's a lot to ask you to keep something like this quiet for who knows how long?”

He stopped too, meeting her gaze with a quiet intensity. “I get that. I’m not asking you to hide things for me, Y/N. I just don’t want things to be messy. We don’t have to tell anyone until we’re sure of where we stand. And if it does get weird, if we realize we’ve made a mistake  then we deal with it. Together.”

She looked at him for a long moment, then let out a quiet sigh, shoulders relaxing. “You make it sound simple. But I’m just not sure if I want to make everything complicated again.”

Seungcheol took a small step closer, his voice gentle now. “I’m not asking for us to dive into anything crazy. Just... give it a chance. We’ve been through too much for me to walk away now. And I’d rather have you in my life, even if it’s just as friends, than have things stay the way they’ve always been.”

Y/N stared at the ground for a second, thinking. He wasn’t pushing her, wasn’t demanding anything more than she was willing to give. But it was hard to ignore how much his words made her feel. The thought of letting someone in, really letting them in—without all the barriers and walls—was terrifying. But, for once, it felt like Seungcheol wasn’t trying to be the person who hurt her. Instead, he was offering something different.

Finally, she looked up, meeting his eyes. “Okay, fine. We’ll keep it quiet. Just for now. I’m not ready for everyone to know we’re friends or on the way to being friends whatever this is. But I’ll give it a shot. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll give it a chance.”

Seungcheol grinned, a quiet triumph in his eyes. “Fair enough. No pressure. We can just take it one step at a time.”

They started walking again, the soft crunch of their footsteps on the pavement the only sound between them for a few moments.

“Honestly though,” Seungcheol said, glancing over at her with a playful glint in his eye, “I’m kind of excited to see how long we can keep this whole ‘secret friendship’ thing going.”

Y/N snorted, the tension between them easing further. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll have fun with that. Just don’t do anything stupid to blow it.”

“I won’t,” he replied, his grin widening. “You have my word.”

As they continued walking, the city’s lights flickering overhead, there was a sense of quiet understanding between them now—an unspoken agreement that this, whatever it was, wasn’t going to be easy. But for the first time in a long while, it felt like maybe it could be worth it.

And maybe, just maybe, it didn’t have to be a secret forever.

As they reached the steps of their building, Y/N’s heart sank when she spotted a familiar figure approaching from the opposite direction. Yuqi was walking briskly toward them, her face glowing with the aftermath of what had clearly been an entertaining night. 

“Oh, no,” Y/N muttered under her breath, glancing at Seungcheol in alarm. “It’s Yuqi.”

“Yuqi?” Seungcheol repeated, his brows furrowing. “Like red headed Yuqi, Yuqi?”

“Yes,” Y/N hissed, already feeling the impending questions. “If she sees us together, she’s never going to let me live it down. She’ll have a thousand questions, and I’m not ready for an interrogation.”

Seungcheol’s eyes darted around the street. “What do you want me to do? Hide? Run? Fake a phone call?”

“Fuck. Just—” Y/N gestured frantically to the nearby column. “Go hide over there. Now.”

Seungcheol darted to the side, flattening himself against the column with the stealth of someone who had absolutely no business being stealthy. Y/N quickly composed herself as Yuqi stepped up to the entrance, her sharp eyes immediately zoning in on her.

“Y/N!” Yuqi called brightly, her heels clicking on the pavement. “What are you doing out here? Don’t tell me you were out with someone tonight.”

Y/N leaned casually against the railing, shrugging. “Nope, I just needed a breather. Thought I’d have a smoke before heading up.”

Yuqi’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t even smoke.”

“Well, weed.” Y/N said, tilting her head with an exaggerated shrug

Yuqi narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press further. Instead, she launched into a detailed retelling of her date, her hands flying dramatically as she described the highlights of being out with Mark.

Y/N nodded along, her expression carefully neutral as she sneaked a glance at Seungcheol. He peeked out from behind the column and mimed lighting a cigarette with a cocky grin, earning a sharp glare from Y/N that she hoped Yuqi didn’t catch.

“And then,” Yuqi continued, oblivious, “he tried to tell me he knew a magic trick, but he completely botched it. Oh my god, Y/N, I almost died laughing.”

“Sounds amazing, I'm glad you had fun ,” Y/N said, trying not to choke on her suppressed laughter.

Yuqi stretched her arms above her head with a satisfied sigh. “Anyway, I need to shower so badly and I am so fucking tired. Let’s do a proper debrief tomorrow, okay?”

“Sure,” Y/N said quickly. “Go get some rest. I’ll be right up. Night, girlie.”

“Night, loser.” Yuqi said with a wave, finally heading inside. 

The second the coast was clear, Seungcheol emerged from his hiding spot, brushing himself off dramatically. “So, how’d I do?”

“You were fucking terrible,” Y/N said, though she was smiling as she shook her head. “I could see you miming a cigarette out of the corner of my eye. You’re so lucky she didn’t notice.”

“Hey, I was staying in character,” he said with a mock-serious expression. “You said you were having a smoke. I was just being a supportive whatever I am.”

“A pain in my ass?” Y/N offered.

“That too,” he quipped, his grin wide and unrepentant. “But come on, admit it. This whole sneaking around thing is kind of fun.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her laughter betrayed her. “Fun? You call nearly blowing my cover fun?”

“Absolutely,” Seungcheol said with a nod. “But now I’m curious—if someone else catches us, what’s your next excuse? Stargazing? Birdwatching? Vigilante vibes?” 

“Keep it up,” she warned playfully, “and I’ll just tell them I was waiting for the cops to show up because you’re stalking me.”

“Brutal,” he said, chuckling. “But hey, I got us through tonight, didn’t I?”

“Fucking barely,” she shot back, though the smile on her face lingered as they walked up to the door. 

Once they had one last peak into their building, the soft glow of the lobby lights spilling onto the sidewalk. Seungcheol pulled the door open for her, gesturing grandly.  

“After you, Highlighter Girl,” he said with a smirk.  

“Wow, thanks, Karaoke King,” she replied dryly as she stepped inside.  

As they waited for the elevator, the air between them felt lighter, easier—like the lingering tension from earlier in the night had finally given way to something more comfortable.  

“So,” Y/N said as the elevator doors slid open, “any plans to top that famous performance? Or was that your peak?”  

He laughed, stepping in beside her. “Oh, that was just the beginning. Next time, I’ll take requests.”  

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her lips tugged upward despite herself. “Just do me a favor and leave my name out of it, okay?”  

“Where’s the fun in that?” he quipped, his grin wide and teasing.  

The elevator chimed, and they stepped out onto their floor. stopping in front of her door, Y/N turned to him, arms crossed.  

“Thanks for the walk,” she said, her whispering tone light but genuine.  

Seungcheol paused before taking out his keys, giving her a crooked grin. “Goodnight, Y/N. Try not to miss me too much.”

“Goodnight, Seungcheol,” she replied, shaking her head. “Try not to get yourself on the gossip page again. Or at least, not because of me.”  

“No promises,” he called as she shut the door behind her, his laughter echoing softly in the hallway.  

Y/N couldn’t help but smile as she took off her coat. Whatever this was between them—this ridiculous, secret, almost-friendship—it was chaotic and unpredictable. But she had to admit, it was also shocking that she was starting to feel like something she didn’t entirely mind.

note: hiii lol. two in one week bc now that we're getting into it more im excited, but! pls enjoy. hopefully we can alllll try to support y/n in her time of her "healing era" lmao

taglist: @minhui896@sun-daddy-yoriichi@luchiet@miles-sketchbook@kissesfrmwonwoo@readerlozies@vcutparis@mxnhoeuwu@writingbarnes@headlockimnida@odxrilove@jeonghaniehaee@bath1lda @wonwootakemyheart @dokyomis@hanniesdegree @blvkkeddcc@gyuguys@rakshithanotrao @multiplumes @jihoonsbbygirl

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas Day 22: Shivering Certainty

Character: Elliott Marston (Quigley Down Under), Judge Turpin (Sweeney Todd) Relationship(s): Turpin/Mary (OC), Elliott/Mary (OC) Warnings: implied smut

Based on The Eternal Summer

AN: Inspired by Truly Madly Deeply, because I watched it and knew immediately who else would grieve a moustachioed Alan so hard that his ghost popped up :D Part 2 tomorrow!

Read on Ao3 or below:

At first, Mary thought she must have been going mad.

But it was real. He was real.

She reached out hesitantly to place a hand on his chest, and sure enough, he was as warm and solid as she’d ever known him.

“Elliott…” Mary gasped, looking up at him with eyes wide in wonder. “I don’t understand… how…?”

“I don’t know either, darling,” he replied, and Mary thought she might cry to hear his voice again, the voice she thought had been silenced forever. “All I know is I was in your arms, and then… I was here.”

“Oh, Elliott!” Mary sobbed, throwing herself into his arms. “How I’ve missed you!”

Elliott wrapped his arms around her tightly, and for the first time in a very long time she felt safe again.

“Shh, it’s alright, Mary… I’m here now…”

She sobbed profusely into his chest, neither of them caring that his shirt would no doubt be soaked by her tears. Elliott stroked her hair soothingly, even rocking her slightly, and he managed to coax her to sit down on the edge of the bed as he comforted her.

“How long has it been?” Elliott asked once he thought she seemed to have calmed enough to talk.

“F - five months,” Mary replied, sniffling as she raised her head to look at him. “The worst five months of my life.”

“Now, I know that’s not true.”

“It is! I couldn’t begin to describe… losing you was… oh, it killed me, Elliott. I might as well have died with you that day.”

“Don’t say that,” said Elliott sternly, cupping her face with his large hand. “Don’t you even think that, you hear me? I need you to live a long and healthy life for me.”

She nodded emphatically.

“I will, El. I almost… I did almost join you, but…”

“What?! What are you talking about? Did someone try to hurt you? I swear, if it was William —”

“No! No, he’s - he’s been so good to me ever since… since I tried… stupid, really… a bottle of arsenic, or so I thought… the apothecary must have watered it down…”

“Are you mad, Mary? What good would that have done anyone?”

“I know, El, I know! I’m so glad it didn’t work, because… well…” She sniffed, but she was smiling through her tears. “Gosh, how many times have I wished I could tell you…”

“Tell me what, darling?”

Mary wiped the tears from her face and took Elliott’s hands in hers.

“Elliott, I’m… I’m pregnant.”

His eyebrows shot up, and the look of surprise on his face was priceless. Mary giggled.

“I’m certain he’s yours. I can just feel it. I’ll never tell William that, of course, I daren’t think what he might do if he believed he wasn’t his, but… he agreed that we can call him Elliott for you.”

“…Mine?” Elliott repeated. “Do you really believe so?”

“Yes, yes, I do, he’s yours, El, I just know it!”

Elliott sunk to one knee on the floor and placed a gentle hand over her belly, as if worried touching it might harm the tiny life growing inside her.

“Do you know how much I fantasised about this?” he said softly, looking up at her reverently. “Marrying you and filling you with my child… oh, Mary, if only I could give you more, we’d have a litter of children…”

He leant forward and placed a soft kiss to her belly.

“I suppose he’ll be Elliott Turpin,” he said with amusement. “Not a name I ever thought I’d come across.”

“Oh, but El, what - what happens now? I mean… do you - will you stay?”

“I don’t know,” Elliott said as he sat back on the mattress with her. “I’d like to. But there are limitations. Don’t ask me how I know them, but I do.”

“Such as?”

“Nobody else can see or hear me, I don’t think. And I can’t leave this house. I don’t know whether it’s because of you or something else, but I can’t follow you outside.”

“But you… you’re solid, I mean… I’ve heard stories of apparitions, but never a ghost that you could touch.”

She placed her hand on his cheek and smiled. He was warm, his facial hair prickled against her skin… he was as real as if he were alive.

“Do you breathe? Eat, sleep? I can touch you, but…” Her eyes flickered down to his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

Elliott smirked. “Perhaps you should test it.”

Tentatively, Mary leant up and pressed her lips to his.

Yes, she could kiss him! She could kiss him, she could hold him… and he could kiss her back. His moustache rubbed against her skin just as she remembered, and when her lips parted for him, his wet tongue could explore her mouth just as he’d done before.

Elliott wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close, being careful not to place any pressure on her belly between their bodies.

“It seems you can most definitely kiss me,” Elliott murmured with a satisfied smirk. “And it seems I can kiss you too.”

Mary shivered slightly as a cold breeze came in through the window, and Elliott immediately took his jacket off to wrap around her shoulders.

“How are you enjoying the Australian winter?” he asked with amusement. “Is it odd to be cold in August?”

“A little, but English summers aren’t always hot, so it’s not that much of a change really.”

“Perhaps you should get under the covers.”

Mary looked up at him coyly. “Are you trying to get me into bed, Mr Marston?”

“Oh, I don’t need trickery to get you into bed,” Elliott said with a mischievous grin. “That belly of yours is proof enough of that.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, and carefully guided her onto her back so he could kiss her on the bed.

“What would your husband say if he could see this, hm?” Elliott purred as he kissed her neck, his body weight shifted to one side to avoid her belly. “Oh, hello, darling, welcome home. By the way, I snogged your dead cousin in our bed today, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Stop it!” Mary giggled. “If he knew anything of this, he’d have me sent off to the asylum instantly. Gosh, how am I supposed to sleep at night knowing you’re there?”

“You have a spare room, don’t you? Tell him you want to sleep alone because of the baby, then sneak into bed with me. How scandalous would that be, hm?”

Elliott took the skin of her neck between his teeth and teased her with a soft nibble.

“El! Be careful, you can’t leave a mark!”

“Can’t I? He’s left enough of his own. Who’s to say the mark’s not from him?”

Even so, Elliott didn’t try nibbling her again, opting instead to leave gentle, loving kisses over the top of the bruises she had from Turpin.

He moved down her body, his kisses travelling across her collarbone and then down her clavicle, until he reached her swollen breasts.

“Mmm, look how full they are… all ready to feed my son…”

He cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs ghosting over her nipples through the fabric of her dress, and Mary squirmed slightly with sensitivity.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” Elliott said softly. He placed a delicate kiss to each nipple, then said, “Are you leaking yet?”

“Not yet. But they’re sensitive.”

“And getting bigger, too, that’s for sure… fuck, Mary, you really were made for this. Pregnancy suits you.”

“I wonder, El… if you seem to be able to do everything you could as if you were alive… can you…?”

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her patiently.

“Can I what?”

“You know,” Mary said with a blush.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was lying, and they both knew it, but he wanted to hear her say it. If they’d had more time - oh, the things he would have done for her - but the first thing he’d have taught her would be to ask for what she wants. She was too kind for her own good sometimes, too selfless, never doing anything for herself. But he wanted to give her the world, and she needed to ask for it.

Elliott shifted himself up the bed so he was face-to-face with her again, and planted a gentle kiss to her lips.

“Tell me what you want, Mary.”

“Make love to me,” she breathed, melting under his touch as one hand explored her body, tracing a route down her hip towards her thigh.

Elliott smiled.

“Anything you wish.”

Turpin arrived home late that evening, as he’d been playing cards with some of the other judges in Perth. He was a little drunk, but not debilitatingly so. The house was dark and quiet, so he surmised Mary must be asleep in bed.

She must have been very tired indeed when she went to bed, because she’d left the curtains drawn, but at least it gave Turpin some moonlight with which to admire his sleeping wife’s form.

He spotted something strange about her nightgown, so he pulled down the covers to reveal… she was wearing a man’s jacket, he realised with a frown.

He didn’t recognise it - it certainly wasn’t his! The worst case scenario immediately springing to mind, Turpin took her by the shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position so he could remove the jacket from her and, hopefully, find out who it might belong to.

The movement caused Mary to wake up, and she blinked her eyes open, looking around sleepily in the semi-darkness.

“Whose is this?” Turpin demanded, holding the jacket up to her. “This jacket is certainly not mine, so whose is it?”

“Elliott,” Mary mumbled. She looked around, blinking, as if she thought he might be around.

Turpin sighed. Elliott. Of course it was bloody Elliott’s. The man was five months dead, and still he lingered like a ghost haunting his wife’s heart.

“Go back to sleep, Mary,” Turpin said. “I’ll put this away.”

Mary wanted to protest, but what could she say?

Instead, she closed her eyes as she laid back down on the pillow, tugging the duvet back over her to stop herself from shivering.

A few minutes later, the mattress sagged as Turpin joined her, wrapping an arm around her to hold her close to him.

“I’m here now,” he said, his tone hard to interpret, somehow both a comfort and a firm reminder.

Yes, he was here - and Elliott wasn’t. Mary remembered falling asleep in his arms, having determined that he most definitely could still make love to her as a ghost.

That had happened, hadn’t it? She hadn’t gone so mad with grief that she’d imagined her dead lover returning to her?

No, it must have happened… how else would his jacket have ended up around her shoulders?

She shivered in the cold night, and her husband held her closer, doing his best to give her what warmth he could from his body.

Elliott had been warm too… he must have been real. He must have.

But where was he now?

[neiptune]

hello santa neiptune for your holiday servings i think christmas pudding with either shoyo + a prompt 6 (family invited an old crush/first love to a dinner party) or sunsrin with prompt 19 ("I'm going to buy/make the worst secret Santa gift humanly possible") or atsumu with prompt 13 (neighbourhood festive decoration competition becomes dangerously competitive) smooch smooch smooch smooch

rintaro suna x I'm going to buy the worst secret santa gift humanly possible

“Shut up everyone, it’s time!”, Atsumu’s comically authoritarian tone swallows the chatter, the living room of his apartment growing silent.

“Why can’t we pick who we want to get a gift for?”, Aran grumbles from his end of the couch. The setter frowns.

“Because I think none of you assholes would pick me”.

“Whatever gave that away”, Suna clicks his tongue. A soft, empty stocking collides with his face.

“Yer picking first!”, Atsumu holds the old dunkin donuts box under his nose, shaking it slightly to further shuffle the folded pieces of paper in it.

“I’m going to buy the worst secret santa gift humanly possible”, Rintaro, ever the grinch, grumbles as slender fingers randomly draw a name.

“Rin, you’re supposed to look at it later!”, you lightly elbow him in the ribs but he pulls back, avoiding the jab. The only sign of something flashing across his deadpan features is a slight twitch of the brow as he reads the name he pulled out. Then it’s gone, small piece of paper tucked safely into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“Your turn”, Atsumu brings the box to you with a grin. You know he hopes you draw his name, you’re notoriously the best gift giver of the group and he wasn’t exactly ecstatic about the Blue Lock themed calendar Osamu got him the previous year, especially with that insufferable Rin dude occupying the page dedicated to his birth month.

“I hope it’s me”, Osamu crosses his fingers from the other side of the room, where he’s resting his back against the fireplace. You chuckle, keep the small piece of paper in your closed fist as you patiently wait for everyone else to draw their names.

The boys make a whole spectacle out of unfolding the pieces of paper, Atsumu the most teased one between whistles, oohs and ahhs. You make sure not to let the small pang of disappointment shine through your smile: you’re happy it’s Kita, you love Kita. You just would’ve loved for it to be Rin more.

The designated gift exchange day is a week later, right on christmas eve. The anxiety churning in your stomach is suffocating because why would you even get something for him too? All you had to do was pick a nice gift for Shinsuke, the easiest person to please on planet earth. But now there are two extra nicely wrapped presents under the tree in your living room, one of them will make you look like a complete dumbass because there won’t be any logical explanation to justify an additional gift. Atsumu will never shut up about it, like, ever. Fuck.

You’re abruptly pulled away from your thoughts when the doorbell rings, the sound making you jump. Confusion is still written all over your features when you open the door, not expecting any guest or delivery.

“Hey”, Rintaro tosses you a tiny smile to balance the hesitancy out.

“Rin”, surprised, you blink a few times, “you okay?”.

“Yeah. Can I come in?”.

“Of course!”.

He takes off his shoes and slowly steps into your apartment, cheeks unusually flushed courtesy of the cold outside.

“What’s that?”, you curiously peek at the bag he holds in his hand while he walks to your couch and you gingerly trail behind him.

“I’m your secret santa”, he clears his throat, “didn’t wanna give this to you in front of everyone. Don’t make it weird”.

You sit next to him with mirth swarming in stupidly bright eyes. Suna feels his palms getting clammy.

“So you wanted to give me the worst gift humanly possible… early?”.

“Exactly. Here”, he hands you the small paper bag, “you’re welcome”.

“You’re a dick”, you giggle, unable to disguise the affection in your voice.

Inside the bag there are two numbered envelopes. You open the first, smaller one.

“What the…?”, it’s a regular yellow post-it, with a handwritten note.

Congratulations on your hardly earned free time. Make the most of it :)

“Check the other one”, Suna indicates the remaining envelope.

“I’m confused”.

The second gift is… handmade coupons for messy, scribbled options: concert, one meal, roadtrip, win an argument, breakfast.

“You get two coupons. I kinda already have tickets for your favorite band”.

“But”, your throat feels dry, “I don’t… I have to work?”.

“You don’t. I emailed your boss, got you some time off, something you never would’ve done for yourself”, Suna looks away, inscrutable as always. Your heart slams harder against your ribcage.

“Rin”.

He meets your gaze and you offer a smile.

“I got you something too”.

thank you for trusting my writing, hope you enjoy! happy holidays mwah

[snoopyracing]

Hii, if its ok with you, could we please get a sneak peak of the max fic ur writting 🥺

hi!! sorry i didn’t answer this sooner! been busy with family stuff and the upcoming holiday! but here you go. it’s unedited so beware lol.

You’d been playing good racing driver and making small talk all night, talking to sponsors and random rich men who loved to hear themselves talk. You’d finally escaped the tortuous sea of networking and found yourself at a somewhat secluded table with a flute of champagne in front of you. You hadn’t been at the table for very long before you heard a familiar Dutch accent coming from behind you.

“Is this seat taken?”

You turned to see the one and only Max Verstappen standing there with his hand on the back of the seat next to you. Your eyes scanned across the white linen tablecloth to the several empty chairs surrounding the table and then back to Max. “I think they all might be spoken for, but I’m sure they can find another table to sit at.” He lets out a little chuckle as he sits down and you notice him fidgeting with his tie, clearly trying to loosen it. “It’s weird seeing you in anything other than your race suit or team kit.”

His movements halt as his eyes comb over you and it makes you squirm slightly in your seat. “Could say the same about you.”

He’s not wrong though, the dress you’ve picked out for tonight is nothing shy of stunning, but it’s not you. You always felt like these events were a form of torture more than anything and having to get all dressed up was just the cherry on top.

“I saw that you had a good season.” You state before taking a sip of your champagne.

Max’s eyebrows raise in surprise towards you, like you’ve just said the craziest thing. “I don’t think we should be talking about my season when you’ve just won a championship.”

You lean back in your seat, crossing your legs as you adjust your dress. “It’s only an F2 championship Max.” There’s still a part of you that’s slightly bitter about him leaving you behind and you wonder what this night would be like if you were an F1 driver like him.

“It still means something.” His baby blue eyes narrowed at you as he spoke.

The remaining champagne in your glass is gone in seconds, this isn’t where you wanted this conversation to end up, but somehow you knew it was inevitable. “It doesn’t mean much if it can’t even grant me that seat I want. I won that championship basically halfway through the season, but can’t get anyone to offer me anything higher than a reserve driver. How does that mean anything?”

Max shifts in his seat, he knows this is a sensitive subject to you and he knows what he’s about ready to tell you will probably get him slapped, but he has to at least try.

“It could mean something and I came over here to talk to you about it.” Your eyebrows furrow at his words, confused as to what he could possibly mean. “I want you as my teammate.”

You can’t help but laugh slightly at him, the dutchman had clearly had one too many glasses of champagne tonight. “Did you think to express that to Red Bull before I had that world shortest meeting with them months ago? We all have dreams Max and yours is nice, but it’s a pipe dream.”

He shakes his head and scoots his chair closer to you. “It’s not a dream. It can happen. The team wanted to see how the rest of your season played out, but they for sure want you now.”

“Where is Daniel going then?” A waiter comes past and you snatch another flute of champagne off of their tray. “And why is this not being discussed in a formal meeting setting?”

“The team thought you might be more willing if you heard about this from someone you knew pretty well first. You know I’ve always been in your corner.” Max knows this is where the conversation will either go south or you’ll hear him out and he fears the latter isn’t the most likely scenario. “ And Daniel isn’t going anywhere”

It takes you a moment to understand what Max’s words mean, your glass of champagne hovers near your lips as you slowly realize what he’s insinuating. And this time you actually do laugh at him because how could he think that after your disgruntled conversation just moments ago that you would want the one thing you were dissatisfied with?

“Max, you've got to be kidding me.” You feel like this is one big prank and your tone is more defeated than upset at this point

[guhamun]

HMM…CALCHARO DIDN’T EAT with people like this on a regular basis, but he was quite sure it didn’t really matter either way who paid. If he invited someone somewhere and they desired to pay, then he’d let them. As long as both parties were content, then did it really matter? Maybe there was some unspoken rule for these kinds of situations that he wasn’t aware of…? Or, perhaps, this was just a Jiyan thing that had no bearing on normal interactions. He had nothing to really draw from to test that thought, and so could only make assumptions based on what information he had. ❝I could understand paying if it was a date, but this is just a regular outing, isn’t it?❞ Why did he even ask that question? Of course it was just a regular outing. A date would surely have a different…vibe to it in that case. This just felt like a normal event at this point, although truth be told, considering how elusive and difficult it was to spend any time with Calcharo to begin with, perhaps one could not quite call their get-together’s ‘normal’ in the first place.❞

     The General of Huanglong and the Leader of the Ghost Hounds sitting together enjoying a meal… That should be the very definition of abnormal, considering. ❝Anyway, I’ll keep your words in mind. You better not go back on it, Jiyan.❞ He huffed, shaking his head a little. Wait – what a minute – was he being challenged? Surprise flickered across his features, icy gaze falling back upon the general and taking in that rare, mischievous gleam within that vibrant gold. A long time ago, Calcharo would have never thought he’d catch the other in a mood like this one. It really was akin to a regular person like him catching a glimpse of Jué casually flying across the sky, and so, he needed a moment to let it all process in his mind before he spoke up again. ❝Hah, baring those fangs, huh?❞ He smirked, arms crossing over his chest as he further observed the general. ❝Who would have thought you had it in you to taunt someone? I guess I’ll have to invite you out every now and then in order to make things more balanced. As for the rest of what you said…I’ll make sure to come in first each and every time.

     He couldn’t have Jiyan beating him in paying all the time, now, could he? That’d be unacceptable. ❝For our outing, whenever that is, are you going to dress as a civilian?❞ He could guess what the answer to that was considering the other man was still on ‘break’ as per medics orders no doubt. He would probably seek for them to do this while they both had a great deal of time without work being a factor.

The general nodded, his smile widening just a bit, and made a small mental note to put a limit to how much he praised and complimented the other in the future. But he couldn't promise to put on a leash on them. After all, for the most part, it was completely unintentional. Perhaps it was due to how at ease he felt with Calcharo, he didn't know, but it was so easy for his honest thoughts and words to slip on their own. Jiyan already was an honest man, but there was a clear difference between the way he spoke to the rangers and all the conversations he had with Calcharo.

"Well, that's because they're my ideas in the first place, so it's only natural that I pay for them. If you were to invite me somewhere you fancy and I were to pay for it, then that would be quite impolite on my end." He didn't even blink before answering, the answer rolling out of his tongue like it was the most natural thing. The one who makes the invite is the one who pays, a simple concept his mother taught him even before joining the Midnight Rangers. "But, if you insist on 'paying me back' for those occasions, then allow me to let you know that your company and getting to see that you were having a good time are more than enough payment for me." 'Besides, I don't have many opportunities to spend time with you or get you anything, so I wish to make up for it whenever the opportunity arises.'

It seemed that Calcharo wasn't going to let this slide. But that was fine, what mattered was reaching an agreement.

"If you invite me, of course. If you have a place in mind, and wish to take me with you, then I'll do my best to free my schedule for you. I give you my word on that." Jiyan used the same logic for other things too. All those times the mercenary sent him small gifts or went all the way to Camp Overwatch, he didn't think he was 'indebted' to them in any way. He was just happy that Calcharo thought of him, and wished to spend their time with him. "But the same should go for me. If it's my initiative, then I believe it's only fair that I take care of the bill. If it's something we both agreed on..." Golden eyes brightened, became sharper for a second. "I'm certain that we'll figure something out when the opportunity arises. This is a more fair deal that takes both our interests into consideration, wouldn't you agree? Or is it that you worry that you can't keep up and come second every time? If that's the case, then I can see why this would be a point of concern... but mercenary leader Calcharo isn't one to stay behind, is he?" If a ranger were to hear that Jiyan was taunting, they would laugh and say that the general wasn't like that. And yet, here he was, eyes shining with excitement and a hint of mischief.

[little-jana]

"Unspoken"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: heated, no smut, fluffy ending

Warnings: kissing, flirting

Words: 1.1k

Summary: The tension finally snaps...

The air in the room felt heavier than usual, though that could’ve been the exhaustion finally catching up with me. Another late night, another grueling case, and I should’ve been too tired to feel anything but the ache in my bones. But sitting here, across the table from Spencer Reid, exhaustion was the last thing on my mind.

We’d wrapped up the case hours ago, yet neither of us had left the precinct. The others had trickled out one by one, but Spencer and I lingered, tying up loose ends or pretending to. In truth, I wasn’t sure why I stayed—why I always stayed when he was around.

He was typing furiously on his laptop, his hair falling into his eyes in a way that made my fingers itch to brush it back. He always worked like this—laser-focused, utterly absorbed—but tonight, there was something different.

He’d been quieter than usual, his responses clipped, his gaze sharper. I couldn’t figure out if it was the case or something else entirely. But every time his eyes flicked to me, the heat in his stare was enough to make my pulse quicken.

“You’re staring,” he said suddenly, not looking up from his screen. His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it that made my breath hitch.

“I’m not,” I lied, though my voice betrayed me.

He glanced at me then, one eyebrow raised in that infuriatingly perceptive way of his. “You are.”

I crossed my arms, trying to look unbothered. “Maybe I’m just waiting for you to finish so we can leave.”

He smirked, a small, barely-there curve of his lips that made my stomach flip. “You could’ve left hours ago.”

“And miss the pleasure of your company?” I shot back, my tone more teasing than I intended.

His smirk grew, and he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. “Is that what this is? Pleasure?”

My cheeks burned, and I looked away, pretending to be very interested in the file on the table in front of me. “Don’t flatter yourself, Reid.”

“I wasn’t,” he said, his voice softer now, but there was something in it that made me look at him.

His eyes were locked on mine, and the intensity in his gaze made it impossible to breathe. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and I could feel my resolve slipping with every passing second.

“Why are you still here?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I could ask you the same thing,” I countered, my own voice shaky.

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t look away either. The tension between us was unbearable, a charged current that neither of us seemed willing to break.

“You do this,” I said finally, my words tumbling out before I could stop them.

“Do what?”

“This,” I said, gesturing between us. “You... stare at me like that. Like you’re waiting for something.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought he was going to deny it. But then he leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table, and the look in his eyes made my heart stop.

“Maybe I am,” he said, his voice low and rough.

The air between us crackled, and I felt my pulse hammering in my ears. “Spencer...”

He stood then, rounding the table in a few quick strides until he was standing right in front of me. I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, and the heat radiating off him was enough to make my knees weak.

“Say it,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath.

“Say what?” I whispered, though I wasn’t sure I could form a coherent thought, let alone words.

“Whatever it is you’re thinking right now,” he said, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. The touch was feather-light, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

“I...” My voice faltered as his fingers trailed down, brushing against my jaw. “I can’t.”

His eyes softened, but the intensity didn’t waver. “Why not?”

“Because,” I said, swallowing hard. “It’s... it’s not appropriate.”

He smiled then, a slow, wicked curve of his lips that made my breath hitch. “Since when do you care about what’s appropriate?”

“Spencer,” I said again, his name coming out as more of a plea this time.

“Tell me,” he urged, his hand still lingering on my face.

“I...” I hesitated, my mind warring with itself. But then his thumb brushed against my cheek, and the dam inside me broke. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He exhaled sharply, his hand dropping to my waist as he closed the remaining distance between us. “Good,” he murmured, his lips so close to mine that I could feel his breath. “Because I can’t stop thinking about you either.”

And then he kissed me.

The world fell away as his lips claimed mine, soft and insistent. His hands gripped my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us. I gasped against his mouth, and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding against mine in a way that made my knees buckle.

I clung to him, my fingers tangling in his hair as the kiss grew hungrier, more desperate. The tension that had been simmering between us for weeks finally erupted, and it was overwhelming, all-consuming.

When we finally broke apart, both of us were breathing hard, and his forehead rested against mine.

“Wow,” I whispered, my voice shaky.

He chuckled softly, his hands still on my waist. “Yeah. Wow.”

I looked up at him, my cheeks flushed, and for the first time, I saw him smile—a real, genuine smile that made my heart skip a beat.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admitted, his voice soft but steady.

“Me too,” I said, my own voice barely above a whisper.

His smile grew, and he leaned down, pressing another kiss to my lips, softer this time but no less intense.

And in that moment, with his arms around me and his lips on mine, I knew there was no going back.

[wawataka]

eating the worlds worst conchas i’ve ever had

[imaginedisish]

Lover, You Should've Come Over (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Get ready to cry. This is based on a request I received yesterday where the reader gets jealous of Jean. I tried to take this in a different direction just because I feel like this is a popular trope that has been done by many fantastic writers. It's also inspired by "Lover, You Should've Come Over," by Jeff Buckley. Hope you guys enjoy.

Summary: You've been pining after Logan since you joined the X-Men, and you're convinced he'll never love you back. He’s obsessed with Jean—always has been. Or...maybe he's not.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI, Oral (f!receiving), fingering, PIV (unprotected...pls WRAP IT UP THIS IS FICTION!), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, f!reader/afab!reader, telepathic!reader, cocky!Logan, softdom!Logan (kinda? yeah.), non-canon compliant (you'll see what I mean...no spoilers), cursing, angst, feelings, implied mutant trauma (kinda a given in X-Men), probably some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,197 sorry

Wanting someone you can’t have—it’s that crying in the shower, pulling your legs into your chest, screaming into your pillow kind of heartache. You’ve come to know the feeling intimately. It’s an awful, horrid, stomach-churning kind of pain.

But you want him. Despite all the pain, you want him. Logan Howlett. You can’t seem to keep him off your mind. For the few months you’ve been one of the X-Men, Logan has been a constant. He’s always there—whether it’s to train or just to talk. But you know he’ll never want you. You see the way he looks at Jean. You wish you didn’t. You wish you were oblivious to that sort of thing. But you don’t need to use your telepathy to reach inside his mind for proof—you just know. 

You keep holding on, savoring every moment, every interaction you have with Logan. You sit on the lawn of the mansion with him, watching the sunset. You’ll come down to the living room late at night to find him sitting in front of the T.V. and join him. Sometimes he’ll drape an arm around your shoulder. He’ll draw circles into your side as you drift off. You’ll wake up the next morning back in your bed, Logan having carried you there long after you’ve fallen asleep. 

You’ve decided you’ll take all he’ll give you, even if it means nothing to him—even if it's platonic. 

But tonight, you wish something would come up through the floor and swallow you whole. A void, a black hole maybe. That would do the trick. Disappearing would make everything so much easier. The second-best thing to disappearing is sitting in the kitchen of the mansion, alone, with a pint of ice cream. You decide to practice your powers, moving the silver spoon with your mind, concentrating as you dig the spoon into the top of the pint and into your mouth. 

You hear a warm, familiar chuckle from the doorway as the spoon lands on your tongue. You look up, and there’s Logan, arms tucked across his chest. “Wish I could do that.”

You can’t help but smile around the spoon as he strides over to you, taking a seat on the stool next to yours. You slide the spoon out of your mouth and rest it on the napkin next to the ice cream. “Hey,” you mutter, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

His shoulder brushes against yours. He’s so close it hurts. You try to shove the pain down and enjoy the moment. 

“Was hoping I’d run into you down here. Thought maybe you’d be in bed already,” Logan says, his eyes locked on yours. 

You shake your head, doing your best to keep that fake smile plastered on your face. “Couldn’t sleep.” 

You can see the sudden concern appear on his face. “Everything okay?” He asks, tilting his head to the side. Fuck, you think to yourself. Maybe he’s catching on. 

“Yeah,” you murmur, looking down at the ice cream. “Just still having a hard time adjusting.” It wasn’t a lie. You had always struggled with your powers, longing to hide, to shove them down. Your whole life, you were either a freak or something to be used—whatever was most convenient in the moment. The struggle between visibility and forcing yourself to be “normal” was an impossible battle. You were no stranger to being taken advantage of or being experimented on.

Logan was the first person who understood that—understood you. He made you feel seen in a way that no one ever had. It’s part of the reason you’ve fallen so hard for him. 

His hand is suddenly on your back, yanking you from your thoughts and back to reality. “I’m here,” he whispers. “Whatever you need, anything.” 

Anything. You wish he really meant it. 

“Thanks, Lo.” You smile up at him, letting your eyes linger on his lips for just a second before looking back down at the ice cream. “Want some?” You ask, nodding at the pint. 

“Only if you feed it to me the way you did when I walked in.” You can hear the smirk in his voice as he taps the spoon. You side-eye him incredulously. “I mean it. Wanna see you do it again.” There’s a husk in his voice, a shift in his timber that sends a chill down your spine. You try not to think about it too much as you pick up the spoon with your mind. 

You guide the spoon inside the pint, scraping the top, and lifting it up towards Logan’s mouth. He opens wide as you lead the spoon inside, his tongue hitting the bottom as his lips close around it. The implications of the moment don’t dawn on you until he’s grabbing the spoon with his hands and sucking on the metal. There’s something undeniably suggestive about this. 

Heat rises to your chest as you replay the image of him taking the spoon into his mouth in your mind. It’s so intimate, so domestic. And, certainly, something else—something that makes you tick, that makes that familiar fire grow deep within your belly. 

But—like always—the moment doesn’t last long. You wince, feeling someone itching against your thoughts, prodding at your mental shields, begging to be let in. Suddenly, there’s another voice in your mind. 

I gotta try that myself. You flinch at the sound, taking the spoon from Logan’s hand and shooting it across the room to where you sense the person’s presence. You turn around, and there’s Jean, resisting the spoon’s trajectory with her mind. 

It's almost pressing into her skull, shaking in mid-air, ready to break her skin. You gasp and drop the spoon, embarrassed to have registered her as a threat. “I’m so sorry,” you say, watching as Jean crouches down and picks up the spoon. “I didn’t know that was you in there, I swear.”

You expect Logan to stand from the chair and rush over to Jean, but he stays next to you, glued to your side, the palm of his hand resting gently on your back. “Jean.” His voice is firm, almost cold and harsh. “What was that?” You’re surprised at how curt he’s being with her, surprised he remembered that you’re sensitive to people probing around your mind, even if it’s friendly. 

Jean mutters a curse. “I was just communicating with her. I didn’t think she’d—” 

Logan stands, his hand still steady at your back. “Don’t do that again. Ever.” His voice is louder now, heavier. 

She whispers an apology, setting the spoon on the counter and walking towards the doorway. “I really didn’t mean to hurt you,” she says. “I should’ve remembered given your…” she pauses, searching for the word, “past…that it wouldn’t be a good idea.” She takes another tentative step. “I’ll leave you two alone,” she says, and she slips out. 

Logan settles back into the stool next to you. You’re shocked that he’s still here, that he hasn’t run away yet. You can hear him breathe—in and out—gentle, long breaths. You close your eyes and listen, the sound calming you down. You’re still expecting him to leave, to walk away, but he doesn’t. 

“You okay?” He asks, your eyes fluttering open, his voice hanging in the air. His head is tilted to the side, worry painted across his face. 

“Y-yeah. I’m fine,” you stutter, your voice cracking. “You don’t have to stay with me. You can go check on her if you want.” You nod towards the doorway—to wherever Jean wandered off to. 

“And why would I do that?” Is all he says in return, furrowing his brows. 

You put on that fake smile again. “I almost jammed a spoon into her forehead because she spoke to me telepathically.” You shake your head. “Don’t really think my reaction was particularly friendly—or something that good people do.” You break eye contact with Logan and look to the other side of the kitchen. “Plus, you two are…close.”

“Hey.” His voice is firm again, but gentle this time, reassuring. His hand slips across your back and rests on your waist. You’re so shocked by the contact that you almost miss what he says. “First of all, she knows better. Charles warned her about what you’ve been through. And second…” He trails off, smirking at you. “I’d rather be with you.”

Oh? Oh. He’d rather be with you. 

“I just thought, you know, you and Jean were…” You’re too embarrassed to finish the sentence and too nervous to hear him say the words you’ve been dreading most. 

He shakes his head, that smirk still spread across his lips. “No, it’s not Jean I want. Never has been.” 

Your breathing becomes shaky—your heart beating rapidly in your chest. “If it’s not Jean, then—” 

Logan cuts you off as he suddenly moves. His arm lifts from your waist as he stands, turning your stool around so your back is against the cold countertop. He’s gripping the arms of the stool now, caging you in. Your mind is hazy—you can’t concentrate with him this close. 

“You think I do the shit I do with you with Jean too, hm?” He’s towering over you, his head cocking to the side, his voice self-assured and confident. “Think I’m watching movies and sunsets with her? Carrying her to bed, too?” 

You’re overwhelmed, dizzied by his words, his size, him. “Just thought that—”

“Just thought what?” He cuts you off again. “That I didn’t want you, darlin’?” He brings his lips to the shell of your ear, one hand moving from the counter to your hip. “Wanted you this whole time,” he huffs, goosebumps rising on your arms. “Only you.” He presses a kiss to your ear, and then just underneath your jaw. 

“Logan,” you whisper. “W-want you too,” you choke out, your hands coming up and around his back. “B-but someone’s gonna walk in on us.” 

He’s ignoring you, biting your pulse point lightly and licking the pain away. “Let them,” he husks, refusing to stop. You instinctively bring your hands up to the nape of his neck, your nails digging in slightly. He groans at the contact, his chest heaving against yours. 

“One of the kids is catch us in here, or somebody else,” you mutter, his face still buried in the crook of your neck. “W-we should—”

“Go to my room.” He finishes your thought. 

“Please.” 

And then he’s picking you up from the chair, his hands under your thighs, grabbing your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist as he prowls out of the kitchen. He looks both ways as he crosses the hallway and makes his way to the stairs. There’s no one in sight. He carries you up the steps and down the hall to his room, practically breaking down the door as he swings it open and slams it shut. 

And then he’s laying you down on his bed, crawling over you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Wanted you in here sooner,” he murmurs, his lips just inches from yours. “Hoped you’d come over one night. You should’ve.”

His lips crash down onto yours before you can find the words to say. He’s starving for you, swallowing your moans as his hands slip under your shirt, his nails digging lightly into your sides. “So fucking beautiful,” he rasps against your lips. Everything is desperate and rushed, hands pawing at bare skin in the dim light of his room. 

Logan tugs on the hem of your shirt, rolling it up your body and over your head. He tosses it to the side as he sits up on his knees, taking you in. He curses under his breath, looking you up and down. 

“Logan,” you whine, arching your back. You need his hands on you again, his lips. Something. Anything. 

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, his fingers hooking inside the waistband of your shorts. “Gonna take care of you.” He yanks them down your legs, leaving you in just your bra and panties. 

He pulls off his own shirt, tossing it carelessly, letting it get lost on the floor. He settles back down over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand finds your waist. He slides up to the bottom of your bra, teasingly pulling on the fabric before slipping his hand behind your back—skillfully unclasping the bra with one easy motion. You arch your back again, the bra straps sliding down your arms as Logan tosses the bra to the floor, too. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles, his hand tracing the curves of your breasts, massaging gently. “Perfect.” He captures your lips in another kiss as his thumb ghosts over your nipples, just barely giving you the relief you need before pinching softly. The pressure feels so good, so right, but it’s not enough. 

He draws circles around your nipples with his thumb, the sensation feeding the aching fire between your legs. Your hips involuntarily lift off the mattress, meeting his. “Need me that bad, huh?” He is always so incredibly cocky, even now—especially now. He knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and what to do next. 

Logan grinds his erection into your core. You can feel how big he is, the weight of him heavy against your cunt even in his jeans. You clench around nothing, whining his name as his strained cock teases your panty-clad pussy. “You want me to make you feel good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stutter, biting your lips as his hand leaves your tits and sweeps down your stomach, stopping just above your clit. He slides his fingers down just a bit more, feeling where your arousal seeps through your panties. 

“Already soaking for me, sweetheart.” The bassy timber of his voice stokes that flame deep within your belly. Without warning, he’s hooking his fingers into the waistband of your panties and yanking them down your legs. “Can’t wait anymore, pretty girl,” he whispers. “Wanna taste this pussy.” He kisses your belly button, leaving a trail down the rest of your stomach as his mouth travels to where you need him most. 

There’s something depraved about the way he’s crawling down your body, taking in every inch of you. He spreads your legs apart with the palms of his hands—his thumbs brushing against your bare skin, licking teasingly at your inner thighs as he settles in between them. 

He pauses, looking at you under hooded eyes. You can see the want—no, the need—in the way his muscles flex and how he works his jaw. But he’s hesitating, his breath hot against your core, sending another jolt of desire through your body. Your chest rises and falls rapidly, your eyes searching his for his next move. 

He finally presses a kiss to your clit. “You don’t understand how you make me feel,” he mumbles against your heat, licking a long stripe through your folds and back to your clit. “No idea how long I’ve fucking wanted you.” You throw your head back, whimpering his name as he laps again and again. He’s starving, and you’re the only thing that can satiate his hunger. His tongue swirls around your clit, flicking it, taking it in between his lips and sucking hard. 

Your hips lift off the mattress and Logan quickly moves to hold them down. “You’re not going anywhere, darlin’,” he grunts against you, the vibration of his voice going straight to your core. 

His free hand slips up the inside of your thighs, teasingly climbing higher and higher, his nails skimming your flesh. He’s toying with you, leading you on, taking his time. His fingers finally ghost over your folds, exploring you, stroking up and down as his tongue laps at your cunt. 

Logan prods your entrance with two fingers, slipping in just a bit, testing the waters. “Please,” you beg, pushing your hips down in an attempt to sink his fingers deeper into you. He stops you, his hand still firmly holding your hips down, refusing to give you the release you’re dying for. 

“So fucking impatient, aren’t you?” He tuts. And then he’s shoving two fingers all the way inside you, down to his knuckles. “Such a pretty pussy.”

“F-fuck!” You cry out, your eyes rolling into the back of your head as he sets a relentless pace. He’s drinking you in, sucking roughly, his long fingers pumping in and out with a vengeance. 

“’This what you wanted, pretty girl?” He asks condescendingly in between laps. You’re too fucked out to form a sentence, your legs trembling underneath him. You know he’s loving this—loving that you’re a wet, needy, whimpering mess. 

Your walls squeeze around his fingers, your swollen clit throbbing as he laps at you. You’re so close already. “Lo,” you call out, fisting the sheets of his bed. Everything in here smells like him: pine and mint and musk and tobacco and that thing that’s uniquely Logan. It’s all so overwhelming and overstimulating. You’re ready to fall apart, to melt into nothingness. “S-so close.”

He squeezes your hip. “I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, his pace unwavering as his fingers fuck into you, scissoring inside you, drawing you closer to your climax with that come-hither motion he does so well. Your walls flutter again. “That’s it,” he coos. “Wanna feel you come—wanna know what it tastes like.” He licks harder, faster. “Let go for me, darlin’.” 

He pushes you over the edge, pleasure warming your belly as you let go. It washes over you in waves, his fingers still pumping in and out, his tongue still hanging on to the taste of you. You ride it out, his thumb brushing your hip, coaxing you through it. His fingers slip out of your cunt, but his head is still buried between your legs. You shudder as he licks long, slow stripes through your folds. 

“So fucking sweet,” he growls, still starving for more. “Not done with you yet.”

Fuck. 

But you need more—need his cock deep inside you, pounding into you. You need him in front of you, his lips on yours. 

“Logan,” you whine, your voice shaky and trembling just like the rest of your body. He finally lifts his head, his hair a disheveled mess, your juices glistening on his lips and his chin. The sight of him makes your breath hitch in your throat. There’s a feral, needy look in his eyes. He’s starving for more of you, and you’re not quite sure he’ll ever get enough. 

But he can see your chest heaving and the desire in your own eyes. He knows what you need—he always does. He sits up on his knees, staring at you while he slowly unbuckles his belt. The tension is palpable, the clinking of his belt against the hardwood floors cutting through it like a hot knife—the only sounds the melding of your quick breaths and the shuffling of bed sheets as Logan finally comes up to meet you. 

He's balancing on his forearm as he unbuttons his jeans, undoing the zipper and shoving the denim and his boxers down his legs. You swallow at the sight of his cock springing against his stomach. You had felt his erection before, but he is far bigger than you ever anticipated. 

With one hand on his cock, he lowers himself in between your thighs. You instinctually spread your legs for him, inviting him in. He nudges against your entrance, taking his time. 

His forehead meets yours, your chests flush against each other’s, panting in sync. You’re both waiting with bated breath, his tip slipping inside, but stopping short before going any farther. 

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Thought I’d never have you,” he confesses, pushing his tip a bit further in. “Would’ve given up anything for this. Would’ve waited forever.”

“You don’t have to,” you murmur.  “I’m right here. I’m yours.” 

“Mine?”

“All yours.”

And then he’s pushing deep inside you, down to the hilt, bottoming out. He swallows your moans with a kiss, biting your lip, drawing blood, and licking it away. “All fucking mine.” He stays buried inside you, unmoving. “Wanna stay inside you forever, sweetheart,” he growls, your heart bursting at the thought.

He pulls himself all the way out and all the way back in, stretching you out, working you open. You look down in between your bodies and watch as his cock disappears inside of you. “Feels s-so fucking good,” you stammer, already drunk off him. 

“Like watching me fuck into you?” Logan husks, picking up his pace, his hips snapping into yours. 

“Y-yes,” you whimper. His muscles flex as he ruts into you. He takes the hand that was on his cock and brings it in between your bodies, his fingertips quickly finding your clit and giving it a soft pinch. Your back arches off the mattress at the sensation. 

Logan hums at your reaction. “So sensitive,” he groans. “Taking me so good, sweetheart.” You can feel him losing control as he rams into you, his thrusts growing harder with each pump of his cock. He’s drawing firm, fast circles into your core. 

It’s all too much, him, his cock, his fingers. Your skin is on fire, your nipples pushing against his chest—the friction absolutely delicious. You’re already so close, just a few steps away from the ledge, and you’re ready to fall. 

“Know you’re close, darlin’,” Logan moans in between kisses. “Can feel you squeezing me.” 

You hum in response, but Logan refuses to let up. His pace is beyond brutal, pounding into you over and over again, his fingers working your clit in tandem. Your muscles contract around him, gripping tightly. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “So fucking tight, so fucking warm.” His praises are more than you can handle. “You gonna come on my cock, just like this?” 

“Yes, fuck, Logan!” You’re a babbling mess, his name the only thing on your mind, on your lips, hanging in the air like it’s a sacred prayer. Everything is him, and it always has been. In this moment and in every other, he is your end and your beginning. 

 “Let go for me, sweetheart. Know you can do it for me.” His deep voice is all you need to walk you through it. You’re breaking down, coming on his cock, the pleasure coursing through your veins, spreading like an untamable fire. 

He’s stroking your clit long after you’ve come, still snapping his hips into yours, still working up towards his own orgasm. His pace is getting sloppier, but he shows no signs of stopping. You can feel yourself growing overstimulated, his cock rubbing against your walls, his fingers circling your clit. “S’too much,” you whine, your nails digging into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. 

Logan presses himself closer to you, as close as he possibly can be. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart,” he coaxes, not letting up. “Know you can take it.”

You’re breathless, clinging onto him helplessly. You’re clamping down on him again, taking him deeper than you did before. He’s hitting that sweet spot with every thrust. “Lo,” you whimper. “I’m gonna—”

“I know, darlin’,” he grunts. You can feel him throbbing inside you. “Let it happen, I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The tension is snapping again, breaking in half as he pulls another orgasm from you. You shudder as you come for a third time, overstimulated and beyond fucked out. You know he’s close behind, his hips slowing down, his forehead pressed against yours. He slips his hand away from your clit and around your back, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s so intimate, so perfect. 

“F-fuck,” he mumbles. “Where do you want me to—”

You hold him closer. “Stay,” you whisper. “Want you inside. Wanna feel you come.”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters, plunging deep inside you, his muscles tensing as he fills you up, your name on his lips. His thrusts slow, pumping in and out every now and then before finally stopping. 

You stay like this for a few minutes, his arm keeping you tight against his chest, his cock still buried inside you and your foreheads still pressed together. 

He brings a hand up to your cheek, his thumb brushing gently across your skin. You sigh, your eyes fluttering open and closed. 

He shakes his head. “I always wanted you,” he says, his voice low and raspy. “The whole time. It was only ever you.” 

His words could make you cry. It’s everything you’ve ever hoped to hear. You smile, his hand finding its way to the crook of your neck, his fingers lightly stroking your sensitive skin. “Can’t believe I didn’t see it,” you breathe, your voice laden with sleepiness. “I never knew. Thought you’d never want me.”

“I’ll always want you.” His cock finally slips out of you, leaving you feeling empty. His legs tangle with yours, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to your temple. “Would’ve waited forever for you, darlin’.”

“Forever?”

“Longer.”

[kamitv]

▷ First Time?

Synopsis . When you get paired with the campus asshole, Sukuna, for a project, the last thing you expect to learn about him is that he’s a damn virgin. Nor did you expect to be the one to change that. / Pairing . virgin!Sukuna x fem!reader / Content . afab!reader, oral sex (m!receiving), premature ejac, non-curse college au, dirty talk, pet names, degrading, porn w plot, teasing, taunting, filth, etc. / wc . 6k

A/N: ty to the nonnie on my main who asked if I’d ever write virgin!jjk men :3 [MDNI]

Who would’ve thought?

Of all people, Sukuna, a virgin? It just didn’t make sense.

He was this stand-offish asshole who most people respected out of pure fear. He didn’t exactly do parties and yet you could always find him at one. He’d always have some chick on his arm or even in his lap so, in what world would anyone with a brain assume he’s actually never been inside a woman before?

And to make his lack of game all the more unbelievable, he’s even rumored to have a big dick— it’s like some overly well-known campus fact about the guy.

So, again, what reason would anyone have to think the guy was a virgin?

Certainly not you, of course. And you don’t expect to be the only person to find out such information either.

The way you find out is probably even more bizarre than the fact itself. You and him had little to no reason to ever interact with each other. You weren’t some shy nerd who holed herself up in her room all day or anything but you weren’t much of the party type other.

You were stuck somewhere in the middle of all that, vicariously living through some of your friends who had better things going for them.

As such, there was no real reason for you and Sukuna to cross paths. He never even had a reason to acknowledge your existence until the two of you are paired up together for a project in the one class you happen to take together.

——

The background noise is the chatter of your fellow classmates and their own project partners, you find your partner grumbling out a low, “What?” In response to your last statement, having hardly heard a thing you said.

“I said,” You huff, sitting beside the man in question as today marks week two of you being paired up with him for this semester’s project, “We should be meeting up outside of class too. We could get his knocked out in like a day if you just-“

“Oh that,” Sukuna cuts off casually. Seated all slouched back in his seat, his legs sprawled out in that signature manspread of his— he rolls his eyes at your little reminder, “You said somethin’ about that last week.”

You speak through slightly gritted teeth, fighting the headache he’s about to give you from this conversation alone, “All the more reason for you to take it into consideration. The faster we get this done, the less we have to deal with each other.”

As you say that, you glance at him only to find his eyes directly on yours already. He’s got such lazy posture, his head tilted slightly whilst he gazes at you so intently, and his big muscular arms folded across his chest. Even wearing a black hoodie and gray sweats, he still looks as attractive as ever— mean low-lidded crimson eyes locked on yours, tattooed face so beautifully defined, and rosy lips pulled into such an uninterested little frown.

Up until your words hit his ears properly, “The less we have to deal with each other, huh?” Sukuna repeats, narrowing his eyes even further at you, “You barely even know me ‘nd yet you want nothing to do with me already.”

“I know enough about you, Sukuna,” You say with a sigh, “And you hardly contribute to this project as is. Which only proves that everything they say about you is probably true.”

He arches a brow, his interest piquing, “And what exactly do people say about me?”

You let off a light scoff, “Don’t act like you don’t know.”

“But I don’t know,” Sukuna tells you honestly, maroon eyes boring into yours.

You stare for a moment as you try to decipher whether or not he’s being honest right now. How does he not know what people say about him? Everyone talks about his brooding personality very openly.

“They say you’re an ass,” You eventually say to the man.

To which his lips twitch into a slight smirk, “And you believe that?”

“Seeing as I’ve asked you to, at the very least, type your name on this document and you haven’t even done that yet,” You scoff, “Yes.”

The two of you mildly glare at one another for a moment before Sukuna leans up in his seat. Breaking eye contact for just a moment to look at his laptop, he swiftly moves to open up that shared document of yours and types his name out with a heavy sigh.

After which, he’s slouching back again and looking at you, “Don’t believe everything people tell you, woman.”

You roll your eyes at him, “What? Are you not fond of rumors? That still doesn’t negate the fact that you’re an assho-“

“When do you want to meet up?” Sukuna grumbles out almost reluctantly, watching the way you pause and swallow thickly as he catches you off-guard.

He’s almost even intrigued by how quickly you bounce back, despite being caught by surprise, “Friday. Are you free?”

“Unfortunately,” He grumps.

You give him a little shrug, “Good. I’ll see you then.”

And that was it. That was how each and every interaction with you and Sukuna went. Bickering back and forth about him not doing shit to help you with something that’ll affect your grade majorly, criticizing you about being too focused and needing to relax every now and then, and even calling you a stuck-up little brat one time— it was safe to say, you and Sukuna didn’t get along too well.

Not that you minded anyway. He wasn’t your first partner to care little about their grade so, you knew how to deal with these kinds of people by now. Typically, you indulge yourself in their craving to ‘relax’ just once and then they promise to start helping. You’ve gone down that path before and it’s worked for you then so you assume things will go the same way with Sukuna.

Plus, you guess you can give him a slight pass for his asshole attitude, at least he has a pretty face to look at. Dark ink always decorating his awfully smooth skin, deep dark yet beautiful ruby-shaded eyes boring into whatever it is his focus on, and broad shoulders looming over your smaller figure every time he stands in front of you— you can't help but feel both attracted and intimidated by the man.

——

Which is exactly why when you open your apartment door for the scheduled meetup that Friday to crane your head up at him, you’re swallowing thickly to settle your nerves. You’ve never been alone with the man so of course you’re a bit nervous.

Especially with the way he gazes down at you like that’s exactly where you belong: beneath him. His eyes are filled to the brim with intensity and yet he’s only just set them on you. Wearing a noticeable black compression shirt and those signature gray sweets of his, he almost appears as though he’d just come from the gym.

And just as you take in his appearance, he very openly takes in yours— his eyes raking over your body and taking in every single inch of you. After all, just as it was your first time alone with him, it was his first time seeing you dress so comfortably. He doesn’t even try to hide the way he stares at your tits peeking out from the rather thin spaghetti-strap top you were wearing, his eyes soon trailing down slowly to those tauntingly short shorts you had on.

“So,” Sukuna swipes his tongue over his lips and cocks his head to the side, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes yet to lift from your legs, “Are you gonna stare at me all day or are you gonna let me in?”

You blink out of whatever little daze you were in, having found yourself gazing at his chest far longer than you meant to. It was right in front of your face after all, how could you look anywhere else? And his shirt was so damn tight, the fabric hugging his well-toned body perfectly, so much so that you swore you could make out piercings on his-

Sukuna leans forward suddenly, his face nearing yours to gain your full attention, “If you keep staring at me like that, I’m gonna assume you invited me over for something else-“

“Sorry,” You chirp out as you clear your throat and awkwardly step back a bit to let him in, “You can come in.”

Nodding, Sukuna slips by you and you shut your apartment door behind him. Then, you’re quick to lead him over to your living room where you’d previously been working on your project.

The two of you are hasty to take a seat on your couch, both of you only a few inches apart from one another whilst you lean toward your coffee table and log into your already open laptop. Sukuna’s eyes are all over you as always, studying your side profile, your intent focus on the screen in front of you, and even the way you-

“Did you even bring anything?” You suddenly ask before you glance at the man.

Sukuna quickly meets your gaze, ripping his eyes off of wherever they’d been previously, “Was I supposed to?”

“Sukuna,” You sigh out, “Please tell me you’re joking right now.”

He swallows at the mere sound of his name rolling off your tongue in that scolding tone of yours— he’s heard such a tone from you time and time again and yet, for whatever reason, it never seems to annoy him. 

“I’m not.” He says plainly.

“How are we supposed to work on this if you-,” You cut yourself off and decide not to even attempt arguing with him. Arguing won’t change the fact that he showed up with nothing. “Just uhm,” You glance elsewhere for a second before an idea comes to mind and you place your laptop down and stand up, “Stay here.”

Sukuna doesn’t say anything. He merely watches as you huff and walk off, swiftly exiting the living room and disappearing down a nearby hall. He swears he finds himself looking at you a bit more than intended. Especially as you walked off, his eyes dropping to your ass and those damn shorts of yours.

Even when you’re out of his sight, he still finds himself staring in the direction of which you went, almost unable to look away for whatever strange reason.

That lasts for a few minutes until he snaps out of it and leans back against the couch, tossing his head back and letting out a long sigh. You soon return to find him with an arm stretched along the back of the couch, his legs spread as usual, and his eyes up on the ceiling.

He doesn’t even notice you’ve returned until he feels something placed in his lap. Looking down, Sukuna finds your laptop kindly set on top of him. To which his brows furrowed in confusion and he looked at you to see you sitting on the floor in between the couch and the coffee table with a paper and pencil in front of you.

“What’s this?” Sukuna scoffs.

You don’t even spare him a glance as you begin writing something down, “How we’ll get things done.” He opens his mouth to say something but then you’re looking back at him with a glare, “I already organized the parts of this project that you have to do so, since it’s on my computer, you can work on that and I’ll work with what I remember.”

You wholeheartedly expected him to find something about this to disagree with you on but, to your surprise, he simply nods and redirects his focus to your laptop immediately.

And then, the two of you work exactly like that for the remainder of that little study session.

——

Sukuna’s not terrible to work with when it’s just you and him. If anything, he’s rather cooperative and a lot smarter than he leads on. 

Which is why a solid two hours of productivity flies by surprisingly smoothly with him. If you asked him a question, he answered. Told him to do something, he’d say something snarky, and then do whatever it is you’ve instructed anyway.

It all went so perfectly up until he let out a really heavy sigh, “Alright, I’ve had enough for this.” Sukuna says casually.

He’s been repeating a similar phrase every thirty minutes or so but he usually gets right back to work after getting ignored by you. This time though, you get the feeling he’s serious when he pushes your laptop off of his lap and places it forward on the coffee table.

It’s then that you frown, “Oh c’mon, we were getting so much done,” You comment as you glance back to him.

He shrugs, “I can’t keep looking at that damn screen, it’s giving me a headache.”

“Of course it is,” You utter sarcastically, rolling your eyes whilst you place your pencil down and throw your arms up to stretch, “Fine then, we can take a break.”

Sukuna’s brows lift in surprise. He didn’t expect you to listen to him, “Good.” He hums, “I was getting bored as well.”

You scoff, “Were you?”

“Yeah, can we do something else?” He asks.

Turning around, you rotate the way you’re sitting so that you’re facing him and your back is resting against your coffee table. “Like what?” You muse, meeting his low-lidded gaze.

“Talk,” Sukuna says.

That’s it? He wanted a break to talk to you? Your eyes are narrowing at him before you even realize, “Talk?” You repeat with a scoff, “Seriously?”

He nods, “Mhm.”

“What do you wanna talk about, Sukuna?” As you ask him that, you watch the way his eyes casually slide down to your lips.

Does he mean to be this indiscreet with his looks? Or is he eyeing you down like that on purpose?

The man shrugs, “Anything outside of fuckin’ school.”

You laugh at that, “Okay, I can work with that.”

He tilts his head at you and licks his lips, “Yeah?” Something about your little laugh threw him off. 

“Mhm,” You hum as you look down at your hand, fiddling with your nails a bit, “The rumors… are they true?”

Thrown off yet again, Sukuna’s brows pinch together. “Rumors?” He echoes in a genuinely confused tone, “What rumors, woman?”

The sound of your scoff makes him stiffen in his seat. Almost in an instant, the atmosphere had changed suddenly. “C’mon, don’t play dumb,” You tease, lifting your gaze to him again, “The rumors about you.”

He gives you a perplexed look and it’s almost as though you could see the gears in his head turning. “If you know something, say it.” He demands.

You sigh, “Sukuna, do you seriously hear nothing people say about you?”

Sukuna shrugs, “I don’t care enough to remember. So what is it? What rumor?”

You’re just curious. You swear that’s all it was. And, naturally, since he seemed to have warmed up to you— of course you wanted to know if that rumor about his dick was true. You’re both adults and it’s just a silly question. Plus, with the way he’s been looking at you all afternoon, you’re sure he won’t mind answering you with a simple yes or no.

Glancing to the side, your shoulders lift a bit, “It’s uh, rather intimate.” You hush out.

Sukuna narrows his eyes at you, “Intimate?? An intimate rumor about me?”

His emphasis on himself makes your eyes flick back over to him. “Yeah, are you sure you don’t know what they say about you??” You ask again.

“Positive. Now speak, what is it they say?” Sukuna huffs impatiently, even more curious about this little rumor after the mention of it being intimate. After all, he’s never-

“People say you have a big dick,” You utter way too casually.

So nonchalantly that it makes him choke, a choke you don’t mess with the way he clears his throat and sits up a little. “What?” He rasps out.

You bat those stupidly false innocent eyes at him, “I didn’t stutter,” Your tone dips into something different and he catches every bit of it, “People say you have a big dick, is it true?”

Sukuna clears his throat and for the first time, he glances away from you. Then, he opens and closes his mouth, contemplating his next words carefully before they soon fall from his lips, “You wanna find out?”

His offer spurs a shift in your seat from you as you scoot closer to him ever so slightly, “You wanna show me?” You ask boldly, your tone direct, and not even a flicker of hesitation present.

“Do I want to-,” Sukuna pauses, his eyes scanning the entirety of your seated frame as you inch closer to him, “What?” He huffs, swallowing thickly.

You move to stand on your knees and lean forward to the couch, soon propping your chin up on your palm as you look at him, “Show me,” You chuckle, “I asked if you wanted to show me, Sukuna.”

He blinks, “Show you my cock?”

You shrug, “Yeah.”

The air is so thick right now, Sukuna’s not sure how exactly he can play this off without making a fool of himself. He gulps yet again, only to watch as your eyes start to drop down along his body.

“Stop,” He rushes out, “Keep your eyes up here. On mine,” He commands in a low tone, earning your gaze once more.

And then it’s quiet for a moment. He’s staring at you and you’re obediently keeping your eyes up on his. Sukuna hates it but he doesn’t know what to say or do from here. The last thing he wanted was for you to find out his little secret. 

It’s like he was waiting for a fucking pin to drop, something to break the silence. Yet, his mind was going blank and words were failing him at the moment. He’s flirted with women before, plenty of times actually, effortlessly even— but for whatever reason, as you sit there with those stupidly pretty eyes staring at him, his mind simply flakes on him.

He’s like that for a minute longer until you move. So subtly too, sliding a hand to his thigh, leaning forward slightly, batting your lashes at him, “Sukuna?” You whisper.

His hips are rolling upward slightly at the sound of his name alone. “W-What?” He stammers, mentally cursing himself a thousand times over.

“If you don’t wanna show me you can jus’ say no,” You hum, smiling a bit, “Y’know that, right?”

He scoffs, “Of course I know that, woman.”

“If you know that then…” Your fingers lightly squeeze his thigh and you tilt your head, “Are you gonna tell me or show me whether or not those rumors are true?”

Something simply clicks inside Sukuna’s head. Rose-tinted lips cracking into a smirk, the man spreads his legs further and slouches back into the couch, “Find out for yourself since you’re so curious.”

Your eyes go wide, “What?”

Sukuna scoffs lightly, moving one of his arms from the back of the couch and placing his hand over his crotch. Of course, your gaze sinks down to his veiny hand, watching as he palms a stupidly large bulge in his sweats.

Your breath hitches a bit, “I-I-“

You don’t even get the chance to get it out before he’s cutting you off, “C’mere,” Sukuna hums in that low voice of his.

“What?” You whisper.

You and him make eye contact again and he nods his chin toward the space in between his legs. Nothing can really explain why you follow his gesture and quickly find yourself sitting in between his legs, taking a deep breath as you settle your hands on his thighs.

Sliding your touch up and up and up until your fingers graze his hand. The same hand that was resting on top of that aching bulge of his.

Sukuna slowly lifts his hand up and away, relaxing his arm on the back of the couch again as he stares down at you. Cocking his head to the side, “Well? Feel it.” He huffs.

You don’t even hesitate. Trailing your fingers upward carefully until you feel the outline of his cock beneath your fingertips, gulping as you drag your hand up to cup his length in your hand firmly, and smirking at the way his cock twitches furiously beneath your small touch.

Sukuna’s mouth falls open for a second but you’re too engrossed in feeling him to notice. He lets out a shuddered breath as he watches the way you grope his steadily growing erection. His head even tosses back and his fingers dig into the couch for a moment.

“It is big,” You whisper to yourself, your words only making him twitch more within your hand.

“Fuck,” Sukuna grits out lowly, hips unconsciously lifting to press himself further against you.

His curse earns your attention. You quickly glance up to him and see the way he’s got his head tossed back, Adam's apple bobbing with every heavy gulp he takes, and his chest rising and falling rather quickly.

You lift your hand carefully and decide to test something out. Slowly, you lean forward and just barely press your lips against his clothed cock.

Sukuna’s whole body reacts. He gasps louder than he means to and he’s weaving his fingers through your hair faster than he realizes, palming your scalp as he quickly looks down at you. “T-The fuck are you doing? Huh?” He huffs while gripping onto your hair.

You lift your head a bit but he keeps you in place, despite his question to you. “I just…” You’re not exactly sure you can explain yourself.

And by this point, Sukuna doesn’t think he cares enough to hear an excuse from you, “…You what? You wanna see it?”

All you can do is give him a little nod before he moves his free hand to the drawstring of his sweatpants. Then you're quick to help him tug them down until his boxers are revealed to you— a noticeable dampness in the fabric right where his leaking tip is. Was that because of you?

Before you can dawn on your own questions, Sukuna’s moving to tug his cock out. And fuck is he even bigger revealed before your eyes. With an upward curve, such an angry flushed tip, precum dripping from the slit of his fat cockhead, veins decorating his shaft and-

Shit, you were drooling. How’d you get like this again?? Ah, who cares?

“Sukuna,” You breathe out, ripping your eyes away from his cock just to look up at him.

He was almost panting, dark maroon eyes pouring down into yours, face flushed with different shades of red and pink, his lips parted softly— hell, he looked like he was in heat or something.

Gulping before he answers you, Sukuna clears his throat and his voice is already husky, “What?”

You shift against the floor, your hands relaxing against his large thighs, “Can I-“

“Yeah,” He cuts off. Lord knows if you got that question out he was going to lose his damn mind.

You raise a brow and lean forward, keeping your eyes on his while your lips near his tip, “Yeah?”

The last thing you get from him is a nod before you’re parting your lips. And from that moment forward, it all goes downhill. Everything from the way you’re sitting in between his legs to that initial connection of your plush lips against his drooling cock had Sukuna’s mind spinning.

He’s never been sucked off before. Hell, the farthest he’s gone as far as sexual activities are concerned is a little bit of dry humping. But this? Oh hell, this was his first time and he had zero idea how he was going to keep that information away from you.

Especially when he feels your tongue slip from between your lips and swirl around the head of his cock, kittenly lapping up that slim layer of precum sitting so prettily on his tip. 

“Oh f-fuuck,” Sukuna groans huskily, the hand on your head gripping tighter.

You pull away from him slightly just to take in his expression and the way he tosses his head back. It was almost cute to you. The last thing you expected was for him to be so damn sensitive, you hardly did anything.

His sensitivity only worsens as you finally start wrapping your lips around his cock, feeling him throb when you sink your mouth down on him. Sukuna’s jaw goes slack and his brows twist up. He tries his best to hold it in but he can’t help but moan at the way you leisurely suck on half of his lengthy cock.

Your saliva wets up the rest of his shaft and you make up for what your mouth hasn’t reached yet with your hand, stroking him lightly whilst you take the rest of his girth in and out of your mouth. Rolling your tongue around him, pulling off just to messily spit and kiss on his blushing tip, and slobbering all over him— Sukuna almost fucking kicked something with how good your mouth felt around him.

He’s used his hand and other shit before but holy fuck, nothing, and he means nothing compares to that damn mouth of yours. The way you look with his cock stuffed right in between those lips he’s been staring at for God knows how long— your lips all slick with spit, eyes rolling back the deeper you take him, and tongue sticking out every time you pull your mouth off of him.

You soon slip your mouth off of him and start jerking him off, focusing your tongue on his tip and slithering the wet muscle in between the slit of his cock, lathering your tongue up with his glistening precum. 

The sound of Sukuna groaning makes you look up at him, finding his eyes on yours again. He’s panting, trying his best to look like this wasn’t phasing him but failing in every way with how flushed his face was. 

Your tongue sticks out and your hand continues to slide up and down his cock as you tap his tip on your tongue, making his brows twist up. 

He bites back a throaty sound, “Hah… damn brat,” Sukuna huffs out as if to… degrade you? 

You almost find it cute how clearly inexperienced he is, spitting a fat wad of spit onto his pretty wet tip and then smiling at him, “Sukuna,” You coo, your hand gripping his shaft tighter, “Is this your first time?”

He instantly looks off to the side, the veins in his neck and along his jawline tensing as he grits his teeth. Since he decides to ignore your little question, you take it a step further and slide your hand down his cock, gripping his thick base firmly before taking him into your heavenly warm mouth again.

His expression breaks completely, “Oh shit,” Sukuna moans, his hips bucking up into your mouth as you slide him deeper into your mouth than you did before.

Then his hand is pushing your head down further on instinct and he’s subtly rutting his hips up. You lift your head up despite his constant pushing, soon causing your head to bob up and down whilst you suck him off skillfully.

“Jus’ like that,” Sukuna suddenly groans and you moan around his cock in reaction. To which he keeps giving your mouth mindless little thrusts, “Don’t s-, agh, stop.”

Sucking him deeper and deeper before you move your hand completely, you suck in a deep breath of air through your nose, open up the very back of your throat, and sink all the way down, your lips meeting his pelvis as your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Sukuna kicks something. Probably your coffee table with the way one of his legs extends out so suddenly, a choked-out groan ripped from his throat as your little move was all it took for him to cum. And it’s so much too, hot thick ropes of cum spurting down your throat, his hand holding onto your head for dear life whilst a moan of your name rolls off his tongue.

You’re still sucking too, pulling up only to swallow what he’s gifted you and then stick your tongue out. Laying it flat against his tip, you leisurely lick at him as if to beg for more and now the man’s pushing your head away for the first time.

When you lift your eyes up to him again, you notice he’s got his tattooed arm over his mouth and his lashes are batting softly at you. For such a big man, he was so ridiculously cute right now. Panting, sweating, cursing under his breath as if you couldn’t hear him.

“Yeah,” Sukuna utters suddenly, clearing his throat, “That was… my first… time. I uh-“

“Do you want more?” Is the last thing you asked him before you were sitting back on your heels and he was stumbling to his feet.

You had to guide him through it of course but, Sukuna doesn’t hesitate to stuff your face full of his cock again. You take him so kindly too, obediently sitting there with your hands gripping his thighs for support with every careful thrust of his hips.

He was trying to be gentle with you at first. Partially because he didn’t know what the hell he was doing, and also because he just loved the initial entry into your mouth. Over and over, Sukuna slid his dick in and out of your mouth like he was possessed, addicted to the feeling of you greedily sucking on him.

He was still sensitive from his first orgasm but his cock had yet to go down— twitching inside that sloppy mouth of yours, aching against your tongue, and dripping into the depths of your throat. Sukuna wasn’t much of a talker but he damn sure let out a plethora of grunts and groans.

They were so husk too, coming from deep within his chest, some getting caught in his throat when he felt your tongue flick against a specific vein on the underside of his cock. His fat tip knocked into the back of your throat with a single heavy thrust before his hands were latching onto the sides of your head.

Again, he’s not much of a talker but, something seems to come over him all at once because soon he’s got his gaze locked down on the messy sight of you and he’s huffing out words before he realizes. “Eyes up here, c’mon, hah… look at me,” Sukuna grunts.

Your eyes are completely glossed over as they flutter up to him. A moan vibrates against his skin as you make such intimate eye contact with the man, feeling his hips pick up.

Sukuna nods, “Good girl,” He praises in a low purr, and fuck does that do wonders for you because your legs are squeezing together more than they were before and you’re whining against him. “Fuck, y’like that?” He huffs, earning a sloppy lil’ nod from you.

He then feels you hum, “M-Mhm.” And he’s got chills slipping up his spine in pleasure.

Cracking a lazy, lopsided, and almost fucked-out little smirk, Sukuna scoffs, “Yeah? Fuck, behind all those g-glares ‘nd-, agh, scolding me… this is all you wanted, hm? A throat full of cock?”

His words had you whining again, fluttering your lashes at him as your fingertips dug into his thighs a little. Sukuna eases his hips back slowly, tipping his head to the side as he gently caresses the side of your face with his thumb.

“Messy girl,” He hums deeply, biting his lower lip at the way you’re just drooling for more and more as he pulls himself out of your mouth completely. “Jus’ look at this face,” Sukuna chuckles, “Y’look like a slut cryin’ like that— it’s cute.”

Blinking, you hadn’t even realized you had a tear or two sliding down your face. Your mouth remains open for a second before he moves to rub his tip against your plump lips, smearing your spit and his cum all over the damn place with a little grin on his face.

“‘Kuna…” You whisper, earning a quirk of his brow, “I can’t believe you’re a virg-“

“Don’t finish that sentence,” He grunts, moving a thumb to your chin to widen how open your mouth is for him, “Jus’… keep sittin’ there lookin’ pretty f’me,” Sukuna says.

You roll your eyes at him and all he can do is smile, pushing his hips forward again and easing his cock in between your lips. He slides in slowly until you can feel him pressing right against the back of your throat. To which he keeps himself there for a second, testing that gag reflex of yours and watching your eyes water.

Moving his hand back to the top of your head, he buries his fingers in your hair, “So fuckin’ sexy like this,” Sukuna compliments, feeling you moan in response, “M’gonna cum again, stay j-just like that,” He breathes out heavily, his eyes rolling to the back of his skull before he’s throwing his head back.

And as if to coax his orgasm out, you carefully move a hand to cup his balls, sucking on his cock as best as you can and earning an accidental sound from his throat. The second your palm is felt against him, the moment he feels your tongue slicking against him, Sukuna whines.

Then his thighs are tensing and he’s groaning loudly as if to cover up the sound that just left his lips, filling your throat with his seed and then tugging your mouth off of him with a quick pull of your head. You’re quick to swallow for yet a second time, letting out a needed cough after the fact while he stumbles back just a bit, his calves hitting the couch.

“Vixen,” Sukuna growls.

You clear your throat and send a smile his way, “Not my fault you cum easy.”

Sukuna’s slow to sit back down on the couch to catch his breath, “Tell anyone about this ‘nd I’ll-“

“Oh,” You suddenly purr, cutting him off as you lift yourself up from the ground. He watches with slightly widened eyes as you move to straddle him, “Don’t tell me you thought we were done?”

He’s at a loss for words all over again, his confidence suddenly getting caught in his throat and flying out the window. Your hands slip to his broad shoulders and you lean forward a little.

Sukuna’s hands shakily find their way to your waist as he stares up at you, “You want more?”

You smirk, tilting your head at the dumbfounded male, “Don’t you?” You ask in a sultry little whisper, making his sensitive cock twitch once more. “At the very least…” Your lips slowly near his and he’s losing his breath, “Taste yourself, Sukuna.”

And then your lips are on his and he’s taking your tongue into his mouth. His grip on your waist tightens before he pulls you flush against him, feeling your crotch press right against his cock that’s steadily twitching back to life.

The two of you share a heated and messy kiss, your hips carefully swaying against him to encourage his returning arousal. You can’t really use curiosity as an excuse anymore, can you?

Well, you can. And you do with the way your hands slide down to his chest, your fingers slipping over his nipples to find exactly what you’d been curious about. You flick your fingers over his piercing there and Sukuna lets out a low hiss, prying his lips from yours and sending you a glare.

Not only did that little move of yours make his cock spring up completely but, you also notice the frown on his face.

Smiling at him, “Sukuna…”

“Don’t.” He huffs.

“You have nipple piercings?” You end up asking anyway in a happy little tone.

He grits his teeth slightly, “…Obviously.”

Chuckling, you press a soft peck against his lips and whisper, “Can I see them?”

“No.” He replies.

Part two.