#and then once he knocked her up she felt she was stuck with him

[silkycicada]

The Backwoods Saint

remmick x reader one shot.

Summary: You are a southern belle—adored, envied, and pursued. After a failed attempt to enter your family’s grand estate, an Irishman begins to pay you frequent visits, night after night. It's only a matter of time until you cave into his taunts.

wc: 6.1k

Smut warning: (18+) MDNI dom!remmick x female!reader. southern gothic, somewhat loss of virginity, fingering, slow-burn, he is a huge bully, second person pov, humiliation, manipulation, corruption, dirty talk, blood, biting, coercion, mentions of violence, mentions of death, some brief religious connotations, mentions of knives

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

August, 1932. Mississippi Delta

You hadn’t slept.

Not for days.

Was it the sweltering heat or the incessant thrum of cicadas that had been keeping you up?

You couldn't quite place your finger on which was worse. How your lush sheets of what was meant to be the finest quality of cotton stuck to your tepid skin, or how it was never completely quiet. Be it the buzzing ensemble coming from outside, or the creak of the varnished porch of your family's manor.

No. No, it wasn't any of those things.

It was him.

The quilts spilled from your body as you sat up, sluggishly wiping the beads of sweat that dribbled on your hairline, your thoughts racing.

There, in the midst of your moon-stricken bed chamber, you disdained yourself for letting him live within you so freely.

No matter how much you tossed and turned, he clung to your thoughts like the whirring cicadas in the shrubs outside — constant, grating, always there. Yet, instead of the relentless hum, it was a low, honeyed drawl that kissed your ears, the wicked smile of sin.

He was the warmth in your belly this late at night, and the buckle of your thighs.

Remmick. Remmick.

It was humiliating how intense the thought of him felt to you. How real your fingers could make it be, brushing over your body, pretending they weren’t your own.

And how disgusting it felt.

To fantasize over a man you know almost nothing about.

To fantasize over a dead man.

Remmick had been the subject of your nightmares since he first visited three weeks ago.

The parlourmaids weren't allowed to just let anyone in your family's estate without the approval of your father, or in his absence, your elder brother.

When they'd had gone to your aunt Carol's birthday party, you had remained bed-ridden with the grippe.

Joanne the maid had looked after you. When a strange man came knocking in the early hours of the evening, she hurried to you, rambling fiercely.

"Said he's a doctor and that your father called for him to come treat your fever." Jo had told you, shaking her head, "I ain't hear anythin' 'bout no doctor comin' to visit this late at night. Said to him: get off my porch before I sic the bulls on ya'. You shoulda' seen him. Handsome he was, and gosh did he give me the spooks."

You remember the intrigue, how it pulled you out of bed and to the cushioned seat under your bedroom window, your sickened face searching for him on the dimly lit pathway leading up to the manor.

You had watched him — lean in stature, clad in the rough clothes of the labouring-class, tresses of dark hair. Though it was the slow stride of his walk that unnerved you, as if he owned the soils beneath him, from the surface clear down to Hell itself.

You knew at once he'd been lying about who he was — no doctor carried himself like that. Like a man used to taking what wasn't freely given.

And before he was lost in the fields, he had turned back, as if he knew you had been watching. You remember the way your heart tumbled when he caught you.

And oh, how he revelled in it.

His triumph came in the form of a slow, devilish grin; the glint of what appeared to be a set of fangs in the moonlight, and the flash of red in his eye, so bright you saw it from the second floor.

He stared at you from the glade, drank in your face as it twisted into a look of sheer horror. The grin, as if to say, look what you damn almost got inta’.

Since then, you saw him every so often.

In the late hours, you'd cast a look through your bedroom window and there he was - sometimes, leaning against an oak tree, a banjo cradled in his hands, strumming a tune. Waiting. For what, you couldn't have known.

You knew he had gotten under your skin when you would deliberately peer out of your window on other nights, and he wasn't there.

He was toying with you.

So, on the nights he was there, you had begun to oblige.

It was always safe. You met him at the back door of the manor, the one the parlourmaids used, but you never stepped out, oh no. You were smart. You stayed inside, careful not to cross the threshold, not even by an inch, and Remmick stood on the other side, posted on the creaking porch that surrounded the manor.

Your meetings were always brief. He was never forceful or aggressive, but he was mean. He'd taunt you, throwing out words meant to rattle you, believing they'd somehow compel you to let him in — things suggestive enough to get your stomach all tight. He'd never met a girl so stubborn that each time you refused, he'd simply retreat, and leave with the same knowing smirk that said he'd be back to try again.

Recently, you avoided the window. You didn't know how much longer you could deny him.

But you were so lonely.

Tonight, you relinquished all that discipline you had built over the past few nights. A defeated groan escaped you as you rolled out of the canopy bed, your bare feet kissing the cool, polished floorboards. It sent a chill up your legs.

With two fingers, you pulled aside the lace curtains draping over the window and swallowed the hump in your throat.

You silently hoped he wouldn't be there - you wanted, oh so badly, to turn around and get back into bed where the night would continue to torment your sleep.

Yet there, cast under the deep shadow of one of the many oak trees lining the manor, stood the Devil, wearing the silhouette of man.

And you found yourself at the backdoor again.

When Remmick heard the door unlatch and creak open, he didn't shift from his place against the tree trunk. The upper half of his body remained in the shadows, unscathed by the moonlight. Deft fingers continued working the strings of that banjo, so tenderly. A melody unknown to your ears drifted all the way to the porch like a lover's call, and the night felt whole.

He paid no mind to you at all, standing in the doorway, a bare body adorn in a cotton dress that draped to your knees. As if it were you that was the uninvited, and not the other way around.

When Remmick plucked the last note, and the night fell silent again, you saw something flicker in the shadows. Twin red orbs shone in the darkness, unblinking, like some primal beast was out there, not a human being — something otherworldly.

And that's how you knew his eyes had finally settled on you.

A chill wriggled down your spine. The pressure to speak pressed hard against your chest. "That was beautiful," you managed, your voice thin, laced with a tremor of unease you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

He noticed, alright.

Remmick stared at you for a good moment, as if thinking of something savvy to say. All that came from the darkness was a low, unsettling chuckle.

Smoothly, he pushed himself off the tree trunk, letting the banjo fall from his hands, dangling in front of his body on a makeshift strap. Even from the doorway, you heard the crunch of leaves under his shoe as he emerged from the shadow of the oak tree.

The moonlight bent down to greet him. You never thought the Devil would reveal himself to you in a blue dress-shirt and a pair of suspenders hitched over shoulders, yet there he was, in the flesh.

You noticed sleeves rolled up lazily to his elbows, forearms shining in sweat and dust.

Stopping before the small set of stairs, one arm gripping the wooden handrail, Remmick looked up at you, a smile playing his lip.

"Why you always doin’ this to y’self, darlin’?" was all he said in his thick, candied drawl. As southern as it could get.

Naturally, your jaw tensed. "Doin' what?"

He ascended the porch steps slowly, eyes unmoving. Even in the soft glow of the moon, his eyes shone at you in red hues.

"Comin' out here." The wood squeaked under his feet. Stopping before you, his eyes fell down to your body, "Wearin' that."

There was something about the way he looked at you that made your breath deepen. Maybe it was the hunger in his eyes, or the slow, deliberate steps he made towards you, reminiscent of the way a hunter stalks its kill — gentle, slow, like he had all the time in the world.

And he did.

"I don't—“ you tried to answer, but Remmick didn’t let you finish.

"That…lace?" he murmured, tilting his head as his eyes lingered on your nightdress. His fingers drifted absentmindedly across his chest while his gaze traced the delicate embroidery at the hem of your bust. Heat rose to your cheeks beneath the sudden weight of his attention.

Then, with a soft, almost pitying click of his tongue, he frowned. "Oh, sweetheart..." he sighed.

As if he felt sorry for you.

You pressed your lips into a thin line and turned away from Remmick. Beauty had never been a question — you wore it like a birthright.

The parlour had long echoed with the voices of suitors, drawn in by your well-maintained looks, your practiced laughter, the way you upheld a demure gaze. You were a Southern belle through and through, bred for admiration and a life of glamour.

Your parents, ever practical beneath their genteel airs, had already secured your future with a steel tycoon who owned an empire of mines trailing northward to Michigan. You had everything.

So why did you feel insecure now?

The shift in your demeanour made the lines around Remmick's lips twist a little. He was good at breaking people down as much as he was at building them back up again.

He leaned back a little, hands resting lazily on the banjo in front of him as he watched your reaction.

"What do you want from me?" you breathed. Suddenly, the thought of shutting the door in his face and heading back to bed wasn't such a terrible idea.

Remmick stirred and let out an exaggerated scoff, "What do I want from ya'? I was jus' enjoyin' the fresh air, playin' a lil' somethin'..."

"Every night?"

"Now," his smile faded, feigning concern, as if what you said was deeply wrong. "I wouldn't go n' say every night... maybe every second night. Don't get ahead of yourself, darlin'. "

You felt a cool breeze rustle through the coils of your hair. The humidity of Mississippi was long gone, and dare you say you felt... cold?

When you didn't answer, Remmick took the banjo back in his hands and pulled it back over his head, then let it rest against the white-pillared balustrade. He turned back to you, his arms now hanging freely at his sides. He waited for you to say something.

But he only looked at you with that usual smug expression — the one where his eyebrows arched just so, creasing his forehead in that familiar way.

Remmick shook his head in mock disbelief, "You been lonely, lambkin? Is that it?" He teased, "Mommy and daddy don't wanna let y' out the playpen? That why you come out here like some lass in rut, blushin' and poutin', when you're nothin' but chicken?"

"I ain't chicken," You shot back.

"That a fact?”

"I know what your weaknesses are, so I'm playin' my cards right.” Your arms folded against your chest, “I'm the one in control here. Me. I'm bein’ smart."

“Well, standin' at the door like that makes me think you ain't so smart after all."

"And why's that?"

The corners of his lips quirked into a sly grin. He shifted his gaze down to your feet, and then swept slowly around the doorframe.

"Why's that, sweetheart? Well, for starters, you been bouncin' on your feet so much you ain't even realise you outside with me."

Your gaze snapped around.

He was right.

Somehow, without realising, you had edged past the threshold. It was more than enough for Remmick to just... grab your wrist and pull you out completely.

In a heartbeat, you stepped back into the doorway, stumbling so far back you hit the kitchen counter. The floor beneath you swayed, a sudden churning sensation in your stomach.

You watched Remmick peer inside the kitchen, head momentarily dipping back as he cackled at your skittishness. Even in the blue-ish overcast of the night, you could see his lip twitching up as he laughed, the tips of his fangs winking at you.

The look on your face did bits for him.

He wagged his forefinger at you. "Oh, I coulda' had you. Coulda' had you real good."

You let go of the counter in an attempt to compose yourself, your breathing irregular. You scolded yourself for being so thoughtless.

"You wanna know somethin', sugar?" He continued, "I was feelin' honourable today. Ain't nice to be layin' hold of girls like that, 'specially classy ladies, like you. An' believe me when I say — it took a whole damn lot not to.'"

Hands balling into fists, you slowly made your way back to the doorway once you had regained yourself.

Remmick seemed to beam at your reappearance, as if he found your defiance amusing.

"But, one of these nights, you gon' make the same mistake... gon' teeter a bit too forwards... and I won't be as honourable."

The threat rolled off his tongue so casually.

Yet, you couldn't shake the thought: he didn't do anything to you.

You shook your head in frustration, "There's plenty of girls in the city. And yet, you always come by here."

He sucked his teeth.

"Loose legs and loose blood," he said disdainfully, "You're right. It's a goldmine up there. But I ain't forcin' you to come down here and keep me company, little lamb. Aincha' tired of playin' at sainthood?"

"I ain't playin' at nothin'..."

"Then let me inside."

Your lips parted — only one word, and it'd be done.

But your silence hung loud. You were still afraid.

And in the lift of his brow, you could tell he knew it too.

Slow as a funeral march, Remmick dragged himself forward, until he was as close as he could muster. He leaned in, and raised one hand to rest against the door frame, his fingers curling around the wood.

You caught a whiff of his scent — mahogany, smoke, and something else you couldn't quite place.

Death.

Something shifted in his face. The usual smugness he wore like a second skin peeled away, leaving him looking almost… needy. There was a hunger in his eyes, deep and devouring.

His gaze fell to your chest.

Waves of heat swept over you as he undressed you in his mind, but not in the way you'd think.

It was not your breasts that appeased him, nor your hips or behind, like they had with other men.

Instead, he watched the dainty collarbones that writhed under your skin, bones fit for lips as sullied as his, and the way your lovely neck contorted with your breathing. That long, slender neck, gleaming with sheets of summer warmth, thrumming with life all over.

The little valley in your chest, carved for confession, trailing down in soft descent until it vanished beneath the hush of your night dress.

And the lace? Well, there was a reason it was one of the first things he noticed about you tonight. There was something so delightful about the the white meshwork against your skin, like a secret begging to be revealed.

His fingers itched with the thought of tearing it apart.

Because you were everything he wasn't — soft, untouched, and alive.

And God help him. He craved to feel the pulse of something alive again.

"You're...drooling." you gawked.

His eyes settled back onto yours. A thread of saliva clung to the corner of his lip, slipping down his chin.

He smiled.

Remmick leaned in a little more, just a little, the wood of the doorframe groaning under his weight, until his voice was low enough for your ear to catch.

“I know you ain’t been sleepin’ right.” He admitted.

You stilled. How could he know something like that? Momma had told you the other day you were growin’ bags under your eyes and that your soon-to-be-fiancé wouldn’t like his woman sleepin’ ‘till noon.

But it didn’t matter. Remmick’s voice sung into your ear like he were your lover:

“And… I know, deep in my heart… oh, that cunt stays wet thinkin’ about me.”

The slight buckle of your knees did not go unnoticed. Lips, parting with the ghost of an exhale as your heart sank to the stomach.

Another twitch in the corner of his lip, "Don't it, baby?"

He pulled back slightly, just so you could catch a glimpse of his teeth bared beneath a sharp grin. Watching your face carefully, following your eyes as they shifted away uneasily.

Remmick continued, his voice merely a rasp, "Them rich fellas'... they don't know what t' do with you..." he murmured lowly.

You felt beads of sweat roll down your temple. The cicadas were screaming, and your stomach was betraying you.

"...don't know how t' touch you."

Your heart slammed against your ribcage.

Those lines in his forehead were creasing as he looked at you, at all of you.

"But I do, darlin'."

You knew you had lost when his words settled into your core like poison. Tantalising and greedy and evil.

You looked up into the face of the Devil as a breathless 'oh' escaped him, as if the surrendering look on your face pleased him more than fucking you ever would.

Then, Remmick tilted his head, momentarily peering past you, as if he were looking inside the kitchen.

"Your folks asleep?" He asked softly.

You had forgotten all about your family. Upstairs, asleep, oblivious to the fact that their only daughter was downstairs caving into a stranger's sweet seduction.

Even through your flustered state, you managed a nod.

The lines around Remmick's lips seemed to deepen.

"Then best you come out then."

Thoughts came to you in muddy clusters and any form of reasoning went out the window. You were a mess. There, without him even laying a finger on you, he had managed to crack you just a little. It was only a matter of time until his hands would wedge in and split you apart completely.

Your sigh was a shaky one, filled with defeat. You looked into the red-tinged eyes of the man who had been haunting you these past few weeks and, willingly, you handed your life over to him.

Remmick pulled away from the doorway and allowed you enough room to step outside, your bare feet making contact with the wooden floorboards of the porch.

A breeze rattled your dress, your hair, and any ounce of self-restraint you had left. Through it all, you came to terms with one thing:

Loneliness doesn't keep you safe.

It hands you the blade.

"C'mere," Remmick beckoned you, "Come closer."

Anchored by his voice, you shifted further to him, until you were more than an arm's length from the door which was left ajar. He hummed in approval.

His hand reached out to stroke your face with the back of his fingers - his touch was cold as winter's breath, even in the Mississippi heat.

But he was oddly tender. Loving. Brushing your clean, porcelain cheek with dirtied fingers.

Then, in a heartbeat, Remmick grabbed you by your shoulder and spun you around with otherworldly force, pulling your back flush into his chest. His hands clamped down onto your hips — unyielding, possessive — as if he meant to brand that moment into your flesh.

You let out a small cry as he held you with an iron-grip.

You felt his breath on the side of your face, his other hand crawling up to your neck. He spoke into your ear.

"That little sound?" He crooned, "Ain't even close to what I want outta' you."

The hand that crept up your neck cupped you by the jaw and turned your face to the side, just enough to face him.

He peered down at you through lowered lashes, lips almost brushing against yours. You tried to move your face but his grip on your jaw tightened.

Then he leaned down and kissed you.

Rough.

Greedy.

Starved.

Remmick kissed like blasphemy. Meant to burn, meant to ruin. Teeth gnashing against each other, you felt his fang graze against your lip, drawing blood, and once he got a taste of that, he was feral. Growling and clawing at your hair as he held you, like you were water about to seep through his fingers.

You let out a moan, muffled by his mouth.

He sucked on your lip, drew it back between his teeth and let it go.

Pulling away, he looked at his handiwork with half-lidded eyes, seeing nothing but a panting, flustered mess before him. Your lip was red and bloody, and the pain began to slowly settle.

Sweat-slicked locks of dark hair stuck to Remmick's forehead, his lips wet with your blood.

He, too, was out of breath. Admiring you, at how you've fallen from grace, scruff and bruised, and wanting more.

You tried to lean in, tried to catch his lips again, but that coarse hand was still clamped on your jaw. He yanked you back, restraining you, holding you like a dog on a short leash.

He made an 'o' shape with his mouth, his brows knitting in mock sympathy.

"What was that you said? Somethin' about bein' in control?" He reminded you, those fingers pressing into your skin, as if to keep you anchored and compliant. "Playin' your cards right, wasn't it? Ahh..."

You gaped at him, the familiar rush of humiliation at your cheeks.

“I...I didn't...”

The words were lost, and you looked a fool. He waited for you, amused you couldn't even string together a sentence.

“All that bark, sugar, but you come undone mighty easy..."

Then, he scooped you up in his arms, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist, your chin buried in his shoulder, the scent of sweat and smoke ever so strong as he headed towards the white pillared railing surrounding the porch.

As he did so, Remmick felt your heartbeat against his chest, humming in anticipation. God, your life was singing for him.

Lowering you down on the top of the wooden railing, the hem of your nightdress hiked up your legs as Remmick positioned himself beneath them. His fingers fumbled with the sleeves of his dress shirt, rolling them up his forearms further.

A hand dropped down between your legs, trailing up your inner thigh, ever so slowly.

You felt yourself lean back a little, shaking in need.

He watched you intently as he reached for the the soft fabric of your panties, upper body leaning in to steal the breath straight from your lips. And once he felt you....

"Ah, sweet Jesus..." a low rumble came from his throat, "Soaked to the bone, are ya'?"

He massaged you a little, that delightful cotton hiding what was his.

A thick digit curled over the edge of your panties and peeled it to the side. He ran it firmly across your folds, feeling the sweet nectar brimming your slit, his thoughts spinning with all the ways he wanted to fuck you stupid.

Naturally, your legs nestled deeper into him, a cry hidden in your throat as you forced yourself to be good for him. Remmick's lips parted as he groaned, his warm breath crashing against your face.

Then, without any warning, that same finger pushed itself inside of you, firmly, eliciting a jolt from your body.

You nearly toppled over, your balance slipping on the railing—until Remmick’s free hand shot out, catching you before you could fall, pulling you rough towards him with his middle finger still thrusting inside of your cunt.

"I gotcha', angel." He murmured softly in your ear.

As he worked you, he watched you struggle, your hands flying up to his broad shoulders as you steadied yourself.

In the soft overcast of the night, you watched the gold chain around Remmick's broad neck, glossy with summer sweat. It shifted slightly with each thrust of his arm, and even amidst the carnal surrender, you couldn't help but wonder how something so delicate was tethered to someone so wicked.

Keeping a steady rhythm, Remmick gave a pleased hum as you mewled, his thick finger breaking you in nicely.

Your head lolled back, teeth sinking into your lip still throbbing with the bruising kiss Remmick had left there to fester. His face was inches away from yours, watching you steadily.

He added a second digit, his ring finger, stretching you out even more, and you felt the presence of a cold object plugging in and out of you alongside his digit, something resembling metal.

There was an actual ring on his ring finger.

And it was inside of you.

God, you wanted to scream.

You buried your face in his shoulder, the rough fabric of his dress-shirt against your cheek.

Naturally, it thrilled him. Watching you unravel, after weeks of hanging around your porch, haunting your sleep - a catch o' the season, he'd triumphantly think.

"Ever wonder somethin'?" Remmick began with a mischievous lilt, the grin in his voice unmistakable.

That hand kept working your pussy. You couldn't focus on his words. You couldn't focus on anything, really.

"Ever wonder how I came 'bout this big ol' house that night? You, up in that window… well, you were a vision, weren’t ya’?”

He spoke in your ear, the faint scrape of his stubble grazing your face like a warning. Your thighs began to tremble, the squelching sound of your cunt growing louder by the minute. You'd never heard yourself like that.

“And I ain’t sentimental. I don’t show up without a reason, sweetheart,” He added his forefinger, “Y’see… your daddy likes to run his mouth, talkin’ all ‘bout his beautiful darlin’ daughter, ‘specially at your auntie Carol’s party. What was it he said? Mm, a nice dowry. Yeah. The sumbitches loved that.”

You dug your teeth into your lower lip, stifling a cry. You couldn’t wake your family—not like this, not with you straddling the porch railing, the devil's hands lost between your thighs.

“Know what else? Well, your aunt Carol told me the darndest thing. Said her sweet niece was stuck in her fancy house on Cypress Creek, in bed, sick as a dog. Oh, quit tryna’ hold it in baby, go on and make those pretty sounds—“

He picked up on your heavy breaths, and how you held yourself back from moaning. But that hand just kept going.

“—yeah. Mm, so I had to, uh… had to pay you a visit. See what this southern belle is all about.” Remmick continued, momentarily peering down to catch a glimpse of his fingers coated in your residue. “Jus’ a shame your maid wasn’t so nice.”

Your thighs were wet and shaking. A certain knot coiling inside of you. You felt... you felt it simmering in your belly, and Remmick was slowly undoing it.

“But maybe you was jus’ lucky. Thank… thank God for her, right? Y’see, angel… I was gon' kill you.”

Even amidst the newfound bliss, you lifted your head from his shoulder.

"Wha...?"

"Now don't go givin' me that face," He added, catching your expression, "Y'know damn well—"

Remmick felt your insides clench around his fingers, your hips twitching. He slowed his pace down, careful not to tip you over the edge just yet. It had been weeks since he had first caught sight of you, and now your cunt was just there, served on silver. He was taking his fucking time.

He continued, "Y'know damn well what I am, darlin’. I ain’t one o’ your silk-wearin’ gentlemen. That night... I was fixin’ to have my way with you. Willin’? Sure. But if you weren’t… well, that’d just make it a dull way for you to go. ‘Cause, I was gonna tear you apart like meat off the bone jus’ the same."

Your heart sunk down to your belly. There you were, body twitchin' and shakin', but the fear swept over you once again.

You knew what he was — night devil, neck nibbler, vampire. You grew up with those stories, you grew up with your nana telling you all about haints and marsh crawlers and the like.

And there you were, with your trembling legs wrapped around one.

"I was real hungry that night, and you were somethin’ nice to look at. Not a lotta' girls these days... so clean...”

But he wasn't talking about your scent, or how well-bathed and kept you were.

He glanced at your chest. At your heart.

You saw him frothing at the mouth, strings of glistening drool trickling down the corner of his lip, still red with your blood, and the most feral eyes you had seen in something most would mistaken as man.

Somehow, reality found its way back to you. You gave him a sudden shove and hopped off the porch railing, the night dress falling over your legs once again.

Beads of sweat dribbled on your hairline, your chest still bobbing for air.

You needed to get back inside.

But Remmick didn't fight you. He let you pull away from him, sure enough, his hand falling back to his side. He didn't step away, nor did those red-hued eyes falter.

He simply angled his head slightly to the left, just enough to study you anew.

“That pretty head of yours finally catchin’ up?”

The ghost of his fingers playing you like his banjo was still between your legs, a shiver still dancing on your spine, all macabre.

"You want me afraid," Your voice came out in a whisper, "Is that it?"

He gave a little tsk, head still tilted, like you’d disappointed him somehow.

"No. No, that ain’t what this is, darlin'." He muttered, "I know you're afraid, can hear your heart doin' laps."

But something in his face softened a little. Like he was trying to be sympathetic, trying to understand whatever human-driven-emotional-logic you had.

And honestly, you actually would have believed that he was capable of feeling, had you not known he was a vampire. There was something unnerving about the way the creases in his forehead deepened, and how sharp those fangs appeared under his frowning mouth.

What kinda' games are you playin'?

And then he stepped aside, hands in view.

“Go on then,” he drawled, voice low and thick as molasses, “Ain’t stoppin’ you. Door’s right there if that’s what you want.”

And it was. Lower back pressed against the porch railing where you once sat atop of, your eyes shifted to the door left half ajar.

Remmick, who held his hands defensively, coaxed you with a look of innocence so human-like you briefly forgot what he was.

"Go on." he repeated, the soft hue of the moonlight was painting him like some backwoods saint.

It was quiet for a while.

Because you didn't move.

The moonlight flickered over his face and suddenly, all traces of sainthood fled him. A slow smile spread over his lips, like he knew—

"Oh... you ain't goin’ nowhere, are ya'." he mused under his breath.

Your hands curled into fists. He was shaming you.

You scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself."

"I could break you in half ‘fore you even take your next breath." Remmick once again closed the gap between you two, "Could snap your neck like a twig, drain you dry, leave your body rockin’ in that porch swing ‘til sunrise. Easy.”

"I know."

Licking his bloody lips, "You know?"

"Yes."

A pang of silence.

Remmick looked at you differently. No longer in hunger, or greed, but with something quieter. Something dangerously close to reverence.

His eyes flicked over your face like he was trying to memorize it — the way your jaw tightened despite the fear, how your chin lifted just so. Proud. Defiant. Still trembling, but standing.

“Well, I’ll be,” he murmured, almost to himself, “Ain’t that somethin’.”

The porch creaked beneath his shoes as he leaned in to you, a finger slowly tracing the side of your neck in a way that was almost loving. His other hand came around to settle on the railing behind you, trapping you in.

You didn’t know the dead could breathe. Not until his face lowered to meet yours, and your eyes swam in the pools of oil and ember that coaxed you deeper.

The warm air you breathed in. His breath.

It wasn’t life, you thought, his breath was empty and cruel and you were intoxicated.

You gave your life to him. You gave yourself to the banjo-playing devil at your door. Spread your legs for him when other men had adorned you with gems and jewels, fed you, loved you forever in your waiting grace. And he had only whispered in your ear what others could not do to you.

You had been so lonely. How good does the blade feel when wielded by a man who knows precisely where your skin is the thickest? You needed him.

You needed him.

You needed him.

As if reading your thoughts, Remmick tutted. His lips momentarily hovered over your face before he pressed kiss onto your temple.

He saw it. Everything. Remmick drooled from his mouth, but oh you drooled from your eyes. Wet and wide like a doe’s, he saw everything from the sadness in them to the the desperation and the innocence — he wanted to take it all away.

He straightened up, his face now burying itself in your hair. You smelled like forsakenness and macadamia nuts.

Gently, he murmured, lips moving against the coils of your hair.

"You need me, baby... oh, yes you do..."

You gave a soft hum of acceptance. Of truth.

You felt the same hand on your neck slide up past your chin and to your swollen lip. His thumb gently caressed the padding of it.

"... need me to give it to you. Fuck you real nice, like you was made for it.”

The tip of his thumb pushed through your lips.

“Say the word, lambkin...” You heard him say as that thumb felt up your tongue, “...and I'll break you in jus' right.”

There was a croon to his voice, lulling you as your mouth parted further by the second, making space for his digit wedging further inside, a soft choke etched at the end of your throat.

With his fangs tucked behind open lips, he leaned in and let his mouth graze your skin. He watched you struggle to take his thumb, your lips around him like you were sucking honey off a spoon.

His other hand found itself on the thick of your hair. He pulled it aside like a curtain, brought it back behind your shoulder.

Seeing you like this: trembling, and undone.

Lord help you.

Remmick pulled his thumb out of your mouth slowly, wiping the excess spit on your lower lip.

"Please." the word came from you like surrender and confession.

With charcoal eyes ablaze, you felt Remmick shift. He, who carried himself with a lethal suave, and a careful restraint — it was never about inviting him in your family's estate, the ever so glorious Cypress Creek manor.

You’d already let him in.

You’d invited him into your soul.

A deep, guttural sound came from Remmick's throat as he kissed you whole, wet and wanton. Across your jaw he went, down your neck to its nape, licking the hollow of your collarbone.

He grabbed your hips, that cotton dress tearing gracefully in his hands as he tasted your skin, warm and bustling with life. He clawed at you, your flesh caught in his nails.

Your head tipped back in bliss.

You felt him press up against your side, his cock hard under his slacks — a vampire he may have been, but the appetite of man always remained.

A low, bone-rattling chuckle. A grin against your nape, "Oh, we gon' have some real fun, darlin'."

You exhaled. There was something else in the air. Something you had never tasted before.

And then you felt it — the clean, searing puncture of his fangs splitting your skin like silk.

[humpster35]

Dilf!Matt x BabySitter!Reader

|Mentions of infidelity, pregnancy, age gap, unprotected sex, swearing, fluff, slight yelling and anxiety

Matt’s foot anxiously tapped the floor, the sound echoing across the house. He had never felt so scared in his life. This part always got to him, the waiting. So with a sigh and fixing of his hat, Matt knocked on the bathroom door.

“Y/n. You done yet?” Matt’s country accent reached the girls ears. They pulled her out of her mind as she stared at the tiny lines.

She was pregnant. Y/n had got gotten pregnant by a man with a family already. The door knob twisted and she didn’t even hear Matt walk in until he was standing right behind her. His belt buckle grazing the curve of her upper back, as Matt leaned into her.

“Y/n. Don’t panic baby.” Matt spoke in a cooing voice while putting his hand on her waist. He knew the consequences of his actions and felt proud that he actually accomplished his goal.

“Don’t panic? Matt you have a wife. AND A FUCKING FIVE YEAR OLD-.” Y/n’s frustrated voice felt like a dagger in Matt’s heart. He thought she wanted this as much as he did. So he took a step back and rested his hands on his hips.

“Alright now sweetheart. No need to yell, i’m right here with ya.”

Y/n sniffled as she looked into Matt’s eyes.

“If you would cheat on her, you’d do the same thing to me. So tell me Matt.—Why shouldn’t I get rid of it?”

Matt didn’t have a response for that. He knew that it was just supposed to be a one time thing, one night he got into an argument with his wife and just wanted to get back at her. Along the way though, he ended up actually falling in love with y/n.

Y/n handed him the test and quickly wiped her eyes as Matt’s son Liam toddled in. He was holding up a coloring book showing her that he had finished the page like she asked.

“Good job little man.” Y/n dryly chuckled as she picked him up, leaving the bathroom and Matt in it.

Matt stood there lost in his own thoughts. Y/n was 19, and he was 25. He never even initiated the flirting. She would walk around the house in a short skirt, purposefully bending over in front of him with fuck me eyes. Matt only ever gave in once he got drunk after the argument he had earlier. Y/n knew what she was doing, she just wanted to try out an older man.

Her friends always bragged about how they’re so much better and seeing as Matt’s wife is mainly working overtime, she took the opportunity. They had a great bond in the beginning. From the moment Y/n walked through those doors, Liam would rush to her arms and cause Matt to laugh.

There was one instance on when Y/n was giving little Liam a bath and he called her mom. This only made her sad for the kid, he needed his mom. Matt overheard this when Y/n thought he was still working on the farm, it just solidified even more that the feelings he was feelings weren’t just because of the sex. His own son saw how much of a joy and light Y/n brought into their once dull home.

“Y/n, you should keep it.” Matt walked out into the living room.

Y/n was helping Liam color as the toddler sat on her lap. She only ignored Matt though, the lump in her throat was building and she wasn’t sure if she could hold back for much longer.

Matt sat down next to them and pinched Liam’s little face. He stroked the back of Y/n’s head which made his son smile playfully. This was normal for them. Y/n didn’t move away from him, she actually craved his touch. It always made her feel something.

“Alright Li, you ready for lunch?” Y/n said while carrying him to his high chair.

“Once you’re done with that, c’mere darling.” Matt stuck a toothpick in his mouth and tilted his cowboy hat in her direction.

Y/n nodded and after fixing Liam his favorite snack, a pb&j with apple slices and a juice box, she let Matt take her hand and lead her to the side room. Matt’s hand felt rough and dry from all the work he does outside, but y/n has always liked it.

“Sit down, we’re gone talk about this and what you are deciding to do little lady.” Matt spoke sternly. He knew that he couldn’t pressure her to keep a baby she may didn’t even want, nor would he ever. He watched as y/n sat down, she wore overalls and a white tank top.

“Wheeewww you sure know how to make a cowboy sing.”

Y/n blushed and flipped her hair to the side. She grabbed Matt by his belt buckle to pull him closer. His hands immediately went on her head as he held her.

“Matt i’m just scared. You are still legally married, even if you say you love me.”

Matt took some of her hair in his hand and squeezed it lightly. Y/n knew that she wasn’t just the only nervous one here.

“If you divorce her then what happens to little Liam?”

“We can get that situated.”

“What if she takes him with her Matt? I don’t want that to happen.”

Matt smiled softly and kissed the top of y/n’a head. He knew that at this point, Liam was sort of already hers.

“I’ll never let her take Liam away from us.” He placed his hand on y/n’s stomach as she started crying.

“Not when he’s got a sibling on the way.”

Y/n looked up at Matt with teary eyes. It was like him saying that only made the reality real for her.

“Oh Matt.”

Matt chuckled and leaned down to kiss her lips softly. It was endearing, the soft movement of his tongue swiping across the bottom of y/n’s bottom lip as he started to suck on her tongue. Y/n let out a moan, the intensity of the kiss made her fall back onto the bed and Matt climbed on top of her.

Y/n felt as Matt’s fingers unhooked the overall straps. She didn’t wear a bra with the tank top because she knew that’s what he liked. The feeling of his rough hands grabbing at her soft flesh, made her feel guilt for how not guilty she felt about this whole thing. Matt knew her. He knew her body and, Y/n didn’t want his wife to feel what she feeling anymore. She did want Matt all to herself and maybe this baby could make that a reality for her.

“Can’t do anything more today sweet pea.” Matt lifted his hat a bit as he smirked down at y/n. His son was in the other room and almost done with his food by now. So he got up and adjusted his pants, and dick, while y/n sat up flustered.

Y/n laughed a bit while fixing her hair.

“That’s how we got into this mess!” Matt laughed heartily while holding his stomach and placed a kiss to Y/n’s cheek.

“Y’right. Cmon let’s head on back now darling.” Matt smacked Y/n’s ass on the way back to the kitchen.

Little Liam was smiling at the girl as he held an apple slice in his chubby fingers. His face was flustered as he eagerly reached for Y/n.

“Mommy!” Liam giggled into Y/n’s chest as she picked him up.

“Now what has happened here little man? Hm?”

Matt walked in after making sure his dick was tucked properly. He took off his cowboy hat and put it on Y/n’s head.

“Aw that’s right. Liam, your mommy here is a good rider.” Matt shot a smirk to Y/n.

“Now now now, don’t be going and believing your daddy Li. Cmon you wanna take a bath?”

Liam cheered and he took the hat off Y/n’s head, the boy failed to successfully wear it though, due to his head being much smaller. The couple laughed and Matt took Liam from Y/n.

“You go and get some rest now hear? That baby’s gonna be wearing your lassie down.” Matt’s voice was husky and deep. His country accent always made Y/n’s pussy wet.

She nodded and left her overall straps down. With her bare tits just barely being covered by a white tank top, Matt felt himself hardening again and he rushed out of the room.

tag list:

@mattsweethart @mattspillowprincess @riggysworld @regulaho @passionfruitchris @eeyoresturnz @eyesonmattyb @chrissonnyangel @bluestriips @billieslittlecumslut @dolliraez @nickssidewitch @salaciousxsturniolo

[slimyalienfreak]

Hiya, i saw ur requests are open and that you write for sonic series, so i was wondering if you could write sonic boom!shadow x fem!hedgehog reader? You can make up the story, and what happens! But i have to ask if it can be fluff. I read a little to much angst today cant handle more😭

I looove shadow sm, all and any shadow😆

Thanks! Drink,eat , sleep, shower

-Monty 🦔

Boom!Shadow Fluff HC’s With Fem!Hedgehog Reader

Hey there! Thanks for the ask!

I don’t know why but as soon as I saw this request was to have Shadow be in a hugging session with reader. Don’t know why but that was the first thought I had when I saw that you wanted fluff (by the way I kind of wrote this to at least be platonic but some views can be considered romantic in a way. You can view it as whatever). Plus that boy does deserve a hug, regardless of which Shadow it is. Also sorry if this is a bit shorter than my regular ones. Anyways, hope you like this. ~Blaze/Dawn

Pronouns: She/Her (Or At Least Fem Intended Since I Only Used She/Her Once)

Warning: ❌

Requested: Yes/No

Characters: Shadow + Mentions Of The Other Sonic Crew

Proofread: ❌

Credits: Icon by punkmp4 on Pinterest + Banner by emiljjj (Edited By Me) on Pinterest

———————————

- ‘God today has been overwhelming’ Shadow thought to himself, his face clearly showing annoyance. Honestly he wasn't sure how long he could deal with another presence. The only thing that was currently on his mind and the only reason he even bothered to put up with the others was seeing you. A while ago he found himself becoming fond of you in his own brooding way. Normally he wouldn’t consider himself getting close with anyone especially since he’s known for being a loner but as he manages to spot you more often due to you often hanging out with that stupid hedgehog sonic and his friends he couldn’t help but get drawn towards you. It’s like you had some sort of aura about you that made him drawn to you. So he decided to hang out with you much to your surprise at him wanting to be around you but you weren’t going to complain.

- You’re the only person he actually tolerates out of everyone he knows. To him Sonic is too annoying, Tails is alright in a way but still isn’t too fond of him, Knuckles isn’t that smart, Amy is also alright he just doesn’t hang out with her too much so he doesn’t have that much of a bond with her and he just finds Sticks batshit crazy. So with you it’s like he’s getting some fresh air after being stuck in a room for hours. He actually enjoys being around you, you won’t get him to outright admit it but in a way you can tell he does because he treats you way differently compared to the others which doesn’t go unnoticed by them.

- Some of them actually find it cute (Mostly Amy) and some of them like to tease Shadow about (Most probably either Sonic or Knuckles) but you don’t mind it. You actually find it cute in a way as well. Managing to break his standoffish persona. Undeniably he kind of has a soft spot for. Often he finds himself getting defensive when someone like Sonic teases him for his said soft spot. Like Sonic could be saying stuff like “You really like her don’t you Shadow” which causes Shadow to tell him to shut up.

- Everytime he has a shit day or just wants to decompress he finds himself thinking of you. He could just be in a grumpy mood then he just sighs to himself and thinks to himself ‘I’m going to see [Name]’. It’s like his brain just automatically thinks of going to you as soon as he experiences a single bad emotion. He knows that you won’t judge which admittedly makes him happy inside. Honestly after having others getting on his nerves he rather have someone who knows how to calm him down. Honestly, this dude has so much built in anger it’s unbelievable.

- Eventually, after enough walking he managed to arrive at your place and immediately felt some sort of weight being lifted off of his shoulders. He knocked on the door crossing his arms waiting for you to open the door. He then saw the door crack open and saw the familiar hedgehog he actually likes. “Oh hey Shadow!” You said, happy to see your buddy again “what are you doing here?” You asked before he answered “apologies for interrupting you but is it alright if I stay here for a bit?” He asked to which you happily let him in.

- As soon as you sat down you found him following you before plopping himself head down into your lap “had another one of those days huh?” You asked slightly chuckling before placing a hand on his head “you have no idea. I swear that damn hedgehog is out to purposely ruin my day.” He grumbled as he felt himself softening while having your hands running through his quills “oh come on he’s not that bad you know?” You could hear Shadow slightly snorting to himself before replying “you hang out with him, your used to his idiocy” you chuckled at his answer before continuing to play with his quills, occasionally seeing him nuzzle his head in your lap even letting out some noises indicating that he was enjoying the attention he was getting from you “your weird you know that Shadow?” You joked with him “no I’m not” he retorted back even starting to hug you loosely around your waist “yeah whatever you say” you smiled to yourself hearing Shadow scoffing to himself as the two of you enjoy each other's company. “thanks for being there for me [Name]” he quietly said but you could hear him very well “no problem Shadow”.

———————————

[shinoko-oshi]

Simon with a sweet bird that never cusses until he overstimulates her

Simon Riley with a sweet bird, one that never cussed, one that had a voice like honey melting his heart every time she said his name, one that wouldn’t even hurt a fly— he’d seen you escort one out of the flat in a glass cup once, whispering an apology when it bumped into the window trying to escape.

The opposite of him. Basically. 

You were the small slice of life that felt refreshing and comforting.

Coming home from days stuck in dirt and gunpowder, surrounded by a bunch of sweaty men, shit rations, stale air, everyone swearing like sailors and half of them snoring like hogs. Price.

Only to find his pretty bird waiting in the living room, the scent of your cooking greeting him at the door like it missed him too. You’d hum when you saw him, greeting him with soft, loving words that never failed to ease the tight coil in his chest. Following with you telling him to go wash up, a plate already warming in the oven, his favorite drink poured in a glass. 

You were everything he didn’t know he needed until he had it. Until he had you.

So really, that’s why it shocked him so much when it happened.

When he had you spread beneath him, your thighs trembling, your cunt soaking, warm and needy around him. He hadn’t meant to overstimulate you. Not this time. But he’d gone weeks without you, and it was like his body was starving, needing everything all at once, the sounds you made, the grip of your body, the fluttering way you clenched around him.

He didn’t even register how many times you’d came already not until your voice snapped through the haze in his brain.

“Ah— fuck, Simon! Shit!”

He nearly stilled mid thrust. Hearing your voice breathless like that, laced with a hint of desperation made his head spin.

Because it was the words. The fucking words.

You cussed.

You, his soft, sweet girl. The one who apologized when she bumped into strangers on the street. The one who blushed if someone said “shit” too loud in public.

Was now the one saying it, filthy words falling from your pretty mouth in gasping moans while your eyes rolled back and your fingers dug into the sheets for support.

Simon had heard cussing in every tone you could think of. Heard Johnny spewing playful insults like it was his native language after five beers. Heard Price curse quietly under his breath while going through mission reports. Heard grown men yell bloody murder while bleeding out.

He wasn’t new to it. Hell, he cursed too. Sometimes under his breath when he stubbed his toe, sometimes in bed when you were giving him head so good it knocked thoughts straight out of his skull.

But hearing you say it? Like that? Because of him?

It was like discovering something forbidden. Something addictive.

So maybe that’s why after that night, he started overstimulating you more often. Drawing orgasm after orgasm out of your trembling body, not stopping when you started to whine, not when your thighs twitched or your voice cracked or your hand reached down to grab his wrist in a wordless plea.

He couldn’t help it.

Not when every moan, every sweet “fuck-fuck! Simon, please!” came out of your mouth sounding like music only he got to hear.

He knew all your tells. The way your body arched when he hit that perfect spot inside. The high pitched noise you made right before you came. The dazed look in your eyes after your second orgasm. The unfiltered curses that always spilled when he gave you a third. Or a fourth.

And you, his sweet bird unknowingly helped him discover a kink he never even knew he had.

The way you said his name when he had you pinned beneath him, cock buried deep inside of you, one hand on your hip and the other circling your clit with slow strokes.

Your cum was already coating his cock, sticky and white, dripping down your thighs, and he was still moving, still using you, still chasing another orgasm out of you, when you suddenly whimpered out a line that made him cum so fast it left his vision blurry.

“Fuck, Simon! You fuckin’ bastard!”

He groaned like the words alone made him finish, his release spilling deep inside you while you trembled underneath him.

Who would’ve guessed Simon Riley got off to being called a bastard?

Then again, it was you saying it.

How could he not?

put my WHOLE soul into this one fr fr

[lokiswifeduh]

Never Again

Pairings- Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary- You and Bucky break up, in which you become severely depressed.

Warnings- heavy angst, Break-ups, fighting, arguing, cussing, slight mention of starving yourself/eating disorder, unwanted touching, attempted sexual assault (no assault occurs), panic attacks, crying, use of y/n, eventual fluff, drugging/roofie on the reader

WC- 3.9k

masterlist

"What do you want me to say?!" Bucky shouted, making you comb your fingers through your hair in frustration.

"I don't know, okay?" You let out a breath, "I just..I just can't keep doing this."

Bucky scoffed, "Doing what?!" Your eyes widened in shock at his tone. "What more do you want from me?"

Scoffing, you fell down onto the couch, defeated. "You don't show me you want me in your life, Bucky."

"I love you, isn't that enough?!" He shouted once more, making you close your eyes as tears seeped down, soaking your lashes.

"You treat me like I'm a thought in the back of your mind James!" Silence filled the apartment as you both stared at each other in hurt. Bucky's chest heaved up and down in anger as you felt the sobs crawling up your throat.

"What am I supposed to say?" Bucky spoke finally, his tone softer than before. "I don't know how else to prove to you that I love you, y/n."

You brought your hands to your eyes, rubbing away the exhaustion and the still falling tears. "I can't keep doing this, Buck. I'm so tired."

Bucky let out a sob, "You deserve better than me, doll." "Don't talk like that, James."

He shook his head, "I'm gonna stay at Sam's for a while. Maybe we just..." "Maybe we just what?" Your eyes snapped up to his pained ones.

Bucky took a deep breath, "Maybe we need to be apart for a bit."

You felt your heart break in half. You broke down, falling to your knees, back leaned up against the couch as you cried.

Bucky wanted to console you, he wanted to hold you as you heaved and tried to get the oxygen supply back into your lungs. But he knew everything had changed. There was no going back, not anymore.

His own tears fell as he stumbled back into the bedroom, grabbing a SHIELD duffle bag. He slammed open his dresser drawers, finding a couple shirts and some pants and stuffing them into the bag.

Tears continued to fall as he packed, turning to the nightstand to get his phone charger. When he went to unplug it, he saw the framed photo sitting on the top. A picture of you and Bucky on your fourth date.

You were wrapped up in his arms as he danced with you. Both of you smiling at the camera. Natasha was the one who had taken the photo. He hastily grabbed the photo, putting it in the bag with his charger and walking out of your shared bedroom.

You were propped up against the couch, your head laying on the cushion as you stared into space.

Bucky watched as tears still silently fell down your cheeks, opting to not say anything. He again, knew it wouldn't change anything.

Slipping his feet into his combat boots, he left, slamming the door behind him.

THE NEXT MORNING

Natasha walked up the hall to your apartment, raising a hand to knock on your door. She had heard from Sam that Bucky was staying with him for the time being. Having texted and called you for multiple hours with no response, she decided to head over and check on you in person.

"Y/n?" She knocked again, making the neighbor peek her head out into the hall. However, seeing the Black Widow, she stuck her head right back in.

"Fuck this," Natasha pulled a bobby pin from her braid, sticking the end of it into the lock. Finally getting the lock picked, she opened the door, making her way into the apartment.

The room was completely dark, the curtains having been pulled shut. Moving over to the living room, through the kitchen she noticed your frame, still leaning on the couch while sitting on the floor. "Y/n?"

You made no sound, staring into space like you had been for the past fifteen hours, not even blinking. Natasha kneeled down in front of you, placing a hand on your neck in instinct. She let out a breath, feeling your pulse.

"Sweetheart," Natasha moved her hand to your face, pulling your eyes to look at hers.

"Nat?" Your voice cracked, your throat feeling like sandpaper had been shoved down it.

"Yeah, it's Nat, honey. How long have you been sitting here?" You finally blinked, crusted tears making it hurt to close your eyes. "Since, uh, Since Buck left last night." Natasha nodded, her heart heavy with worry. "Come on, let's get you on the couch." You let her help lift you up onto the couch to lay properly as she slipped a pillow under your head and pulled the thick white blanket onto your frame. She tucked your feet in, looking around for a moment.

"When was the last time you ate?" You just shrugged, tears once again starting to fall as you hiccuped. Natasha sat on the floor beside you, quietly shushing you to sleep. Exhaustion took over your body as Natasha vowed to kill Barnes for whatever had caused this.

She kissed your head, "I'll be back soon." Going over to the fridge, she pulled out a bottle of water, placing it on the coffee table with a bottle of tylenol for when you woke up. She knew the headache after waking up would be back. She just hoped you'd still be asleep by the time she made her way back from Sam's.

"Barnes!!" Natasha slammed her way into Sam's apartment, making Bucky shoot up off the couch as Sam peeked his head out from the kitchen. "What the fuck did you do?" "Hey, hey," Sam stepped fully into the room as Natasha grabbed Bucky by the collar of his shirt. "What did you do?!"

"What are you talking about?" Bucky questioned, keeping his hands up as Natasha kept a hold on him.

"Y/n is what i'm talking about!" She pushed his chest, making him stumble back.

"Is she okay?" Bucky asked, shrugging on his jacket.

"When I got to her apartment, she had been sitting in the same spot since you left. She hadn't eaten anything or as far as I know of slept or blinked. What the hell did you do?" Natasha's toned softened at the end, genuinely wanting to know his side of the story.

Sam sat down, hands on his knees as he listened to Bucky explain.

"We- we had a fight, she said I don't show her I love her and I-," Bucky paused, closing his eyes as he fought back tears. "I told her I didn't know what else to say, so I said we might need to be apart for a bit."

He fell down onto the couch, letting his head fall into his hands.

"You didn't tell me that part, man." Sam shook his head, walking back into the kitchen.

"How did you leave her?" Natasha asked.

"What?" Bucky looked up at her.

"When you packed your shit and left, how did you leave her?"

He rubbed his head with his hands, "She was sitting staring at nothing, crying."

Natasha shook her head, going to leave before Bucky zipped up his jacket, follow her. She turned back, placing a hand on his chest. "Where do you think you're going?" "Uh, I'm going with you to check on her."

"No you're not. You're gonna stay far away from her after throwing four years down the drain, Barnes." "I love her! I'm not gonna leave her like that!" Sam stepped back into the room, placing a hand on Bucky's shoulder, making Natasha release him.

"You should've thought like that before you left her sobbing on the floor."

TWO MONTHS LATER

"Come on, y/n. Please come with us." Natasha walked into the living room as you sat on the couch.

It had been a long depressing road since you and Bucky had split, but you were finally feeling a bit better.

You had started to eat regularly again, even though you had lost a lot of weight, you weren't malnourished anymore. You were finally going on small missions, not assigned with Bucky of course. But you had yet to start being the social butterfly you once were again.

"Fine," You shrugged, standing up to change as Natasha smiled excitedly.

Slipping on a pair of jeans and a dark blue top, you realized your pants were a couple sizes too big. You groaned, slipping off the jeans and on a pair of black leggings.

The leggings hugged your skin tighter, making it look like your actual size and not too large on your frame.

"You want me to help?" Natasha asked, making you nod as she sat you down in front of your vanity. You watched as she softly brushed your hair before swiping some mascara over your lashes and putting some gloss on your lips.

"Ready?" Nat asked, pulling her purse over her shoulder before you did the same.

AT THE BAR

"Well don't you guys look hot." Sam smiled, wrapping an arm around you and the other around Natasha as he walked you both into the bar. They didn't bother checking ID's at the front, perks of being Avengers.

"Thanks, Sam." You smiled, entering through the doors as he kept a tight grip on you.

"What the hell?" Natasha pushed Sam off of her, "What is Barnes doing here?"

You looked up, seeing Bucky sitting at a booth with Steve, looking at you with a sorrowful expression.

Pulling yourself from Sam, your smile dropped, "I need a drink." You ignored the protests from Sam, also choosing to ignore the fact that he said he didn't know Bucky was gonna be there. You believed him, but that still didn't change the fact that to survive this night, you'd need a drink.

"What can I get ya'?"

"Gin and tonic, please." You answered the bartender, sliding over your card. Well, Tony's credit card he had loaned you when he found out about the split between you and Bucky. You hadn't given it back yet, but you also hadn't used it enough for Tony to care.

Looking over your shoulder as he made your drink, you saw Natasha scolding Sam and Steve, Bucky looked at you, staring from in between all of the chaos.

Your head shot back to the wooden bar, playing with the cuticles of your nails, you ignored his gaze. Well, you tried to.

"Well aren't you the prettiest thing that's walked into this bar all night." You looked to your right, seeing John Walker sitting beside you, smirking.

"Shut up, John." Taking your drink back, you slipped your card into your bag and took a long sip. The alcohol burned your throat, making you wince from the taste. However the way it made you feel warm and tingly inside made you go for another one.

"I heard about you and Barnes." John looked over at Bucky, making sure he knew he was talking to you. He definitely did, Bucky gripping the beer bottle in his hand hard enough to crack the neck of it.

"Leave me alone, John. Not in the mood to talk to you." You finished your first drink, waving to the bartender for another one.

Yet all of the sudden, you felt a hand crawl down your back, pressing against your hip in a brutal grip. "You don't wanna fight me, Y/n." Your heart dropped as you felt him smack your ass that was placed against the bar stool, "I always get what I want." He whispered before his touch left your body, making you sit there in shock as you started your second drink.

Meanwhile over at the table, Bucky slammed his beer onto the wood, "I'm gonna kill him."

"Buck, stop, she can handle herself," Sam placed a hand on Bucky's chest, "You don't have the right to fight her battles anymore."

The group talked for a few more minutes as Bucky sat there, seething. He knew he had no right to help you, and he knew you could handle yourself. But he still loved you, you had to know that. Shaking his head, he spoke.

"I don't care, I-" Bucky looked around, "Where did she go?" The four looked toward where you were last at, not seeing you.

Natasha stood up, slipping over Steve and out of the booth, "She's probably in the bathroom, just keep an eye out." However, she didn't find you in the bathroom, women or the mens. Even after checking the supply closet and the back part of the bar you were nowhere to be found.

Walking back over, Nat shook her head, "I can't find her."

You stumbled through the alley, knowing a shortcut to the subway. You had started feeling a little strange after your second drink.

Suddenly, you felt a hand grip your hair and throw you back onto the ground. Your hand shot to your head, seeing the blood already start to drip from it hitting a brick that was laying in the alleyway.

"I told you, I always get want I want." John Walkers face appeared over yours, making you kick up in instinct, hitting him in the balls which made him go down pretty quickly.

You scrambled away, leaving your purse behind and toward the entrance of the alley. You cursed, knowing you should've told Natasha that you were going home, and that you started feeling weird after your second drink.

Your body started to give out as your knees buckled below you. John regained his footing, coming up behind you and pushing you down to the ground. You pleaded, shaking your head as a tear slipped down your cheek. You couldn't move, or do anything as you felt him start to pull at your leggings.

In this moment, you tried to make your mind go somewhere, anywhere but here. You had been trained by the finest in SHIELD, you made your way up to the Avengers through stealth and brutality. But this situation, you weren't trained for.

All you could think about was your Bucky. The man you loved, the man that protected you even when you knew you could hold your own for so many years. The man that held you as you cried about the death of your SHIELD partner, and the man that made every holiday magical because your family didn't care about them.

So when you felt John place a disgusting sweaty hand on the curve of your back, you could only shout one name.

"B-Bucky!" You screamed, making John slam your face into the pavement, ultimately shutting you up.

"Your soldier isn't coming to save you now." John laughed, pulling the belt on his jeans.

"Hey! Get the fuck off of her!" You heard a voice shout before you could hear a heavy punch land, making the weight John had on your body disappear.

"Honey?" A figure appeared in your eye-line, crouching down to look at you. "Natasha?" Your vision was blurry but you could make out the red hair and the worried blue eyes. "It's me, honey." She leaned up, screaming for Sam and Steve.

They both pulled you up, Sam lifting you into his arms. "Bucky?"

"Buck!!" Sam looked over, seeing Bucky had beaten John to a pulp, his face almost unrecognizable. "She wants you, man!" Bucky stood, spitting out the blood from the one good hit John had landed before Steve went to apprehend Walker. Bucky limped over, taking you from Sam's arms and holding you gently but tightly.

"Doll?" You saw his worry through blurry vision, making you tuck your head into his chest. "I called for you, and you came." "We gotta get her home," Natasha said, texting a driver Tony had on payroll.

"I'll always come, doll. Always." Bucky looked down at you in concern, seeing the car pull up as he shifted with you still in his lap, into the backseat.

The red head slid in next to Buck, your head resting in his lap as your feet laid over Nat's legs.

"We're gonna handle Walker," Sam looked back, seeing Steve haul him up with handcuffs around Johns wrists. "Update us when you get her safe." He shut the door with a solemn look, walking back to help Steve.

"We gotta take her to Cho," Bucky shook his head, feeling the blood seep out from the back of your head onto his hand. Hearing his words, the driver barreled his way through the streets of New York, heading for the tower.

You opened your eyes slowly, looking up at Bucky. You could see him, scanning over your body as if another part of you would break at any moment.

"Buck," You lifted your hand, placing it on his cheek, the stubble from his beard tickled your palm.

"I'm right here, doll." He held your hand on his face, feeling your waining strength.

"I'm sorry, Buck." A tear slipped down, "I know you want me in your life, I shouldn't.." You stuttered, closing your eyes slowly before focusing back on the worried man above you, "I shouldn't have said what i-"

"Doll, stop," Bucky shushed you softly. "I shouldn't have left like I did. I was a coward, I should've fought for you, fought for us."

You let out a sob, interlocking your fingers with his. But before you could speak again, the car stopped in front of the tower, making Natasha throw the door open as Bucky carried you through the med wing entrance.

"Helen!!" Natasha yelled, pushing open the doors, catching the doctors attention. Bruce was sitting in his chair, tinkering with some sort of medical technology before everyone's heads snapped up.

"What happened?" Dr. Cho questioned, immediately prepping a table so Bucky could lay you down.

He softly placed your back on the metal bench, making sure your head didn't hit it. But as he took his hand away from the back of it, he noticed the amount of blood that was staining his hands. "Walker, he drugged her at the bar. She tried to leave but he caught her in the alley." Bucky gulped, glancing at Natasha as Cho and Banner started to work on you, you having already passed out again. "We barely made it in time."

Tears came to Helen's eyes as she heard what had happened. You and her had become close since you were good with technology. You helped her out at the lab, and she patched you up after missions. But she pushed back the tears, looking at Bruce. "Help me flip her on her side, I need to stitch the back of her head."

Natasha's resolve finally broke as she saw you laying there on the table, helpless. Tears streamed down her face as she crouched down beside the door. You were like a little sister to Natasha, and for this she blamed herself. She should've sat with you at the bar, she should've been with you having a drink instead of scolding Steve for inviting Bucky. So many should have's ran through her brain. It was the only way to ignore the pain she felt in her chest as she watched them stick you with needles and attach you to different monitors.

"Please be okay," Natasha whispered, repeating it like a mantra.

Yet in Bucky's head, all he could focus on was the way the heart monitor beeped. You were alive, your heart beat was elevated but you were breathing. He knew it would take a long time for you to recover from this, not physically but mentally. He didn't know how you would handle it, or what you would say to him when you woke up.

But he did know one thing, he wouldn't be leaving your side through any of it.

THE NEXT DAY

Bucky hadn't moved, not an inch. His feet had been planted in the same spot for over 12 hours. He could feel his stomach rumbling and the dark circles under his eyes had for sure darkened. But he wouldn't move, not until he knew you were okay. Not until you had woken up.

"Barnes," Natasha walked in, having changed into some sweatpants and a t-shirt. Bucky's head snapped over to her, acknowledging her presence before his gaze went right back to you.

You looked so small, laying in the hospital bed, a bandage over the back of your head where Helen stitched you up. An IV line was sticking out of the top of your hand and there was a small cut above your eyebrow, and a slightly bigger one on your cheek where John had slammed your head into the pavement. Two white bandages covering each.

"Go take a shower, Barnes. Eat, do something." Natasha tried to convince him, but he shook his head, "I'm not leaving her, not again." The red head sighed, going over to the counter and pulling out a large piece of gauze, pouring some alcohol onto it. She made her way over to Bucky grabbing his hand, startling him. "What are you-" "Do you really want her to wake up and see her blood stained all over your hands?" Natasha made eye contact, watching him shake his head before continuing to clean your blood from his finger and his palm.

A long silence ensued between the two of them before he spoke, "You know I never wanted a break, I love her. I just wanted her to find better." Bucky dropped his head onto your hand, holding your thigh with his metal one.

"You're so full of shit Barnes." Natasha stood up, throwing away the blood soiled gauze as Bucky's head shot up in confusion. "What?" "Do you have any idea how much that girl loves you? In the beginning of your relationship who do you think made sure the fridge was stocked with your favorite breakfast bars? Freshly made too. Who do you think had your back on all of those missions when you came onto the team just because she couldn't bear to see you hurt."

Natasha pulled up a chair on the other side, placing her hand on yours, "Who do you think went to the senate, putting her own reputation on the line to get you that pardon?" Bucky closed his eyes, going over the past four years in his mind, he made a mistake. A huge one.

"Hey, don't rat me out." Your scratchy voice sounded out, making Bucky and Natasha's head snap in your direction.

"Go get Helen!" Bucky said as he stood, feeling the stiffness in his legs from not moving. Natasha nodded, running out of the room.

"Hey Buck." You smiled up at him, accidentally moving your head causing you to wince.

"Don't move your head too hard, doll. You got a nasty gash back there." He pushed the button next to your IV, making more morphine flood through.

You nodded as best you could, feeling Bucky take his hand off of yours. But that didn't last long as you pulled him back, looking over his frame. "You look like shit, handsome."

Bucky laughed, making you smile. You hadn't heard that beautiful laugh in so long.

You pulled his face down to yours, "I heard what you said, how could you think I ever wanted anyone other than you, that I deserve better?"

Bucky kissed your head, "I was being a dumbass, doll." You nodded again, reaching up to kiss his cheek, "Please don't leave me again, Buck. I don't think I could handle it."

"Never again, doll. I'm never leaving again."

masterlist

[clarkeysbedchem]

more than just us

george clarke x single mom! reader

summary: you have been dating george for almost a year, and he finally meets your daughter

masterlist | main masterlist

Wednesdays were your thing, every week without fail like clockwork. A bottle of wine, shared laughter over dinner, and you tucked into George’s side as he walked you back hime. A year of soft unsure glances that turned into soft kisses and weeknight rituals, but still, there were parts of your life you kept tight to your chest; like the pastel-painted bedroom down the hall, and the little girl who called you “Mummy.”

Ivy.

She had been your whole world since you were nineteen. And as much as your heart expanded for George and his sleepy voice in the mornings, the dumb jokes that he made just to hear you laugh. You kept him separate from that part of your life. Not because you didn’t want him in it but because you were scared, he’d leave once he saw what came with loving you.

Tonight, your mother had cancelled last minute, leaving you with no sitter and stuck. You were stood in the kitchen, phone pressed to your cheek, apologizing a hundred times over to George with the sound of Ivy’s humming along to her film in the background.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, “Can we rain check? Ivy’s staying with me tonight and I don’t want to spring that on you.”

George paused, just for a beat, “No worries at all,” he said, his tone warm and casual like always, “We’ll do next week, yeah?”

You agreed the conversation lingering for a few minutes before you hung up with a tight chest, guilt knotting itself into your ribs. Ivy had peeked around the corner, holding her stuffed bunny upside down.

“Mummy, can we have pizza?”

You smiled brightly, kissed the top of her curls, “Course we can.”

An hour had passed when a knock echoed through the hallway, your eyebrows furrowed looking over at the front door. Ivy was painting at the coffee table, a dot of purple on her nose. You opened the door in your leggings and oversized hoodie, and George was stood there, holding pizza boxes in one hand, a paper bag in the other, and a cautious smile on his lips.

“Thought maybe I could still come over,” he shrugged, “Brought nuggets and smiley faces. For Ivy. Hope that’s alright.”

You blinked, “You, you didn’t have to.”

“Couldn’t go the whole week without seeing you,” he said, his eyes soft, “And I wanted to meet her. If that’s okay.”

You stepped aside before your voice could betray you.

Ivy was shy at first clinging to your leg as George crouched in front of her and introduced himself like a character from her favourite cartoons, even giving her bunny a formal handshake.

“Hello, Mr. Bun,” he introduced himself to the stuffed animal, “Pleasure to meet you.”

Ivy giggled and you felt yourself melt instantly.

Dinner was full of laughter. The three of you eat on the floor, picnic-style, while Ivy letting George pick the film and he picked Princess and the Frog - Ivy’s favourite – as he made a dramatic deal about how lucky he was to be having dinner with ‘two gorgeous girls.’

George let Ivy steal most of his chips and even two slices of his pizza as she sat in front of him slouched into his chest. Then when she dropped ketchup on her pyjamas, he dabbed at it with a napkin and tells her he does that all the time.

You had caught him glancing at you every now and then, always with this quiet, careful softness like he knew what this night meant, and he was trying to hold onto it gently.

By the time the credits rolled, Ivy had curled herself up half on your lap, half on George’s, her thumb in her mouth, eyes fluttering shut.

“I’ll do bath,” you whispered, rising carefully.

George looked up, “Need help?”

You hesitated before nodding, the anxiety in your chest slowly floating away.

Bedtime was gentle. You showed George how to do her hair in loose braids for sleep, and he followed your lead through the bedtime story, adding silly voices to the characters making giggles fall from Ivy as she leaned into his chest.

Then Ivy asked for him to do the last page, and your throat tightened.

He read it gently, slowly before tucked her in like he had always been there.

“Night-night, Ivy,” he murmured, “Sleep tight, superstar.”

She reached out and her palm sprawled out on his cheek, “Night-night, George.”

You stood in the hallway after, staring at him as he carried about his night like he had been in this situation before and it was like you were seeing him for the first time.

You were back on the sofa, the house finally quiet, nestled into him. Your head on his chest, his hand rubbing small circles on your back, the flicker of the lamp low and warm casting shadows over the walls.

“You’re amazing with her,” you whispered, not moving your head scared to look him in the eyes.

George tilted his head down, resting his cheek against your hair, ��She’s brilliant. Like you.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, “I didn’t let you meet her sooner because I was scared. Scared that you’d run and I’d have to explain to her where you had gone, scared that if you knew what this was actually like, you’d give up.”

He was quiet for a moment, then shifted so he could look at you properly, “Ivy’s part of you,” he said, “How could I ever run from that?”

Your breath hitched tears collecting at your waterline as you took a deep breath.

“I just... no one’s ever really stuck around for both of us,” you admitted, voice cracking, “They say they care about me, but it’s always too much, too complicated once they realise it’s not just me.”

George’s thumb brushed under your eye, catching a tear you didn’t realise had fallen.

“I’m not them,” he said gently, “I’m here. For you, and for Ivy. I don’t care if it’s messy or complicated, I just care that it’s real. And this,” he kissed your forehead, “is real.”

You wrapped your arms tighter around him, feeling something inside your chest release. The tension of four years of being enough for Ivy, but never enough for someone else leaving your thoughts.

“I think she really liked you,” you murmured.

George chuckled, “Yeah?”

“She made you a friend in her bunny club. That’s a big deal.”

He grinned, “That means I made the inner circle. Better not mess it up then.”

You laughed, light and full for the first time in ages.

In that moment, wrapped in his arms, your daughter sleeping peacefully down the hall, you realised something simple and powerful: You weren’t alone anymore.

taglist: @jamiekluivert @reidyourpalms @roc-haze @whisperturnedecho @graceln4 @dopeysunflowers @super-gay-for-u @bethorwhateverr @livvymd @lilyyxoii @4ngelrealm @kiyoomology @canyouseethesainz @happyclifford @golden-hoax @tatumrileyslover @madforgeorge @wherethezoes-at @themdera @xlovergirlx @smzyyx @bowielovesyou @pretendyoucantseeme @elhotchner @duolingofanaccount @pookietv @ooostarwarsfandom501st

a/n: this based on a dream i had btw and i put in my notes app and completely forgot abt it

[vktrjyce]

tell me that i'm what you need

a jayvik college au

length: 6.8k

author's note: them in a college au has been rotting in my brain since I finished act 3, and i had to write it. it's completely self-indulgent and i understand that and i do not apologize. i have TONS more ideas for this so if it gets enough traction maybe i'll write more LMAOOO. jayvik has their hooks in me good you guys. anyways, thanks so much for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it, and feel free to leave likes and comments! i'd love to hear any feedback or thoughts :) have a great day!!

there is also a playlist that goes along with this fic!

tags: college party ; weed smoking ; trans viktor ; sub jayce talis ; dom viktor ; college au ; shotgunning ; making out ; sexuality crisis ; first meeting ; viktor is hot and confident and jayce loves it ; they're both idiots

warnings: sexual content, weed smoking

summary: Jayce goes to a party with Caitlyn and gets more than he bargained for when he meets a handsome stranger in the basement.

originally posted by vktrjyce

Jayce followed Caitlyn into the overflowing house, wincing at the music pounding against his skull. Three different people bumped into him in the foyer alone, the third spilling an obscene amount of beer on his shoes. He grimaced, waved away the guy’s half-assed apology, and attempted to adjust to the stickiness. It felt a little like he’d surpassed his age of enjoying parties like this. Or maybe he simply needed to be with the right crowd. 

This did not feel like his crowd. 

“Cait!” He shouted over the music, grabbing his companion’s arm. She turned to him with a raised eyebrow, “This is really how you want to spend your Friday night?” 

She pressed her lips into a thin line and leaned towards him, “Vi invited me! I couldn’t exactly say no.” 

He overdramatically rolled his eyes, a knowing smile on his face, “So your girlfriend’s the partying type?” 

Caitlyn’s own eyes widened, her cheeks going slightly pink, “She’s not my girlfriend! Yet…” She shook her head, dark blue strands swaying back and forth, “And her sister threw this party. She’s just along for the ride.” 

“Mmhmm.” Jayce scanned the crowd, looking for a head of hot-pink hair he’d only heard about in stories, “So, where is she?” 

“I don’t know. I can’t see her from he-” 

“Cupcake!” A muscled arm landed on Caitlyn’s shoulders, simultaneously knocking her into Jayce’s side. The owner of said arm had the exact hair he’d been on the lookout for. Also, the ‘Vi’ tattooed on her face was sort of a dead giveaway, “I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.” 

Caitlyn looked over at Vi, a pleasant smile sliding across her face. She leaned into the woman, “What, and leave you to your own devices? I can only imagine the chaos that would ensue.” 

“You think so low of me. I’m hurt.” Vi teased, before her eyes landed on Jayce, “Who’s this?” 

Caitlyn answered before he had a chance to, “This is Jayce Talis. I’ve told you about him.” 

Jayce, in turn, offered a polite smile and a small wave. 

“So, this is the brainiac?” Vi gave him a once-over, pursing her lips, “Quite the pretty boy, isn’t he?” 

He choked out a slightly embarrassed chuckle, resisting the urge to rub at the back of his neck. His Mother always scolded him for having such an obvious nervous tick. 

“Don’t say that, it’ll go right to his head.” Cait retorted, giving her friend a knowing look, “And it’s big enough already.” 

The man barked out a laugh, “There’s better ways to show off than making fun of me, you know.” 

Once again, her eyes widened, “I wasn’t-” 

“Aww, are you trying to seduce me with your stuck-upness?” Vi cooed, pinching Caitlyn’s cheek. Though she scrunched up her nose, she didn’t pull away from the touch, “If you are, it’s working.” 

“You’re an idiot.” She deadpanned, and then looked back at Jayce, “You both are.” 

“I guess you attract them.” He winked at her. 

“I like this guy. He’s not all prude and stiff like most of the people you introduce me to.” Vi commented, grinning, “We could have some fun together, pretty boy.” 

“The feeling’s mutual, Vi.” 

“I don’t know, the thought of you two together doesn’t sit well with me.” Caitlyn piped up, “And I absolutely do not want to be demoted to third-wheel.” 

“I don’t think you’ll need to worry about that.” Jayce gave her a knowing look, sending her gaze to the floor. So he turned it on Vi. She smirked in response. 

“You guys want a drink? The kitchen’s stocked with all kinds of stuff.” She offered, pulling Caitlyn closer to her.

“I wouldn’t mind a drink.” His friend responded. She looked at Jayce with a warning on her face. He was no longer welcome in the group. 

He heard her loud and clear. 

“You guys go ahead, I’m gonna go mingle for a bit.” He told them, taking a step back, “We’ll meet back up later.” 

Caitlyn’s look turned grateful, eyes sparkling in the strobe lights. Vi nodded at his declaration. 

“Alright, see you later, then.” She bid him adieu, turning Caitlyn (presumably) towards the kitchen. 

As they walked away, he heard his friend ask, “Where’s Jinx?” 

“Somewhere causing problems, probably. I think she was trying to make fireworks or something.” Vi’s response came, and then they were out of earshot. And Jayce was all alone. 

He shifted his weight, patted his hands against his pants, and then decided he should do something. Something other than standing in the middle of this room. Watching the party go on without him. Like a loser. 

He sucked in a deep breath and moved further into the house. 

People were dancing, mingling, playing games, and making out on practically every available surface. He could only imagine what others were getting up to in the non-public spaces. He’d had his own fair share of trysts in his younger days. Now, though, he much preferred a quiet night in or hyperfocusing on a new project. Cait always teased him for ‘turning into an old man.’ 

Maybe she had a point. Just a little bit. 

It took Jayce a 10-minute conversation with Salo and another 15 minutes of standing against a wall before the noise and the lights became too much. He was uncomfortable, on his way to overstimulated, and in desperate need of a small respite. So he went looking for one. 

All the bedrooms were… occupied. The bathroom, when not occupied, was more of a cesspool of untoward activity than a sanctuary. The backyard was just as loud as anywhere else. All that left him with was the closed basement door. Which had an eccentric, bright pink ‘Stay Out!!!’ spray-painted on it. 

He did feel bad about ignoring the warning, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

Jayce opened the door, stepped inside, and shut it behind him. The immediate quiet, even with the muffled music through the wall, sent relief through his body. He sighed and walked down the stairs. About halfway down, a familiar skunk-like smell wafted its way up to him. But since he’d already committed, he simply wrinkled his nose and kept going. 

He stepped off the final stair, turned the corner, and took a look around the room. 

It was a typical basement- a couple of couches, a TV, a coffee table, and various movie and show posters on the walls. The lights were off, save for a warm-colored lamp on the table. None of it was out of the ordinary. Nothing particularly caught his eye. 

What did gain his attention, though, was the man on the couch. 

Pale and lanky, long brown hair with strands of blonde pulled into a low bun, clad in a burgundy cardigan and black sweats with a leg brace on the right knee. Only his side profile was visible from here, showing off a long nose and sharp cheekbones. A beauty mark sat above his thin, pink lips, which were currently wrapped around a half-smoked joint. His long lashes fluttered closed as he inhaled, pulled the joint from his mouth, and laid his head back against the couch. One long finger tapped against it. 

Jayce was, for one moment, very taken aback. If this guy was a girl, he’d be stunning.

“Uh-” He grunted out, like an idiot. 

The man’s eye opened, iris sliding in his direction. No other part of him moved. He exhaled the smoke and closed his eye again, “The bathroom is upstairs, on the second level. At the end of the hall.” 

As if this stranger’s looks weren’t enough of a shock, his words came out accented. It sounded Russian, or maybe Czech. It made him sound melodic, like voicing an elegant song instead of speaking. Jayce found himself wanting to hear more. 

“Oh, no, I, uh-” Jayce cleared his throat, then tried again, “Sorry, I was actually just trying to find a quiet place for a minute. All the noise was… it was a little much.” 

The man’s eyes opened again, and this time he turned his head towards Jayce. The latter discovered two distinct things at that moment. 

One, he had another beauty mark. Under his right eye, lighter than the one above his mouth. 

Two, the attractiveness increased tenfold when he saw his whole face. A few strands of his hair had fallen out of the bun and framed his face. Seriously, he could be a model or something.

The stranger raised a thick, dark eyebrow, “Why come to a party if the party is going to be ‘a little much’?” 

“Well, that’s not-” He scoffed, rubbing a hand over his jaw, “I didn’t- I came with a friend, so.” 

Piercing golden eyes watched him with mild curiosity, “And where is your friend now?” 

“She’s with her- you know what? It doesn’t matter.” Jayce shook his head, feeling a little disgruntled, “You’re the one hiding down here all by yourself.” 

“Well, I live here. I can’t exactly escape the party.” He explained, tilting his head from side to side, “This was supposed to be my safe haven.” 

Jayce ignored the last part, partly out of stubbornness, and responded with a question, “You live here? I thought Vi’s sister was the host.” 

“Jinx.” The man explained, looking away. It gave Jayce a chance to take a deep breath. He felt like a bug under a magnifying glass with those eyes on him, “And she is. She’s my roommate. One of them.” 

“Jinx? What kind of a name is that?” He chuckled. 

There was no response. Only a noncommittal shrug as he lifted the joint to his lips once again. A motion by which Jayce found himself hypnotized. The slender fingers holding it, the way his lips pursed as he inhaled, the twitching of his eyelids. It looked so natural- as simple as breathing. He was so caught up in it that he didn’t realize the man’s gaze was on him again. 

“Do you want some?” He asked, jolting Jayce out of his trance and offering the weed up. 

He could feel his face heating up, both from being caught staring and from the offer. He’d had weed a couple of times in the past, but it never ended well. Whether it be not knowing his own limits or peer pressure, he always went too far and got too anxious to enjoy it. He was open to it, but that didn’t stop him from feeling nervous. A familiar emotion right now. 

“Oh, I uh- I wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

The man smiled, just a small thing, but it made a certain softness take over his face, “A little late for that, no?” 

His cheeks were sure to be bright red now. He laughed nervously. 

The good-looking stranger shook his head, gesturing for Jayce to come closer, “I’m joking. Come. The company might be nice.” 

“Are you sure?” The question came out hesitant, but he was already moving over to the couch. Something about the way this guy spoke made him feel compelled to listen.

However, that could be the sleep deprivation talking. Or he’d finally lost it. Both were possibilities. 

“I find you… intriguing.” His new acquaintance told him, watching as he sat on the opposite side of the couch, “Besides, you said you needed a moment of quiet.” 

“I guess that’s true.” He shrugged, “Thanks. I appreciate it.” 

“Mm.” Humming, he offered the joint to Jayce once again. This time, he took it. 

It was only then that he realized there was a cane resting next to the man. Silver with a red and gold handle, decorated with graffiti that matched the ‘keep out’ sign on the door. He wondered if it was the stranger’s doing, but that felt unlikely. It didn’t seem like his style. 

Jayce took a drag, forcing himself not to cough as the marijuana burned all the way down. He really was not used to this sensation. The only thing worse than the burn, though, would be looking like a fool in front of this interesting guy he’d just met. He had to play it cool. 

God, he was such a loser. 

“You’re supposed to exhale it, you know.” The man spoke up, amusement lacing that magnetizing accent. It was just shy of patronizing, which strangely made his stomach coil.

This entire interaction was making Jayce’s head spin a little bit. 

He let the smoke out in one quick breath, which immediately sent him into a coughing fit. He hunched over himself, hitting a fist against his chest in an attempt to clear the pipe. He didn’t think this could get any worse. Either the humiliation or the coughing would kill him. A death that he’d happily embrace. 

“There, there. Easy.” A hand rested on his back, lithe fingers rubbing into the muscles, “You haven’t smoked much, I see.” 

Jayce barely noticed the hand on him, too preoccupied with trying not to die. He shook his head, letting out a hoarse, “Not really.” 

“Here.” The joint was taken from his hand and replaced with a glass of water, “Drink.” 

He didn’t hesitate to chug half of it. Then he slumped back against the couch, eyes closed as he took a few deep breaths. The burn had subsided, leaving only a bit of irritation in his throat. At the very least, he’d stopped coughing. Small victories. 

“Are you alright?” 

Jayce looked over at the stranger- his savior, in a way- and froze. Those amber eyes were locked on him, rimmed with red, and hungry. That feeling in his chest tightened, making him feel on edge. 

He swallowed, “Yeah. Yeah, uh, sorry. I don’t- I’m sorta new to this.” 

The man tucked some hair behind his ear and laid his arm over the back of the couch. His hand was only a few inches away from Jayce’s face. 

“Was this your first time?” 

“No.” He shook his head, “I’ve done it a couple times before. Just… not in a while.” 

“I see.” He picked at a loose thread sticking out of the cushion, “Did you enjoy it? In the past?” 

Jayce’s mind was starting to feel foggy. He pursed his lips, “It wasn’t bad. I think I just… I did too much too fast. Got in over my head.” 

“Mm, you seem like the type.” The man’s fingernails were painted black, the polish chipped, “To get in over your head, that is.” 

“Yeah?” He smiled lazily at his new friend, “What about you?” 

The man shook his head immediately, “Definitely not. I am always calm and collected. Just don’t ask anyone close to me for a second opinion on that.” 

That made him laugh. He laid a hand over his stomach, head tilted back. When he looked back at the stranger, still chuckling, there was something close to admiration on the guy’s face. Again, his stomach did a flip. What a strange way this night was going. 

“What’s your name?” He asked, voice deeper and accent more prominent. 

“Jayce.” He responded, “Jayce Talis. You?” 

“Viktor.” The man told him, and it was perfect. He couldn’t think of a better-fitting name. 

“It’s nice to meet you. Even if I made a complete fool of myself with the weed.” 

Viktor snorted out a laugh, taking another hit from the joint. He made it look effortless, “Not at all. You’re new to it. I’ve been doing it for a long time.” 

“You never get sick of it?” 

“Never. It helps too much. With the, eh, pain. And, you know, it quiets the mind.” 

“Right.” He gestured to the leg brace, “I don’t wanna pry, but I assume that’s what you’re talking about.” 

“Well, there are worse ways to be nosy.” He responded, screwing up his lips, “You’d be right, though. It’s my bad leg. I was born with it.” 

“I’m sorry.” Jayce blurted, because he felt like an idiot. The weed definitely wasn’t helping with his stupidness, “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.” 

“If I didn’t want to, I wouldn’t.” 

He held his hands up in surrender, “Alright, that’s fair. I just don’t want you to feel pressured.” 

“My hero.” Viktor deadpanned, rolling his pretty eyes, “Can you feel it yet?” 

Jayce furrowed his brows, “Feel- oh, the weed?” 

The other man nodded in confirmation. 

“A little. I don’t think I had much, honestly.” 

“Do you want more?” 

“And have another coughing fit? I can’t take more embarrassment, Viktor.” 

He chuckled, “You’ll survive. And we can try another way to get it down for you.” 

“Another way? Like what?” 

Something mischievous had crossed over his face, which was slightly scary, “I believe most people call it, uh… shotgunning. Have you heard of it?” 

Jayce most definitely had. And the prospect was simultaneously intriguing and panic-inducing to him. 

Viktor was nice and funny, and he was good-looking. But shotgunning was sort of… an intimate thing? In a way? The kind of thing you did when you wanted to get up close and personal with someone? 

Was that what Viktor wanted? Was he coming onto Jayce? 

If he was, well, that was flattering. But Jayce wasn’t really… he’d done stuff with men before. The typical college, experimenting stuff. And it was fine- wasn’t terrible. But he didn’t think that was really… him. 

But he was also a little high. And spiraling. And he was having a good time with Viktor and he didn’t want it to end. 

So what the hell? Why not? What’s the worst that could happen?

“Yeah, I- I think I have.” He spoke, finally giving in and rubbing at the back of his neck, “We could give it a shot. If you want.” 

“Excellent.” Viktor patted the empty spot next to him, “Come.” 

Jayce followed the order with no hesitation. Like a dog obeying the commands of his master. Something about it made the other man’s eyes light up, much to his confusion. 

“So, how are we-” 

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence. The words were cut off as Viktor slid onto his legs, seating himself right on Jayce’s lap. It sent his brain, his heart, his whole body into overdrive. It didn’t even occur to him to move him, though. He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe. Not necessarily in a bad way, but definitely slightly unnerving.

Friends could do stuff like this, right? 

Did Jayce even want to just be friends? Was there something more here? 

Viktor smelled like weed, cinnamon, and old paper. It drew him in with every breath.

Jayce, even with his sluggish mind, was coming to a semi-realization. While he couldn’t be sure how true it would feel in the light of day, it felt true now. Which could mean tons of things, honestly. 

Jayce was realizing that he liked this feeling. He liked the buzzing under his skin, the fogginess behind his eyes. He liked the weight of Viktor on him, liked the smell of Viktor, liked Viktor. Something about him was just so magnetizing. It made him nervous. This whole thing did. But he found that he didn’t really mind it. 

This was surely a crisis in the making. Something to be dealt with and reflected on in the sober light of day. He could analyze every move, second-guess every word and every reaction. He could take the time to nitpick his feelings until everything was clear. But right now, that didn’t matter. 

Right now, he felt good. And he wanted to keep doing what felt good. That should be simple enough. 

He nodded to himself. Literally. He probably looked like a freak to his companion. If he did, he garnered no reaction. 

“Open your mouth,” Viktor told him, raising the joint to his lips. 

Fuck. A cacophony of not-appropriate things flitted through his mind in reaction to the words. Not on purpose.

“Wait-” He heard himself saying, which was the opposite of what his heart (and his dick) wanted him to do. Apparently, his head still had the wheel. 

Jayce rested his hands on Viktor’s hips to stop him. Even through the thick cardigan, the latter’s hip bones were prominent. It made something twist unhappily in Jayce’s chest. 

Viktor did wait, pausing with a raised eyebrow and the weed an inch or two from his mouth. 

“A-are you okay like this?” Jayce stuttered out, looking up at the star of his current dilemma, “Your leg-” 

The questioning look on Viktor’s face turned to amusement, and he tilted his head, “That’s what you’re worried about? You idiot.” 

The word didn’t even sting like it would’ve from anyone else. It sounded like an endearment more than anything. 

“My leg is fine.” He hummed, resting a hand on Jayce’s shoulder. The weight was nice, soothing, “I’ve lived with it all my life. I know what I can handle.” 

Did weed have some sort of magical attraction properties? The sensation in his chest certainly felt like something out of a fairytale. 

“Okay.” Jayce exhaled shakily- again, not on purpose, “Okay. I just wanted to check.” 

“How kind of you.” That hand left his arm, coming back a moment later as Viktor grabbed his chin. He squeezed lightly, causing Jayce’s lips to pucker, “Are you ready?” 

Jayce nodded eagerly, giggling. Any harder and his head probably would’ve snapped off. 

Viktor gave him a look of approval that made his lungs ache, “Inhale when I exhale. Yes?” 

He swallowed, “Yes.” 

The man half-smiled, gave him a little nod, and took a long drag. It looked so easy, so beautiful, when he did it. Which was a strange thing to think. A strange action to find beautiful. But it was, nevertheless. 

Jayce parted his lips when Viktor lowered his hand, watching with expectant eyes as the man leaned toward him. Their noses brushed, sending a tingle through his skin. His breath hitched, and then the smoke was blown into his mouth. He closed his eyes and inhaled. 

It burned again, but he loved it this time. It filled his chest, his brain, left him feeling a little weightless. 

There was no coughing when he exhaled. Only the relief of subsided stinging, the warmth of Viktor against him. His nerves began to hum from his head to his toes. 

He was pretty sure he understood what all the hype was about now. Why the drug was so popular. 

But then again, that could all be because of Viktor. 

Viktor, Viktor, Viktor.

“So beautiful.” He heard his companion say, and there was a thumb brushing over his bottom lip. 

Jayce blinked his eyes open. It was harder than usual. Everything felt a little sluggish. 

Viktor was watching him. The whites of his starlight eyes were red, his gaze half-lidded, and that hunger was back. He looked like a cat on the prowl. Stalking its prey. 

Jayce had never been so pleased to feel like a cornered mouse. 

“Do you like men, Jayce?” 

“Do I-?” The question echoed his own thoughts bouncing around his mind. It sent a strike of panic through him, slightly dampened by the drug in his veins. He didn’t really have an answer for him. This night had brought up a lot of feelings on that exact topic, and most of them were muddy. It was terrifying, “I don’t… I’m not really sure, Viktor.” 

“Allow me to rephrase my question, then.” He hummed, and he was back to brushing his fingers over Jayce’s face. His lips, cheeks, nose, the space between his eyebrows, “Do you want to kiss me?” 

This question was much simpler. But it wasn’t much easier to answer.

He really liked Viktor. He was drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Viktor was funny and he had a nice accent and his face was- honestly, the only word that came to mind was beautiful. He’d never found a man beautiful before. 

Jayce wanted the answer to be easy. He wanted it to come to him like a reflex. But he was scared. The fear was holding him back. 

He tried to remind himself of the vow he’d made only a bit ago. Analyze emotions later, do what feels good now. 

If Viktor was a woman, Jayce knew what his answer would be. And that should be enough for now. He met Viktor’s gaze once more.

“Yes.” He whispered. It felt a little like signing his death sentence. 

“Go on, then.” Their noses were touching again. Viktor’s skin was cold on his. Or maybe Jayce’s was just unusually hot. 

“You want me to?” Jayce was over-thinking. As he, clearly, had a tendency to do. But some part of him felt like this was all a prank, or a dream. Surely, the moment he leaned forward it would all go up in a cloud of smoke. 

“Take what you want, Jayce.” His voice was lower, deeper. The words curled with his accent, like music notes drifting through the air, “Hesitate, and the opportunity will slip through your fingers.”

That was all the push he needed. 

He kissed Viktor. Slowly at first, awkwardly. He was giggling again, mostly out of nervousness. Jayce had experience in kissing- 95% of it was with women. And this was different. 

He’d lean forward and end up squishing their noses together. Let out a chuckle, re-adjust, try again. Their teeth clacked together on the next kiss, a jarring sensation that made them both flinch. Still, they were smiling and touching and going for more. Jayce tried to kiss him and missed, planting a smooch right on his chin. 

“Shit-” He snickered, pulling away. His cheeks were red-hot, “Sorry, sorry.” 

“Don’t be. And don’t be nervous.” Viktor’s eyes crinkled a little as he smiled, “We’re in no rush.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Okay.” He took a stabilizing breath, half-grinning, “Can I try again?” 

“I’d be offended if you didn’t.” 

Jayce laughed and kissed him again. A little more sure this time, but just as sloppy. He leaned up off the couch, pressing his hand into the small of Viktor’s lower back. Needing him closer, closer, closer. His lips tasted like raspberries. 

Viktor’s fingers tangled into Jayce’s hair, keeping his head right where he wanted. He kissed him like he was a master at it, like it was something he’d done a million times. It made Jayce feel very, very inadequate. 

He nipped at Jayce’s bottom lip, pulled back enough that Jayce had to chase him for more, then plunged right back in. A gentle tug on the locks in Viktor’s hands had Jayce’s mouth falling open. Viktor’s tongue slipped inside a moment later. One of his hands came to rest on Viktor’s face, thumb brushing over that sharp cheekbone. He allowed himself to be manhandled- let Viktor use his mouth as he pleased. He couldn’t stop fucking smiling. 

“There we go, you’re getting the hang of it,” Viktor murmured against his lips. His kisses moved to Jayce’s chin, mouthing along his jawline, “So eager, too. Like a puppy. Will you wag your tail if I call you a good boy?” 

He wanted to be embarrassed about the comparison. Wanted to not like the insinuation as much as he did. Mostly, though, he just wanted more Viktor. 

“Fuck.” He breathed, tilting his head back to give the other man more access. His pants were starting to strain a little bit. 

“I think that’s a yes.” He whispered, his breath sending goosebumps across Jayce’s skin. 

Viktor’s kisses moved up, up, up, until he was nibbling on Jayce’s earlobe. He gave it one sharp tug. 

And Jayce fucking whimpered. 

He’d never made that noise before. He didn’t even know he could make that noise. It definitely didn’t sound like something that would’ve come out of him. But it had. His face was on fire. 

“Oh, you like that?” Viktor practically purred. He pulled away to look at Jayce, and his hazy eyes widened a bit, “You didn’t know you liked that.” 

“No, I-” He swallowed, shifting a little in his seat, “I didn’t mean to make that… noise.” 

As if his inexperience wasn’t bad enough, now he was making sounds that could only be labeled as pathetic. Viktor must have thought he was such an idiot. 

The man frowned, pink lips forming an adorable pout, “I put work into getting that noise from you. I’d appreciate if you didn’t try to downplay it.” 

Jayce blinked up at him, “You liked it?” 

Viktor stared at him like he was an idiot. Jayce could only focus on how pretty he was like that. 

“Kiss me again?” He pleaded, because the way his head was already spinning wasn’t enough. He needed more. 

His companion was happy to oblige. 

The kiss was back to passionate and sloppy, all tongue and teeth and wandering hands. Jayce’s shirt got halfway unbuttoned, Viktor’s hair was let down, and the forgotten cup of water was kicked onto the carpet. Neither of them noticed, or maybe they didn’t care. Too caught up in each other to remember there was a whole world around them. 

They’d fallen into a rhythm, moving together like partners in a dance. It was euphoric.

“Shit-” Jayce moaned, eyes rolled back as the other man sucked at his neck. 

Viktor ran his tongue down Jayce’s pulse point, kissed the spot right above his collarbone, and then bit down. Hard. 

Jayce hissed at the sting, then grunted as it immediately turned into pleasure. All of his blood had gone South. His head was blissfully empty. Had he ever felt so needy in his life? If he had, he definitely couldn’t remember it. 

Viktor slid his hands down Jayce’s arms, interlocking them with the ones still on his waist. His fingers were slender against Jayce’s, bony and long while the other’s were thick and strong. They fit together perfectly.

Viktor kissed him again, then again. Little pecks that left him desperate for more. 

“Had enough yet?” He asked through the kisses, his lips swollen and red, “Perhaps you should return to the- mm- party. If you’ve had your moment of quiet.”

“Trying to get rid of me?” Jayce asked, his breathing ragged. The question was asked jokingly, but it made his chest ache. Maybe he was doing terribly- maybe this wasn’t as good for Viktor as it was for him. He squeezed Viktor’s hands, still clasped in his own, “And here I thought we were having such a good time.”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” He shot back, attempting to hide the amused smile on his lips. He certainly thought himself funny. It made Jayce’s fear die down, just a little, “Be a good boy and lay me down. I need to rest my leg.”

The nickname went straight to his dick. It also made him sit there for a solid five seconds like an idiot as his mind tried to process the words. Then he did, and it immediately had his heart lunging with worry. 

“Does it hurt?” Jayce asked earnestly, hooking his hands under Viktor’s thighs to lay him down on the couch. He knelt in between the man’s legs, the right one stretched out and relaxed. 

Viktor let out a relieved sigh as he settled into the couch, “It was starting to pinch. Nothing too bad, don’t worry.” 

“Are you sure?” Jayce asked softly, one hand holding him up while the other held Viktor’s hip. He watched the man closely, worriedly, “We can stop if-” 

“Do you want to stop?” 

“No!” He choked out, dark strands falling over his forehead. The answer came out faster than his mind could keep up. Complete instinct. He furrowed his brows, “No, I don’t. I just am… worried.” 

“Jayce, I am high out of my mind, having my way with a beautiful boy. I am fine.” 

He grinned at the sentiment, even as it made his face heat up, “Beautiful? Really?” 

Viktor rolled his red-tinged eyes, “You know you’re beautiful. I won’t feed your ego. Come and kiss me more, yes?” 

Jayce giggled. He leaned down, “Yes.” 

It was easier to kiss Viktor like this- more familiar. He still wasn’t the one leading, but it did feel like he had more control. Not that he’d minded being at the mercy of his companion. 

Jayce’s hand slid down the other man’s hip, grasping his thigh and pulling the leg against his waist. He could nearly wrap his hand entirely around the limb, fingertips almost touching. It made something primal, maybe territorial, bloom in his chest. Viktor was so fucking skinny.

“Mm-” Viktor gasped as their groins slotted together, fingers digging into Jayce’s shoulders. He looked up with those pretty sunset eyes, lips parted, “Jayce.” 

If he was sober, Jayce would’ve realized that his name sounded a little like a warning. But he was high, he was horny, and he had never been much of a good listener. And Viktor smelled so good and his skin was soft and Jayce was kissing up and down his throat. Really, it wasn’t his fault. He had too much he was preoccupied with. 

He rolled his hips again, desperate for friction, and paused. Something about that was… off. It didn’t feel how it should. 

“Hold on,” Viktor spoke up again, another warning. Jayce couldn’t hear him- he was too busy thinking. 

The cogs in his head were turning, and he was realizing, and- Shit. He pulled away like he’d been burned. He watched with wide eyes as Viktor sat up, the latter’s expression nearing resignation. 

“Jayce-” He began, and it sounded like the beginning of an explanation. 

Once again, Jayce was not listening. How the hell was Viktor so calm? This was serious!

“Oh my God.” He breathed out, running a hand through his already messy hair. He sat back on his heels, “Oh my God, Viktor, where’s your dick? What happened to it?” 

The other man watched him in stunned silence. It was totally unnerving. Really, why wasn’t he freaking out?!

“Did I crush it? Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know that was possible. My Mom always told me I had more strength than I knew what to do with, I just didn’t think it could do this-” 

Viktor snorted. Loud and sharp enough that it shut Jayce up, quieted his mind. The two stared at each other for three long seconds. 

Then Viktor started laughing. 

The sound was light, a little wheezy, and beautiful. Despite the strangeness of the situation, it made Jayce smile. He’d never heard a laugh quite like it. 

Still, that didn’t take away from the very real panic coursing through him. 

“Jayce, you are- oh, God.” He chuckled, covering his mouth with a hand, “It is a good thing you have your looks.” 

He furrowed his brows. His brain was very slow right now and he was very, very confused. Shaking his head, he rested a hand on Viktor’s knee, “I don’t understand.” 

The smile the man gave Jayce was equal parts fondness and patronization, “I don’t have a, eh, dick, as you so eloquently put it. I never have.” 

Jayce tilted his head to the side as if things would make more sense at a 45-degree angle. He blinked once, twice, three times, “What?”

Viktor rolled his eyes, more for theatrics than anything else, “To put it technically, I was born a female. Which took me very little time to realize was not the case. Thus, here I am now. Not a female. My body simply… is a little behind in the process.” 

“Oh.” 

Jayce was the dumbest fucking idiot in the world. His face was absolutely on fire, embarrassment burning through him. Part of him hoped death would just take him now, or that this was all a dream he’d wake up from. If only to save himself from the humiliation. Viktor must have been kicking himself for spending time with such an imbecile. 

“Is that a problem for you?” Viktor asked when Jayce stayed silent, an incredulous eyebrow raised. The warmth was gone from him, defenses raised as he waited for an answer. 

Jayce lurched forward, desperate to fix the situation, to stop being so damn stupid. A large hand cupped Viktor’s cheek, “No! No, not at all. I’m sorry, I just- I feel so stupid.” He laughed, more self-deprecating than anything, “You’re great, Viktor- wonderful. And I’m an idiot. I didn’t- I’m sorry, my brain is not working. It’s not a problem. I like you how you are.” 

The word vomit spewing from him was grating on his nerves, making him cringe. He wanted to curl into a ball and die. This was the worst. 

He expected Viktor to pull away. To tell him to leave, that they were done and Jayce was unwelcome. He expected to be shunned for his idiocy. He would’ve deserved it, too. 

Instead, the man huffed out a laugh. He shook his head, “I’m not sure I’d go so far as to call you an idiot, Jayce. But it certainly was not one of your finest moments.” 

“Definitely not.” He grinned, running his thumb over the sharp cheekbone, “Try not to hold it against me? I don’t care that you’re a guy without a dick. I like you. I’m just very high.” 

“Oh, you like me?” Viktor wrapped a hand around Jayce’s forearm, “You just met me.” 

He gave a half-assed shrug, getting a little caught up in how starkly contrasting their skin tones were, “It doesn’t take much.” 

“Just weed and some kissing, huh?” 

“You also happen to be very cool.” Jayce argued, a teasing lilt to his voice, “Though the weed and the kissing don’t hurt.” 

Viktor chuckled. He looked so lovely with his hair down and a smile on his face. Jayce wanted to commit it to a canvas and look at it forever. 

“Can we do some more of it? The kissing?” He asked before he could stop himself. This longing in his chest was more than he could bear. 

The man’s eyes shimmered like starlight, something akin to pride flaring in him. He liked that Jayce wanted him. Jayce liked it too- he liked that look on Viktor’s face a lot. 

Just as Jayce’s companion opened his mouth to respond, though, they were interrupted. 

The door to the basement was flung open, letting in a flurry of pounding music and strobe lights. Jayce jumped a foot in the air, heart rate skyrocketing, while Viktor didn’t move a muscle.

“Vik, you down there?” A voice that could only be described as cackly called. From here, Jayce couldn’t see any part of the intruder besides black scuffed boots and two ankle-length blue braids, “Ekko says I can’t set off my fireworks unless you’re there to supervise!” 

Viktor laid his head against the back of the couch and looked up toward the doorway, “I’m assuming you won’t be taking no for an answer?” 

“Nope!” Came her enthusiastic reply as she rocked back and forth on her heels, “I told you I was gonna make you participate in the party. You’ve had your time.” 

The man let out a long sigh before responding, “I’ll be right there.” 

“Don’t take too long! I’ll be on the roof!” 

Then the door slammed shut, and they were in the quiet again. 

Viktor looked at Jayce with an expression bordering on apologetic, “It seems we’ll have to rain-check our kissing, unfortunately.” 

“You have to go?” He didn’t mean to sound as pathetic and whiny as he did. The thought of parting with him right now made him very sad. 

“Jinx is not one for patience.” Viktor got to his feet, stretching his arms above his head until his spine popped. His shirt rode up, giving Jayce a peek of smooth skin over a prominent hip bone, “And I’d prefer if my house didn’t get burned down by her antics. I like having a place to live.” 

Viktor was reaching for his cane and Jayce was panicking, panicking, panicking. He didn’t want to say goodbye, not yet. His mind was a haze but he knew that much. 

“Well, can I see you again? Sometime soon?” Desperate. He must’ve looked so desperate. He didn’t care. 

Viktor paused and looked down at him, half-smirking. His fingers tapped against the head of his cane, “I’m sure you’ll see me again, Jayce. Some time.” 

“But-” 

“You can stay down here as long as you’d like.” Viktor walked towards the stairs, favoring the weight of his bad leg a little, “Enjoy the quiet, get some rest, take care of your… predicament. No one will bother you.” 

It didn’t take a genius to know that the ‘predicament’ was Jayce’s not-so-subtle erection. His cheeks were heating up again. All he could do was watch with resignation as the man moved away from him. He was like water Jayce was trying to hold in his hands. 

Just as he was about to ascend the stairs, Viktor stopped again. He looked at Jayce over his shoulder, gazing through strands of brown hair. His eyes shone with warmth, “Thank you for keeping me company. I hope it was as… enjoyable for you as it was for me.” 

He left after that. Deserting Jayce in the basement with kiss-swollen lips, too-tight pants, and a whole lot of questions. 

[fairy-angel222]

𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐩𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐭 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 જ⁀⟡

You’re sat behind your desk, frames of your glasses sitting comfortably on the bridge of your nose as you type away. Humming softly the tune that had been stuck in your head. The ding of your phone pulls you out of your focus, your dnd being set for everyone except your mom and your boyfriend.

>>I’m horny, i need you so bad baby.

The message reads, accompanied by the attachment of Gojo’s bulge in his pants.

>>It’s all because i was thinking of you, don’t you feel bad?

You giggled with the shake of your head, leaning back into the softness of your office chair with your bottom lip between your teeth. Your fingers curled into the v cut of your blouse, undoing the first few buttons so that the swell of your breasts sat deliciously on display within its black lace. Pulling out your phone and snapping a photo with a sweet smile, the angle giving a view of everything down your shirt.

Sorry baby, work’s very busy right now.<<

You set the phone down with an accomplished smile, knowing that you would be fucked extra hard when you got home from work. With your shirt buttoned once more, you went back to your work. Fingers making quick work of the keys so you could finish as fast as possible.

A knock on your door made your head perk up. A kind “come in” being directed at the person behind the door.

“Miss, your husband is here. He says that it’s an emergency.” The intern informed, her cheeks bright red as she talked about your so called ‘husband’. Your eyes widened at Gojo’s persistence, standing up to make your way down to the main room.

“Um.. that’s not really necessary.” The girl smiled sheepishly, opening the door further to reveal none other than the tall white haired man who stood there with a grin. “Thanks sweetheart.” He winked at the girl, her heart clearly racing as she nodded and left.

“Hi baby, missed me?” Gojo teased excitedly, locking the door behind him before stalking up to your desk. “Cause i certainly missed you.” He groaned, dipping his head down to capture your lips hungry in a kiss. His hands roaming your body until they settled on your tits, squeezing them softly with a hum. “I love these so fucking much, you don’t know how much harder that picture made me.”

You moaned softly, your neck falling to the side to allow his mouth to trail down your neck. Your thighs already clenching when you felt your panties dampen. “You.. hmm.. y-you really came all the way here for this- ahh.” You tried to keep your composure, secretly happy that he was there to take care of the ache between your thighs that he caused.

“No baby i came to see you, this is just a bonus.” His lips met yours again, slender fingers working the buttons of your blouse to expose the bra that he got you last week. His mouth latching onto your nipples through the lacy fabric with a small moan of his own. Allowing his teeth to graze lightly over the perky bud.

You let out a breathy moan, hand tangling in his hair as he kissed down your stomach. Bunching your tight pencil skirt up to your hips before kissing up your thighs. Licking a teasing stripe up the matching lace panty.

“Been craving you all day.” He breathed, kissing your clit lightly before tugging the material out of your way. “Can’t wait to taste this sweet pussy of yours.”

Your hand flew to your mouth when Gojo latched onto you. His tongue skillfully lapping between your folds then swirling around your clit. His mouth never slowing as he messily licked at your wetness.

You couldn’t help the loud mewls spilling into your palm, back arching off your chair with a whimper. Your boyfriend’s tongue shooting intense pleasure straight to your stomach.

“Ahh— Satoru, s-so g-ood.” Your words came out as babbles, eyes fluttered shut as you rolled your hips onto his tongue. The mixture of your juices and his spit sloppily running down your skin as he ate you out. Large hands gripping your thighs tightly when you began to squirm, pleasurable tears welling in your eyes as you neared your orgasm.

Gojo smirked against you at the sweet noises that fell past your lips, burying himself nose deep into your pussy until his face glistened. Feeling his cock straining painfully in its confines.

“Toruu, fuck Toru ‘m so close.” You moaned, toes curling with a muffled cry as your legs began to shake. Letting go of the tight coil messily onto his awaiting tongue. Gojo groaned, the sound sending vibrations through your sensitive clit making your body jerk, your breathing heavy as you came down from your high.

“Pussy’s fucking perfect you know that?” He husked, giving it a small slap just to watch a shiver run through your body as you whined. Quickly freeing his cock before standing to his feet, hand finding your hair to pull you to him. “Have i ever told you how hot you are?” His tongue intertwined with yours so that you could taste the effect that he had on you.

Gojo pulled away, a lewd string of spit connecting your lips as he bent you over the desk. Wasting no time before collecting your slick with his reddened tip, prodding at your tight hole with his face in your neck. “Gonna fuck you so good baby. So so so fucking good.”

“Haah— o-oh fuck,” your body fell forward when Gojo thrusted into you, the stretch of his girth making you dizzy in the head as your hands gripped onto the desk’s edges.

“Nah baby, i want to feel you against me.” He grunted, pulling you up by your waist as he bottomed out. Your back rested on his chest as he began ramming up into you, heavy balls slapping your clit as cock fucked you deep. Kissing your g spot meanly with each thrust.

Your vision blurred, lips parted in a string of needy mewls as your head fell back onto his shoulder. Feeling his breath tickling your ear when he snaked his hand around your throat for his fingers to press on your lips. Easily slipping in and resting at the back of your tongue.

“Gotta be quiet f’ me yeah? As much as i’d love if you didn’t have to lift a finger i’m sure you love this job.” He grunted deeply, the sound of his hips snapping into your ass ringing through the office walls. You choked an agreeing cry, your mind going blank when he reached down to rub at your clit. “Such a dirty girl, letting me fuck you in your office.” He whispered darkly, lips ghosting over your cheek as he grinned from the corner of your eye. Speeding up his pace to one that always had you screaming.

Your body quivered, drooling messily onto his fingers as you babbled incoherently, your loud mewls barely audible in the heat of your approaching orgasm.

“Look at that. Gonna cum for me again hmm?” Gojo cooed, taking note of the way your eyes rolled back with every clench of your walls around his cock. “Gonna make a mess f’ me? Show me that both you and her wanted me as bad as i wanted you.” He gave an especially hard thrust to emphasize his point. His groans increasing in volume as his own thrusts got sloppy.

“That’s it baby. Let it all out.” You did as you were told, scream-like moan bubbling in your throat as your back arched, body shaking uncontrollably as you squirted hard. The mere force threatening to push Gojo’s cock out of you.

Gojo’s abs tensed, the feeling of your pussy’s tight embrace on his throbbing cock sending him over the edge with a cracked moan. “Fuck, you’re so h’hot when you cum. I’m gonna fill you up baby. Been horny for you all day.” Another high pitched moan. “Ahh f-fuckkk.”

Your boyfriend’s cum filled you in large spurts, being pumped so deep inside you that you could feel the increased load inside of you. You sighed with a shiver, his fingers retracting from your mouth and to his own. The man pulling out slowly to watch the thick substance leak out of your fluttering hole. He held you to his chest, both your chests heaving as you struggled to catch your breath. The silence being broken by Gojo’s hearty laugh. “I love you so fucking much.” Pressing a kiss to your forehead with a smile.

“Now.. you have your own bathroom in here right?” His eyes scanned the room, and you couldn’t help the laugh that you let out as reality struck him.

[kuntprodukt]

PAREIDOLIA

Leon S. Kennedy x reader | 18+ MDNI. DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, NON CONSENSUAL SEX, INCEST, SOMNOPHILIA, SMUT, non consensual somnophilia, father-daughter incest, deadbeat dad, female reader, he is pervy, obsession, implied alcoholism, blowjob, masturbation, use of daddy, creampie, underwear theft, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, dirty talk, slapping.

Summary: your dad didn't teach you how to protect yourself nor he showed himself in your most important parts of life - until recently, and your mum told you to be gentle with your dad, too bad he didn't get the same memo with his kid

notes: released it from the jail finally!!!had this wip and idea since september or october, but got stuck until recently and yea.... i rewrote everything I don’t condone anything here in real life. :3 BIG thanks to @rigorwhoring for talking about dad leon with me and proofreading it, and @writingwisterias!!! uhm, reblogs, asks or comments and any kind of interractions are really appreciated!

tags: @melanchol1cs

“Your dad is a man with a hard life, be gentle.” Your mom’s voice resonates in your ears, even though she is far away from you, her familiar shake of the head and curled up brows flash in your mind. Too sweet, too nice, agonizingly when the topic is that man. You didn’t inherit this - you don’t know your dad, you’ve seen him only in photo albums, secretly hoping you don’t look like him.

It was amazing without him, really. You never felt the lack of dad. Good luck can’t last forever, cause the closest college was next to him. Perhaps, for once in his life, he decided to take responsibility.

So the house stands tall and in all its pride, looming over you as for the first time in your life a long time you feel like a little child again. The same feelings of those apartment buildings your eyes would study until the feeling that they will fall on you and the primal fear would force you to run away like a scared doe. This time is different.

Now standing in front of his door feels heavy, thoughts fill your brain anxiously - that’s the last thing you expect from yourself. Standing there and staring at it feels surreal, every passing second the door moves further from you. Blink. A normal door, it is in its place, nothing changed. Stress makes one mad. With a heavy sigh, your knuckles hit lightly the front door. Knock-knock. Silence, a little bit of rambling behind the door. Is he at home even? Or will he ignore you like always? You don’t care about this man, don’t change your mind. You are not a pussy. And this isn’t a meeting with the president.

This should be easy.

“Sorry, sweetheart..” A low and raspy voice comes out before the door opens. Your dad is in front of you. A look of hope and recognition flashes in his eyes before they get fogged by disappointment. What was that? Leon sighs, rubbing his eyes. “…did the road treat you well?”

“It was fine” you brush it off quickly, while your eyes are occupied on his face. That’s maybe your first time seeing him in flesh and blood. He looks good, but also like shit… light stubble across his cheeks, darkish spots under his eyes giving him an even more tired look. Messy dark brown hair, did he just wake up? He looks miserable. In photos he had much lighter hair, did he dye his hair when he was younger? Or blonde people just became darker with age. Unlucky for them.

Both don’t know how to act.

“Don’t stand like a statue, come on” His hand reaches for luggage, sighing again like it is heavy underpaid work on a construction site.

Tiredness washes over you after stepping inside. It looks okay here. Dusty, old, and empty bottles of cheap bourbon, no wonder he looks like shit, it is probably his first dry day since forever. A quick glance around, you didn’t catch many details, photos on shelves most of them were taken a long time ago - a photo of him and your mom, then another shelf with a girl with a red jacket and a big bear-looking man. Huge biceps. And your dad is in the middle.

“Did your mama tell you something about me?” His next question sets in the air as soon as the door closes with a click behind you. Luggage was already settled on the floor with a soft thump while you were busy studying the unmarried man’s dwelling.

Your mom. She is a good woman, with her own cons and pros - at the end of the day, she always tried to be a decent human being and you close your eyes on many things you didn’t comprehend. It is hard to raise a child alone in this economy. Still, dad as a word was empty - she never told you about him other than a simple “you have a dad”, “it is his birthday, don’t forget to call him.”. Nor he was a knight in shining armor tale-like, it was an empty word. And Daddy’s Girl or Princess is a mythological title, one you would see in movies.

“I don’t think so?” Why would she? You knew about his existence which is enough and your mom always tried to force him to interact with you. It didn’t turn out well - he’d always ignored your calls or messages. Even birthday texts.

It is awkward. His face is tensed; his eyes run away from yours, as his hand scrapes the stubble nervously - not pleased with the consequences of his own decision.

“Now… we have all the time to get to know each other” Leon speaks up again and you want to go to your room. He tries hard to pull out a memory related to you. Really. His fingers ran through his hair. “I was so busy these years” Yeah, crawling back to mom. “I remember we talked in a call, you were a cute kid, smart too”

“I don’t remember that” or like that. There is no memory other than one. And he still got it wrong. A call on your mom’s laptop which you accepted just to see his confused expression on the screen. There were no questions about your life, no greeting, just a simple one, you’d ask a stranger - “Where is your mom? Can you call her?”

“Cause you were a child, believe me,” Leon pauses. Trying to find another believable excuse. “Your old man isn’t going to mess up with you, dads are a girl’s first best friend”

“Sure…“ What a nonsense.

“Don’t be so vindictive” Leon tries to brush it off further. It isn’t hard to catch on to your clear hostility - the perks of his job.

“I am not” You shake your head. “…Just tired”

He wants to strangle you. No one likes a woman who talks too much or talks back to men. Even worse when somehow your tone and presence hint at his absence, - it is conscience talking. No man likes to be pointed to his own shit.

Leon silently watches you move to the stairs, dragging luggage behind you. An intrusive urge to keep the conversation going, to keep you here with him.

“You look so much like your mom, you know that?” His eyes travel from your face to your body. You stand there on the staircase, now higher than him, and look down. Like a judge silently deciding his fate. Leon clears his throat, his palm rubs his stubble again. “Your room is the first one to the right”

“…thank you”

For a moment, your stomach swirls uncomfortably at his blue eyes - they are sweet and warm, there is no hint of malice. At least you can’t catch it. But there is a hint of something else. Turbulent, like violent waves crashing against the rocks of the pier. And something raw. The latter you have seen that look in weird, creepy men in the bar - urging their hands on you or your friends.

To think of, you don’t know why he has a spare room in his house nor you are going to ask to not hear the answer you don’t want to swallow as a hard pill. It looks fine, better than you’ve expected. There are no posters or unique decorations - the same room you’d find in every hotel; too clean with every basic item and absence of constant living. You can fix it, unlike a hotel room.

——

It has been two months already, college keeps you busy and buried in your room, giving you more accessible excuses to avoid your dad. When he is at home, which isn’t a lot thankfully. The house is tremendously empty, even though the traces of him being here are visible, the feeling of loneliness is pressing on your brain every second of your little breaks. Nor is his presence calming, still, it soothes the void in your chest. Maybe you just miss back home, nostalgia makes the memories of the Sun warmer on your skin, ice cream tastier, and life easier.

Your panties have been disappearing. An unnatural amount, you’d be sure the place is haunted by a perverted ghost. Fortunately, you weren’t aware Leon was at fault. Nor did you try to ask him, maybe your dad appeared creepy and icky, but he wouldn’t steal your underwear, right? Most of his time he is out there working(or drinking in bars) or emptying one shot after another. And he can’t help himself, after all, you look like your mom, same face, the identical curve of your waist, and the same glimpse in your eyes.

“My ex-wife was struck by lightning, now she is my wife.“ Even your micro-expressions - your eye roll every time he jokes.

“No, she isn’t” No laughing, nothing. Your mom didn’t like his jokes either, the same tasteless bitch.

His genes didn’t fight back, perhaps one of the reasons Leon never cared for you until now. Like a cat after giving birth rejecting one of the kittens for an unexplainable reason. Instincts are wiser. He isn’t a mother, but he is a dad so this is applicable to him too, right? Of course, not because he was much busier to crawl back to your mom just to end up rejected for the thousandth time.

Your underwear is his guilty pleasure. Leon can’t help himself, he is long gone already. His attention easily glues to your underwear in his grip, free hand of habit frees his hard cock - it bobs up towards his hip and twitches in the air with already formed beads of pre-cum on his aching red tip - begging for any kind of attention. Your lips would be nice, the image of your lips around him, tracing the shape of the most prominent vein on his cock. Leon groans, leaning back against the back of the couch, the fabric of your underwear is so nice to feel pressed against his cock. O, to cum on your face - to see your pretty features to be tainted with his cum. His fist cups it in tighter, slowly pumping his cock and watching more pre-cum spill from the slit - staining your underwear, mixing with your scent. Another visual of you in his mind - your puffy folds in front of him, glistening with your slick, how his cock would press nicely in between your pussy lips, parting them and smearing your slick across his flesh. His cock twitches in his hand, quickening the pace and rubbing harder the soft fabric of your underwear.

There is a light, brief hint of clarity in his brain, whispering - Daughter! Your daughter! But it ends up being an encouragement to groan and stroking himself faster across his hardened cock until he finally gets his high. His cum spills over his knuckles and your underwear - he keeps stroking himself through his orgasm to hold on to this. Wet, dirty noises mix with his heavy breathing once he gets overwhelmed and too soft to keep it going.

At this point, this isn’t about your mom, but you. He doesn’t think about her anymore. His last chance to get what he had in his youth is you.

The obsession rooted deep in his body started to become heavier, every time you were doing your own business he wondered if your tits are the same as hers or even better. Does your pussy taste like her? Or better? Identical in appearance, the same would be applied to sex too, right? God, when his hands get on you, it would be so easy to play with you - the pressure on your spongy spot, to feel the familiar weight of your tits in his palm. He never met you until recently, but he knows your body to a T. He’d bet his teeth on that. You brought the smell of her back with the memories and he must not lose his last chance.

Maybe alcohol is doing its own deed, pushing even more inappropriate thoughts into his head - a good excuse for himself, there is no way he will admit to being on the bad side, too much happened in his life that ponders on him since he was 21 years old. Tonight Leon is brave, braver than he has ever been now that he is going to do something more than steal your underwear to jerk off on them. He’d make out with a bottle of alcohol as a gratitude.

Your entire presence here is like a gift after many years of enduring his job and rejections from your mom. You are a miracle, divine or not he hasn’t decided yet. You never lock your room, easier for your dad to get what he wants. And the night is young.

The mattress beneath you dips softly with added weight, in the dark room the outlines of your figure are still visible. You look peaceful, calm, and unaware of his presence. Of his intentions. and the edge of your shirt is riding up and shamelessly exposes the flesh of your stomach - what a tease you are and you don’t even realize it. Your unconscious body, deep in the sleep, and he probably has all night to enjoy you. This heightens his arousal, not daring to touch you for a solid minute - not believing this is real, this may be a divine gift at this point. Still need to decide on that. Blood buzzes in his ears; adrenaline, excitement, and alcohol pump his blood faster, for a moment afraid you may wake up without even having the taste of fucking you. Or he is going to have a stroke. Both scenarios aren’t optimal.

Already hard, not the hardest he has ever been - you should cut him some slack, alcohol isn’t the best friend with the boner and he is too excited. He grips his cock, slowly dragging his fist across his half-hard cock as his eyes are focused on your unconscious face. Your lips are parted slightly, a glimpse of your teeth and he can’t help himself again. Shifting closer to your face, guiding his cock to your mouth. The soft and plush skin of your lower lip connects with his tip. No need to rush, Leon, she is here, for you.

And what if she wakes up? A little bit of kitty scratches and weak slaps wouldn’t hurt. Actually, sounds even better; little bruises or scratches from you would work like an encouragement for him - in case, Leon can easily overpower you, anyway.

Slowly tracing the form of your lip with his tip, teasing himself for what is going to come. It has been years since he had a woman similar to her, they always lacked something. You are ideal. Whole. It is enough to slowly harden his cock, pre-cum bead forms on the slit just to smear it across your plush lip.

“Open up, let your dad have his fun” Finally. He nudges his cock in, slowly and watches your mouth easily open up as the tip disappears and gets enveloped with the wetness of your warm mouth.

And Leon gasps.

This is better than any pussy he had in years, maybe the lack of action comes back to haunt him - but he doesn’t care, his cock hardens in your mouth. It presses down on your tongue as he guides his hips back and forth slowly - the tip rubs on the soft surface of your wet heat. Not too rough or quick, in case you’d wake up so soon, he’d prefer that with his dick buried in your cunt. And to cum before he feels your cunt would be a sin. Your mouth hangs open, saliva hoards in the corner of it - you look like a perfect doll for him. Pulling his hard and wet cock out of your mouth, a string connects with your lips - like something he’d find in porn sites with dirty titles.

Deadbeat dad fucks his unconscious whore daughter - this would have been the title for the hypothetical porn video. And he gets even more excited.

Roughly pulling higher the fabric of your shirt, he needs to see your tits. To feel them in his palm. And they are perfect, he is memorized by the sight of your nipples stiffening up as the chillier air makes contact with them. His palm holds your breast, it fills so well - god, fuck, your tits were made for him, so perfectly sit in his hand and soft. A squeeze and they are softer than before. Softest even. Your skin is like the most expensive silk under his fingers, addicting to touch - your chest would cure his insomnia. This is something he’d expect to find in after death. Instead, he is alive and well. Miracle, alright.

“Your tits are perfect, better than I’ve imagined” Leon whispers, not flickering away from your chest.

His thumb and index fingers focus on your nipple now, in between their tips he applies more pressure. Soft, tender too. Your expression tenses, light twitches in your mouth, and how your eyebrows come together is so cute - he doesn’t even know what to stare at.

“What you like…” A light flick with his fingers on your nipple - your lips tense “This feels good, yeah?” This time his fingers twist - your lips part with a weak moan. “So good for me, for daddy” A pinch - another docile whimper, needy. For him. And his dick is painfully hard, leaking pre-cum and twitches in the air. Clearly unhappy with the neglect.

Leon isn’t in the mood to undress you - he is drunk and hard to the point his conscience doesn’t care what’s good or wrong, it whispers to him sweetly: get what you deserve, Leon, this is your gift after enduring everyone’s shit. The shit that woman’s pulled too.

“Let me see you” He positions in between your legs, fingers easily pulling aside the fabric of your shorts and underwear - exposing your pussy to his gaze.

God, fucking god, he will be damned and not to be memorized would be a sin. It isn’t wet as he expected it to be, but still, the strings of slick cling to your folds and lips, glistening like a silent spell lures him to finally fuck you. To bury his cock inside you. He adjusts his position, his cock is twitching and so close to your slick warmth.

With his hand, he guides his cock to part your pussy lips, grinding against the heat of your cunt. Its tip against your slicked folds, bumping against your clit, and watching your body flick with weak moans. The friction makes you gush even more with slick. His precum mixes with your arousal, it spreads easily on his veiny and hard cock. Would work perfectly as a lube. His free hand grips your hip tightly, angling it to finally guide his cock into your neglected hole.

His tip slowly disappears inside your slick folds, hitting his body with a rush of addicting pleasure - your walls stretch around his cock slowly, gripping every prominent vein and adjusting to the slight curve of his cock. Warm heat envelops him almost in a vice-like hold, forcing a low groan out of his throat. Your hips buck into him, sinking his cock deeper into you with a weak moan escaping - even in a badly lightened room his eyes can catch on the changes in your expressions; slightly tensed eyebrows, tongue flicks out for a moment and your fingers grip the fabric of the mattress. Your pussy engulfs him in so addictingly warm, your walls clench ridiculously tight around his cock.

The room feels with his heavy breathing, nibbling on his lower lip, and for a moment, Leon was not sure he would have been able to last long enough for him. Your pussy makes him dizzy, so much that he needed to take a pause, pulling his cock out - not entirely, leaving his tip inside you.

It is addicting to watch your hole stretching around his tip, a sight that will make him even drunker than he is right now. Popping it in and out, over and over until all he can hear are wet and filthy noises - and your moans mixed with his heavy breathing, as more slick gushes - another push, his cock sinks into you deeper and so easily. Wet teasing moment didn’t last long, already drowning in the selfish urge to fuck you. And cum. Inside you, probably. His cock twitches inside you at the thought. Maybe he will.

Slowly starting to roll his hips back and forth, which becomes deep and slow thrusts briefly. Easily losing himself in your body, his hand reaches to knead your breast, as his cock hits its tip against your cervix. His hips rock into you in quick thrusts, heavily breathing and not being able to look away from your face, every little pout or more prominent lines in between your brows, weak and breathless moans as he is fucking you - and you aren’t even aware. God, the images of you waking up and begging to stop fill his mind in a suffocating manner - that’s why he didn’t even try to drug you. Risk is too much fun to deny. His cock throbs inside you, another slam of hips. A hard gulp. A pinch on your nipple before his hand creeps up to rest on your neck before it returns to your hip.

Your skin is too perfect for him, the best silk, he’d die to have you under his hands forever.

The smell of whiskey. Cheap almost, acidic, and lures you out of your sleep. There is something else, the bed doesn’t feel firm anymore. Like sleep paralysis, an oppressive weight sits heavy on your chest and with you. Just this time, you can move and open your eyes, grogginess weighed on them before seeing your dad above you.

Like a punch in your solar plexus. Hard to breathe, too weak to do something other than try to worm out pathetically.

“G-get fucking off—!”

“I am getting off, don’t worry” Leon grunts above you, almost laughing - the dimly lightened room hides a condescending smirk on his face. Your fingers dig into his biceps, your nail will leave half-moon marks on his skin - he’d jerk off by watching them in the mirror, a good reminder of your pussy.

You won’t worm out, even a light grip on your hip is enough to hold you down.

His cock is buried deep inside you, filling your pussy to the point it feels like you lack the air. His hips meet flat against your ass after every thrust.

“Are you going to be good?“ Leon presses harder, his cock hits your G-spot, and your back arches into his hips. He wants to hear you call him daddy, really-really. You never called him dad either, which isn’t bad cause he’d probably get a boner anyway.

“Call me right, for once?” his hand squeezes your cheeks briefly to watch your lips purse out. “and not by my name”

“Asshole”

“Noo, sweetheart, that’s not it.” Leon clicks with his tongue, a slap lands on your cheek and it burns. So fucking bad. “Don’t act smart while you are just dumb bitch”

Your mind gets blank as his thrusts hit the spongy spot inside you. Your nails dig into his skin harder, this time not fighting - to grip yourself harder on him. Being gentle, maybe you should, to give what he wants.

“Fuck…” You can feel every vein on his cock, dragging inside you “Da-…daddy”

God knows he was about to cum after you called him daddy. Not sure how he didn’t fill your pussy with his load, there should be some kind of reward for that. Keeping the pace quick and his balls start to tighten in no time. He can’t keep this going forever.

“Are you going to take it? Like a good girl,” He grunts, his head falls on the crook of your neck, his lips so close to the skin - you can feel how heavy his breathing is. “Make daddy proud..”

And something isn’t right. Oh fuck. Surely he used a condom, right? Fuck, no. His hips rut against you roughly slowly becoming messier, your back arches in a perfect curve into him like you are asking for this.

“You can’t cum inside” It hits you harder, but the next protest is just choked panic. “—…no, fuck, no, no”

“Forgot you to ask” Another slap and you can only pray bruises won’t appear on your skin in the morning. Eye contact returns. “Beg”

You don’t really have the choice to protest, right? You can’t see in the dark the lamp or something else to hit him. Nor do you have the mental capacity to focus on something else than his cock rutting into you in a such right, but the wrong, filthy way. Your body loves this, gushing on his cock like a dumb whore - you? You hate this, at least that’s something you tell yourself.

“Please, Leo—…”You pause, almost let it slip. Oops, quickly fix this up! No matter how much you hate the name. “…daddy, please, not inside”

Leon hums hoarsely. You can see how he enjoys this, containing in the loud groan that wants to come out. Weird to see how much he is into this daddy thing. The hand he slapped you comes lower, fingers brush at your clit before finally applying pressure on it. Quick circle motion with the pads his fingers, rubbing the sensitive nub, and your body adores this, bucking into his fingers even harder - and deepening the penetration.

You were nice enough and he’d die to see your expression as you cum on his cock.

His pace quickens and his fingers try to keep up too before they slowly retreat to grip your face - eye contact is the way. He isn’t going to lose the opportunity. Your body dips heavier into the mattress as it becomes more ruthless and messier than before. All he can hear right now is the flesh-hitting sounds mixing with wet ones too. And your shameful moans coming from your lips. Your tits bounce with every particularly hard thrust while your pussy tightens in a silent plea to fill it, not only with his cock, but cum too.

His hips stutter in their pace for the last time, before shooting a hot load of cum inside you. You can’t help but feel used, disappointed at that. Didn’t hold his silent promise, if there was any after all. He buries deep inside, the warm cum fills your pussy almost to the brim, and his mind is blank - you can see how focused he is; his lips form a thin line, his eyes don’t look at you anymore and his brows frown as his cock pumped rope after rope inside you. Yours hits hard too, crushing to the point your body is exhausted. A tingling sensation rushes to end up in your fingertips, his skin is probably scratched and your lower stomach feels full of him - his cum, weird. You hope alcohol has been killing not only his brain but also his sperm.

When he is all spent, his body presses heavier against you - laying on you, not even pulling out his slowly softened cock. Now trying to steady his breathing. There was a weird expectation Leon’d leave you alone after orgasm, but he is still here. You want to push him off of your frame, to hit him and force him to get out of here - unfortunately, exhaustion veils the anger much easier, and your limbs grow heavier. Maybe it is lack of sleep, the grogginess that returns as your high slowly fades away and his warm body on you has a similar effect to a weighted blanket.

“Your dad is a man with a hard life, be gentle.” echoes in your mind again.

To be gentle is a gift one should earn or whatever. Not everyone was born with that. You thought you lacked that too, like a black hole the same Leon created unwillingly or unawarely in your life. Maybe not only you, the excuses for his absence swirl in your mind like a plague - Leon didn’t know better, maybe he didn’t have a good father figure either, - how could he know what to do at a young age? You wouldn’t have known either. Maybe you’d ignore your child for two decades too.

Tonight, ignorance is bliss and there should be only a weak embrace. Your arms wrap around his shoulders instead of pushing him off of you - you let him to fall asleep this once as an act of kindness you have promised your mom.

[p1nkshield]

Danny tried to inject a little more mirth into his laugh as he appeared in front of the group of young heroes, hoping to shock them a bit.

“Hell-”

“RAAGH!”

Superboy launched himself at their assumed enemy. Or he thought he did. Instead he was grabbed out of the air, spun about like a dance partner and thrown into the running path of his speedster teammate.

“Hold on! Return to sender please! Honestly, I didn’t even get to finish my monologue! You could’ve gotten some good information from that!”

Danny feigned a pout as he floated to the ground, purposefully letting aquaman’s little protege get the jump on him.

Water rushed over his legs and froze him in place.

“Very good! But didn’t you notice the chill in the air? I’m something of an ice mage myself.”

Danny began to manipulate the ice to break out rather than faze through it, taking note of Artemis aiming an arrow at his chest.

She had a clear shot but Danny couldn’t wait for her to take it without being obvious. So he turned his attention to the heavy hitters. Star and Supes.

Robin felt like he was a puppy being shown the pair of shoes he just chewed up. If he could have face palmed at Superboy’s hotheaded decision to jump right into battle he would have. He cringed as poor Wally was taken out by the kryptonian turned projectile. Star looked as if she didn’t know what to do or when to jump in. It seemed she wouldn’t have to wonder much longer.

Robin watched as the villain launched towards her hurling orbs of energy at her as he complained.

“Ugh green. You’re all green.” He said as he turned to grab a hurtling superboy by the face this time and throwing him into the path of the freshly recovered kid flash again.

“Have a nice trip.”

He looked so very bored as he quipped, dodging Star’s attempts to return fire.

Okay Danny was actually getting tired. He heard an arrow fire. Finally. He caught it and looked smugly at the archer. It exploded with containment foam. Clever.

“Oh this is embarrassing. Being caught by baby heroes who look like they’ve got midterms tomorrow!” He said as the foam solidified. He continued to prattle on about this, that and the other, taking note of the distinct looks of annoyance on each teen’s face. He was about to hint at the whereabouts of their missing teammate but once again Superboy told him to shut up as he tried to punch his lights out. Oh! That was a bad idea. Danny decided to play along, rolling his face with the punch so the kid wouldn’t hurt his hand.

Robin looked hopeful as he watched his teammates render their attacker unconscious. Until his face fell. Ice was creeping up the mass of foam and he couldn’t warn his team. He desperately promised the universe that was never gonna take coms for granted again if his team made it out of this.

The foam exploded into shards that turned into restraints that stuck his teammates to the walls.

“Gosh I was kidding. You really thought you won? Cute.” He checked his phone, and gasped nearly dropping it. “Oh my cookies are almost done baking! I’ve gotta jet! Your restraints will melt in two hours and your little bird is upstairs enjoying the show. Buh bye!” He blew some green powder into Superboy’s face knocking him out before he could break out and disappeared.

Great. He has kryptonite. Fantastic.

After such a thorough embarrassment the group of teens skulked their way back to the nearest zeta station, beaming back to their base.

“I think this is the worst mission we’ve done man!” Wally complained as he limped off the zeta beam platform.

Kon and Aqualad just squinted, obviously wanting him to shut up.

“What? I can’t say we were ass today? We were! I twisted my ankle on your face Superboy. That’s pretty bad.”

“Robin.”

That shut Wally up real quick.

“Report.” Batman said as the team shuffled into base in various states of disarray.

Robin’s team was lined up behind him just as embarrassed as he was. Robin was beet red as began.

“Our mission did not go as planned.”

Part one

Next part

[brittle-doughie]

What If? Limits Pushed…

Despite Y/N Cookie’s best attempts to defend themselves against Choco Drizzle Cookie, Pudding a à la Mode Cookie and Green Tea Mousse Cookie during the Elimination Round, they end up being overwhelmed by their combined attacks and get pushed to the very end of the stage.

Faced with no other choice, Y/N Cookie reluctantly allows Burning Spice Cookie to take the wheel. But, only for a little bit.

Rushing forwards, Choco Drizzle Cookie prepares to deliver the finishing blow. Only to have it blocked by Y/N Cookie’s blade.

At first, she believed that her opponent had a fast reaction time. But, as soon as she saw their face, she could feel her own jam run slightly cold…

They were…smiling at her. Sharpened teeth that shined a bright gold, eyes burning with the eager feeling of battle and roaring flames.

Then…They spoke…

“What’s the matter, Cookie? I thought you wanted a good fight!”

Destructive Influence (Grand Cookie Games)

———————————————————————

“I tire of watching you squirm! How long are you going to entertain these worms!?"

“I don't want your advice, Burning Spice. I will find a way!"

You were too busy deflecting Choco Drizzle's blade strikes, she was fast with her movements and had to take up your attention more then the others.

"Overwhelm them. Do not give them any breathing room.”

"Copy that. Hey, you don't mind if we bother you a little bit, right sweetie?"

"I've got them in my sights, sis!"

Yet, the other two would not make that easy.

Green Tea Mousse would charge at you with her shields, with a force stronge enough to send you back a few feet. Pudding A La Mode Cookie provided support with blasts from her cannon arms, leaving you little openings to deal with your main adversary, leading back to Choco Drizzle.

But they were simply nothing compared to your biggest problem, these damn Beasts in your head...

It had been a while since you've tended yourself with Golden Osmanthus Cookie's incense and the intensity of the combined assault from the three cookies did not help your mind relax at all.

It's making your jam boil, the fighting, it’s bringing him forth....

"It was a little amusing watching you fight all of them at once, but this is getting dull! You're always on the defensive, why should you hold back if they're not willing to?!"

"I’m not gonna take advice from a cookie that nearly crumbled my friends! A cookie that left me with such terrible pain on my dough...you Beasts are merciless, why should I trust you with anything you say or do..."

"Your friends are stuck under rubble, it is either you crush these wretches or you all will suffer a defeat!"

You hated it when he was right, PALM Cookie's attacks beforehand had led your team to be corner and eventually stuck under rubble....

You had to do something…

“What will it be, Y/N Cookie…?”

No, you couldn’t…

“Can you really afford to be distracted right now?”

“What the?!”

Choco Drizzle had zipped right up close, thrusting her blade rapidly at you. You had a tough time keeping up, especially when it’s intercut with a shield bash from Green Tea and a blast from PALM. Their combined attacks proving too much as you felt yourself teetering at the edge!

“Target is cornered, sis!”

“Moving in.”

“Last chance, Y/N Cookie! Your defeat or theirs!”

“……Crumbs.”

Choco Drizzle dashed forward, ready to use her blade to finish this fight as she raised it up in the air. Just as a blast from PALM left a blind spot open for her.

…..

She swings it down on you.

…..

…..

…..

…..

…..

…..

…..

*CLANG!*

Her blade was met with yours.

“What? How did you-“

“Finally…”

You deliver a punch to Choco Drizzle, knocking the wind out of her as you kicked her back, making her skid her feet on the ground. She looked on at you with brief shock in her eyes as her sisters join her, but she narrowed them shortly after.

“A minor setback. This changes nothing.”

“That was a pretty tough hit, what if they’re done playing, sis?”

“No way! We still got this! We can’t let them win!”

“Should we try Plan F, sis-“

She was cut off when a kick to her shield suddenly sends her backwards.

“Enough talk!”

“Sis!”

PALM Cookie flies up and shoots at you with multiple blasts, yet is unable to land any of her hits as you keep dodging out of the way.

“Is that really all that you’ve got for me!”

“Hold still! You’re moving so fast, it’s not fair!”

The continuous blasts at the ground started to plume up smoke as the cookies are observed within the fog. Green Tea and Choco Drizzle stick together as sounds of blasts continued to go around them.

“LET ME SHOOT YOU!”

“Sister, stop attacking! Fall back to us!”

“I don’t think she’ll listen at this rate, sis.”

The sounds of blaster fire suddenly stops.

The arena is quiet now….

“What plan do you suggest now?”

“I can’t think of one, but stick together. We still outnumber them.”

“That’s a first.”

The two continue to look around in the fog, searching for any kind of activity to get ready for.

They spot a glow from within the fog….

“Is that…sis?”

The glow gets brighter…as Green Tea makes her way to it.

“Sis, come back to us.”

“Wait a minute…SISTER, MOVE!”

Choco Drizzle moved Green Tea out of the way just in time as a beam shoots at where Green Tea was standing originally.

Green Tea barely had time to get up when an unconscious PALM is suddenly thrown at her, knocking both of them down.

Choco Drizzle looked around rapidly, turning around just in time to block a blade strike.

Your face, your eyes…they roared with a fire she’s not seen before. A grin that she didn’t see you with at all. It admittedly brought a chill to her dough.

“What utter disappointment! Where’s that strength you had?! Will you fall apart like they did?! Entertain me or CRUMBLE!”

———————————————————————

[srslyblvck]

daddy issues, tony stark [ part II ] [requested]

pairing: tony stark x daughter!reader

synopsis: tony might've been a great superhero but he wasn't a great father.

genre: angst

word count: 2.9k

Part I

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ YOU HELD THE INVITATION out to him, hands trembling slightly with excitement. “It’s this Saturday,” you said, voice soft but eager. “It’s a science fair, and I’ve been working really hard on this project. I thought… maybe you’d like to come?”

Tony barely looked up, the usual hum of his holographic screens reflecting in his tired eyes. But then he caught sight of the hope in your gaze, and he finally nodded, taking the invitation with a small smile. “Yeah, sure, kiddo,” he said. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

That simple promise was enough for you. Every evening that week, you stayed up late perfecting each part of the project, tweaking every detail. You didn’t want to win the science fair; you just wanted Tony to see it, to see you, and to feel proud.

When Saturday arrived, you were nervous but excited. You set up your stall carefully, double-checking each piece of the project display, hoping it would be something that would catch his eye. As people wandered through the fair, they stopped by your booth, impressed by the level of detail and precision in your work.

But every time you scanned the crowd, you didn’t see him. Your heart sank as parents, teachers, and students came and went, praising your project. The minutes slipped by, and the fair began to wind down. The chair beside you remained empty.

Finally, the awards were announced. They called your name, and a polite round of applause filled the room as you accepted the medal and certificate, trying to smile as people congratulated you. You told yourself it didn’t matter. It was just another award, another paper. But deep down, you felt the disappointment settle like a weight in your chest. You didn’t want the medal—you wanted him to be there, even just to see you in the crowd.

Later that night, Tony stepped out of his workshop, exhausted but satisfied with his work. He made his way to the kitchen, grabbing a drink and mindlessly sipping when his gaze fell on something bright and familiar—the invitation you’d given him, stuck to the fridge door.

The words “Science Fair” stood out in big, hopeful letters.

He froze, feeling his stomach twist with guilt as he read the details: Saturday, 2 PM. It was hours past now. He’d missed it. And you’d been waiting, hoping he’d show.

“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath, setting his glass down hard enough to make the ice clink. Panic flickered in his chest as he wondered if he could still make it. He’d go, tell you he was sorry, anything to make up for it. He was about to leave when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Tony,” Natasha’s voice was low but carried a weight of disappointment. She stood at the kitchen entrance, her arms crossed as she looked at him with a quiet, disappointed frown. “I picked her up an hour ago.”

Her words hit him harder than he’d expected, and his shoulders sagged. He had missed it, and not just by a few minutes. He’d missed you showing your project, your moment, everything.

Without another word, he made his way to your room, heart heavy with regret. He stopped in front of your door, hesitating. A soft knock, and he waited. When no response came, he opened the door quietly, stepping inside.

The sight made his chest tighten. You were asleep on the floor, curled up against the bed, your cheeks stained with dried tears. Next to you, the medal and certificate were tossed aside, the project itself lying on its side, carelessly left where you must’ve dropped it. His heart clenched seeing the once carefully crafted project in pieces, as if it were something you no longer cared about, just like you must have felt he didn’t care.

Tony crouched down, lifting the project gently and turning it over in his hands. His eyes widened as he realized what you’d been working on—an arc reactor prototype, similar to his own designs, with an ingenious twist on the core structure. It was something he’d been experimenting with in his own work, but you’d done it independently. Quietly. He could see the hours you’d poured into it, the dedication in every small piece.

His gaze shifted to the medal and certificate, his thumb brushing over the engraved words: First Place, Science Fair.

He picked up the project, medal, and certificate, gently placing them on your desk, handling them with the care you’d given them in the first place. After a moment’s thought, he walked down the hall to the room where his collection of awards and trophies sat, things he’d earned and displayed with pride. He added your certificate and medal to the shelf among them, a quiet acknowledgment of your accomplishment, and of the pride he should’ve shown you himself.

Returning to your room, he leaned down and carefully gathered you in his arms, lifting you from the floor. You shifted slightly in his hold, but you didn’t wake. He gently placed you on your bed, pulling a blanket over you and brushing a few strands of hair from your face. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m so, so sorry, kiddo.”

He pulled back, watching you with a mix of regret and sadness. You deserved a father who showed up, a father who was there to tell you how proud he was. He’d promised you once before, and he’d broken that promise again. But seeing the tear stains on your cheeks and the way you’d fallen asleep waiting, he vowed, right then and there, to make things right.

After the science fair, something inside you changed. You had spent years hoping, wishing for Tony’s attention, his presence. But that day, sitting alone as he’d failed to show up yet again, you felt something break. Maybe it was the last piece of hope you’d held onto, or maybe it was the realization that you couldn’t keep waiting for him.

The disappointment was too much, and you decided you were done.

From that day on, you stopped seeking him out, stopped waiting for the promises he never kept. You didn’t make him coffee in the mornings, didn’t check if he’d eaten. You stopped wandering into his lab, hoping he might turn around and finally see you. Instead, you kept to yourself, focusing on school, friends, and the occasional training session with the Avengers. When you did cross paths with Tony, you barely said a word, nodding politely before walking away.

At first, Tony didn’t notice, assuming you were just busy. But after a few days, he realized that he hadn’t seen you come by the workshop. You hadn’t shown up with coffee, hadn’t peeked into his lab to see what he was working on. He started to notice the quiet absence of your presence, the hollow ache that settled in his chest when he realized that you were no longer there, waiting for him.

He began trying to find ways to pull you back. He left notes on your door, asking if you wanted to join him for a quick meal, but you didn’t respond. He tried to catch you before school, only to find you’d already left early. Once or twice, he even came into the kitchen to find you already grabbing your things to head out, barely looking his way as you passed him.

The tables had turned, and now he was the one chasing your attention. And each time you walked past him, it was a reminder of the countless times he’d done the same to you.

Tony tried harder, desperate to reach you. He’d show up at your school events unannounced, hovering at the back of the room, hoping to catch you. When he did manage to see you, he’d smile, wave, but you’d turn away before he could approach.

One day, he waited for you in the kitchen after school, hoping you’d talk to him. “Hey, kid,” he greeted, trying to keep his tone casual.

You barely nodded, giving him a half-hearted wave before turning away, as if he were just another face in the tower.

The realization stung—he was a stranger to you now, a shadow in the very place he’d thought he’d always be the brightest.

You’d always had a habit of fussing over Tony before missions, even though he brushed it off with a laugh or a smirk every time. You’d run over to him, throwing your arms around him in a quick hug, muttering a soft “Be safe. Don’t do anything stupid, okay?” It was something he’d come to expect—a ritual, in a way. But this time, as he and the Avengers prepared to head out, you were nowhere near him.

He waited, lingering by the Quinjet, scanning the hallways for you. The other Avengers gave him a curious glance, noticing his rare display of hesitation.

But you didn’t come to him. You were busy talking to Steve, listening to Natasha’s quick pointers on handling herself if anything went wrong in the tower, and as you stood there, you didn’t even glance his way.

Tony tried to brush off the pang of disappointment that settled in his chest. It was strange, seeing you so distant, so unaffected as if he was just another face in the tower. He had known you’d started pulling away, but this—this was different. He’d started to miss you in a way he hadn’t anticipated, and the absence of your hug and your quiet words lingered with him as the Quinjet door closed, and they headed off to the mission.

Hours passed, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Normally, you’d distract yourself while they were away, maybe even work on a project in the workshop or catch up on schoolwork. But today, that feeling of unease was stronger than ever, gnawing at you with a persistence you couldn’t ignore.

You paced the hallways, glancing at the clock every few minutes. The quiet tower felt unbearably heavy, each minute stretching on endlessly. And then, finally, the faint roar of the Quinjet’s engines filled the air, signaling their return.

You hurried down to the landing bay, expecting to see Tony strutting out, cracking some half-baked joke about the mission, brushing off any bruises like they were nothing.

But as the jet doors opened, your heart plummeted.

The first figure to emerge was Steve, his face drawn with worry. And behind him, there was Tony—lying still on a stretcher, his armor dented, his face pale, and his shirt soaked through with blood.

“Dad!” you screamed, running over as the medics began wheeling him out. You reached for his hand, gripping it tightly as you matched the pace of the stretcher. “Dad, can you hear me?”

Hearing your voice, Tony’s eyes flickered open, and he gave you a faint, almost dazed smile, his lips twitching up as if this were all just another routine day. “Hey, kiddo,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper.

You felt tears welling up in your eyes, his usual grin so painfully out of place as blood seeped through his clothes. He looked like he was moments from passing out, yet here he was, trying to smile at you as if he weren’t literally dying.

Dr. Cho appeared at that moment, taking control as she and the med team rushed him toward the med bay. You clung to his hand, following until Dr. Cho gently but firmly urged you to let go so they could begin.

Your grip slipped reluctantly, your hand falling back to your side as they wheeled him away. You felt helpless, watching as they disappeared through the doors, the weight of everything settling heavily on your chest. Had he been injured because he’d been waiting for you to say goodbye? Was it your fault for not showing him you still cared?

You sank against the wall outside the med bay, waiting, your heart pounding as guilt and worry tangled together. You could barely breathe, the fear settling into your bones as the minutes stretched into hours.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Dr. Cho came out, a tired but gentle smile on her face.

“He’s stable,” she said, her voice reassuring. “The wound was deep, but we managed to stop the bleeding. He’ll need rest and shouldn’t move around much, but he’s going to be okay.”

Relief flooded through you, a weight lifting off your chest as you let out a shaky breath. You thanked her, your voice choked with emotion as you entered the med bay, your eyes immediately finding Tony’s sleeping form.

He looked peaceful, a rare stillness on his face as he rested. You pulled a chair close to the bed, sitting down and taking his hand in yours, your fingers brushing over the cuts and bruises along his knuckles. You stared at his hand, a lump forming in your throat as everything you’d been bottling up began to spill over.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, barely audible, as you traced the faint lines of scars on his hand. “I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye.”

Tears pricked at your eyes as the realization sank in, the guilt pressing down on you like a heavy weight. You hadn’t been there, hadn’t told him to be safe, and the thought that he’d gone into danger without knowing you cared made your heart ache.

From that moment, you didn’t leave his side, staying by his bed for days, watching over him, holding his hand, making sure he knew you were there. The other Avengers came by, offering words of comfort, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave unless it was absolutely necessary.

Days passed, and one morning, as you sat by his bed, your head resting on your arms, exhaustion finally caught up with you. You’d fallen asleep, Tony’s hand still cradled in yours as you dozed off at his bedside.

When Tony stirred awake, blinking blearily at the room around him, he felt a warmth against his hand. Glancing over, he saw you, your head resting on the edge of the bed, your eyes closed, your grip on his hand firm even in sleep. A small, tired smile spread across his face as he took in the sight of you, his chest tightening with a mix of relief and gratitude.

Dr. Cho entered quietly, offering him a knowing smile as she did her routine check. “She’s barely left your side,” she whispered, nodding toward you. “You’re lucky to have her.”

Tony’s gaze softened, his smile lingering as he looked at you, memories of the past few weeks flashing through his mind. When Dr. Cho finished and quietly left, he shifted slightly, trying to move without disturbing you. But the small movement was enough to make you stir, your eyes fluttering open as you lifted your head, immediately reaching out to steady him.

“Hey, careful,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. “Don’t move too much. Dr. Cho said you need rest.”

Tony chuckled softly, his voice weak but filled with warmth. “Guess I’m not used to lying around doing nothing,” he replied, squeezing your hand gently

You frowned at him, though your expression softened with relief. “Are you in pain? Do you need anything? Water? Or maybe some food? Can’t get you alcohol, obviously…”

You rambled on, the questions pouring out in rapid succession, not giving him a chance to respond. “How are you feeling now? Do you want me to—”

“Whoa, slow down,” Tony interrupted with a soft laugh, his eyes glimmering with amusement. “I’m fine, kid. Really. You don’t have to worry.”

You let out a shaky breath, the weight of everything you’d been holding in finally pressing down on you. Silence settled between you, thick with unspoken words and lingering emotions, until finally, both of you spoke at the same time.

“I’m sorry.”

Tony looked at you, his brow furrowing with confusion. “Why are you sorry?” he asked gently. “I’m the one who’s messed up, not you.”

You shook your head, your gaze falling as you fiddled with the edge of the bed sheet. “I should’ve said goodbye, like I always do. I was upset, and I thought… maybe if I didn’t care, it wouldn’t hurt so much. But I do care, and I’m sorry I let my pride get in the way.”

Tony’s hand tightened around yours, his expression softening as he watched you. “Hey, listen to me,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “This is on me. I know I’ve let you down, more times than I can count. And I know I haven’t been the dad you deserve. But I’m here now, and I’m… I’m done screwing this up.”

He looked at you, his gaze steady, a rare sincerity in his eyes. “I know it’s going to take time to fix things, but I’m not going anywhere. I promise. I’m going to be there for you. I swear it.”

You blinked, tears welling up in your eyes as his words sank in, the honesty and determination in his voice breaking down the walls you’d built around yourself. You reached out, gripping his hand tightly, the weight of all the years of waiting and hoping finally easing.

“Just… show up, okay?” you whispered, a tear slipping down your cheek as you held his gaze. “That’s all I need.”

He nodded, a small, heartfelt smile on his face as he leaned back, squeezing your hand. “Then consider it done, kiddo.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the quiet hum of the medbay and the warmth of his hand in yours, you allowed yourself to believe him, feeling a glimmer of hope

[enidette]

STRANGE CANDY

warnings :: both are 18+, carl, riding, piv, manhandling, humiliation, nipple play, teasing, begging, overstimulation

denise was a gift, truly. she saved many lives which proved a lot about her. but she needed help, and you along with a few others volunteered to be her medical assistants. you were the only one your age however, it kind of boosted your ego. learning all of this and helping people so young.

you dealt with patients nearly every day. it was typically older people, with he exception of one boy, one around your age. you got a glimpse of him around alexandria, you knew he came for check-ups and cleanings for his eye. he’s cute, but you’ve never gotten lucky enough to be the one to help him.

but when you see him, he’s always looking at you first. and if you’re not being too cocky, he seems like he’s trying to get your attention. but his lack of experience in the flirting department leaves him failing ninety percent of the time. but that only drew you to him more; how pathetic he was.

today is a particularly short-staffed day, meaning denise had gone on a run and you as well one other intern were the only one’s in the infirmary. even that lasted a short while, due to the lack of patients today your coworker decided to call it. checking with you before leaving you to the rest.

there was only maybe two hours until sundown, which is when denise should be returning. then you could go home. so you didn’t mind being left there, especially at the rate of, well, no patients today.

you make your way to the bag you bring every day, whipping out the comic you bring in case of a slow day. you sit where denise usually does and let yourself get into it. your hands mindlessly go to the stash of snacks in your bag before you’re interrupted by a soft knock.

guess you couldn’t have it all your way.

you put your things away and hurry to the door in case of an emergency, opening it to see him. the cute loser, the leader’s kid. well you couldn’t complain now, could you?

he seems taken aback at the sight of you, stammering slightly. “where’s denise?” you frown but stand to the side to let him in.

“she’s out on a run.” he gives you a weird look, no doubt confused as that’s not denise’s forte. “looks like you’re stuck with me.” you give him a sorrowful look that you only half-heartedly mean before leading him to a bed.

carl looks down when you sit in front of him, avoiding your eyes. “no offense…” he looks up to see you quirking a brow at him, “i’m used to denise doing this. since she usually has to clean it and all… not many others have ever seen it.”

you hum in acknowledgment, nodding your head in understanding. “okay then,” you place your hands on your lap and give him a tight-lipped smile. “i think you can wait if you want-”

“no.” he cuts you off, causing you to blink at him. he racks his brain for an excuse to get you where he wants without scaring you away with the mutilation on his face. at least that’s what he thinks of it. “you can still give me a check up, right?”

the thought of you so close to him made him nervous. he hasn’t felt this strongly about someone before, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. and with your hands on him? his brain may short-circuit.

but you nod to him with a sweet smile that eases him. but it doesn’t stop his mind from running wild when you stand up to grab his files. his eye can’t help but follow your ass as you walk. that’s how crazy you make him, his brain going haywire at your close proximity. but once you’re far enough away it’s free to be tainted and lewd.

he doesn’t snap out of it until he hears you sigh, and he realizes you’re sat down in front of him again. “so, since i’m not familiar with you, i have a few questions.” he nods as a sign for you to continue. “what brings you here today?”

he laughs a little, “check up.”

you nod, “i know, i know. i gotta ask,” you look down at the pieces of paper again. “is there anything bothering you?” he shakes his head. “do you often drink alcohol or use drugs?”

he tilts his head, “how would i do that?” you shrug and adjust yourself in your seat.

“there’s beer and stuff here, and medications.” you say it like it’s obvious, which makes him turn red at how dumb he may have sounded. but the way you said it, like he was dumb for asking, it made his face heat up.

he just nods, your words starting to become scrambled with the more questions you ask. he half-ass responds to most of them, focused on how hot your voice was coming from your pretty lips. that’s when the next question shocks him and rips him out of his head.

“are you sexually active?”

he chokes on his spit, not knowing how to answer that. the other assistants have asked him that before. it always flustered him having to say no, but it’s much worse when it’s you. the girl he’s been eyeing for way too long. the one who makes him feel like some dumb kid, humiliating him even when it’s something small. even when others probably wouldn’t bat an eye at it. even though you may not even notice how it affects him.

not that he doesn’t like it.

he squints his eye shut in embarrassment, “no?”

“that didn’t seem like an answer.”

and there it goes again, little things like that. making him feel like he does nothing but sound like an idiot. it makes him want to hide away, but at the same time crawl back to you so you can make the embarrassment worse. it’s like you have him on a leash.

“no, i’m not.” his voice is barley above a whisper when he says it. he curses himself for sounding so meek and quiet. how do you reduce him to this? and so easily?

the look in your eyes is hard to decipher. it drives him crazy. did he just ruin his chances with you? did he sound like some pathetic guy? or maybe you didn’t care, and this is just some one-sided attraction and you’re weirded out by his behavior. at least you can’t see into his slutty mind.

“have you ever had sex?” he blinks confusedly at your words,

“the… the other assistants never asked me that-”

“but i am.” again you’re saying things so matter-of-factly it has him curling into himself a little. mostly to hide the ever growing problem in his pants. “answer.” he merely shakes his head, leading you to grab his chin with your hand. you’re standing up now, towering over him while he looks up at you wide-eyed.

“no.” his voice is so breathless, his pupils blown with lust. he tongue darts out to wet his lips, is he finally getting you how he wanted?

a smirk rises on your face, your hand trailing from his face to his bicep. your eyes stay on his, silently challenging him to look away. you lean closer, lips close to his before you whisper, “do you want to?”

the weak ‘please’ he lets out is all you need to press your lips to his. it’s harsh and rushed and has him whimpering. he’s hardly even kissed, and that was only once. honestly, you could tell. but the inexperience was what drew you to him.

you pull away to push him down. your actions caught him off guard, leaving him to fall clumsily with a huff. he doesn’t get a lot of time to register anything when you’re grabbing him harshly by the collar and pulling him into another rough kiss.

he whines against your lips, one hand coming up to your left breast. you swat it away, separating from his lips again to glare down at him. “you don’t get to touch unless you ask.” he lifts his head to give you an incredulous look before letting it fall back down. his hat falling off in the process.

your left hand to goes to his chest, and you give a harsh twist to his nipple, laughing when he yelps. “didn’t think you’d be so sensitive.” you smirk, letting your thumb run soothingly over the bud though his shirt. you hum, “physically, that is…” you run your hand down, stopping at the hem of his shirt. “i see how you act when i humiliate you in front of your little group.”

his breath picks up when your hand slides up his shirt, running along his abdomen. his pretty skinny, slightly toned from all the running and fighting he’s done. he whines out again, grabbing onto you in a way that’s pleading you to go further. to give him more.

you squint your eyes at him, “stop rushing me.” he goes to speak but just shuts his mouth, watching you with a needy, obedient gaze. “you’re gonna take what i give you, got it?” he nods quickly, his eye widening for a moment.

“i-i mean, yes. yes, yes, i got it.” you hum and slide his shirt up, muttering a ‘good’ under your breath. you trail kisses along his skin, starting above his jeans and stopping when you get to his chest.

you can’t help but smirk when your tongue hits his nipple, the way he flinched from sensitivity, you couldn’t help yourself. you listen to his whimpers get louder and breathing get heavier and more rapid with the more stimulation you provided to one side. so you switched, and the noises started all over again.

you glance at his neck, pride filling you at the sight of purple-red marks all over his skin. they went down to his collarbone, then more on his abdomen. some so others could see, some so just you can see.

“please,” he pants, leading your hand down to the tent in his pants. he hisses when you start to palm him through his jeans.

“please what?” you can’t even hide the amusement in your voice, it makes carl groan and shut his eye tightly.

“please touch me.” he breathes heavily, watching your hand travel to his zipper. “more.” you chuckle darkly, unbuttoning and tugging the fabric off his legs. he swallows thickly as he watches you play with the waistband of his underwear.

“you just keep begging and begging.” you tsk and shake your head. in reality, you love it. but you can’t pass up this opportunity. “you’re that desperate to get your dick wet?” you take his silence as an excuse to pinch his nipple again, smiling when he cries out.

carl sighs, brushing his sweaty hair from his forehead. “yes. okay, yes. just please.” his eye is slightly watery and he looks dazed and still rather confused on what to do. he gasps when you slide his underwear off, the cold air and how close your hand was ripped a moan from his throat.

you stand up, causing him to whine at the lack of contact. but the complaint he was about to dish out gets caught in his throat when you lift your shirt off. your work clothes hid the body you had underneath, which seemed so perfect to him that it felt criminal he hadn’t seen it until now.

his eye stayed on your body as you stripped down, watching you saunter off before coming back with a condom in hand. his eye widens and he looks at you hungrily, “do we have to?” you laugh and sit yourself on his lap,

“do you ask dumb questions on purpose?” carl purses his lips and stays silent, but you feel him twitch against your thigh. “you’re such a fucking loser.” you press your lips to his before he can speak, swallowing the whine he lets out at your crude words.

you’re suddenly taking your time, slowly sliding the condom over his cock. of course you pick now to tease him, he can’t help but squirm. “hips?” he asks dumbly, hovering his hands over your hips.

“are you asking to touch them?” he nods, causing you to scoff. “you’re already all dumb and i haven’t even fucked you yet.” his hands grip your hips, sliding your cunt over his length.

“then do it,” he whines out, letting his head fall back. “please.” you sigh, lifting up your hips and lining him with your entrance. you sink down on him slowly, adjusting to the feeling and wiggling your hips. all the while he’s a mess, trying to keep his noises as quiet as he can — which is still quite loud, not like you’re complaining.

you lean down to his ear, “you sound so pathetic.” you laugh, your breath hitting his skin causing him to shiver. your wiggling turns to grinding, which turns to bouncing. it left him a mess, gripping onto your hips like you’d disappear if he didn’t. he couldn’t stop the whines and whimpers of your name leaving his lips.

he lets his head fall into your neck when you tell him how loud he’s being. that laugh you let out every time you embarrass him is hypnotic. it’s like it commands his body to let go and fully be at your mercy. it leaves him feeling even more embarrassed, as he’s fought off being the small, inferior one. but the embarrassment you cause is good. it’s so bad and humiliating but it leaves his cock throbbing in his pants every time.

“i can’t,” he breathes out. “i can’t hold it. ‘have to-”

“hold it.” you snap, tangling your hands in his hair to pull his head back. you look him in the eye, “or you’re going to go again. and again, and again if your pathetic dick betrays you. you’re going to make me cum too.”

he nods frantically, letting his eyes fall to where your bodies connected. that was the wrong move, the sight alone had him cumming without even trying. you watch with an amused look at his face, scrunched up in a silent moan. his body shook and his grip got tighter before his arms fell.

he pants heavily, slowly lifting his head to look at you. he grunts when you slide off of him quickly, too quick. you laid beside him and tug his body on top of yours. you took note of his dazed look, erratic breaths and flushed face. he was so dumbed down, but you couldn’t have him thinking you’re a liar?

“cmon,” you nudge his side with a laugh. his glazed over eye meets yours with confusion. “aww, you didn’t think i was serious.” you coo, running your thumb over his cheek. “i’ll use you as my own sex doll until i get what i want.”

his face flushed a deep cherry red, but he gets the message. and even though he’s so fucking sensitive, and so dumb, already unknowing of what to so, he slides into you again with a hiss. his thrusts are erratic, messy, and fast. you can’t help but giggle, causing carl to grimace. he couldn’t tell when you were laughing out of joy, or if he was doing something dumb again.

“please, be quick.” his rushed voice gave away his approaching orgasm. his face buries into your neck, lazily biting at your skin. “can i touch you?”

you hum, letting out a moan when he hits a certain spot. but he’s so far gone he misses it, unlike before when he would’ve taken notice of anything that made you feel good. “touch me where?”

he breathes out, letting his head come out from its hiding spot to watch what he’s doing. he shakily trails his hand down your body, landing near your clit. “here?” you move his fingers so they’re in the right spot, muttering something about how dumb he’s being. he feels his face heat up and he swore he could cum from your remarks alone.

he circles his fingers, starting slow but eventually speeding up to match the speed of his cock inside you. he whimpers, watching as he pumps in and out of you in awe. he looks up at you, using his free hand to hold onto your waist. “close? please tell me you’re close. i can’t hold on and i can’t go again.”

he babbles into your ear, losing his composure completely. he nearly screams out a ‘thank you’ when you tell him to cum with you, his hold on your waist near bruising as he does. he can’t even move, slumping down onto your body. his arms wrapping around you to hold you close.

he hears you chuckle, and he curses his body for reacting the way it does. but all you do is grab his hat, placing it back on his head from whenever it had fallen.

taglist :: @carlslvr @hiro--aoki @carlsangel @mozzeralla-stix @carlmipololo @carlgrimesgfofficial @livingdeadgirlflorette

if you recognize this, it’s because it is a rewrite because the og was a hot mess ♡

[astraystayyh]

The snow falls, we fall apart.

summary: when heartbreak looms on your life, and winter becomes a time you loathe, hyunjin helps you rewrite your memories with the season, and with it, everything you once believed about love.

genre: producer student!hyunjin x reader. roommates!au. friends to lovers. acute descriptions of heartbreak and general sadness. slow burn. hurt/comfort. healing and hopeless romantic hyune. very inspired by long for you so lots of pining and yearning. (wc: 13k)

warnings: mentions of alcohol. it is implied that reader was in an a very toxic relationship but no details are shared.

a.n: happy birthday to my hyunjin, my muse, my light. thank you for being so full of love that it made me love love again in return. this is i think my most personal piece, and i hope it reminds those who need it that love should be soft and kind, that it shouldn’t hurt, that it should heal not break. i love you guys and i love you my xi, writing this collab with you has been a true honor <3 also!! please listen to long for you while reading :,)

winter falls masterlist.

You’ve only ever felt utter despair twice in your life.

First, when you were seven years old, playing hide and seek with your cousins at your grandma’s house. It was a warm summer afternoon, the air sweetened by pastries you devoured hours ago. You decided to hide in a wooden cabinet up in the attic, only to end up stuck there. The walls felt like they were closing in on you, the oxygen seeping away from the cracks underneath the door, leaving you deprived of air, of life.

Second, at twelve, when you've come to discover sorrow's new facet, clad in grief's heavy cloak. Your parents adopted a hamster for your birthday, but they did not know he had a terminal disease. You were distraught, to say the least, when you awoke to its still form, death claiming a frail heart unaware of its imminent fate.

And now, third, many many moons later, you are knocking on Hyunjin’s door a few minutes after midnight. It is cold out, tears tracing rivulets on your cheeks, your fingers tinted pink from roaming outside in the harsh winds, your heart much heavier than when you were a child. More grief-stricken, at your own hands, this time.

A disheveled Hyunjin opens the door, his blonde ash hair tousled and sticking upwards, a clear indication of the many times he had run his hands through it in fits of frustration. His gray hoodie zipped up hastily, revealing the silver cross necklace he was wearing, nestling perfectly against his honeyed skin.

You've always had an aversion to seeking comfort, saw it as revealing your deepest vulnerabilities to a world that isn't always kind. It was easier, much simpler to do so when you were a clueless child— when you sank in your cousin Lia's hold as she attempted to steady your breathing, when your mother cradled you in her lap after Pinky died.

It is much harder now, much more embarrassing because Hyunjin has never seen you this sad, never glimpsed your shadows that now swarm his doorstep, unannounced.

“What's wrong?” he quickly asks, eyes darting over your figure in a rapid search for visible wounds. He wouldn’t find any. All your injuries stem from within— blood doesn’t have to be spilled for your heart to weep.

You had rehearsed a lie as you walked up to his doorstep. You would say that your car broke down near his place and ask if you could stay over for the night. He would insist he could drive you to your place and you’d refuse, saying that it was too late and you did not wish to bother him. You’d sleep on the couch and slip away in the early hours of the morning.

Yet, it is the genuine worry etched in his eyes that dismantles the fortress you've hidden in, melts the lie in your throat, morphing it into a steel lump coiling in your throat. He looks concerned when all you’ve had directed towards you recently was anger. And you missed someone looking at you in care, not reproach.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” You admit, your voice shattered, fragments of your vocal cords scattered out in the wind like a broken mosaic, the sound of it scraping against your ears.

Blow one hurt. It felt like your body turned against you as it deprived you of oxygen. The sobs that escaped you once you perceived the light pained you, perhaps more than being confined in the darkness.

Blow two was even worse, it was your first time experiencing grief. It was too hard of a concept for your innocent heart to grasp, too complicated for you to find solace in anything as adults do.

You promised yourself that you’d reserve blow three for monumental agonies— big pains and big sorrows only. That’s how you managed to keep all your tears at bay for most of your life. Would they be worth losing your third sob for? No, you've always found the answer to be.

And in all the twisted scenarios you’ve conjured up in your mind, deaths and illnesses and the haunting tale of failure, you did not imagine that it would happen on Hwang Hyunjin’s doorstep. That you’d burst into sobs at the compassionate look in his gaze, and the sad smile he sent your way. As if he knew, as everyone did around you. That you had handed a knife to a serial killer and it was only a matter of time before he stabbed you in the heart.

Two weeks ago.

“I’m trying to understand you but you aren’t helping me,” Seungmin is frustrated as he paces relentlessly before you from left to right like a swinging pendulum. You sit on the couch, beholding only his shoes, avoiding his gaze that would reflect the truth you dare not confront.

“He’s sucking the life out of you, can’t you see that?”

You can, out of everyone that surrounds you, you can see it the most. You feel as if you are carrying a skin that isn’t your own, weighed down by a relationship that has taken everything from you. But admitting it is admitting that you were wrong, in trusting him, in loving him. You couldn’t bear it.

“We are fine!” you shout back, the defiance in your voice surprises even you. This is a familiar script with Seungmin, a recurring conversation spurred by your puffy eyes and diminishing appetite. He tells you, begs you to leave, but where could you go? How could you leave a home where you've shed all your treasured belongings at the door— your skin, your bones, your very self.

What place would welcome you now that you're stripped bare of your soul?

“When was the last time he made you smile, huh? All he does is hurt you, and you...” he chuckles incredulously, running his hand through his hair. “You are letting him.”

Deny, deny, deny.

“This isn’t true. He loves me,” the words taste foreign in your mouth like rusty metal dragging across your lips. A small voice whispers that love shouldn't feel like this, but you quiet it down.

“Are you hearing yourself? Yn, I…” he kneels before you, his hands resting comfortingly on your knees. This is Seungmin, your best friend of five years. You know he has your best interests at heart, you are even more sure of it when his voice softens, shakes slightly when he utters your name. “Yn, please. I’m trying to help you. Please.”

“I didn’t ask for your help,” you push away his hands, standing up. “I don’t want your help, and I don’t need it.”

You quickly leave Seungmin’s dorm, your heart heavier than when you entered it, foolishly hoping that he'd ignore your distressed state after yet another fight with your boyfriend. But Seungmin doesn't understand, no one around you does— you’ve gambled your heart, and you cannot stop drawing the cards, even in the face of losing strikes.

❁ ❁ ❁

Hyunjin offers you a cup of tea with a gentle smile and you grab the steaming drink from his hands. The smell of chamomile wraps around your senses, and your brain fizzles out for a second before the soothing aroma. But it is a fleeting respite, the tempest of your thoughts crashes back onto you with an unsettling force, causing you to almost drop the drink as your hands shake. You place it down the table without taking a sip.

“I’m sorry for coming unannounced,” you apologize, wincing at the intrusion, “I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“I always sleep late. Don’t worry about it,” he smiles, but you know it isn’t a genuine grin, because his eyes betray an unsubdued concern, refusing to morph into their usual moon crescents.

You’ve always thought that Hyunjin wears his emotions openly— when he laughed, he did so loudly, his boisterous giggles traveling around Seungmin’s dorm. When he hurt himself, everyone in the vicinity would know so from his loud yelps. And when something worried him, he would bite his lip, toying with the plush flesh to ease his nerves.

As he is doing now. Looking at you.

“We broke up,” you quickly say, and your words hang over you like a gloomy cloud. “But I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Do you want me to fight him? I’ll bring changbin too,” he suggests a serious tone underlying his playful offer, and it manages to tear a reluctant giggle out of you.

“Changbin doesn’t know me well enough to fight for me,” you counteract and he shakes his head. “He’ll fight for me, I'm his princess.”

“Are you now?” The giggle escapes your mouth less forcefully, and the smile that graces Hyunjin’s face is a genuine one.

“I am. My proposal stands,” he extends his hand and you wrap your fingers around his palm. “Thank you, I’ll keep it in mind,” you smile but he frowns, flipping your hand around in his hold.

“You are freezing,” he whispers, using his other palm to rub warmth into yours.

“It’s fine,” you lie, slipping your hand out of his grasp, not feeling deserving of his kindness.

Wordlessly, Hyunjin stands, walking into what you assume is his bedroom. You only know of his place because you dropped off Seungmin here some time ago. You are too exhausted to even drink in the interior.

“Here,” he returns, handing you a navy hoodie of his and black joggers. “This will keep you warm at night.”

“Thank you,” you whisper, hesitating for a few seconds before speaking again. “Can you please not tell Seungmin, I... I can't face him right now.”

“Of course. I’ll be awake still if you do need something.”

Hyunjin’s clothing is warm, although peeling away your own garments felt like shedding layers of your skin, as if the fabric melted into your very flesh, just like memories from the day did. You have never felt this worthless before, discarded like a forgotten leaf on the roadside, one he stepped on for his own enjoyment, leaving you crushed in his wake, unable to fly away again.

Hyunjin’s rose perfume wraps around you, and you find relief in sleeping somewhere where your, his, scent was no longer around. You foolishly hope that if you close your eyes hard enough, you’ll manage to convince yourself that you’re someone else, tonight. Someone who isn’t tethered to the heartache, someone who can slip away from the clutches of a love that hurts more than hate could ever manage to do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Heartbreak isn’t beautiful, no matter how eloquently you try to dress it in the syllables of poetry, no words can soften the burn in your lungs, the searing ache that courses through your very core, reminding you that deep within, down to the fundamentals of your being and the most basic alchemy that ties your atoms together— you are unlovable. Whether you cut your hair or allow it to grow, change your heart, or leave it as it has always been, you will remain so.

You don’t remember much of the past week, blurry fragments here and there that float in your mind like a distorted water reflection. There is little room for memories when you are busy trying to remember how to breathe— one inhale in, one exhale out. The simple concept seems harder when there are unkind hands permanently lodged into your heart, squeezing it tight.

What you do remember is telling Seungmin through text the next day, because you couldn’t bear the way his eyes would soften if you spoke to him in person. No signs of surprise cast on his figure, because he knew that it was long coming, a train with one final inevitable destination— you in shambles, him okay.

You remember Seungmin cradling you in his arms when he came to see you, and you trying desperately to keep the tears at bay— too focused on pinching your arm to let Seungmin’s warmth radiate through your being, Hyunjin lingering uncomfortably by the entrance of his living room.

You remember begging Seungmin to grab your belongings from the apartment you shared with your ex because you were unable to face him, him, and everything that your old place spelled out for you. Stand in the ruins of what you once thought would be your permanent home.

And now, you watch as Seungmin and Hyunjin bring suitcases full of your stuff into the latter’s place. And you feel like an outsider in your own body, standing at the corner of the room gazing at utter destruction, unable to stop it, unable to mend it. Seungmin quickly reassures you that you could crash in his and Minho’s place until you find a new one to live in, already taking out his laptop to search for new apartments for you.

But you did not care for it, your eyes zeroed in on the satin shirt peeking out of your suitcase. The one he bought you on your first month anniversary. Back when love felt like a gentle feather running down your spine, and not a dull knife slicing away at your skin.

“This place's expensive too,” Seungmin sighs, rubbing his temple warily. Your logical best friend could not fix your heartbreak but he took it to heart to alleviate your other troubles. You would thank him for it, later, when your tongue finds enough will to move.

“What if you move in with me?” Hyunjin suddenly says and his words filtrate through the fog in your mind easily, as if he rehearsed them enough times so they’d roll out smoothly out of his mouth. “I mean, Felix is away for the next year since he went back to Australia. And I was looking for a new roommate anyway.” He shrugs and Seungmin turns to look at you, his eyes convey the question his mouth doesn’t articulate— is it okay with you?

“I don’t…” your voice is croaked, so you clear your throat. “I don’t want you to do things out of pity.”

“I’m not. If I was, I would've told you to move in with me for free. I still need you to pay rent,” he raises his eyebrows, a playful tease and you smile in relief, nodding, “Okay, I will. thank you.”

Heartbreak is ugly and all-encompassing, weaving through the roots of your heart and infecting each organ with its insidious touch. It renders you immobile, incapable of performing the simplest tasks, burdened by a weight unseen by the world. But you try your best, your very best to contain it.

You smile at the cashier as she hands back your money only to wonder if her soft, well-manicured hands would too crush a soul without remorse. You go to all your classes without fail but your mind is elsewhere, contemplating why the sun filtering through the windows no longer warms your skin. Can nerve endings perish when subjected to too much pain? What's left of life when you can no longer feel the caress of the sun?

You watch a movie at Seungmin's dorm but your mind is elsewhere, fleeting to this morning and how you refused to stay in the shower for more than three minutes because your thoughts might become haunting ghosts tempting you to follow them. You brush your hair and spray your perfume, only because you have to, because you live with Hyunjin and you wouldn’t want your sadness to taint him too. You wonder how long you’ll have to bear it. You wonder if it’ll ever leave you or if the veins in your heart have molded themselves after the pain and they wouldn’t know how to accept happiness anymore.

You greet Hyunjin as he walks past you, shaking your head when he asks you if you want to eat dinner with him, quickly retracting back into your room. You have ten unread messages and a pile of growing laundry you need to do, but all you can muster is to gaze at the empty walls, mirroring the void within you. Your mom told you to call her again and you don’t know how you’ll speak to her without bursting into a sob, how you’ll tell her that all it took was one person to break you. Or maybe it was two people, your hands and his tearing apart your flesh and bones. Maybe that’s the worst part about it. So you don’t call her.

And you only ever emerge from your room when you need to, just like now because your water bottle is finished and you need to refill it. You go to open the kitchen door when you hear Hyunjin’s muted shatter, Felix’s distinctive deep voice coming out of the phone speaker.

“Next you add the melted butter and stir it,” Felix instructs, the sounds of pots and utensils clinking in the background. You fidget slightly, mustering the strength to paint a fake smile on your lips.

“What next?”

“Sift the dry ingredients then add them to your wet mixture,” Felix explains, met with a few seconds of silence. You can almost visualize Hyunjin's perplexed expression, blinking rapidly in confusion.

“Explain it to me like I’m five years old,” he requests, prompting a small smile to etch itself onto your face.

“How are you surviving without me?”

“I’m not please come home,” Hyunjin sounds horrified as Felix’s rich chuckles fill the air. “Why do you suddenly want to make brownies anyway?” he then asks.

You go to open the door when Hyunjin’s response catches you off guard.

“They’re for Yn.”

Hyunjin's words resonate in the air, causing a hitch in your throat and Felix’s teasing whistles simultaneously, but Hyunjin is quick to stop him. “No, no, no, it’s not like that. They’re just a bit down and I remember them loving your brownies. So…”

It takes you a fleeting moment to dig the memory out of your mind, a year ago, right before your ex came to pick you up from Seungmin’s dorm. You had a bite of Felix’s brownies, a surprised gasp escaping your lips at its delicious taste, back when food had taste and happiness came easily to you. It was an insignificant memory, you did not imagine Hyunjin, out of everyone, would remember it.

But he did, and he’s now pacing before your closed door, contemplating how he’ll convince you to finally eat something with him. He throws a thumbs-up in the air for no one but himself, inhaling deeply before knocking on your door.

“Hey,” he greets with a hopeful smile, his gaze meeting your tired form. He hesitates for a second, clearing his throat. “Brownies?” You remain unmoving and he falters, “Hm? Please?”

“Sure,” you nod and a wave of relief floods through Hyunjin as you step out of your room. His joy is short-lived when he takes the brownies out of the oven, only to find them thoroughly burnt.

His mouth hangs agape, and he walks back shamefully to the oven, lowering its door only to scream inside of it.

“This will be more therapeutic,” you say, pointing nonchalantly to the fridge and he agrees, opening its doors and yelling once again in the much larger space.

Your melodic laughter fills the kitchen, Hyunjin’s embarrassment is suddenly a forgotten memory.

“I’m craving kimbap. Should we get it instead?” you propose, a touch shyly and he quickly agrees, afraid you’d change your mind and walk back to your room where he can no longer ensure you are okay.

Hyunjin absentmindedly dances along to the music blasting through the convenience store when a girl sidles up to his side, a saccharine grin on her lips as she looks up at him, “hi,” she greets and his tentative smile mirrors hers. “Hey.”

“Are you single?” she asks, her gaze briefly fleeting to the window. “I think you are really cute.”

“I’m…” he glances at you but you're suddenly engrossed in the ingredients of the tuna kimbap you are holding, pretending not to listen. “I am but I’m not interested, thank you.”

“Oh, come on,” she places a hand on his arm and he physically recoils. “Give me your insta and we could talk.”

“No,” he repeats, grabbing her hand to remove it when a loud voice startles him. “Baby, what’s taking you so— What are you doing?” Hyunjin watches in horror as the girl’s eyes grow wide, before she scrambles to the man’s side, feigning fear.

“He kept hitting on me when I said I had a boyfriend, baby.”

“What?” both you and Hyunjin gasped in comical unison. He would find it amusing if not for the escalating anger radiating from the man, who looks like he spends all his days in the gym. Hyunjin suddenly regrets not working out with Changbin.

The man strides towards Hyunjin. “Do you want to die?”

“No? there’s a misunderstanding,” he replies, swiftly standing before you and shielding you with his arm. “Your… baby,” he wiggles his finger in front of the man's face, “she was the one hitting on me!”

The man scoffs loudly, his face growing redder from the anger seething in him. “So you hit on my girlfriend and then accuse her of cheating?” His fist rises threateningly, prompting Hyunjin to step back, accidentally bumping into your chest.

“Wait, wait, wait! Let’s go talk outside, man to man,” Hyunjin pauses, his voice taking on a taunting edge, “unless you're too scared?” he smirks as he feels you pull at his shirt, whispering an incredulous- “What are you doing?” He shakes his head, grabbing your hand and leading you outside, throwing a sly wink at the man behind you now.

“Are you seriously going to fight him?” you ask, your gaze shifting towards the deranged couple who are about to step out of the grocery store. “No, of course not. I'm a lover, not a fighter.”

“You said you'd fight my ex,” you point out and his eyes soften surprisingly.

“You are an exception.” He looks back at the man, who's now walking towards you both. “But anyways, do you know how to run?” he asks and you frown, “who doesn’t know how to—” you pause as realization dawns on you. “No," you whisper furiously.

“Yes.”

“No,” you shake your head, horrified and he nods, eyes apologetic.

“Yes.” His fingers entwine with yours, he squeezes your hand once before he takes off running.

“Hwang fucking Hyunjin!” you shout and he looks back at you, a mischievous smile on his face. “I’m sorry Yn my face is too pretty to be beaten up.”

“He’s following us!” you yell, looking back horrified as the, even angrier, man runs after you.

“Well, run faster!”

“I’m wearing fucking slippers!” you curse and he giggles, tipping his head back, the wind slamming into you both, his hand never letting go of your own.

“Oh my god why is he still running!” you groan and Hyunjin picks up speed, moving you even closer to his sprinting figure

“I know, is it ever that serious?” he yells above his shoulder and you dig your nails into his palm.

“Shut up, this wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t so gorgeous.”

“So, you think I’m pretty too?” Hyunjin grins proudly and an incredulous laugh escapes your lips.

“Really? Is this what you’re getting out of this situation?”

“Silver linings, Yn, silver linings,” he shouts as you round a small alley, finally stopping to catch your breath. You both fall to the ground, heavy breaths escaping your chests.

“Holy shit, I’m not athletic at all,” he heaves, his eyes meeting yours. He expects to find anger lingering in your gaze but all he can grasp is your amused smile before you collapse into a fit of laughter, clapping loudly and clutching your stomach with your hand.

“Oh my god, I’m crying,” you laugh harder, wiping away at the tears falling from your eyes. Hyunjin’s weariness disappears in the blink of an eye— he did not realize how much he missed your smile until he glimpsed it again. And it is beautiful. Happiness looks beautiful on you.

“Idiot,” you hit his shoulder playfully, and his response is delayed for a few seconds, the warmth from your smile rendering him immobile.

“I’m sorry,” he chuckles, pulling you up. “Here, I’ll carry you home,” he squats slightly before you. “How impolite of me. How dare I make your majesty run.”

You shake your head, amused, before climbing atop his back, his warm palms holding your thighs securely. “Only because the slippers hurt my feet.”

You walk in silence for a while, your arms wound up around Hyunjin’s neck, the ghost of a smile still lingering on both your faces.

“They said it will snow tomorrow,” Hyunjin speaks suddenly and you stay silent for so long he starts to wonder if you even heard him.

“Mm? That’s nice,” your tone is melancholic, and he pauses at the peculiar sadness in it— as though you were trying to act nonchalant about something that has once meant the world to you.

“Don’t you like the snow?” he asks and your hold on his neck falters.

“I loved it. Loved ice skating and building snowmen.” Your voice is light and airy, like Hyunjin’s favorite mint chocolate ice cream. “But now it reminds me of bad times, bad memories.”

“I understand.”

Hyunjin knows what it feels like to relinquish parts of yourself you never wished to part from. For someone to grab your happiest places and to cast a gloomy filter atop them. Sometimes it is the loss of a season that hurts more than the departure of a person.

And Hyunjin loves winter.

He’ll do everything so that you’ll come to love it again too.

❁ ❁ ❁

Is it a nightmare if the person in it is one you once loved, looked forward to beholding with your gaze, hoping they’d never slip out of your reach? You don’t know, but you are growing tired of having the same dreams every night. Of waking up with an exhaustion that goes beyond your restless sleep but pleads from your soul to rest after almost a year of torment.

You sigh wearily, rubbing a hand through your face before walking to the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water. You find Hyunjin there, eating a cupcake while standing shirtless, scrolling through his phone. You blink at the sight.

“Hey,” you clear your throat and he startles, dropping the cupcake on the ground. He goes to pick it up only to bang his head on the table, a loud yelp escaping his lips. You barely contain your giggles as you walk to his side, rubbing your palm soothingly on his head. “I'm sorry I didn't mean to scare you.”

“At least pretend you are sorry,” he mumbles, pointing to your amused smile and you chuckle, taking his hand and helping him to his feet.

“What are you doing up now?” he asks as he grabs some napkins to clean up the pink frosting smeared across the floor.

You hesitate for a few seconds before whispering, “Just nightmares. And you?” you quickly add, not keen on pushing the subject any further.

“I'm working on a song,” he explains, as his gaze lingers on your sunken eyes, weighed down by dark circles from too many sleepless nights.

“And the cupcake?”

“Some people need caffeine to function. I need flour.”

“I literally see you drink three americanos per day.”

“Okay well maybe I need both,” he admits sheepishly and you grin, drumming your fingers along the countertop.

“Can I sit with you while you work?” you ask quickly, before the words linger enough in your mouth that you no longer wish to spit them out.

The smile that Hyunjin sends you is kind, pushing the shadows of your nightmares just slightly out of reach.

“Of course, yeah you can. Don’t even need to ask.”

Hyunjin walks first into his bedroom, quickly slipping on a hoodie while you take in the interior. It is a quite simple room— a large bed with gray covers, and a desk filled with what you assume to be his producing equipment sits adjacent. But what catches your attention is the dried rose hung delicately on the wall, and the array of paintings surrounding it. You edge closer to it, drawn to the well-crafted paintings— a sun-drenched beach, a couple lost in an embrace so intimate their forms can no longer be separated, and an elderly pair riding a motorcycle, their love radiating vibrantly as if enclosed in eternal youth.

“You paint?” you ask, turning around to find Hyunjin watching you. He steps closer, enveloping you once more in the fragrance of his rose perfume.

“In my free time.”

“You are amazing, Hyunjin,” you compliment sincerely, your gaze fixed on that imagery of the old couple, one that most likely grew together. It tugs at your heartstrings, stirs a painful longing within you, a memory of a time when you too believed you’d find such boundless love.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, before brushing his fingertips gently against your forearm, for a fleeting second. “Are you okay?” he asks, a tenderness you’ve been aching for latched into his question. Your eyes refuse to peel away from the paintings and the love spilling from each paint brush stroke, a love that refuses to rest on your being as if you were harboring an armor that repels it.

“No,” you reply sincerely, turning to face him. “It’s really hard,” you say with a smile, hoping that the mechanical display of happiness would keep your tears at bay, tricking your brain into believing you're not as sad as you feel.

It fails to do so, and the tears well in your eyes like a gathering storm. Frustration twists your features as you shut your eyes, tilting your head upward in a desperate attempt to contain the flood. It pauses as Hyunjin cradles the back of your head, drawing you close to the warmth of his neck. His palm glides soothingly along your spine, before patting your back ever so gently.

Your back stiffens, hands curling into tight fists, breath catching in your throat. You've grown accustomed to pushing away comfort, putting up tall barriers to shield yourself. But tonight, Hyunjin seems to break through your defenses.

Tonight, you soften, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, head nestling deeper against his tender skin.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he whispers and another sob wracks through you, but he only holds you tighter. “It’ll get better soon.”

“I loved him,” you hiccup, your voice breaks, “a lot.”

“I know, that’s why it hurts.” His voice is gentle, and yet his hold on you feels secure as if you could stumble and fall, and he would be there to catch you

“I want it to stop hurting.”

“It will, with time.”

Your next words are tinged with a childlike vulnerability, reminiscent of blow one, then two. But you do not care for it, in that instant, you crave the reassurance, you need someone to plant a seed of hope in your soul because your hands are too frail to dig for it.

“Do you promise me?”

His response doesn’t come hastily, carelessly thrown into the air like idle chatters. He takes his time, considering it with the gravity of an oath.

“I promise you.” He finally says, each syllable infused with sincerity. A brief pause hangs in the air before he adds. “And if it doesn’t then you can hit me.”

“On your pretty face?” you ask, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

“On my pretty face,” he confirms with a chuckle.

“What an honor,” you roll your eyes playfully as you lean back and he grins, tenderly wiping away your tears with the back of his fingers.

“I can't believe it took three minutes for you to cry in my room. This isn’t good for my reputation.”

“Good thing this will never leave this bedroom, right?” you point a finger at him threateningly, and he pretends to zip his lips, tossing away the imaginary key. “You got it.”

“So what are you working on?” you ask as you settle on the edge of his bed, knees drawn up to your chest.

“It’s a pretty sad song, wanna hear?” he offers, sitting across from you on his chair.

“Yeah, I'd love to,” you smile, and Hyunjin deftly adjusts a few buttons, before his melancholic whistles weave through the air, coupled with the somber melody of a piano. Your breath catches in your throat, the music reaching into the very depths of your soul. It's as if the notes are calling out for a loved one, for a time that has long passed, for a past that will never come back no matter how much we long for it.

The instrumental continues, each piano note and each violin string echo like a bittersweet lament, springing tears to your eyes. But the melody remains beautiful, akin to the beauty always found in the sadness— in the tears that cascade down your cheeks like glistening crystals, in the tremble of your hands akin to branches swaying in the wind, in the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, mirroring the ebb and flow of the waves.

Hyunjin watches you intently as the music envelops you both, his gaze softening with each passing moment. You bring a hand to your chest, almost unconsciously, too engrossed in the melody to even blink. He feels a blush sprout on his cheeks as your teary eyes hold his with the last fading guitar strings.

“You keep on making me cry,” you whisper, your voice choked with emotion, and he grins, tilting his head shyly against his shoulder.

“You like it?” he asks, a tad eager and you nod, not bothering to wipe the lone tears that are falling down your cheeks.

“I think this is what my loneliness sounds like,” you confess softly.

“As do mine.”

A silent beat runs between you both, it isn’t uncomfortable, but safe. Because you understand him, just as he understands you.

“Sometimes I long for things that have passed," he admits, “although I know I can't get them anymore.”

“The most terrible thing you can long for is yourself.”

“Because no one’s to blame for that loss but you?” he muses and you nod, a sad smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, exactly.”

You bite your lip, casting a glance back at the paintings adorning the wall. “I don't love him anymore,” you begin quietly. “I stopped a long time ago because there was no room for love anymore to grow amid weeds and thorns.”

He remains silent, sensing that this is a weight you need to unburden yourself from.

“But in the midst of it I think I stopped loving myself too,” you whisper, a confession too terrible to be uttered out loud. “That's what I long for. The things I used to love that I'm indifferent to now.”

“Like you’re a stranger before everything once familiar to you.”

“Yeah, you express it prettily,” you remark with a small smile.

“It's my job,” he grins lightly.

“I think when your heart is pure,” he begins after a while, pausing to carefully choose the words that will soothe your burn, help sleep come more easily to you. “You give love to others more readily than you do to yourself. And it takes time, patience, to redirect that love back to your own heart once again. But it's not a mistake to love, you shouldn’t hate yourself for it. Nor should you blame your past self for loving the wrong person because they did not know what you now do.”

“Think of it as a caterpillar in their cocoon,” he continues gently, “when they finally emerge from their chrysalis, they might long for who they were, where they once were because it is the only place they've ever known. But they do not realize that they've transformed into a beautiful butterfly, that they can now fly, and witness much more than their chrysalis. So maybe, your new self will love the same things as before, or maybe you’ll find new, better things to love that you would have not known before. But in either way, your heart is beautiful. That is what matters, no?”

A small pout draws on your lips, your eyebrows scrunched as you gaze at him.

“You have a very tender soul, Hyunjin.”

Your words linger in Hyunjin's mind long after the sunrise, as you lay peacefully asleep on his bed. The melody of the instrumental he produced continues to play faintly in the background, serving as a gentle lullaby that eases you into slumber, entwined in his sheets, your arms wrapped protectively around yourself, one hand cradling your shoulders and the other resting gently on your stomach. The image sears into his eyes as he sketches the outlines of a figure holding itself absentmindedly, long into the night.

Hyunjin has had his fair share of compliments, mostly pertaining to his face, and others to his craft. but it is you who seems to have sensed that a part of his soul resided in his art, that he left pieces of his heart hidden in the notes he composes and the lyrics he writes, hoping they’ll find soft hands that will take care of them, just like your own.

Five days later.

hyunjin [11:34 p.m.]: are you home?

yn [11:34 p.m.]: yeahh, do you need anything?

hyunjin [11:35 p.m.]: come downstairs, im waiting for youu

if you say no i’ll freeze to death..

hurry i can’t feel my fingers anymore (please please) ㅠㅠㅠ

“This better be a life and death situation Hwang Hyunjin,” you say threateningly as soon as you appear before Hyunjin, causing him to straighten up from the wall he was leaning against.

“It is a very dangerous life-altering situation that requires your immediate assistance, indeed,” he responds solemnly, ushering you gently to his car and opening the door for you.

“Which is?” you ask as soon as he settles inside the car and he simply grins at you, his left dimple coming forth like the very sun on a gloomy day.

“You’ll see.”

Hyunjin’s eyes fleet to your figure every now and then, but you do not seem to notice, your gaze lost into the blurring lights ahead. He can tell you're still not entirely yourself, so he was prepared to forcibly drag you along with him. He’s almost surprised you accepted to come down so easily.

“Is that… Seungmin?” you speak suddenly, pointing to a man waving in the distance, as Hyunjin parks his car near an empty field.

“And Changbin? And Minho?” you continue, squinting your eyes, “and a bonfire?” you giggle with a hint of excitement.

“You love s’mores during the winter, right?”

Hyunjin smiles, your soul softens.

“I do,” you say quietly, “I really do.”

You quickly exit the car, running into Seungmin's arms with a grin of disbelief plastered on your face. “This is insane,” you almost shout, squeezing him tight in a hug.

“It was so hard to find the perfect middle of nowhere for this,” Minho grumbles as you move to greet him, but the warmth of his embrace assures you he's only teasing.

“Thank you,” you say with a smile as you hug Changbin, who affectionately ruffles your hair. “It was Hyunjin’s idea,” he reveals, and you glance back at Hyunjin, who stands with his hands buried deep within his sweatpants behind you. You mouth a silent “thank you” to him, but he shakes his head modestly as if it is nothing to bring happiness to a bruised heart.

The night unfolds in endless laughter, with Minho and Hyunjin taking turns roasting marshmallows over the crackling bonfire, and Seungmin serving you hot coffee to keep your hands warm. Your stomach aches from the uncontrollable fits of giggles that overtook your being as Minho recounts the time he danced so vigorously on stage for his dance club that he ripped his pants, feeling a breeze where there shouldn't be one; and Changbin tells you the story of the time his voice cracked in the middle of a rap battle, and how none of the boys stopped teasing him about it for months to come.

And as the four of them take turns making you laugh, a quiet, tender realization dawns on you—you are loved. It is something he tried to convince you was impossible, that no one around truly cared for you but him. And even then, you weren’t deserving of his love whole, only scrapes of it, as if you were a beggar tugging at the outskirts of his heart.

But Hyunjin reminded you otherwise. And if your friends found something worthy of love within you then perhaps so will you again, one day.

“Did you have fun?” Hyunjin asks as he opens the door to his, your, apartment hours later. What he doesn't expect is for you to respond by wrapping your arms around his slender torso, squeezing tight in gratitude.

“Thank you,” you whisper and he nods, though you cannot see him, returning the embrace by wrapping his arms around your shoulder blades.

Hyunjin doesn't let go first, sensing that perhaps you need this hug more than he does. He smiles as your eyes meet his again, but his grin falters when he notices your gaze flickering towards your bedroom, a hint of unease clouding your expression. It's as if behind that door lie monsters only you can grasp, wearing the faces of people you once knew, once loved.

“Wanna stay with me while I work on the song?”

“Last time I ended up sleeping on your bed,” you say a bit shamefully, recalling the morning you woke up to find yourself covered with a thick blanket that wasn’t there before, alone in Hyunjin's room.

“It's okay,” he shrugs, “I missed sleeping on the couch.”

You stare pointedly at him and he chuckles, “Fine, I did not miss it. But you needed the sleep, so it’s okay with me.”

“Fine,” you concede, though you did not need much convincing for it. “But only if you promise you’ll wake me up if I end up falling asleep again.”

Hyunjin tilts his head, thinking to himself for a few seconds before shaking his head stubbornly, a small pout drawn on his face, his eyes semi-closed. “No.”

“Hyunjin!”

“Nu-uh,” he insists, shaking his head once more as he walks back towards his room. “I'm waiting for you!”

“I'm not coming!”

But you do eventually join him, after changing your clothes and washing your face. You find Hyunjin clad in beige and white checkered pajamas, his glasses pushing back his silky hair as he hunches over his journal, scribbling away before erasing what he wrote.

“Struggling with lyrics?” you ask, leaning against the wall and he startles. “Do you float on the ground? Why can I never hear you come in?”

“Or maybe you just love being dramatic,” you sing-song, laying atop his bed, much more at ease than the previous night.

Hyunjin sticks his tongue out childishly in response, and you playfully mimic the gesture before both of you dissolve into happy giggles.

“Kind of,” he explains once you both settle down, “I have this specific feeling in mind that I need to convey.”

“You'll do well,” you reassure softly, “your lyrics are always so beautiful. Remember Cover me?” you smile and he scratches the back of his ear, a shy grin spreading across his face.

“You still listen to it?” he asks and you nod eagerly, attempting to belt into Seungmin’s ending high note. You fail horribly and Hyunjin throws a crumpled piece of paper on your face to get you to stop singing.

“My poor ears,” he laughs loudly, and you retaliate by throwing back a pillow on his head.

“You just don’t get my artistic abilities.”

“I’d get them more if you stayed silent.”

You gasp, faking offense as you stand up to tickle Hyunjin on his chair, he starts squirming immediately, his loud giggles spilling all over the room, coating it in vibrant hues of happiness, and you’re suddenly captivated by the sight of him— his head thrown back, a golden lock framing his laughter-filled eyes, his top lowering slightly to reveal glimpses of his collarbones and the delicate veins that trace enticing paths on his neck.

You pause, your hand hovering over the side of his stomach, as a long-forgotten warmth spreads through your heart, like the first rays of dawn greeting the earth after a long winter night. It doesn’t diffuse quickly through your being, but rather drapes like sticky honey on your veins, making you well aware of your growing blush, of how beautiful Hyunjin is in his joy.

“Never singing to you again,” you clear your throat, laying atop his bed once again, and quickly reaching for your phone, anything to avoid his eyes which rival the crescent moon outside his window.

Hours pass before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, rousing you from your slumber. Blinking away the fog of sleep, you find Hyunjin leaning over you, his grin wide and infectious. “Wake up,” he whispers, but you only groan, burying your face deeper into his pillow.

He doesn’t yield, taking hold of your wrist and guiding your drowsy figure upright, before wrapping the blanket snugly around your shoulders. Without a word, he leads you out onto his balcony, carefully putting his neon green beanie on your head to shield you from the cold.

“It’s snowing!” he smiles, and his excited tone manages to dissipate the fog in your mind. You blink repeatedly and soon enough, you too behold the fallen snowflakes, each one resembling a tiny speck of light bidding farewell to the sky to greet the earth.

“You missed the first snow so I didn’t want you to miss this one too,” he explains, and his thoughtfulness blankets you with a warmth that seeps into every crevice in your body, drips down your fingertips and makes the cold of 4 a.m. seem less harsh, less biting to the touch.

You don’t know how to say thank you, because those two words don’t encapsulate the depths of gratitude that you feel for Hyunjin. Because he is speaking to the person within you who still loves snow, the part buried underneath layers of dust from a ground heartbreak. But you still manage to hear him, and you squeeze his hand tightly, and he doesn’t let go until you finally do.

❁ ❁ ❁

Remembering has become easier for you these past two months— both the good and the bad. And each day, the scale tips towards one side or the other. Sometimes you recall the suffocation you felt with him, the feeling that no matter what you did you could never please him, that your hands were crafted to break rather than mend. And on those days your wound grows, it throbs and bleeds different emotions.

Sometimes it's anger— at him for treating your heart so carelessly as if you were a being devoid of feeling. And then at you— for staying, for giving him excuses and desperately searching for goodness within him, for the one redeeming quality that would convince you he was worth the pain.

And other days bring an excruciating sadness along, a weight that presses down upon you until you're paralyzed. Because you feel bad for yourself and for everything you went through. Because you’re unsure how to rise when unseen hands push you deeper into the abyss.

And on these days, Seungmin becomes your anchor. He buys your favorite food, skips classes with you, and takes you to your favorite gardens. He talks and he talks and you try your best to laugh because you do not wish to worry him more. It is enough to be your own burden, you do not wish to burden him too.

But when he drops you home, your facade slips away, the smile fading from your face as if it were never truly yours to wear. You are too tired to pretend so you don’t, and Hyunjin doesn’t let you, either. He brews you tea and orders takeout because he knows you lack the energy for cooking. He goes with you on walks and drapes you in pieces of his clothing— scarves and beanies and gloves because he knows you couldn’t care less about a cold when there is a frost coating your bones. He lets you sit in his room while he works on his songs, and while he paints. Sometimes you talk and often you don't need to. But he’s there. He's there with you.

But you also remember the good. You remember your movie night with the boys, Hyunjin building an entire fort for you, adorned with twinkling lights and the softest blankets. How you watched movies until 5 a.m. your bodies so closely huddled together that there was no room left for sadness.

You recall Hyunjin begging you to build a snowman with him at the crack of dawn, the two of you collapsing in fits of laughter as you threw snowballs at one another, your footsteps marking the fresh fallen snow.

You remember being so exhausted after one of your showers that you simply laid atop the couch, gaze fixed on the void, too drained to even untangle the knots in your hair. Yet, it is not the tiredness that you exactly recall, nor the salty tears you shed underneath the scorching water jet. But it is Hyunjin's tender hands as he brushed through your hair, his fingers tracing the nape of your neck, his knuckles ghosting over the slate of your shoulder. You remember whispering that it was a particularly hard day and Hyunjin understanding. You remember him watching many YouTube tutorials to prepare your favorite seaweed soup, only for it to end up being too salty. But you still ate it all, because he made it for you, to lift your wounded spirits. And that alone was enough for it to taste good.

You remember your heart hardening then softening again, breaking then stitching itself back together, closing off then blooming like flowers on the first day of spring. You remember smiling only to cry then smile again. And you remember liking snow, a bit more than you thought you would. Because Hyunjin was there, holding your trembling hand, steadying it enough for you to rewrite your memories with winter.

So, you want to say thank you.

You do not wish to spell it out, because there are too many things to thank Hyunjin for and too few words to do so. Instead, you drag him to the farmer’s market near your home, and you tell him to help you pick flowers.

“I could be in bed watching my favorite show and yet here I am bestowing you with my enchanting presence,” he sighs, not too modestly, as you both eye the array of colorful blooms.

“Okay, Shakespeare, are you done?” you roll your eyes, attempting your best to hide your grin.

“Done annoying you? Never. These are very pretty,” he adds, pointing to the white roses in full bloom, their delicate petals emitting a sweet fragrance into the air.

“I agree, what else should we add?” you ponder, picking out four roses.

“Mm, Hibiscus? The red in the center is so vibrant,” he suggests, taking out his phone to capture the flower.

“Cute. Baby breath’s would look good too,” you say as you gather the flowers, heading to the cashier with Hyunjin trailing behind, still admiring the delicate blooms.

“Can I write a note?” you ask the middle-aged man as he wraps the bouquet in a powder blue paper.

“Sure,” he replies with a smile, and you return the gesture, quickly jotting down your words.

“Are you done?” Hyunjin grins when you return to his side and you nod, exiting the flower shop.

“What do you think?” you ask, angling the bouquet towards him.

“It's beautiful.”

“It’s yours,” you smile, growing shier at the intensity of his gaze as it lands on you, then the flowers, then on you again. “Take it,” you hand it to him, your cheeks flushing like the hibiscus’s crimson core.

“Actually?” he says softly, his fingers trembling slightly as he accepts the flowers and you nod in response. You bite your lip as you watch him take out the note, his eyes softening once he reads the words inscribed in it— thank you for making my winter less cold.

“Should we go?” you say a tad too cheerfully, turning away, but Hyunjin grabs your wrist, spinning you around once more. His fingers trail up your arm, coming to rest gently on your cheek as he leans down to plant a tender kiss there.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering against your skin for a moment longer than necessary. You think that if his soft lips grace your skin a few times more, your nerve endings might forget the harshness they were subjected to. If his gentle hands remain on your cheeks, then maybe, your heart would heal quicker, better. Maybe your past self that you long for would emerge again, maybe Hyunjin would be able to unearth it.

Your hopeful thoughts disappear as quickly as they arrive, overshadowed by a sense of helplessness that crashes over you, all of the sudden. You sense him before you hear him, the familiar anxiety that is only synonymous with your ex’s presence.

“Yn?” the sound of your name feels harsher in his mouth, the syllables spat out rather than spoken tenderly, as they are when Hyunjin pronounces it. Your veins run cold as his voice pierces the air, your heart skipping three beats at once before plummeting to your knees. You wrap your hand around Hyunjin’s forearm instinctively, and he looks down at you, his expression morphing into one of concern.

You’re unsure of what he sees in you— whether it is your pale face, the quiver of your lower lip, or the fear that has coated all your features— but his eyes harden, his brows furrowing as he gazes at the man behind you.

You refuse to turn around, bracing yourself for his next words. “Yn,” he repeats his tone laced with anger, his fingertips grazing your arm as if intending to force you to face him. But before he can touch you, Hyunjin intervenes, swiftly stepping in between you and your ex, shielding you with his own body protectively.

“Leave,” Hyunjin's voice is cold, dripping with a venomous edge you've never heard from him before, his jaw clenching with barely contained fury.

“Is this your new shiny toy, Yn?” your ex taunts and his voice cuts through your being against your will, triggering a flood of memories you've tried so desperately to suppress. Memories of his cruelty, his manipulation, and the pain he inflicted upon you—using your love as a weapon to bolster his own ego.

“What's in it for you?” you find your voice again, though it trembles when you speak. He is the very embodiment of your pain and everything you loathe about yourself. You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, for a bolt of lightning to strike the earth, anything to spare you from facing him.

“It's only been three months, I didn't know you were a whore.”

Hyunjin's fist connects with his cheek before you can register his words. It all unfolds so rapidly that you barely have time to comprehend it. Your ex staggers back, blood trickling from the cut on his lip, while Hyunjin stands before you, his chest heaving with restrained anger, his right hand clenched into a fist, the bouquet still held tightly in the other.

“Fine, I deserved it,” your ex chuckles, his voice laced with mockery as he wipes the blood from his lip. His gaze meets yours briefly behind Hyunjin's back.

“You might not be a whore but you are unlovable, keep that in mind.” He spits out before walking away, crude words that tear at every scab covering your wounds, reopening them with a brutal force. Hyunjin moves to follow him, but you grab his shirt, pulling him back.

“He’s not worth it,” you murmur.

Your words seem to snap Hyunjin out of his haze as he turns to look at you, worry cast across his figure. He moves to cradle your cheeks but you step back, refusing to meet his eyes. He swallows thickly, clutching the bouquet in his hands. “Are you okay?”

You let out a heavy sigh, your shoulders slumping as you shake your head slightly. “Let's just go home,” you whisper, eyes fleeting to his for a split second. All the lights in your gaze are muted.

You’re crumbling before him once again and he cannot stop it, no matter how much he yearns to.

It's long past midnight when you find yourself seated on the floor of your living room, a bottle of red wine placed between you and Hyunjin. You exchange it wordlessly, taking turns sipping from it, the alcohol warming your insides but doing little to ease the ache in your heart. You don’t exactly recall when Hyunjin sat next to you, but you don’t mind. You were too lost in your own thoughts to even register his presence.

“Yn,” he calls out softly and you hum absentmindedly, memories of when your ex spoke your name haunting you, each time he yelled your name, uttered it in disdain as if it was the starting point of everything wrong with you.

“Talk to me, please?” he pleads, angling his body towards your own. But you refuse to meet his eyes and Hyunjin’s heart twists in his chest. He is afraid of all the ugly thoughts that must roam your mind. He wishes he could enter it, open the windows wide, and usher the light in.

“I'm sorry you were dragged into this,” you say, your gaze fixated on the bouquet placed atop the table. The crimson painted on the hibiscus’ petals reminds you of the blood that spilled from your ex’s mouth, and your gaze fleets to Hyunjin's hand, slightly bruised from the punch.

“Don’t apologize,” he whispers, “there is nothing to be sorry for.”

It’s as though you don’t hear him, your fingers trailing gently across his scraped knuckles, tears pooling in your eyes the more you stare at his hand.

“Does it hurt?” you ask, voice thick with emotion, and Hyunjin’s quick to shake his head. “No, don’t worry about it. He deserved it.”

“You didn’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Neither did you.”

Your disbelieving scoff that follows scares him. What if you’re slipping away into a dark place yet again, one void and barricaded, in which the only sound that echoes is your ex’s hurtful words? What if he can’t reach you again?

“If the only person I’ve ever loved says I’m unlovable then maybe I am.”

You’re drunk, you wouldn’t have said such an ugly thing otherwise, wouldn’t have allowed this sentiment to materialize into the air, to take a tangible form apart from your abstract thoughts.

“No,” Hyunjin says in a panic as though he’s trying to quickly pull the brakes on your free-railing thoughts. He cups your face between his palms, your tears falling freely atop his hands but he does not move away.

“No,” he repeats, more calmly this time. “How he treated you is a reflection of who he is. And how you see him is a reflection of who you are. And you wanted him to be loving because you’re full of love. You wanted him to be good because you are a good person. And he can’t stomach that, can’t stomach that you are happy without him so he’s trying to ruin you again.”

“Hyunjin…” you shake your head but he only inches closer to you, his thumbs gently caressing your cheekbones. “No, listen to me. Seungmin loves you so much he couldn’t eat properly for the first few days you stayed here, texted me all the time asking me how you were and if you were feeling better. He isn't good with words so instead he tries to make you laugh. He wishes he could give up parts of his happiness for you.”

A sob swells within you but Hyunjin presses on. “And Minho, he tried to memorize all your favorite recipes so he could cook them for you. It isn’t a coincidence that every time we go over to their dorm it is your favorite food that we eat. He takes more pictures of his cats these days so he could send them to you because he knows it cheers you up.”

“You told me Changbin doesn’t know you well enough to fight for you but when we saw your ex across the campus one day he wanted to get up and beat him. He always asks me if you are well and if there is something he can do for you, anything.”

He inhales deeply, tears welling up in his eyes as well. “And me…” a tender smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, “you make this house a home. I feel like my true self when you are around and loneliness doesn’t come to me as often as it did. Because you are here. You are like a beam of sunlight that lightens up every life you touch, mine first,” he’s baring his soul to you, vulnerable yet resolute. “So tell me, Yn, what’s not to love in you when you yourself are so full of love?”

“Hyune,” you speak the nickname for the first time, and Hyunjin’s heart thrashes achingly around his ribcage. “If you keep talking like this I might end up loving you,” you smile sadly at him as if it is a terrible thing to be loved by you.

“But I don’t want to love you, because I won’t know how to, not anymore. So I'll end up leaving. And I'll long for you, and I don't think I can stomach longing for you from afar.”

“So please,” you place one hand atop his own, wipe away the lone tear rolling down his cheek. “Don’t make me love you, hm? You deserve more than to be loved by someone like me.”

You leave Hyunjin in the living room, alone before the white flowers you gifted him. He doesn’t want to put them away in a vase, for as soon as he grabbed them from your hold, everything around you both crumbled. So he leaves them there for the night, the creamy white petals aglow underneath the moonlight. He spends the night painting the bouquet from memory, but the petals end up too tinged with red, perhaps mirroring the blood his heart refuses to stop spilling still.

He did not realize it before, maybe he blinded himself so he wouldn’t see what was before him all along. But it is all the clearer to him now— that in his attempts to make you love winter again, Hyunjin only ended up loving you.

A week later.

hyune [1:25 a.m.]: i miss you

You and Hyunjin spent the last seven days avoiding one another, well you more than him. He just understood your silent plea when you took a step back the one time he tried to talk to you in the kitchen, swallowing thickly before inching away, allowing you to move past him.

You did not know how to face him after what he said, partly because you were embarrassed by your own response, mostly because even in your drunken daze, his words etched themselves permanently into your memory.

It is his reassuring words that echoed in your brain for the past week, not those of your ex.

hyune [1: 26 a.m.]: and i miss sleeping on the couch

You giggle, shaking your head before replying.

yn [1:26 a.m.]: no you don’t

hyune [1:26 a.m.]: no i don’t ㅠㅠ

but i finished the song

wanna hear?

Walking to Hyunjin’s room feels as familiar as going into your own. And when your gaze finally meets his you can’t help but break into a relieved smile. It was foolish of you to punish yourself, enough people have done that for you already.

“Hey,” he greets tentatively, and you respond with an awkward wave, a moment pregnant with anticipation passes before both of you dissolve into laughter.

“What is this? Are we in middle school,” he teases and you giggle, settling comfortably on his bed once more.

“I know. We are so lame.”

“You are,” he corrects with a grin and you gasp, pretending to leave but he quickly catches your hand, stopping you. “No, please stay. I meant it when I said that I missed you,” he repeats quietly, as if afraid that his confession would make you run away once again.

Your heart aches, the knots in your stomach tightening and unraveling all at once. “I missed you too,” you admit softly, and he smiles, his thumb tracing a gentle path above your pulse before releasing your hand.

“So it's done then?” you ask and he nods, running a hand through his hair with a hint of anxiety. “How do you feel about it?”

“Good. I hope you’ll like it, mostly.”

“I'm sure I will,” you reassure him with a soft smile, and he nods once more, pressing a few buttons before his melodious whistles fill the air once again.

Nothing could have braced you for the sound of Hyunjin's voice that followed, its timbre soft as silk yet imbued with profound sorrow. It's as though he recorded the song on one of his loneliest nights, his honeyed vocals dipped in an excruciating nostalgia that seeps into every corner of the room, every corner of your heart.

In the faded photo, I come across a smile spread across a youthful face, overlapped with the seasons.

Your gaze flickers to Hyunjin as a shadow of recollection dawns on you. You remember telling him that you couldn’t stomach looking at pics of your past, ones in which you smiled so freely because you were blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The night’s so cold that it’s almost unreal.

Because you weren’t aware of the winter that will follow and the biting cold that it would bear, for everything that will go astray in your relationship, for your ex's facade to crack like a glacier succumbing to the pressure of lies and pretense.

I wake up in another silence, and I close my eyes.

You remember Hyunjin confessing that silence haunted him more than words ever could, and you had agreed, sharing how sometimes you shut your eyes, pretending that the reality you woke up to wasn't the one you were living.

The white flower we planted together has bloomed. I do not dare pick it. Now it withers away.

You gaze at the white flowers you brought him, now wilted in the vase placed on his desk, yet Hyunjin refuses to throw them still. You see the card you wrote for him hung on the wall, right next to the dried red rose. He kept it. Though it withered, he kept it all.

So I long for you. And I long for you. And I'll long for you.

You remember the longing you both spoke of, how he understood a feeling you felt so incredibly alone in. How he tried to reassure you when he too was caught in the webs of the past. How you longed for him in the past week. How you wished he longed for you just the same.

So I can keep loving you. So I could be loving you. And morе.

The violin swells and so does the emotion in your chest. You remember him asking you ‘What’s not to love in you’ and how you've spun those words in your thoughts ever since. You remember thinking that if he gave you a few more weeks, just a bit more time, you might have found it in you to believe them.

You see Hyunjin’s glimmering eyes holding yours, you see his heart atop a platter handed to you, and you see the resignation in his being. Don’t make me love you, you told him. You didn’t dare to tell him not to love you in return, deemed it too foolish of thought to entertain.

For he was Hwang Hyunjin, the quiet producer who paints in his free time and who wears his heart on his sleeve. Who remains hopeful, loving, and tender, despite the thorns pricking at his side. Who is beautiful, so much so that he allowed you to see beauty in the universe once again, through his eyes.

How could he love you?

How could you not love him?

“The song,” you whisper, the words barely escaping your lips as you stand, trembling, on your feet. Hyunjin rises too, meeting you in the center of his room.

“It is about you. For you,” he says simply as if his words don’t cause your world to burst at the seams only to mend itself once again, too eager to fix itself and exist in the same timeline as Hyunjin.

“I don't… I don’t know what to say,” you say earnestly, feeling your heart pound in your chest, its beats resounding loudly in your ears.

It is wrong of you to assume he wishes you to say something. He is Hyunjin, the one who finds words in your silences too, after all.

“I don’t need you to say anything,” he shakes his head, taking another step closer to you. “I don't want an answer, I don't wish to pressure you. I just wanted to tell you that my love is here, it is yours to take or to leave, to cherish or to discard. But it is yours, because this is who I am. I am someone who loves you.”

“So do not tell me to forget you because I don't know how to. And don’t tell me that you’ll leave because I will love you still, because you’d still be you, near or far, you are you. And you are someone I long for.” He pauses, his voice softening. “And I long for you, Yn, more than anything I've ever longed for. And I've spent all my life longing.”

His lips meet your forehead tenderly, and you feel your entire being grow limp at the chaste kiss, as if your limbs wish to liquefy and form a puddle on the floor. His touch is soft, and you miss it the moment he parts from you.

“There must be something in this room that keeps on making you cry,” he smiles and you bring your hands to your damp cheeks, surprised to find there tears you didn’t realize had fallen.

“It’s you,” you pinch his arm playfully and he squirms away from your hold, stabbing his toe on the desk in the process. A loud fuck echoes around the room, and your laughter dissipates the tension clinging into the air.

“Can you play it again?” you request softly and Hyunjin’s theatrics fade as a shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Is it good?”

“It's everything to me.”

“It's called ‘long for you’, by the way.”

“Long for you,” you repeat quietly. There has never been a prettier combination of words.

The title all but makes sense as you lay on the bed, your gaze fixed on the paintings hung on the wall, Hyunjin sketching quietly on his desk, the song resonating softly in the background. You've longed for many things in your life—the person you once were and the tender love you once craved—but amidst it all, nothing has weighed heavier on your heart than the longing for the man sitting just two meters away, almost in your loving grasp. Almost.

❁ ❁ ❁

It is an excruciating five days that Hyunjin spends apart from you, the both of you too caught up in your assignments to find a moment to properly speak. But you do not shy away from him when he greets you, and your grin is kind as it drapes across his being, and Hyunjin swears he has never seen a prettier sight than you smiling.

On the sixth night, Hyunjin completes the cover for the song— a figure wrapped around itself protectively, mirroring the way you hug yourself in your sleep. He hangs it on the wall, right next to your thank you card and the white bouquet he drew once again, wishing to properly immortalize its beautiful flowers, to purify that memory from the tumult that followed it.

On the sixth night, the house is quiet, the full moon high up in the sky, snowflakes falling softly to the ground. Hyunjin wonders if you too mimicked the snow’s descent— both of you falling apart with it.

But then, there’s a knock on his door.

His heart catches in his throat, his body freezing as if it forgot how to move. You are here.

“Come in,” he manages to say, his voice barely above a whisper. You push the door open, and Hyunjin's words wilt on his tongue as he sees what you're carrying—another bouquet, filled with white flowers, yet again.

“Hey,” you smile, standing by the door.

He remains silent, unsure of what to say, or how to speak. He longs for you when you are away, even more so when you’re before him.

“We shouldn't let these white flowers wither away too, right?” you smile slightly, placing the bouquet on the desk before walking to Hyunjin’s bedside. His voice falters, vocal cords refusing to move and overshadow your voice.

You sit beside him, gently pulling his hand so that you’d both lie on the pillows. Your hand doesn’t leave his own, instead, it moves to rest on his cheek, reminiscent of the many times he had cradled your face before. Inch by inch, you close the gap between you, nuzzle the tip of your nose against his own. “Hi, Hyune”, you say softly, and he swallows thickly, his voice coming out just as quietly.

“Hi, my Yn.”

“If we take care of the white flowers together do you think they’ll survive a bit longer?” you ask, your gaze never wavering from his, countless stars twinkling in the depths of your irises.

“I believe so,” he says tentatively, too aware of the warmth of your palm against his skin, of the sweet ache unfurling within his being.

“Mm, and even if they wilt we can always buy new ones. We can learn how to care for them better, with time,” you say, and he nods in agreement, laying his hand atop your own, tilting his head to bestow a chaste kiss on your palm.

“With time,” he echoes softly and you smile, vulnerable yet secure in his gray sheets, in his hold.

“Will you give me time too?” you ask, and Hyunjin reads in your eyes what you mean, understands in the shake of your voice the question you are too afraid to voice. Will he give you time to heal in order to love?

“As long as you need. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures, pressing his forehead gently atop yours, and you both close your eyes, as a running warmth encloses you both, blooms a blush on both your cheeks.

His arms wrap around your back, drawing you close until your chests are pressed together, your head resting naturally in the curve of his neck. And it is long forgotten in your mind, all the nights you slept in this very bed alone. You feel safe, safe enough to long for love knowing that it patiently awaits you behind the door, once you find enough courage to turn the doorknob. You feel serene, as Hyunjin’s warm palms glide soothingly up and down your spine, as every muscle, every nerve, every atom in your being relaxes in his hold.

You are healing, slowly, with each fleeting second that passes in which Hyunjin’s heartbeat resounds within your chest, as its melody runs through your veins, melds with your own as if it was destined to be there all along. As you rest in Hyunjin, as you find a safe home within his soul to discard your worries at the doorstep and breathe.

“It did get better,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his shoulder blade. “Hm?” He leans back to look at you, and he’s so beautiful, so tender as he gazes at you, you can’t help but trace the contours of his face with your fingers, hoping to commemorate him with your eyes, with your touch.

“You promised me it’ll get better, and it did,” you smile, as your legs further intertwine with his, and his rose perfume becomes an indelible mark on your skin. “Too bad I can't hit your pretty face now,” you joke and he giggles, tipping his head back.

He's so beautiful, body and soul, and he longs for you, you alone.

“But I can still do this,” you murmur before finally pressing your lips against his like a boat finally reaching the shore after months of sailing. You both exhale, in yearning, in relief, as your mouths move together in a slow, languid dance, his hand finding the pulse on your neck, yours settling atop his jaw.

He would kiss you again, this intimately, in the coming months, when your heart expands enough to contain the love Hyunjin deserves. He would kiss you again, when your past comes to haunt you, and healing sounds like an elusive myth you’d never encounter in your life.

And he would kiss you again, over the kitchen table and under the fridge’s light, in between paintings and in supermarket aisles, while picking flowers and watching the first snow.

He would kiss you, this tenderly, in the next winter, and the ones after it, as if his longing for you never wanes. Till blow three disappears from your memory, till all you remember is the love, the true one, the kind one, the soft one Hyunjin alone could have brought you.

[jjscrybaby]

prompt 66: ‘i smell smoke.’

jj maybank x fem!reader | hurt & comfort | (fire, kie being ur wingwoman, near death experience, cringey confessions bc i am cringe🙂‍↕️)

this is half inspired by another au but i can’t find the writer! if you know lmk so i can give credit!

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

For the first time in weeks everyone had smiles on their faces. It felt like ever since the Pogues got back from ‘Poguelandia’ things have been tense, not just with John B’s father but with the entire group. They haven’t been seeing eye to eye, constant fights and bickering.

Your’s and JJ’s relationship was utterly confusing, things were calm and fun on the island but since you got back his commitment issues have been in full-swing. He refuses to admit his feelings for you, it doesn’t matter that you’re well aware how he feels.

Kie’s ukulele filled the Chateau, John B and Sarah had snuck off to rekindle their relationship in his bedroom, Pope and Cleo were chatting on the couch and you and JJ were sat beside each other struggling to talk.

“Look—” JJ began, letting out a soft sigh.

“Do we have to do this now?” You interrupted. Whatever he was going to say was presumably going to ruin the calm atmosphere you were finally experiencing; and as much as you loved hearing his voice you just weren’t in the mood.

“Uh… no,” he murmured, giving you an awkward smile. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that, and you felt a little guilty.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you, Jayj. I just want to go for a shower, be proper rested for tomorrow, y’know?” You explained softly.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course,” JJ nodded, looking down at his thighs. “Go shower. We can talk once we’ve got Big John back and got rich as fuck.”

You giggled, giving him a sweet smile as you stood from the couch. You grabbed a towel and made your way into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

JJ sighed as he leaned back, running a hand through his hair. In your defence, he probably was going to just upset you yet again. He desperately wanted to tell you how he felt, but anytime he opened his mouth the words would get caught in his throat and instead he’d make up excuses.

“You know, you’re being ridiculous,” Kiara stated, putting her ukulele down just to shoot him a glare.

“What?” He huffed, looking over at her.

“She loves you, you love her. Stop with the self pity and just let it happen, stop ruining something that’s going to make you the happiest you’ve ever been,” Kiara argued.

He opened his mouth to retaliate, or agree, he hadn’t decided yet, when he stopped. He sniffed the air, eyebrows furrowing. “I smell smoke.”

“What?” She questioned, sniffing the air. “Shit, what is that?”

JJ jumped off the couch and ran to the window, eyes widening as he saw orange flames. “Fire! There’s a fire!”

“What?” Pope exclaimed, jumping up also to run to the blonde’s side.

“Get them!” JJ demanded, pointing to John B’s closed bedroom door. His mind instantly went to you, he ran to the bathroom and banged his fists against the door. “Hey!”

You switched the water off, climbing out of the tub to dress in one of John B’s shirts and your shorts. “What, JJ? I’ll just be a sec—”

“No! There’s a fire! Open the door!” JJ yelled, continuing to hit his knuckles against the wood.

With a panicked look you rushed to the door, trying to pull the lock back; it didn’t budge. It wasn’t unusual for the lock to get stuck, especially recently when it hasn’t been used in over a month. “It’s not opening!”

“Shit,” JJ hissed. “Okay, don’t panic. We’re gonna get you out, okay?”

The more time that passed of you trying to pull on the latch and him throwing his body against the door the hotter the room got. The metal was burning your fingers, smoke filling your lungs as you cried out.

“It’s not working!” You croaked out, pulling your shirt over your mouth.

JJ tried not to let you hear how panicked he was, the tears running down his face as he carried on trying to knock the door down. It was when your coughing started that he freaked out, sobs leaving his mouth as he finally knocked the wood down.

“C’mere, c’mere,” he soothed, grabbing at you to pull you into him.

He held his hand over your mouth and dragged you out the door they’d smashed open to get out, the others were all waiting outside worriedly. You collapsed onto the grass, coughing up a lung as he fell beside you.

“Fuck, you’re okay,” he cried, rubbing your back with one hand whilst the other held your head to his chest.

“I’m okay,” you croaked out, looking up at him. You saw the tear tracks down his face and your eyebrows furrowed in worry. “Are you?”

He didn’t answer with words, instead leant down and pressed his lips to yours. You reciprocated the kiss, smiling against his lips as he held you tightly in his arms. He pulled away, leaning his forehead against yours as he caught his breath.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice breaking with emotion. “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“You can’t lose me,” you murmured back, wiping a tear with your thumb. “I’m okay, I promise. You saved me.”

“I’ll always save you,” he responded softly.

For the first time he wasn’t afraid to be in love, because he’d felt a fear even worse; the thought of losing you.

[upsidedownmvnson]

tell me you love me | steve harrington

warnings: fluff (warning lol) friends to lovers, idiots to lovers,

a/n: i actually really loved this <3 i hope you do too

tell me you love me vol 2

Steve Harrington had already tried twice in his life to confess his love for you.

The first time, you two were in the tenth grade and you had just accepted stupid Jack Warren's invitation to prom, so Steve didn't bother. That was back when he was settling into popularity anyway, so he got over it pretty quickly. He was dating Cathy Bartlett the next week.

The second time, Robin had made him pinky promise not to date you. She had held him down, sat on his back and twisted his arm until he pinky swore that he wouldn't do anything to destroy the delicate ecosystem of the friend group. There was already one awkward ex-situation in there.

But Robin was right, you were not like the girls he normally dated. If things went wrong he wouldn't be able to just sweep it under the rug, it could have painful ramifications for all his friends. Although... he didn't actually think it would go that bad. Steve would find his mind wandering on the idea often. He pictured the two of you in the kitchen, side by side cooking dinner and talking about your day. When he thought of you, it felt like home. It felt like somewhere he could build a house and live forever.

If he could only get the words out, he'd realize how quickly you'd accept him. He'd realize he wasn't the only one of you that was stupid in love.

You had been in love with Steve since you could remember. But never once thought he'd shared your interest, not with all the girls around him all the time. The way he shines in their attention and basks in their praise, it's enough to make you sure he's happy with how it is. Or he probably wouldn't have told you all about his date with Debbie Dabbenthorn, right?

Tonight, you, Nancy and Robin were at a party. Something Steve desperately tried to make not happen. But he was working, so there was no one to stop you girls from coaxing each other into drink after drink, which you always did. The three of you always drank too much, and Steve always got stuck trying to coral you and Robin into his car.

At the party, Nancy was handing you another red cup filled to the brim, sloshing over the side and coating your fingers. You hadn't noticed.

"I love when we ditch the boys," Nancy said, smiling as she sipped out of her own solo cup. "It's so fun!"

"Same," Robin said, slinging her arm around Nancy's shoulers, making the two of them sway and laugh. They caught their balance and cheered drinks. "Hey, help me find the bathroom!"

It wasn't hard to find, but it was hard for all three of you to get there without knocking into each other, but it didn't matter. The three of you giggled the whole way, laughing too hard over barely anything. Enjoying the simple joy of being with your friends on a party.

The line for the bathroom was short, only a few people deep. Nancy was grilling Robin on her love life while Robin evaded every question with a vague answer, soon, she turned it onto you, focusing Nancy on the other singler girl in the group.

"Do you not think anyone is cute at least?" Nancy said, not quite believing you when you say you didn't have a crush on anyone at the moment. You shrugged, trying to avoid admitting that it was her ex boyfriend that really turned your head. Robin chuckled, and slid into the bathroom.

You started sipping your drink when Nancy asked, "Not even Steve?" and you nearly choked, but you coughed once and composed yourself. You stared at her, confused as to why she would bring him up.

"You don't have to say anything," she said, and you looked into your cup, noting that you'd need a replacement after this trip. "But it would be okay with me."

Robin opened the bathroom door again, reassembling the trio be throwing her arms around both of your shoulders. "New drinks!" she cheered, steering you all in the direction of the kitchen.

"Drink up," Nancy giggled, "and then let's dance!"

So that's what you did, you guys drank and danced and had a great time. Until Jonathan came to pick up Nancy. That's when you saw that it was after nine, so Steve should've been on the way to come collect you and Robin from your drunken outing. You told Robin again how nice it was for Steve to come get you.

"But c'mon, you love him right?" Robin asked, laughing at your shock.

"I do not love him," you argued, but you did. Robin shrugged, but didn't look convinced. "He just is beautiful, that's all."

"Nah," she said, brushing off the idea with a wave of her hand. "You just love him."

"Do not," you mumbled. But Robin already leaned the other way when Vicki walked up to talk to her. You leaned further into the couch, the ugly thing was very comfortable. Steve should be there any minute.

"Hey," Robin whispered, "Vicki invited me to go with her friends to the lake... Are you gunna be okay here? You're not too drunk are you? Because if you think you can't stay awake, I'll stay of course..."

"Robin, go! I'll be fine for like two minutes..." you slurred, you were pretty drunk but Steve really was going to be there any second.

"Okay!" she didn't have to be told twice before she was scrambling after Vicki in her love-drunk haze. Or maybe just regular drunk, but Robin was feeling giddy anyway.

Steve was running behind because he lost the address that Robin had given him. She'd just ripped off a corner of a piece of paper, and Steve had lost it at some point in his shift. When he finally found the place he was thirty minutes behind.

When he got inside you were curled up on the couch alone, snoozing while some couple made out next to you in the spot Robin had vacated. He smiled when he saw you, and took a knee next to you, trying to wake you up nicely. He stroked your cheek, and tucked some hair behind ear, making you stir softly in your slumber.

"Time to get up," Steve said, "Where's Robin?"

"Went with Vicki," you whispered, rubbing your eyes, smudging whatever makeup wasn't already ruined from the dancing.

"Well, how mean of her to leave you here all alone," he said, running his thumb along your cheek again. "Can't trust you guys alone now though, she did leave you to fall asleep at a house party. That's like really bad, I'm mad at her."

You made a soft noise in response, his stern voice was, not so stern. He smiled at you, and you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he was. Leaning close to you, rubbing your cheek, hair falling perfectly on his forehead and you just wanted to reach up and brush it away like he did. But your hands were wedged under your head, and you were afraid that if you stirred even an inch, he would leave, and this moment would be over.

"Guess you'll just have to make sure you come with us next time," you whispered, eyes bloodshot and glossy from all the alcohol. He thought you were the most beautiful girl in the room. The party was still raging around him, and he easily could've found a place within the girls, but he was content in this moment with you. Your eyes started feeling heavy, and you couldn't stop them from constantly fluttering shut.

“C'mon let me help you up babe,” Steve said, aiding your drunk figure. The nickname made your stomach flip. You were dead weight, giggling as he took care of you and grabbed your things and still found the patience to be kind to you, musing like he was interested in all your drunk babble.

“You're just so pretty, Stevie, it's stupid,” you cooed, finding a place beside him with his arms around you for balance as he lead you, slowly, to his car.

"D-Don't say that stuff," Steve said, voice cracking at the beginning. You were drunk, and it was dark, but you still noticed the blush on Steve's cheeks, and you smiled.

He opened the door for you, and you commented, "so romantic," while holding your hand over your heart, and Steve's heart raced. He went around the trunk of his car to get another second of fresh air, if you saw him in the light you were sure to see the heat he felt in his neck and cheeks. You were flirting with him, and he couldn't contain his excitement every time you complimented him, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes.

The entire trip was like that. From the moment he was in the car you were just a loose cannon of compliments and praises. This combination of him sober and you drunk has never happened while alone before. Were you this flirty with him when he was drunk too?

The answer was yes. The real reason Nancy knew you really wanted Steve was because whenever you two are drunk and together you look like you're in love... because you are. Holding hands, head on shoulder, legs across laps, big bright smiles that made everyone think you were truly, madly, deeply in love. Everything that's just a little too friendly, but never crossing that silly little line that kept you both under the umbrella of just friends.

You were a delight in his passenger seat. He only wished you spoke like this when you were sober, because then maybe he'd know for sure you love him too.

"Hey Steve?" you asked, voice coming out as almost a purr in your sleepy state. Steve's heart melted. "Can I hold your hand?"

"Yeah," he answered, clearing his throat and moving his hand over to your lap, intertwining your fingers. Your hands were cold to the touch, but all you felt was the comforting warmth of him. You were both smiling, goofy grins to match the butterflies in your stomach. "You can hold my hand whenever you like."

You made another happy hum, but said nothing else. The ride was short. No words exchanged, just the quiet songs on the radio, turned low to let you drift off in the passenger seat.

When you got to his house, he parked the car, looking at you. He didn't want to wake you. And he didn't want to let go of your hand. Maybe he should just stay in the car all night.

Of course he didn't do that. Steve weaseled his way out of your grip, not bothering to hide how pleased he was that you whined at the loss of his touch. he helped you out of the car, encouraging you to climb on his back for "an express ride to the VIP bathroom," and he delivered, carrying you, all dead weight and giggling, to the bathroom where he left you to clean up. You put on the clothes he delivered, Plaid pajama pants and a big grey shirt. Well, you put the shirt on, the pajama pants were thrown into the tub, because you couldn't be forced to wear pants.

"Steeeeeve," you slurred, leaving the bathroom, giggling and bumping into the doorframe.

Steve was standing in the doorway to his room, wearing only blue plaid pj pants. His torso on glorious display, while he stood frozen at the sight of you. You stretched your arms over your head, and the shirt rose, exposing your panties to him. He nearly choked looking at you.

"Can I sleep in your room?" you asked, smiling at the effect you had on him. "Look how cute I am," you said, turning around and lifting the shirt while bending over slightly, giving him a perfect view of your ass, with the panties laying deliciously over your cheeks.

"Jesus," he muttered, unable to look away but trying to force himself to. He shouldn't be sneaking a peak while you were this drunk, but in his defence you were the one showing him. "Come to bed, just put your shirt down."

"It's your shirt," you teased, obeying him anyway. You danced behind him into the room, and crawled into bed. It smelled so good, it smelled like him. You could've stayed by Steve's side under these blankets forever.

You lay facing Steve, in his overly big, overly comfortable bed, too tired and drunk to keep your eyes open, but you still try. Steve smiles at your determination to stay awake, he watches your eyes blink quickly, trying to shake the sleep away.

You want to reach over and intertwine your hands, you don’t. He wants to reach out and brush the hair off your forehead and behind your ear, he doesn’t.

“Are we in love, Steve?”

The sharpness of your question cuts him, wounding him in a way he didn’t know was possible. He wanted to speak, but there were no words. No charismatic come back, and no way to avoid the lingering question in the air. Steve holds his tears back. He really did love you.

When your eyes peak open, he’s nodding. His eyes filled with tears that he refuses to let you see, but you see. "Yeah, I think so."

“Why is it so sad?”

“Because we're best friends," he said, "and I can't lose you."

"Tell me you love me," you whispered, silly mood replaced with a tight feeling in your throat, like you were going to cry. But you held it back.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

He wanted to cry. He wanted to kiss you. But instead, he just sighed, and found your hand under the sheets, and held it tightly. He was frozen. This was his dream come true, so why did it feel like a nightmare? Like you were right there, but he couldn't have you. Like he was doomed to stay in love with you, and never actually get to be with you.

“I will still love you in the morning whether I say it or not, Stevie.” Your eyes finally started winning the battle, and they stayed closed more than they stayed open, too heavy too fight.

"I know babe," he said, watching as you breathing changed and your eyes didn't open again. "I will too."