#bucket list item checked off

[patchdotexe]

HOLY SHIT I JUST GOT GIVEN A NEW BEAST TO TREASURE FOREVER

[alltheprettyplaces]

brb gonna cry forever

[moon-jellie]

Unfortunately my feminine wiles have girlbossed me too close to the sun! But on the plus side DAMN was it hot when I got there

[jennacrtega]

this is the coolest thing I have ever experienced in my life like no fucking kidding I will never shut up about it

[heechwe]

enchanted ↦ jww

⋆ pairing: jeon wonwoo x fem!reader ⋆ word count: 6.1k ⋆ genre: fluff. semi-angst ⋆ tags: cinderella-ish retelling, royalty!wonwoo ⋆ synopsis: Life as the housemaid and an inconvenience to your family is not what you wished for, but Wonwoo brings a new, royal perspective that turns your world around.

Scrub, wipe, shine. The chant plays over in your head, a symphony to block out the call of your horrendous stepsister trotting down the staircase. She says your name with a shriek but you pay her no mind. More than likely she has another errand for you to do. One she will take pleasure in you finding uncomfortable, no doubt. The color of the suds and sloshing sounds of the water bring you comfort. You dip your rag in the bucket next to you and plop it on the tile floor. Taking pleasure in the most menial tasks makes life a lot more bearable.

Heejin calls your name again when she makes it to the last step, knowing well enough you can hear her when she’s standing over you. “Are you deaf? We need new clothes from the market!”

You look up to her, a confused but indifferent expression on your face. You don’t bother asking what the clothes are for, but you know she’ll tell you regardless.

“For the ball, you imbecile,” Heejin says.

Minha, the younger of the stepsisters, pipes up behind Heejin, her voice a squeak compared to her older counterpart. “It’s the prince’s coronation.”

You nod and continue scrubbing the tile. If the task at hand isn’t done before your stepmother gets home, she will have your head on one of the pikes lining the kingdom’s outer walls.

“Finish this and then head to the seamstress. The fabric must be on my bed by sundown, or Mother will not be pleased,” Heejin says, a warning interwoven with the smirk on her lips.

Heejin purposefully kicks your bucket of soapy water across the floor on her way to the sitting room. The liquid drenches your apron and face thoroughly. You wish you could sling an insult at her for her entitlement along with her lack of care for anyone’s wellbeing but her own. Minha’s face transforms into a small frown, her eyes expressing sympathy as she follows her sister’s trail.

Since your father took gravely ill five summers ago, you have yet to receive an ounce of kindness from your newfound family. “Family” is barely a word you’d use to describe the relationship between yourself and them, the wolves who invaded your home on the eve of your fourteenth birthday, just a year after your mother’s passing.

Minha is the kindest of them all for her inaction during your stepmother and Heejin’s abuse, but you wish you had a confidant somewhere in the world. 

You rifle with the letters you saved from your father and mother, the inscriptions inside of them the last memory you have of them both. Some written to each other, others simply their musings and thoughts you wish you would have discussed with them before they left this earth.

If only someone knew you truly, who cared to hear your words and valued their meaning. Who saw life as a gift rather than a tool used to induce a person’s misery. If dreams could become reality, you would not be alone another day.

Wonwoo mentally checked off the items in his head that the king and company expected to be done for the coronation ball. The town baker was provided with the list of desserts and bread necessary for the feast. The lute and harp players were given an excellent amount of coin for taking part with their instruments. Even the meat and dairy from the kingdom’s best butcher was safely stored in the horse-drawn carriage behind Wonwoo’s own stallion. The final task in need of completion was a trip to the seamstress. In the words of the king, “it’s not every day my boy finds a bride.”

On arrival, Wonwoo was enraptured with color. He absorbed the rolls of fabric and material encased on the shelves, the finest satin and puffiest tulle displayed for ladies and gentlemen to spare no expense on for the upcoming celebrations. He gave the specifications to the shopboy almost an hour ago, but Wonwoo doesn’t mind spending a bit longer outside of the castle walls.

The bell above the door pierces the air with its chime, and Wonwoo looks up to see the most encapsulating view in existence. Would someone disbelieve him if he said that view included a girl with cheeks caked in soot, her hair pulled back underneath a common scarf, and her clothes as drab as a servant girl’s? Probably. But the sunshine on your face and twinkling eyes suggests to him that he should continue looking for as long as he can.

The seamstress and owner of the shop comes from behind the store, a sketching pencil tucked atop her ear and a vibrant smile on her lips as she says your name, the letters together a lovely orchestra. “Here for the usual order?”

“No. Heejin needs something spectacular for the ball. Her words, not mine.” You raise your hands in mock surrender, and the seamstress laughs.

“I’ll see what I can do. Just wait a moment.” In a flash, the seamstress walks back to her private area of the shop, and Wonwoo is left alone again with you, the mysterious but mesmerizing girl. A maid perhaps, given the nature of your visit?

All he knows is that he must talk to you, whether you recognize him or not.

You lightly tap your hands against the wooden counter, waiting for Miss Jae to come back with a fabric to take home. Hopefully one that Heejin loves enough to keep. That way you don’t have to come back on foot a second time today.

“Blue is best.”

You turn with a gasp. The man attached to the voice is adorned in royal clothing, golden cufflinks and buttons matching the royal purple material of his clothes.

 “Sorry,” you stutter, hands suddenly clammy.

“Your color.” He slides over to a roll of sky blue satin, placing a patch of it over his arm. “It looks terrible on me, but on you, I believe you would outshine any commoner.” He lets out a breathless chuckle and intakes a deep gulp of air.

It has been so long since another person wanted to engage with you, especially someone as handsome as the person before you. He may be as nervous as you, given his awkward introduction, but you know your conversational skills are worse for what. You aren’t sure how to converse anymore about topics outside of dinner orders and cleaning supplies.

“Thank you, but I won’t be attending the upcoming festivities.” You try to hide the sadness that threatens to break free on your face, but you’re too late. The stranger sees it and responds in kind.

“Everyone is welcome to the coronation,” he assures you.

“I’m afraid ‘everyone’ does not involve me…Your—” You stop short, unsure of his title as you don’t know his name or his face from recent memory.

“Wonwoo. Just Wonwoo.” Wonwoo breaks into a smile. You’re unsure whether you like his laugh or his smile more, but both seem to make your cheeks heat up all the same. He reaches out his hand for you to shake, and you give yours back, curtsying in response.

You tell him your name as well, a blush on full display. “As I said, Wonwoo, I usually stay in. Not in my nature to court or be courted.”

“That’s a shame. I’m sure your company is surely missed.” His hand is still caressing yours, thumb rubbing up and down your palm softly.

A shopboy suddenly comes into view. You both separate quickly, the intimate bubble bursting at the intrusion. The boy stuffs the garments in Wonwoo’s hands and bows swiftly before going back to his duties.

“You must be hard to miss as well, Wonwoo.”

“Well, you could say that.” You both hear a horse neigh outside the shop doors, and Wonwoo barely fights the urge to stay with you. “Until the next time.” He says his goodbye and your name with determination. If only you could assure him there will be a future where you cross paths again, but that hope may be squashed as quickly as it was born. It wouldn’t hurt anyone to hold onto it, though.

“Not terrible,” Heejin says when you come home, running her hand over the material Miss Jae gave to you. “If Mother needs more yards of it, you’ll have to go back immediately before they run out.”

“Of course, sister,” you say. You hate to use that word for someone as vile as Heejin, but Stepmother Jung enforced the rule as strictly as the list of chores you were to complete before the sun set every day. “We must always be a family in the eyes of society,” Stepmother Jung told you once after your father passed. “Even if you will never be a part of this one, you have to play your role.” If only that role extended to social gatherings.

Minha looks over Heejin’s shoulder and smiles. “It’s a beautiful pattern.”

“That’s why it’s for me. Mother will give you one of my old gowns to wear,” Heejin tuts and pats Minha under the chin with her free palm. You know Heejin spares her worst behavior for you, but in your eyes, Heejin doesn’t deserve the title of sister in any form. Just as your stepmother has no business being a mother to anyone.

“You’re dismissed,” Heejin says to you, the hand that was under Minha’s face used to wave you off.

“Sister, if I may.” She grimaces at you, but a curious spark remains in her eyes. You think back to Wonwoo, plucking up every ounce of your confidence. “I was wondering if you may consider letting me attend as well. Stepmother may not let me go of her own volition, but if you told her you approved then maybe-”

“And why would I do that,” Heejin says. She knows exactly what you want, and the only way for her to entertain the idea is if you grovel.

“Because I have never asked anything of you before.”

“As you should.” Your stepmother’s figure and shadow encompass the entirety of Heejin’s bedroom doorway. You immediately lower your head; it’s one of the humiliating rules you have to obey in the wake of becoming the family servant. You hear Heejin snicker, but it’s cut off immediately by Stepmother Jung clearing her throat. “Your purpose in this household is to do what is asked of you without complaint or question, not the other way around. Asking for anything else is an insult to me and my daughters.”

You feel tears prick the back of your throat, but you hold onto your resolve with a steadfast grip. “Stepmother, I am begging you—”

“I do not know what is worse, girls,” Stepmother Jung says, addressing Heejin and Minha, “hearing someone beg for something that will never come true or seeing someone forget their place in this world.”

Your bottom lip quivers without your approval. You can only hope none of the other people in the room are paying attention to your despair. Heartbreakingly, it appears they don’t.

“Now, Heejin, we need to measure you again for your dress. I swear you grow an inch every time you require a fitting, dear girl. Minha, I know exactly which of Heejin’s dresses will look perfect on you.” She motions for you to look her in the eye, and you force the tears to evaporate. “As for you, you have chickens to feed.”

“Seungcheol, I told you already, the conversation is over.”

“That’s Prince Seungcheol to you, kid.” Seungcheol juts Wonwoo in the arm. The practice swords whip through the air as the birds sing throughout the courtyard. “And who’s to say a royal summons would embarrass her? Everyone is to attend the ball. Maid, mare, or otherwise.”

“She seemed certain she was not supposed to be there. I don’t want her to feel forced to do anything.” Wonwoo huffs as he lands a blow on Seungcheol’s hip.

“What good is it to be royalty if I cannot help a dear friend and the future Hand of the King find love?”

Wonwoo and Seungcheol grew up together due to their fathers’ stations, one bearing the crown and the other gaining the responsibility of advising him. Although Wonwoo had no place without Seungcheol’s family, they had become close in their own right. Once Seungcheol ascended his throne, Wonwoo knew he was to be standing beside him with the title his father had worn for most of his life. 

With that in mind, it seemed both Wonwoo and Seungcheol were on respective quests to find a bride to continue the long-held, individual legacies they were born into.

“All you have to do is smile and dance with every eligible woman in the next three kingdoms while I hope my mystery girl decides to step out of the shadows, unprompted and entirely by her choice.” 

Seungcheol scoffs, sweat on his brow from trying to find an open spot on Wonwoo to exploit. “You place high priority on a stranger’s independence and choice-making.”

Wonwoo blushes. His thoughts go back to the fabrics, the jasmine smell in the air, you walking into his life and halting his day in the best way possible. He wishes he had said more, learnt more about you, held your hand longer before he was whisked away back to his priorities. Now he could only hope you would find your way back to him, whether by fate or of your own free will.

With his thoughts occupied, Seungcheol takes the opportunity to knock Wonwoo in the shoulder. Seungcheol smiles triumphantly, biting his lip. “Finally, for fuck’s sake.”

Wonwoo chuckles. “You won’t beat me again, Choi.”

“Wanna bet?” Seungcheol jokes.

Wonwoo immediately thwacks Seungcheol’s sword out of his hand in response. The tip of Wonwoo’s meets the column of the prince’s throat, and he grins. “You should train more if you want to be half as good as me.”

Dust, sweep, clean. You repeat the list in your head with traces of melancholy in your heart. You weren’t expecting to be allowed to go to the ball without a fight, but Stepmother Jung was right. What was the point in fighting if you had no standing at all to barter with?

Minha calls your name, her appearance in the kitchen is like magic. You must’ve been too lost in your morose thoughts to notice her walk in. Or she seems to know how to sneak around the manor better than you do.

Her arms rest behind her back, concealing something. “I’m sorry,” she says immediately, surprising you.

“I cannot blame you for Heejin or your mother.” A part of you wishes you could be more cruel, but you’re certain you have little to no capacity to be, even to your worst enemy. “You have done nothing to require an apology.” 

“I have. You deserve to go to the ball as much as any of us do.” She looks over her shoulder for someone, or a lack thereof. Satisfied, she throws a lump of fabric on the kitchen island. You notice the bandages on Minha’s fingers with a quick glance before focusing on the dress. The turquoise material sparkles in the light of the stained glass windows. “So you will.”

“Minha, I can’t-” You feel the same tears coating the back of your throat again, grateful to her but incapable of accepting the gesture.

“You can. You were right when you said you’ve never asked for anything before. So don’t ask. Take the chance, and the dress, and go to the ball.”

With that, Minha disappears quietly from the room, leaving the decision in the air for you to either seize or surrender.

The main ballroom is filled with swathes of dancing couples alongside gossiping nobility and local townspeople. To a stranger walking in, it was a display of royal decadence, the party lit from within with the sounds of joyous laughter, heavenly harps, and gorgeous decor. To Wonwoo, it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

 Seungcheol and his parents sit in their royal chairs, the gleaming gold of the upholstery almost too polished for Wonwoo’s eyes. The young men share knowing glances when someone particularly obnoxious makes an entrance or wishes to greet the royal family. Wonwoo wishes he could joke with his best friend openly about the noble women’s copious frills and curly mops, but now is not the time or place.

Wonwoo’s father leaves the king’s side to pat his son on the back. “You did well with your part in this, Woo. Maybe you’ll be rewarded with finding someone to wed as well. Wouldn’t that be luck smiling on us all,” he says with a loving grin.

“I doubt that someone will show up.” Wonwoo frowns.

“Have faith, my boy.”

Like luck was indeed shining on him, Wonwoo looks up and sees you at the top of the stairs, horns blazing to signify your arrival. Even in a mask, he can tell it’s you from the skipping of his heart. With your hair in a loose bun, tendrils framing your face with precision, you look nothing like the girl he met in the dress shop yet the exact same. He wonders how the color blue had the capacity to take his breath away. It doesn’t help how the dress’s bodice hugs you perfectly, the bottom of the gown a cloud that Wonwoo wishes he could rest his head upon forever.

You fidget with the tops of your gloves that brush the neckline of your dress, the sleeves dropping loosely on your shoulders. Wonwoo wants to rush up the stairs to assure you there is no need to be nervous.You’re the most beautiful woman in this kingdom, tonight and always.

When you reach the bottom, everyone is looking at you, the mysterious stranger that nobody can recall or pinpoint. You hear murmurs as you pass, some predicting you’re a long lost relative of the prince or whispering of you being a foreign beauty. You laugh to yourself at their capacity to chat and how far they are from the truth.

You catch Minha’s eye from her corner of the room, Heejin and your stepmother sneering at you. Minha smiles, a silent cheer in her expression, and you respond with a mirrored grin.

You make it to the center of the room, the pathway cleared for you thanks to the shock and awe of the crowd. To your content, Wonwoo meets you halfway. A hush falls over the spectators when he meets you on the dance-floor, but you don’t care about their perceptions.

Wonwoo says your name and bows. You curtsy in response. Despite feeling out of place for half of your life, it seems instinctual now to be in this room. Not with the strangers surrounding you, but definitely with him. “My prince.” 

A look of shock over Wonwoo’s face, and he immediately laughs. “No, I-I— I should have told you before. I’m not—“

You place a hand to your mouth, the realization a flood. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize—”

“I didn’t tell you before, so I wouldn’t expect you to—”

“I did say I don’t attend many social gatherings.”

You both share a laugh, the confusion dissipating your embarrassment at your slipup. You notice a well-dressed young man that steals all the glances in the room away from you, the man you now know is the prince himself. He strides over to Minha, her expression a pale sheet. He takes her hand for the next song, which she gleefully accepts.

Wonwoo pulls your attention back to him with the taking of your hand in his. “May I ask you to dance?”

“I would be delighted.”

You sit on one of the many balconies in the royal castle, breathless. Your feet should hurt more than they do with the multitude of waltzes you danced with Wonwoo, but they don’t. You wouldn’t mind if every limb ached, though. With Wonwoo beside you, breathless as well from the night’s excursions, you feel light as air. Free from the obligations you never asked for.

If only you knew Wonwoo felt the same way. He could not remember the last time he smiled this much in one day. Seungcheol was his best friend, his father the biggest influence in his life, and yet both of them reminded him daily of what the future entailed. With you, he didn’t feel anything but ease. 

“What if they send a kingsguard looking for us?” Your mouth is upturned in a smile, but you know Wonwoo shouldn’t be gone too long from the events. He was of some royal standing, and he needed to be there, shaking hands and bowing to subjects.

Wonwoo furrows his brows, his smile mirroring yours. “Seungcheol is the one who needs the most protection tonight. And besides, it would take ten of the best men to pull me from this balcony.” He chuckles. “Right now, there’s no other place I’d rather be.”

You nod and sigh happily. Looking over the edge of the marble landing, you agree with him. The town square is visible from your vantage point, the torches and homes, big and small, specks of light celebrating the coronation. “It is a beautiful view.”

“Is it indeed,” Wonwoo says, his eyes pinned to you and the bare skin of your upper chest. Your skin looks lit from within, your entire being a star amongst a sea of darkness. It’s at this moment Wonwoo knows his father was right. Luck has given him the greatest gift and more, and he won’t let you get away again.

You turn your head. His words make your breath hitch, but you try to reserve yourself. You smile in response and take his hands in yours. Your bodies are closer than you initially realized, and the look in his eyes begs you to move further towards him. 

All your life, you have lived at the whims of others. As you see it, there’s nothing wrong with taking your power back. Choosing at this moment to throw other parts of your life out of focus. Wonwoo is all you want, so you take your chance.

His mouth softly collides with yours, his lips careful to press too hard onto yours. He presses one hand to your neck, deepening his kiss and igniting a fire inside your heart. Every insult or slight you’ve endured over the years seems to fade away in that instant. You’re grateful, even, if it meant it all led to the moment in front of you, a man who seems to share your feelings confirming so with a kiss you’ve never experienced before.

You break away from him, each others’ lips still centimeters away. Wonwoo inhales a shaky breath, eyes hazy with longing. The desire to kiss him again and hold him closer is strong, but timing proves the night can’t last forever.

Your stepmother’s carriage suddenly comes to the front of the palace, and you feel your stomach fall.

You quickly step back from Wonwoo and take a breath, nerves spiking and your heart telling you to defy your head at this moment. It would be so easy to stay here and not look back, but the fallout would be too incredible to bear. And you wouldn’t wish that on this beautiful man in front of you.

“I must go,” you say, a sob caught in your throat.

“Please don’t leave. It’s only midnight,” Wonwoo insists, squeezing your hand. In the same fashion as the day you first met, he’s rubbing circles into your palm, almost like an incantation. With his words and his touch, maybe he can convince you.

Unfortunately, your choices can’t be that easily swayed when so much is on the line.

“I told you before Wonwoo. My life isn’t filled with parties like this,” you reply, tone wavering, “or people like you.” You take his hand in both of yours and press a kiss to the knuckles. “But I’ll cherish this forever.”

Before the pleading look on his face breaks your resolve, you gather your skirts in your hand and run.

You run down the staircase Wonwoo brought you up only moments before.  He calls out your name,  but you refuse to look back now, knowing it will break you to look into his eyes and walk away again if need be. You feel yourself fading the further you run away from him and out of his life.

It’s true, you’ll never forget him or the way he’s made you feel. But it’s also true that it is terrible to forget one’s role in the world. How does one witness all the colors of the world and accept going back to living in black and white?

Little did you know the paper you carried in your skirt's pocket had fallen out on the way out of the palace. Wonwoo looks through the forest lining the castle and curses, you disappearing successfully in the darkness. 

Before he can walk back into the ballroom, he notices the aged paper on the brick steps of the stairs. He unfurls it and reads the handwritten text. He exhales with relief, feeling in his gut he has found the key to finding you again.

No matter where he has to look, whether it’s beside a babbling brook or the highest castle on the far side of the ocean, he promises himself the next time he sees you he will make sure you stay by his side forever.

You feel the sticks and twigs scrape your arms and legs as you run into the forest, the fabric of your dress in ribbons by the time you make it home. Thankfully, you don’t see the coach or footmen anywhere in the distance.

Once you’re inside, you discard the clothes and makeup into the cellar’s hearth. Each item burns slowly, reminding you with every new cinder of your harsh welcome back to the reality you’re familiar with.  The smock you quickly tied around your waist and the soot you smeared across your face to avoid suspicion. The calluses on your palms from the endless, menial work. Your pliable acceptance of cruelty.

It’s all you’ve known, but it feels foreign at the same time. You don’t want to go back to your routine now that you’ve had a taste of what life could be.

Your stepmother and stepsisters waltz into the foyer. Minha looks starry-eyed and love-swept, all of which relate back to her dallying with the prince.

“I can’t believe he danced with me but was looking at you the entire time,” Heejin sneers at Minha, removing her gloves with tense fingers.

You smile to yourself, happy Heejin was knocked down from her high horse and the tides turned in Minha’s favor.

“The good thing is that the prince showed one of you attention, my love.” Your stepmother splays her fur coat out on the loveseat, your cue to immediately scoop it up to carry to the coat closet.

“Tomorrow you need to clean inside the cupboards. I noticed they were a tad dusty,” Heejin says before you can walk out of the room. Your heart was heavy before, but now it’s numbed and frozen to the habitual torture.

"Of course, sister."

Wonwoo rubs his fingers over the page’s text as his father interrogates the young girl in front of them. Seungcheol sits back in his throne beside the king’s chair, curious if this is the girl his best friend whisked away four nights prior.

Wonwoo’s father plucks the writing from Wonwoo’s hand and gives it to the knight. The knight hands it to the girl, her face doe-eyed and timid. “Is this writing familiar to you in any way?”

She looks down to the floor and shakes her head. “No, Lord Hand.”

She didn’t look familiar at all to Wonwoo, just like the last dozen women who came before his father and the prince.

Seungcheol’s idea to find Wonwoo’s mystery girl by interrogating every noble and common girl in the kingdom sounded stupid the second Wonwoo heard it. But with the king’s approval and the hand’s enthusiasm to find his child a bride, the plan was enacted.

Now, in paper and practice, Wonwoo feels more defeated the longer they continue. The only thing that gives him solace is the paper he found, his only connection to you keeping him grounded.

The girl bows for Wonwoo and the royal figures in front of her before being escorted away from the great hall. Wonwoo’s father hands the paper back to his son and sighs.

“I feel we are much closer,” his father says to lighten the mood.

Wonwoo laughs sadly. “It seems you’re the only one who feels that way.”

Seungcheol stands from his chair and pats his friend on the back, his version of a hug. “Closer or further, we’ll do whatever we must,” Seungcheol says to Wonwoo’s father.

Wonwoo’s father exits, a handful of knights marching behind him.

Seungcheol puts a hand on Wonwoo’s shoulder. He looks at his best friend with sincerity, a vulnerability he rarely shared with anyone. “You cannot lose hope now.”

Wonwoo nods. “That’s not what I’m afraid of losing. The longer this search continues, the more I feel our chance slipping away.”

Wonwoo traces the familiar pattern of the words with his thumb, the lost paper the one thing holding him steady.

You rifle through the documents you’ve held onto over the years, fear triggering the tremble in your hands. You had brought the dress home from the ball and immediately threw it in the fire. If you had accidentally discarded one of your father’s most precious letters along with the items you burned that night, you’d never forgive yourself.

You hear a horse-drawn carriage outside of the manor and the shrill wail of Heejin calling your name. It stamps down your anxiety enough for you to focus on following the sound.

Walking into the room, you see your stepmother lacing up Heejin’s corset while Heejin is putting a dab of rouge on both cheeks. “The royal carriages are outside!”

You gulp and nod at your sister, unsure what she wants from you.

She exhales with an angry breath and motions for you to go upstairs. “Get my shoes, you idiot!”

Minha stands at the top of the stairs and looks at you sadly. “I could’ve gotten them for you if you just asked, Hee.”

“Like you could do any better,” Heejin remarks. Her voice becomes airy when your stepmother reaches the final inch of tightening on Heejin’s corset. You run up the stairs to quickly follow your orders.

You squeeze Minha’s hand as you pass her to walk towards Heejin’s room. When you find the slippers and place them on your stepsister’s feet, someone knocks on the door forcefully.

Minha and Heejin stand in the center of the room as your stepmother walks up to the front door. You run back down to the cellar. 

Typically you would answer the door for company, but you knew your stepmother wouldn’t want the royalty welcomed by the unbecoming help.

Regardless, your heart thumps furiously at the sound of the stranger at the door delivering his greeting. And you can only wonder what will occur because of his presence.

Wonwoo waits in the carriage as the knight addresses the lady of the house. Wonwoo vaguely remembers his name and feels guilty for not keeping it to memory. Mingyu, was it not?

The lady of the house, her mouth a permanent grimace, nods and opens the door wide for the company to come inside. Wonwoo’s father steps out and Wonwoo follows behind him. Seungcheol exits his own carriage as well.

They all enter the manor, and Heejin can’t help her squeal at the prince’s presence in their home. Wonwoo stifles an eye-roll, keeping his mind focused on business.

As soon as Seungcheol locks eyes with Minha, he smiles. “My lady,” Seungcheol says, striding over to her to bend down and kiss her hand. Minha’s cheeks turn a deep scarlet, but she bows accordingly and smiles.

“‘My p-prince,” Minha stutters.

Heejin sneers at her younger sister, but the prince is too enamored with the young woman in front of him to pay any attention to her.

Wonwoo’s father coughs, redirecting everyone’s attention to him. “Madam Jung, our records indicate there are four residents in this manor. So, to be correct, outside of the three of you here now—”

Madam Jung giggles uncomfortably. “Forgive me, Lord Hand, I have not been to the registrar in some time. Those records must be outdated.”

“So, the third child referenced in these documents-”

 “Took ill some time ago. Again, an oversight caused by immense grief, I assure you.” The words leave her mouth instinctually. Wonwoo feels the confidence in her words and how false it is. From the conduct of her oldest daughter, he’s not surprised lies and negativity are commonplace in the household.

A rumble from the below startles both the women and Wonwoo’s father. The knights instinctively grab the hilts of their swords, but to no danger, a girl covered in ashes from the hearth saunters into the center of the foyer, tears streaming down her face and fists clenched.

In that second, Wonwoo feels he could cry as well.

He wants to run over to you and kiss the tears from your face, squeeze you tight, and get down on his knee in front of everyone in the room. The weight of the ring box in his pocket reminds him of what he has wanted to do since you left him alone that night. He inhales a deep breath, both elated and terrified at once, wondering what is going through your mind at the sight of him here.

I’ll never let you go again, he thinks with steadfast certainty.

Wonwoo comes back to reality when he realizes you’re stomping towards your stepmother. You have barely noticed anyone else’s presence in the room besides hers, and he’s sure you heard every word of her lies from the cellar. The pain on your face is a mixture of incredulity and anger. The emotions are knotted together in the expression on your dampened face.

“How dare you,” you whisper, lips quivering but voice solid as a stone.

“How dare I-” Your stepmother starts, but you raise a hand to her. She blanches. Surely she’s shocked to see this side of you rear its head.

“My whole life, the only act of kindness you’ve shown me is pretending I didn’t exist, in spite of my father’s love for both of us. And now, after everything, to wish me dead…” 

You muster what is left of your strength to continue. “I’m unsure what I did to deserve such hatred in this family, but all I’ve ever wanted was to belong. Was that worth me being punished for this long, mother?” The word tastes like venom on your tongue. It prickles the flesh on your arms to call her such a title, but spitting it back at her with vitriol makes a part of your anger subside.

“You w-will not speak to me like that in my own home, you l-little pest,” she stutters. To your satisfaction, her insults have no weight now.

“This house could be eaten by the hearth, for all it’s worth. It’s no home of mine anymore,” you say.

Done with her and your speech, you begin to walk away. You stop short at the audience in front of you, failing to recognize their presence before. You bow to the Hand and Prince Seungcheol, but you freeze instantly when you see Wonwoo barely ten feet away.

A burden lifts from your heart when your eyes meet. Suddenly, the two of you are in each others’ arms, the pain you felt prior a vague memory.

“I knew I would find you,” he whispers, placing a kiss on the top of your head. He cups your cheeks with his hands, some of the soot scraping off onto his fingers.

You smile wide. What could you say to encompass the feeling of seeing him again? No words would do the sensations justice.

Wonwoo continues before you can respond. “Like the stars you look to above.”

Hearing your father’s words on his lips makes your heart swell. Of course he had the letter. It had to be fate. It was meant to be lost and then found by the man you fell in love with so easily.

“Follow your faith home, and you shall find my love,” you finish, biting your lip to hold yourself back from weeping more.

Unable to stop himself, he presses his lips to yours. He steals the smile on your mouth for himself, his mouth turns into a grin through the kiss. Even when you separate, your foreheads remain touching. 

You had been led to believe, through years of darkness and cruelty, dreams couldn’t come true. And now, with a full heart, you realize love can make every dream come true if you believe.

[sarahmackattack]

In which I achieve a lifelong dream, of sitting on the seafloor with a bunch of giant Australian cuttlefish

This morning I checked a major bucket list item off the list: hanging out w/Giant Australian Cuttlefish. They're super focused on mating, and are shockingly chill about people hanging around. I'd heard this was true, but whew, it was wild to experience firsthand.

It's a rare thing for an animal to reliably be found at a certain place & certain time. So often "lifer" animals depend on luck to seen. With these cuttlefish, so far it's been like clockwork. Late May-August, go to Whyalla in winter, and there they are, resplendent and numerous.

Good news:they're reliable + stunning. Bad news: Whyalla is a friggen hike from Philly & the water is a bit chilly (58 degrees F today). If you want to swim with them, you better get a thick wetsuit on and maybe be a bit cold (I was honestly too excited to be cold).

Seeing mating behavior up close was so completely amazing. The males perform dominance displays where they roll black bars across their body directly at another male. It's mind-blowing to see in person. They generally do it with the half of their body facing the other male.

[t-u-r-n]

Finally. Bucket list item checked off.

[avydabby]

Three Doesn't Have To Be A Crowd

ethan landry x fem!reader x chad meeks-martin

words: 3.3k

summary: ethan and reader being caught encourages a new bucket list item being checked off

warnings: smut!, fmm!threesome, dirty talking, t!tplay, fingering, exhibition?, oral (f receiving), oral (m receiving), double penetration, overstimulation, a second of mxm, anal, handjob, squirting

MDNI!!!

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Studying with Ethan was quite useless when it came to Econ. He was a smart guy, but there was not a thing that he could comprehend in that class. That's why Ethan was lucky he had you in that class also. These two factors led to the two of you hanging out often, becoming more comfortable with each other, and more familiar with each other.

The familiarity between you two didn't just end as classmates and friends, but it led to a few more than a few hookups. No one knew of these hookups and you both wanted to keep it that way. It was just easier to not tell your friends.

However, keeping it from your friends also made it harder to hook up without being caught or having your friends question why you two disappeared randomly. That's why you and Ethan were so quick to skip Econ today, knowing that Chad would be out of Ethan's dorm.

It had been at least two weeks since you and Ethan had hooked up last, and you were feeling it. Maybe that's why both of your kisses were so sloppy and desperate. Ethan's mouth was working hard against yours as you both sat on his dorm bed. His hands were gripping your hips, pulling you closer and closer onto his lap.

Ethan lets out a low noise as you bite his bottom lip gently. His breath hitches as your fingers pull at his hair, sending tingles down his spine. You were both too enraptured in each other's mouths to notice the door knob into the dorm jiggle and open.

"What the fuck?" Chad's voice sends you and Ethan far apart from each other. Ethan flew so far that he fell off his bed and plopped onto the floor. Chad's eyes follow his roommate before trailing onto you. "What the fuck is this, and how desperate are you to go for Ethan?"

Ethan scoffs from the floor, "She actually made the first move, dick."

Chad's eyebrows raise as he looks to you for confirmation, which you nod to quickly.

While Chad and Ethan squabble about your hookups, you find yourself rubbing your thighs together to suppress your wetness. The two guys' argument trails off and you look at both of them expectantly. What you find is both Ethan and Chad staring at your thighs...which are bare. You forgot how you had eagerly discarded your pants in hopes of being put to work on top of Ethan.

"Were you guys going to fuck?" Chad asks, his finger pointed between the two of you. "I don't like this."

His confession threw you and Ethan for a loop. Ethan frowns, his brow raising at Chad's boldness. "Don't like what?"

Chad groans, rubbing a hand down his face, "I don't like how quickly you were ready to throw your virginity at her."

You giggle softly, bringing Chad's attention back to you. "That happened a long time ago, Chad."

"Oh my god, her voodoo seduction powers got you already? Jesus fuck," Chad groans out.

Ethan snorts and teases Chad, "Voodoo seduction powers? She's just hot, dude. You're just jealous, buddy."

Chad rolls his eyes at Ethan's accusation. Your eyes dart between the two of them, wondering how long this will last until you get what you want from Ethan.

You were getting impatient, "Okay, can we figure this out quickly? I would like to be fucked soon and I don't care how at this point."

Chad chokes on his own air and his eyes bulge. "Are you talking about a threesome?"

The room goes quiet.

You hadn't initially intended for this to become a threesome, but the way that Ethan's eyes fluttered as he thought about having a threesome helped you decide on it.

"I mean, it is on my bucket list," You shrug, looking between the two of them. Your tongue flicks out to wet your lips and you see both of their eyes dart their gaze to them. "And I don't hate the idea of being filled."

Chad's eyes widen, he looks at you with hungry eyes but a blank face. His roommate launches forward at you, his mouth attaching to your neck. A surprised moan escapes your mouth and your eyes connect to Chad's.

"Join us, Chad," you moan as Ethan sucks a sweet spot on your neck. His teeth scraped against the column of your throat. "Please..."

Your begging was all it took for Chad to move forward and kiss your lips as Ethan worked further down your neck. The two worked their lips on you, their hands following soon. Ethan's hands moved upwards to grope your chest above your shirt, squeezing and kneading the soft tissue.

"Such pretty tits," Ethan says softly, his lips kissing over your shirt. You arch your back so he has more space to do as he pleases. "God, I dream about your tits. Have you dreamt about this, Chad?"

Chad's hands wrap around your throat while he retreats from your mouth, "I've definitely thought about you more than a few times while jerking off. Had to get one off at Halloween with that fucking costume you wore."

You remember that night...it was actually the night that you and Ethan first hooked up. Your Halloween costume set Ethan off in a way that made him confess his sexual desires towards you. Who knew it would lead to this?

Ethan groans at Chad's comment, "I regret tearing that off you, baby. Wish you could wear it more."

Their hands continue to explore your body, gripping your body and smoothing across your skin. Your moans echo through the dorm room and encourage the boys to go further.

Ethan's hands pull at the bottom of your shirt until it's over your head. His eyes narrow in on your chest, Chad's doing the same. The former's hands attach to your boob and knead it carefully. It was as if he was waiting for it to explode.

"You should stop wearing shirts, baby," Chad groans, his lips going back to yours in a deep, lustful kiss. Ethan's mouth joins his mission with his hand at playing with your tits. "It would make the world a better place."

"But only we can touch," Ethan butts in before his teeth latch onto the fleshy part of your chest. Your back arches into his movements again, making Chad's mouth retreat from yours.

Chad moves his hand down your body, hovering over your hot core. He waits for a nod from you to place his fingertips against your clothed clit. Your body jolts from the contact and a desperate moan escapes your mouth. His fingers massage your clit in soft circles, giving you enough pleasure to almost cry.

Ethan unclasps your bra, taking away another layer hiding your intimate parts. His fingers roll one of your nipples tightly and his tongue licks a stripe up your neck.

The mixture of the two men stimulating you causes an orgasm to come embarrassingly quick. Your moans grow louder and your body jerks to their movements.

"You gonna cum, baby?" Ethan teases you, his fingers leaving your nipples. His fingers move your panties to the side and play with your hole. "Cum on my fingers. Show us how much you like it when we play with you."

Ethan's fingers penetrate your tight hole, pushing his fingers so deep that you can feel the single silver ring on his hand enter you. The amount of attention that Chad and Ethan are giving your cunt sends you over the edge. Your hands grasp Chad's wrist to stop his massage of your clit, but he doesn't stop.

"Chad, please!" You cry out, writhing from the stimulation. Ethan laughs at your overstimulation and quickens the pace at which he fingers you. "Fuck...Ethan, oh my god!"

If anyone were to listen to their door right now, they would be able to figure out pretty quickly what was going on. However, you weren't totally against the idea of it.

Chad's fingers leave your clit and move upwards towards your nipples. His one hand plays with your bud while his mouth tongues at the other.

Ethan watches your face contort with moans and pleasure as his fingers reach your G-spot. You hold his gaze over Chad's head and watch as his lust-filled eyes don't stray from yours as he moves his face to your cunt. His tongue darts out and flattens against your used clit.

Your hips jolt towards Ethan's face eagerly. He chuckles darkly at your reaction and continues to devour you all of you. His fingers continue working in and out of your cunt, pulling you to another orgasm that builds up.

"Eth, baby..." Your moan is loud as he hits a particularly deep part of you. Your hand reaches for his curly hair and tugs on some strands. "Baby, I'm gonna cum."

Your whines drive both men crazy.

"Cum on his fingers again, come on," Chad eggs you on, removing himself from your chest and reaching down to remove his own shirt. Your fingernails scratch against Ethan's scalp and your other hand moves to drag across Chad's obvious bulge.

You see the hunger in Ethan's eyes as he sucks on your clit, and he sees yours roll to the back of your head as he makes you orgasm for a second time. He whimpers loudly as you pull him off your cunt and up to your lips.

"Chad," you draw out, pulling from Ethan's lips. You look at the expectant man and reach for his hand. "Don't you deserve to taste me from Ethan's mouth?"

The two men hesitate until Chad makes the first move forward to meet Ethan's lips in a kiss. Ethan's tongue enters Chad's mouth and shares the taste of your cunt onto his friend's tongue. They pull apart and Chad leans to you for a kiss as well.

"You taste so good, ma," Chad groans out as he reaches down to unzip his jeans. He stands and drops them to the floor and removes his boxers. His cock springs out and slaps his stomach from how hard it is. "Wanna feel your lips on my cock."

You bit your lip and smiled at Chad with heavy eyes. Tucking your legs under you, your hand grasps Chad's girthy cock and you bring your tongue to lick up his cock to the tip. He shudders above you from the sensation and slides your hair to the side in a makeshift ponytail.

From behind, Ethan grasps your tits in both hands. You can feel his erection pressing to your back. You let your free hand maneuver behind you to rub against Ethan's boner. He takes his hands off you and he works to remove his sweatpants and briefs. You hear Ethan spit into his hand and stroke himself before guiding your hand to his member.

Ethan's hands continue to manhandle your tits as you work his cock in your hand and Chad's cock in your mouth. The three of you are a mess of moans, groans, and grunts as you bring the two to the brink of cumming all over you.

You can feel Ethan's hot breaths on your neck as he whispers the dirtiest things to you. "You just love all this attention, don't you, baby." "You gonna let Chad cum all over your face? Gonna let him paint you like I do?" "Should keep you busy like this more often."

Chad starts to groan from above you, and you can feel his dick pulsing in your mouth as your tongue works on his tip, flicking back and forth. His hands begin to pull your head further down onto his cock. He pulls you so far that you begin to gag on the girth taking up your airway.

Ethan gently pushes his friend's hips away from you and shakes his head, "Don't force that, man."

Your breathing is more of a pant with saliva dripping from your chin. Everything about you right now made you feel like a slut...but that wasn't exactly a bad thing in this matter.

You stop stroking Ethan and turn to face him. Your seductive gaze explores his face as you lay on your back and look up at the two of them. Your tits were on full display, and you slowly slide your ruined panties off your body.

You massage your own breasts as Chad and Ethan stroke themselves. A smirk graces your face as you instruct the two men, "Ethan, I want you to fuck me. Let me suck your cock some more, Chad."

"Condom or no condom?" Ethan asks, moving to reach for a box under his bed. You shake your head, "I'm clean, I know you're clean. Chad?"

"I'll wear one if I fuck you," Chad shrugs, bringing his cock closer to your mouth. "Now, tongue out baby. I'm not gonna last long."

You giggle at his words, "Last long enough to finish inside me."

Chad groans loudly and slides his cock into your mouth again. Your glossy eyes watch him and his hips move faster as he sees tears swell in your eyes.

Ethan uses the tip of his cock to spread your wetness around as lube for him to enter you. He places a hand on your bare hip to prepare you for him, and you tap on Chad's thigh to remove himself from your mouth.

You sit up partially to watch Ethan slide into you slowly, his long cock only halfway in when you feel like it can't go any further. Your mouth opens with an 'o' shape and you squeeze your eyes shut from the tightness of his cock inside your hole.

"Eth...Ethan, fuck," You gasp out, one hand gripping the back of Chad's thigh to anchor you. The man entering your pussy leans forward to capture your mouth in a searing kiss and then smirks as he quickly bottoms out in you. You scream at the quick feeling of being filled, "Oh my god! Uhn, Eth, so...so fucking big."

You can feel his cock twitch inside of you at your words as they stroke his ego. Chad watches the two of you intently, Ethan notices and inquires with his friend, "Come on, Chad. I'll flip her and you can take her from behind."

You nod your head, urging Chad to grab a condom and slip it on. Ethan peppers kisses over your body while you adjust to his length. He rolls you two over so he is on the bottom and you're on him from the top.

"Ride me for a little," Ethan instructs you. His hands hold your hips as he helps you bounce on his long cock. His eyes remain trained on your face as it changes with the pleasure you receive from riding him. Ethan softly whispers words of encouragement as you do your best to ride him better than ever before. "Doing so good, baby. Keep riding my cock. Yeah...just like that. Such a good girl."

His words only fuel your wetness and make your walls constrict around his cock. When you are oh so close to cumming, you feel Chad press on your lower back to lean forward. You whine softly at the loss of movement but do as he wishes. Ethan's cock is pulled out of your pussy so that Chad can use some of your wetness as lube for anal.

"Ok, ma, I'll go slow," Chad whispers, leaning to your ear. You feel his tip protrude into your even tighter hole and gasp as you feel him start to enter further in. "Come on, relax for me, ma."

Ethan's fingers trace along your bare back as he stares admiringly at your face. His brown eyes look emotionless but hold so much desire that you can't do anything but relax.

As his cock enters you further and further, you can hear Chad start to grunt at the feeling of your ass. His fingers dig harshly into the fleshy part and he slowly begins to thrust in and out of it.

The man on bottom guides his cock back into your pussy, and the two men slowly thrust in and out of you. None of you have felt a pleasure like this before. Everything was tight, hot, and wet.

"We aren't gonna last long, are we?" Chad strains out, his breathing coming out as pants.

Ethan chuckles airlessly and shakes his head. "I'm so fucking close."

Whines and soft cries emit your mouth as the feeling of two cocks fucking you hits. You're so full. Everything feels so much more sensitive and you have no idea if you'll be able to last a minute longer.

Ethan's lips kiss at your neck, and his fingers travel down to your clit. His wet lips trail to your ear as he whispers, "You're doing so fucking well, baby. Gonna make us cum so hard."

The mixture of it all Ethan's hands, cock, words, and Chad's cock -encourages your third orgasm of the night to hit you like a bullet train. Your scream of pleasure can definitely be heard by neighbors, but you can't even think of it being humiliating at this moment. Hell, you can't even think about anything other than the two men inside of you and Ethan's hand still working you through your orgasm.

Tears slide down your cheek as it all begins to feel like too much as the two continue fucking into your holes. Chad's cock slamming into you makes the sound of ass against his hips echo loudly, and Ethan's wet dick claps against your cunt.

"Come on, ma, just a little longer," Chad grunts out, slamming harder and harder into you. His thrusts become messy and soon still as he fills the condom with his cum. "Just like that."

Chad pulls out of you, but Ethan continues fucking your cunt. His thrusts are becoming faster, and his whimpers becoming louder. Ethan's thick fingers continue toying with your clit, even as you whine about how there's too much pressure.

"I want you to milk my cock, baby," Ethan's words were dominant, but his whiney voice made it sound more like a plea. "Not gonna stop until you're full of my fucking cum."

"Eth, it's so much-" Your words are cut off by a strong fluid coming from your cunt. Your squirt makes Ethan's eyes roll to the back of his head in ecstasy.

His thrusts become impossibly harder until you can feel his cum being spread against your walls. The mixture of his cum, your cum, and your squirt sits between the two of you. His thrusts come to a stop, and you can't do anything but slump against his chest.

Ethan's chest heaves with heavy breathing and his hands play with the strands of your hair. He presses sweet kisses against your forehead, and wipes smudged mascara from under your eye. "You did so good, sweetheart. So good."

A weak thank you slips from your mouth and Ethan chuckles. You can hear Chad come from the bathroom with what you're assuming is a towel. He wipes the sweat off your forehead and then helps ease you off of Ethan. The two men wipe the mixture of cum off of you and off of Ethan.

"You want some water?" Chad asks you, moving a strand of hair from your face. You nod softly and watch as the other boy goes to the hallway to fill up a water bottle.

Ethan pulls you back onto his chest and you snuggle closer to him. You two always laid together after fucking, it was a ritual at this point. His chest inflates with a heavy sigh before asking you quietly, "What did you think of your first threesome? Excited to cross it off that list of yours?"

You chuckle softly, almost dazingly. "It was good..."

"Just good?" Ethan asks, running his fingers up and down the side of your torso.

You nod, "Don't tell Chad, but I like one-on-one hookups a little more."

"Hate to break it to you," Ethan whispers back to you. "But this was me trying to share, and I didn't like it. Think we're gonna have to stick with each other."

"I can get behind that."

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

first post on here! might as well make it spicy 💥💥💥

[junrenjun]

I can’t remember if I’ve already asked you this but Can you do an alpha Vernon x omega reader set when they’re at the hotel getting woken up for their trip to Italy with NaPD? And the reason seungkwan had to go into Vernon’s room first before the camera was because reader was in there and reader is either post/pre heat and nesting and Vernon is all protective.

Wake Up Call

alpha!vernon x omega!reader

warnings: a/b/o dynamics, mentions of sex/heats, reader gets called miss, mentions of pregnancy

“Nonie, ‘m warm” is all Vernon can hear from the way your head is buried in his chest. He runs his hands comfortingly up and down your back, brushing against the shirt he barely managed to put on you the night before.

“I know,” he mutters, pressing his lips into your forehead. It’s still a little warm, but your fever is definitely gone. “Your heat broke yesterday though, which means you only have a day of post-heat and then we’re done.” While helping his omega through heat in a foreign country in a hotel room wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, he figures he can check that one off now. 

You sigh contentedly into his chest. He shudders at the cool air against his bare skin. If he could wish for one thing, it would be to stay in this moment forever. Your soft breaths practically lull him back to sleep, but not before you move your head a bit, looking down at the nest beneath the both of you. 

Before Vernon can even say anything, you're pushing yourself away from his arms, sitting up straight with tears in your eyes. “The nest,” you mutter. “I need…I need…,” it comes out as a sob.

Vernon’s arms wrap around your waist pulling you back down, then cupping your cheeks to make you look him in the eyes. “Gotta tell me what’s wrong with your words, honey,” he tells you firmly. When you shake your head at him he sighs. “C’mon omega,” he whispers, wrist bumping along your still sensitive scent gland. 

You are nothing but a slave to your instincts, giving in almost immediately. “I need to fix the nest,” you sob. “We messed it up. I need to fix it.”

You’ve almost never been this upset over a nest after your heat has broken. It’s one thing to be weird about nesting during pre-heat, but during post-heat? Vernon is a little concerned. “Why do we need to fix it, omega?” he asks softly. “Your heat is over and we can make another when we get home.”

A pathetic whine leaves your throat. “For the pups, Vernon! You pupped me! My pups need a nest!”

Oh. Oh. Now Vernon is highly aware that you are both on forms of birth control. With him on suppressants and you on the pill, it’s highly unlikely that you are pregnant. He didn’t actually pup you. But with your muddled, post-heat brain, all you can think about is how your alpha bred you full. How your alpha knotted you, filled you with his pups. You don’t know any better. 

“Shhh,” he consoles you, wrapping his arms around your middle and pulling you close. “Okay honey, we’ll take of the nest okay? I need you to relax though. Can you do that for me?”

You nod in his arms as best as you can, the tears finally beginning to slow. He reaches up to wipe them away. “Let’s get started, yeah? What are we moving?” he says gently, gesturing to the clothing items scattered on the bed. 

He waits for you to respond but you simply manhandle him further into the bed. You place a hand on his chest with a motion that he assumes means “stay.”

Vernon watches as you fuss over the nest, tossing some of the dirtier clothes onto the ground while pushing the clean ones closer to him in the center. His shirt hangs loosely on your form, exposing your bare shoulder. A small smile crosses his face. He can’t wait to put a mating bite in your neck. 

His little bubble of peace is soon interrupted by a harsh knock at the door. In the moment, Vernon is angry. Both the boys and the staff were well aware of the situation he was in and were under strict instruction to not intrude unless there was an absolute emergency. He doesn’t even realize that he’s letting out a low growl until you gasp, “Vernon!”

The interruption has clearly knocked you out of your post-heat headspace, your eyes looking a bit more lucid than they had before. He glances at you, before turning his head to where Seungkwan enters the room. There’s a grimace on his face and he’s trying his best to not open the door any further than it needs to be for him to get through. 

Within seconds, Vernon is protectively throwing himself in front of you. Which is funny considering Seungkwan himself is an omega. Still, the alpha instincts outweigh his normal train of thought, and he slightly bares his teeth at the boy.

Immediately, Seungkwan has his hands thrown up in surrender. “Sorry! I’m sorry, I didn’t want to come in it’s just…,” he says while looking hesitantly at the door. His voice drops into a whisper. “Na PD is here to take us to Italy. He’s been filming everyone as they wake up and he’s about to come in here.” 

“What?” both you and Vernon say at the same time, though your boyfriend’s tone is a bit harsher. 

There's a racket from outside and Seungkwan tries to speak again, but is quickly interrupted by the door swinging open. You push yourself even further behind Vernon, who now has an arm resting protectively on your leg. Your eyes peek out just slightly from behind his shoulder. Within seconds, there’s a camera pointed at both of you, Na PD himself right next to it. “Vernon-ah! Wake up!” the man shouts excitedly. 

Vernon doesn’t know quite when he started growling. All he knows is that his chest is rumbling loudly and his teeth are bared once again. Seungkwan cowers in the corner a bit. Na PD and his crew have looks of extreme surprise on their faces. They all scrunch their noses at the potent scent of heat sex that fills the room. Vernon’s hand squeezes even tighter around your leg. 

“Vernon! Quit that!” you exclaim in response to his outburst, slapping him on the shoulder. The growling quickly stops and he releases the hold he has on your leg. 

The camera is quickly pointed toward the ground and eventually turned off. Vernon relaxes a tiny bit once it’s done. Na PD is quick to apologize. “I’m so sorry, Vernon! We’ll delete the footage, I promise! We didn’t know anyone else was in here.”

Vernon is too agitated to care that much about the apology. There are multiple strangers standing within a few feet of his omega’s nest uninvited. His alpha is not pleased to say the least. “Don’t apologize to me,” he spits out harshly. “Apologize to my mate.”

With those words, you pop out a little bit more from behind him, reaching to pinch his ear. “Yah!” you exclaim, “don’t call me that until your mark is on my neck!”

He grimaces at the pain. Once your hand pulls away, he’s quick to reach up and rub at his ear, hoping to soothe it. “Ow! What the fuck, baby?” 

Na PD’s expression softens a little bit at your banter. “I’m sorry miss. We didn’t mean to walk in on you.”

Vernon feels you straighten up a bit, breath tickling against his neck. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “But um, you are intruding on my nest during my cycle, so could you just…” He turns his head slightly to see you point toward the door shyly.

Everyone must get the message loud and clear, because they begin to exit quickly. Seungkwan is the last out, and he throws Vernon an apologetic expression before slamming the door closed. 

You both let out a sigh of relief. Vernon takes a second to compose himself, before turning and tackling you down onto the bed. God, he wants his scent all over you right this second. He quickly buries his face into your neck, rubbing his cheeks against your gland harshly. You whine, the area still pulsing and sensitive from your heat. “Mine. My omega,” he whispers into your skin.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, fingertips running up and down his spine. “All yours.” His alpha roars in delight.

[buckevantommy]

alternate 8x06 where Buck doesn't race ahead:

They go to the movie. They share popcorn and hold hands and Buck watches a captivated Tommy more than the screen. He's thinking about date nights where they don't have to worry about two cars or parking. He's thinking about going to sleep next to Tommy and waking up beside him instead of one of them rushing back to their place for clothes or bc they have a shift soon. He's thinking about the drawer he gave Tommy turning into half a closet and all of Tommy's things in his space becoming their space..

..and then he remembers: Tommy has a garage with a carlift and engine parts and a muay thai setup. Tommy has furniture. Tommy has a yard and a garden and trees. Tommy has a house.

Buck turns his attention back to the movie. Now he's thinking about the illogical nature of asking Tommy to move into the loft: it's not fair to Tommy and also it's not the best idea. He doesn't know what the best idea is, yet, and maybe he won't know until he talks to Tommy.

Because that's where he went wrong in the past: moving in with girlfriends without actually talking about it first, it just sort of happened or was expected. and they all left him. He doesn't want Tommy to leave him. They've been together six months and haven't talked about the future. Buck is thinking about the future now so he needs to talk to Tommy - see where he's at and how he feels.

Back at the loft after the movie, in Buck's bed after sex, Tommy can sense Buck's restless mind. He checks in, because he always does, and Buck hesitates. Then asks: "Do you ever think about the future?"

And Tommy says sure, so Buck presses for details, curious, and then it's Tommy's turn to hesitate. But he mentions some stuff about work - flying certain crafts, heading up a training program, a few bucket list items, but all in all just keep doing a job he loves and keep renovating his little house or maybe there's a little holiday cabin that needs some work.

Nothing about Buck. Nothing about a partner or a family. Buck's heart does something funny in his chest, something uncomfortable, and his nerves kick in properly.

"What about you?" Tommy asks, and Buck swears he tenses under him.

"Captaincy, one day, I hope. I travelled a lot in my youth so I don't really have the bug for that anymore, but I was alone then. I think I'd wanna go places if I wasn't alone. And I don't wanna live here forever, obviously." He means the loft, but he's not closed off to the idea of living outside LA. And since he has no self preservation, he adds: "And.. you." He doesn't say mention getting married or being a father, because that feels like too much all at once.

His nerves are having a field day as Tommy remains quiet.

Buck leans up, terrified and desperate to see Tommy's face. "Do you.. see me in your future?"

They're naked and pressed together under the tangled sheets. Tommy's hand has stilled where it was tracing soothing patterns on Buck's arm. It isn't right. The air feels charged in a bad way, like waiting for lightning to strike.

"Evan.."

"I love you." He doesn't want to say it like this, not for the first time, but it suddenly feels urgent, like tommy has to know right now and maybe it'll change the way he just said his name - like an apology, like a regret.

"You don't love me. You love the idea of me."

And that- that's not true. And it hurts. And Tommy's face has fallen. "No, I-"

Tommy sits up, dislodging Buck, and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

"Wait- where are you going?" Tommy's gathering his things. He's getting dressed. Anxiety and dread swirl in the pit of Buck's stomach.

"I'm going home."

Home. It hurts to hear. "You don't have to leave-" Buck knows he's pleading, he doesn't care. He scrambles off the bed, tugging on his boxers as Tommy reaches for his shirt.

"I think it's for the best."

"No, it's not- we can talk about this."

"There's nothing to talk about."

Buck stills. Tommy's holding his jacket, standing at the top of the stairs, trying to school his features to hide his emotions. He does that. He hides things. "What's happening right now?"

For a brief moment, tommy lets devastation show on his face, before it's tucked away behind a mask.

"I thought.." He doesn't know what he thought. He'd hoped Tommy felt the same, that they were on the same page. Six months in and he can already picture a life with Tommy.

"I'm sorry."

Sorry you thought this was more than what it was. Buck feels sick. His heart is stuttering. "Tommy-"

"Goodnight, Evan."

It feels like Goodbye, and Buck can't find the words to make Tommy stay before he's disappearing down the stairs and the loft door is closing behind him.

Sometimes lightning strikes the same place twice. Maybe it's connected to the string of bad luck that's followed him his whole life. Maybe he's jinxed, or cursed. Or maybe it's his own fault, his choices acting as a conductor for the kind of carnage most people only experience once.

[gojozballs]

Gojo x Reader "How To Escape A Yandere"

Warning: [This story contains themes of Yandere behavior, manipulation, obsessive love, psychological tension, explicit content, self-harm, and dark themes including death and captivity]

Materialist

Gojo Satoru’s obsessive love traps Y/N in a dangerous, yandere relationship as she desperately tries to escape, blurring the lines between captivity and affection.

Author's POV

Four months. That’s how long Y/N had been stuck in this bizarre, unhinged chapter of her life. Four months since she’d wandered into Japan, thinking she was just ticking off items on her bucket list, and well, she still couldn’t quite figure out how she ended up being the personal prisoner of a man with white hair and a ridiculously cocky grin. But here we are. Four months of high-end apartments, luxury cars, and far too much—Gojo Satoru.

But let's rewind, shall we? To the beginning, when life was much simpler. When she was just a regular tourist, trying to figure out what to eat for dinner. And then, of course, there was that one fateful evening in Shibuya...

Shibuya Streets – 9 PM

Y/N stood in the middle of Shibuya’s neon-lit chaos, wondering if she should check out the ramen shop across the street or maybe that weird little café that looked like it was run by a very angry cat. The possibilities were endless, her trip was unfolding like a tourist's dream but nothing could have prepared her for the interruption that would lead to her captivity.

There he was. A literal vision of perfection, strutting down the street like he owned the whole damn place. White hair, a long black coat that looked like it was made by some world-renowned designer, and a scarf that screamed "I’m too cool to care about the weather." He was practically glowing in the dark, making the neon lights look drab in comparison. And Y/N? She did what any sensible person would do.

She stared.

Not subtlety. None. She wasn’t here for a shy glances situation. No, she was staring, and she was making it known. If she could’ve put on a neon sign that said “LOOK AT ME” she would’ve.

And look at her he did. Their eyes met. The universe, for a brief moment, paused and then everything went into slow motion. Y/N gave him the most casual, confident smirk she could muster. She was practically inviting him to make his move. And boy, did he.

He walked toward her with that strut, the kind of walk that says, “I know you’re impressed. Don’t bother hiding it.” And when he reached her, he didn’t even waste time on pleasantries.

“Well, may I know the name of the lady who’s been blatantly staring at me?”

Y/N blinked. He was speaking in her language. Which, okay, wasn’t exactly a shocker, after all but there was something extra about the way he said it. So smooth, like he knew she’d been checking him out the whole time. She wasn’t even that subtle.

Y/N, being the person she was, didn’t flinch. Instead, she smiled and replied, “Well, hello there, sir. I’m Y/N. And who might you be to captivate me so much?”

Gojo chuckled, a sound that was like a warm breeze, and for a moment, Y/N actually considered the possibility that she might have bitten off more than she could chew. But hey, when in Rome or, well, Shibuya right?

“The question isn't who I am,” he said with that signature cocky grin. “It’s why you can’t take your eyes off me.”

Y/N felt a surge of excitement. This was a game. A thrilling, dangerous game. And, of course, she was all in.

“Well,” she purred, “you’ll just have to find out.”

Getting To Know Each Other

Y/N wasn’t sure how it happened. Honestly. One minute she was exchanging playful banter with Gojo Satoru, and the next bam! they were tangled in the sheets of a five-star hotel room, breathing heavily, both far too into each other for their own good.

Gojo, the smug bastard, leaned back on the pillows and let out a satisfied sigh. “Didn’t take you for a woman with experience,” he teased, his voice low and lazy.

Y/N, who was already not in the mood to let him win any round, raised an eyebrow and gave him a playful side-eye. “Well, I didn’t take you for a guy who whimpers.”

She swore she saw a flicker of surprise flash in his eyes, and it made her grin like a devil. Gojo, the untouchable, the most powerful person in Japan whimpering? he thought. Oh, this was getting good.

“You should know,” Gojo said, propping himself up on his elbows, “you were way more vocal than me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, feigning innocence. “I didn’t realize that.”

“Really?” Gojo’s voice was a dangerous whisper. “Well, let’s check again, shall we?”

And just like that, another round began.

Present

Now, four months into this unplanned, absurdly complicated mess of an adventure, Y/N had one very simple, very clear goal: escape.

But there was just one tiny problem. Gojo Satoru. The man was everywhere. Literally. She tried to leave for groceries, and boom, there he was, “accidentally” showing up at the store. She tried to sneak out at night, and suddenly, there he was smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“You know, Y/N,” he’d say with that maddening grin, “you can’t run away from me. You’re mine now.”

It was cute at first. But after a while, it got... not so cute. The guy was like a relentless puppy that you couldn’t shake off, except the puppy had limitless power and a twisted sense of humor.

And the worst part? Sometimes, just sometimes, Y/N found herself thinking: What if I didn’t escape?

But nah, that thought was far too dangerous, and she quickly shoved it to the back of her mind. For now, she was focusing on how to, once again, dodge Gojo’s very real and very possessive grasp. But if you ask her, she might just tell you that escaping was a little overrated.

Because let’s face it, Gojo Satoru was a whole lot of trouble, but damn, was he fun to mess with.

Still, if she really wanted to escape a yandere like him, she’d have to get creative. Pretend to like his weird, obsessive affection? Nah, that’s too much of a horror show even for her. The trick? A mix of patience, subtle sabotage like hiding his sunglasses good luck going anywhere without those, Gojo and a touch of psychological warfare. And if that didn’t work, well, maybe she’d just have to fake an even more ridiculous obsession than his and watch him lose his mind. It was a gamble, but Y/N was good at playing games especially when the stakes were her freedom. She doesn’t care about the consequences; all she knows is that she will escape."

The Only Way Out Is to Get Help

First things first: I need to get help. It’s my only shot at escaping from him. If I can reveal Gojo’s true nature, maybe I’ll stand a chance. Every Saturday, a blonde guy in a suit and another man would come over. Gojo always tells me to stay in the room. He doesn’t hide me away from them, but he doesn’t let me interact with them either. So, the timing is crucial. It’s 5 PM now, and they’ll be here around 7. My mission? Stay out of that damn room before he locks me in.

I smile sweetly, playing my part. "Hey, would you let me make you some apple pie tonight? I’ve got all the ingredients." I settle into his lap, his hand sliding possessively over my thigh. One thing about Gojo Satoru? He’s obsessed with sweets, and I know this will keep me out of the room, at least for a little while.

"Aww, baby, you’re the best!" he gushes, and before I can pull away, his lips find mine in a flurry of kisses. I smirk internally. He’s so easy to manipulate when it comes to his weaknesses. This could work if I time it just right.

In the kitchen, I hear the door creak open. I don’t see them, but I know they’ve arrived. The penthouse is huge, but I can hear the sound of their voices echoing down the hall. Gojo’s voice, sharp and commanding, calls out to me.

"Sweetcheeks! How’s the pie going?"

I freeze. My heart starts racing. What if he makes me go to the room? I scramble to keep my composure. "Well, it’s almost done, but I need to keep an eye on it," I stammer. My hands tremble as I pour juice into two glasses. I need to move fast. I can’t let him lock me away.

"Alright, I’ll just be over here for a second… Stay away from the visitors, yeah?" Gojo’s voice isn’t a suggestion it’s a threat. I nod hastily, hoping to hide my anxiety.

This is it. I take a deep breath and make my move.

I step into the living room, hands shaking slightly as I walk toward the two men. They glance at me, and then they stand up, clearly taken off guard by my sudden appearance. The blonde man gives me a polite smile, but there’s something too practiced about it.

"Good evening."

"You didn’t have to. We’re leaving soon anyway," the other man says, his voice neutral as he glances at the juice in my hands.

I can’t waste time. This is my only chance. "Listen to me closely," I say, voice shaking with urgency. "I need to get out of here right now. Please… you have to help me."

Both men look at me, but there’s no shock, no surprise just a quiet understanding, like they’ve heard this before. The blonde man steps closer, his eyes searching mine. "What do you mean?"

My heart pounds in my chest as I spill everything, my voice trembling. "I’m being held captive! By that man. I’ve been here for months! Against my will!" My words come out in a rush, desperate to get them to understand.

But their reactions are not what I expect.

The blonde man simply tilts his head. "Seems like Gojo-san’s stories weren’t exaggerated after all."

I blink, completely thrown off. What the hell do they mean by that? They’re... acting like this is normal?

The smaller man in the suit adds, almost casually, "Well, that’s just Gojo for you."

I stand there, frozen, my mind reeling. They’re not even reacting like it’s a big deal. No shock, no concern just another day at the office for them. It feels as though they’ve seen this all before, as if it’s just another facet of Gojo Satoru that they’ve come to accept. They don’t question it. They don’t intervene.

Before I can ask any more, Gojo’s voice cuts through the air, laced with a dark warning. "Causing a scene, sweetcheeks? I told you to stay away from them."

His hand grabs my chin, forcing me to look up at him. There’s no playfulness in his gaze now just raw, unrelenting darkness. "Do you want to see another man that badly?"

And then it hits me. I understand the twisted truth. Gojo isn’t keeping me away from them to protect me. He’s doing it out of jealousy, that sick, possessive urge to control every inch of my life.

The worst part? These men... they’re not surprised. They don’t care. They just accept that this is Gojo’s way, and that’s how things are. There’s no saving me from this nightmare.

I shiver, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing me break. I have to find another way because if I stay here any longer, I might lose whatever little of myself I have left.

Freedom in Death

It’s been two weeks since I tried my first escape, two weeks since my wrists were marked by the desperate attempt. The bruises are healing, but the frustration? That never fades. Sure, Gojo’s given me everything: luxury gifts, food so expensive it could make anyone feel guilty, and experiences I’d never known existed before I met him. I should be happy, right? But no, I’m suffocating. It’s not the lavish life I thought I’d always wanted.

I need to disappear. The plan this time? To vanish completely, to make myself a ghost. The thought that Gojo could easily erase me from existence, make me a missing person without even breaking a sweat, has been haunting my every thought. He has power that could bury me without a trace.

I’m already numb, the luxury around me like glitter on a dead body.

“Y/n, babyyyy, I bought caviar for dinner!” Gojo’s voice cuts through the heavy silence, too cheerful for the mood I’m in. I hate it, that forced brightness in his tone that only makes me feel more like a prisoner than anything else. He’s always there, smiling, watching, like I’m just one more toy to add to his collection.

I sigh, my breath heavy as I reply, “Alright, let me just wash up.” My voice is flat, detached, like I’m talking through a haze. It doesn’t matter, though. He wouldn’t care. I walk into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. Not that it’ll stop him. Gojo can break anything, but for now, I’ll indulge myself in this small act of control.

The tub is cold. I keep my clothes on as I sit down, the knife beside me gleaming with dark potential. This is it. I can end it all. No more hiding. No more pretending I don’t want to escape from the nightmare of Gojo’s love. He thinks he’s the sun, that he can shine on everyone and anyone—but not me.

I lift the blade slowly, positioning it on my wrist. The cold steel makes my heart race, my fingers trembling as I whisper into the silence, “I hope you take karma for this, Gojo Satoru.”

The first cut stings. I let out a shaky breath, watching the blood spill out like it’s finally leaving the prison inside me. I don’t stop there. No, I dig deeper. I carve out my pain, feeling the red warmth spread. I welcome the dizziness, the fading light. It’s almost... peaceful.

But then... his voice.

“Sweetcheek, why are you taking so long in there?” Gojo knocks, his voice casual, like he’s asking me about dinner, not about what I’m about to do. I don’t answer.

He doesn’t try to break down the door, which is laughable. He doesn’t know. He thinks I’m just taking a long bath, but he’s wrong.

I’m dying in here.

I can hear his footsteps getting closer. I can hear his stupid, careless voice call my name. “Y/n? Baby?” The door rattles, and then I feel his hands, pulling me into his chest, his breath hitching as he realizes what I’ve done.

I smile weakly, feeling the world spin. This is satisfying, in a way. His panic, his desperation. The way he holds me like I’m a fragile thing that could break. But he doesn’t understand.

“Y/n?! Baby? No, no, no...” His voice cracks, and my heart stabs like the knife in my wrist. Tears? Is he crying? Oh, how deliciously unexpected. I want to laugh.

But I don’t have the strength.

“Don’t you close your eyes, baby,” he says, his voice trembling, his hands shaking as they press against my skin. "This isn't over."

And then everything fades to black...

I wake up in a bed I didn’t ask for. A bed surrounded by the faint scent of antiseptic, the echo of voices too close, too suffocating.

“She’ll be fine now, Satoru,” a woman’s voice says. It’s calm, too calm.

“Maybe you should stay here in the meantime, just to be sure, Shoko,” Gojo’s weak voice follows, barely above a whisper.

“She’s fine. Just keep an eye on her like you always do,” the woman, Shoko, says. I can almost hear the roll of her eyes, the distance in her words.

And then I realize it. I’m still here. I’m still trapped. I couldn’t even escape with death.

I want to scream...

A month has passed with Satoru never leaving for work, staying by my side to ensure I won't try anything like that again. The days drag on, but I force myself to heal, to put on the appearance of recovery. Because as soon as I’m whole again, another plan will begin. And this time, nothing will stop me...

Yandere by Choice, Not by Heart

If I could match his vibe back then, I could definitely do it again. You know, the whole “pretend to be just as obsessed” routine until he finally cracks and gives me the freedom I want. So far, this little game has been almost too easy. He thinks I’m just needy, but I’ve got my eyes on the prize freedom. The one thing I’ve learned about Gojo Satoru? He’s a busy man, and he takes his job seriously. If I can keep up this act, I can make him so wrapped up in me that he’ll fold. At least, that’s the plan.

As I feel his arms slip from around me, I can tell the routine is starting. He’s always so punctual, always so... serious about his work. It’s cute, really, but today? Not today, not when I need him to stay in bed with me just a little longer.

“Toruuu…” I whined, pulling him back to me. “Where you going?”

He froze, half standing and half leaning over, looking like the workaholic he is. I took that as my cue and immediately tugged him back down, burying my face in his chest and sniffing him like he’s some kind of scent-filled snack. Just like he does to me. His scent? Pure temptation.

“Oh sweet cheeks, what’s up with you?” He chuckled, his voice a low, smooth purr as he stroked my hair. “You know it’s time for me to get ready for work.”

I made a dramatic, exaggerated groan. “But I need you hereeee.”

Mentally, I cringed at my own words. Did I just say that? Yeah, I did. Whatever. He loves it. He’s not going anywhere. He’s gonna stay with me and—wait for it—skip work for me.

“Oh, really?” Gojo chuckled, his arms tightening around me as if he’s considering it. “Alright, since you’ve never been this sweet, maybe I’ll skip today.”

Yes! Victory! My first win. I mentally fist-pumped, but on the outside, I kept the act up, batting my lashes at him like I had no idea what I was doing.

"Thank you, Toru," I said in my best innocent voice, nuzzling into him. “I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

Days Passed...

My plan? Keep turning up the obsession. I’m practically a step away from being more needy than he is. And you know what? It’s working. Slowly but surely, it’s working.

There was that one day when I insisted we shower together. Nothing too extreme, just a bit of skin-to-skin to remind him that, yes, I am always this close to him.

“Mm, I love when we shower together,” I purred, pretending to casually reach for the shampoo, brushing my body against his.

Gojo smirked, his usual cocky grin spreading across his face. “Yeah? You just want to see me naked.”

“Maybe,” I teased, “but mostly, I just love when you're all wet and slippery.”

His eyes darkened for a second, but he quickly recovered. “You're a mess, you know that?”

“Oh, but I’m your mess.” I grinned up at him.

He just laughed, as if he enjoyed every second of it. I could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, trying to decide if he should be more amused or concerned.

But wait, there’s more.

I also started following him everywhere. I mean everywhere. To the bathroom at night? I’d insist on accompanying him. Peeing together? Sure, why not. We’re close, after all. Besides, he never seems to mind when I casually slide into the bathroom with him at two in the morning.

“Really, Y/N? You’re going to watch me pee?” he teased one night as I leaned against the doorframe, casually inspecting my nails.

“I’m not watching,” I replied with a wicked grin. “I’m joining.”

The night didn’t stop there, though. After all, if we’re going to do this, let’s do it right. We had to have our “three times a day” sex quota. Why not? It’s not like we had anything better to do, right?

“You’re insatiable,” Gojo said, breathlessly flipping us over mid-session as I moaned against him. “You sure you’re not the one obsessed here?”

“Why, Toru, I am obsessed,” I whispered in his ear, my lips brushing against his skin. “But you're the one who started this.”

And oh, he did. He absolutely started it. Now I had him where I wanted him: in every way possible.

The Ultimate Game

Okay, so maybe I got a little carried away. He loved when I ate off his plate. He loved when I insisted on eating from the same spoon as him. A little weird, but it worked. At least he didn’t seem to mind. He seemed... content? Happy? Maybe?

“Seriously, Y/N?” Gojo asked, as I snatched another piece of sushi from his plate. “You’re eating all my food.”

“I’m just making sure you’re not starving,” I said sweetly, taking another bite. “We’re basically one. So it’s only fair, don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh. Sure.” He shook his head, a smirk dancing at the corner of his lips. “If you want to eat off my plate, you’re going to have to share the bathroom with me every time I go in there.”

“Done.”

Oh, and don’t forget the bathroom negotiations. Every time I would "need" some alone time, I'd make sure he waited outside the door. Not to pee or anything oh no, I was doing my business but it was all a part of the game. And guess what? He was starting to enjoy it.

“Really, Y/N?” Gojo said, sitting casually against the doorframe, smirking at me. “You’re going to make me wait outside?”

“Yep. You’re lucky I’m even letting you know what’s going on in there.”

It was a lot of fun, but I couldn’t help the nagging thought in the back of my mind... Was I starting to lose myself in this little game?

It’s working. It’s all working. All the clinginess, all the obsession, it’s finally making him bent to my will. And every time he smirks, every time he looks at me with that dangerous, half-amused, half-worried look, I know he’s in it now.

“Be as obsessed as he is,” I thought to myself, a wicked grin on my face.

But maybe... just maybe... I was starting to like it.

The Endgame

Okay, okay. Maybe escaping was a bit… ridiculous. Who needs to escape anyway? The more I thought about it, the more I realized: What if the real escape wasn’t about running? What if the escape was just… getting lost in this whole twisted, insane mess?

It was starting to hit me maybe he wasn’t that bad. I mean, sure, Gojo Satoru was possessive, borderline obsessive, and utterly impossible to shake off, but let’s be real: when was the last time anyone was this dedicated to loving you? Hell, it’s practically a rarity these days. Most guys can’t even commit to a dinner reservation, let alone a life sentence with someone like me.

So yeah, maybe he stalks me like a possessive ghost. Maybe he follows me everywhere, even into the bathroom 'I really wasn’t expecting him to just chill outside while I… did my thing, but hey, that’s true commitment'. Maybe I kind of like it.

And let’s not even mention the whole “skipping work” thing. Seriously, it’s like he’s a workaholic... unless I pout and bat my lashes, and suddenly he’s throwing his entire career out the window for me. It’s not like I forced him into it… too much. Who wouldn’t want to feel this wanted? That’s basically an act of love, right?

[merakiui]

a silly shoujo concept with jade where he picks up your notebook after you've left it in class. resourceful eel that he is, he flips through the pages out of curiosity. he's certain he'll just find your notes or doodles you've made out of boredom, but it never hurts to pry just a little. he won't tell a soul if he finds anything embarrassing. certainly not!

to his surprise, he finds a bucket list of sorts, which details all of the things you hope to accomplish by the end of your time at nrc. you're quite methodical about this list. there are academic goals. personal goals. social goals. you've checked some of them off: do well on this year's midterm. commit to an exercise routine. make more friends. etc. etc.

but then he happens upon the romantic goals. things like holding hands, kissing, cuddling, going on dates, sharing meals... he reads through every item on this specific list and finds himself blushing like a lovestruck maiden. it's not because of the nature of this list but, rather, the notes you've made in the margin: possible people to try this with: jade leech?

and his name is the only one you've written! :O is this...an indirect love confession? do you have feelings for him? is now a good time to hopefully try to kindle a deeper bond with you after he's spent so much time pining from the sidelines??????

tl;dr - jade wants to be the one to complete the goals on your romance list, but you're too prideful (and suspicious of him) to admit you'd ever think of him in such a light! that's too embarrassing! too much opportunity to be exploited. and jade's a bit of a shameless coward.

so he decides there's only one solution: he's going to try to court you. the mer way. the human way would be much too obvious, after all. ^^;;;;

[leveloneandup]

Bucket list items checked off ✅ ✅ Meet goats Christen Press and Tobin Heath

[thedemoninme141]

Her Heartbeat; Chapter 20: Her Rose.

Parings: Wednesday x Fem reader. Wordcount: 4.5k-ish?

Summary: Hope is a fragile thing.

Warnings: Angst.

Chapter 1 ------- Previous Chapter

Her Heartbeat's Chapterlist.

Worklist

Wednesday's eyes opened, missing the cold she would feel every morning because she was feeling uncharacteristically warm, cocooned in an unfamiliar yet not unwelcome sensation of comfort.

Turning her head slightly, she checked beside her. You were still asleep, your head resting against her arm, your hand loosely curled around hers. Her chest tightened at the sight of you, so peaceful and serene, as though all the worries of the world had melted away in your dreams.

How had it come to this? How had you—someone so warm, so full of life—become the center of her cold, unyielding world? You were her altar, your presence her sanctuary, your body her church. The idea was unnervingly intimate, and yet, it felt right.

Carefully, more carefully than she had ever done anything in her life, Wednesday shifted, her free hand moving to gently brush against your shoulder. “Y/N,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady, “wake up.”

You stirred slightly, your grip on her arm tightening momentarily before your eyes blinked open. A sleepy smile spread across your face as you looked at her. “Morning, Angry Bird,” you teased

Wednesday rolled her eyes, “I am leaving to get ready,” she said flatly

“Alright,” you said, stretching slightly before looking back at her. “Thanks for staying, Wednesday. Really.”

She didn’t reply, simply watching as you were rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Your gratitude was unnecessary, but she didn’t have the heart to tell you that.

“I’ll meet you at breakfast.” she announced.

You nodded, your smile lingering as you watched her. “See you there.”

Wednesday paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on you longer than it should have. She turned on her heel, leaving before the moment could stretch too long.

As she stepped into the corridor, her mind began to wander, unbidden. She thought of you, of the way you looked so calm, so utterly trusting, as you slept beside her. And then, like a dark cloud creeping into a bright sky, her thoughts shifted to your heart. That fragile, relentless muscle that kept you tethered to this world, even as it threatened to fail you.

Her thoughts drifted to your bucket list, the diary she memorized. She had helped you cross off so many items already, from the absurd to the sentimental, all of it had been for you, to see that spark of joy in your eyes.

But there were still some wishes left. Simple things. Things she could easily arrange. And yet… she hesitated.

What then? The list had been your tether to the world, your way of living fully despite the uncertainty of your future. If it were complete, what would you have left to hold onto? And, more selfishly, what would she have left? She wanted you to keep wishing, to keep dreaming, to keep being there. With her. For her.

By the time she reached her dorm, her thoughts were a storm of emotions she couldn’t fully articulate. She pushed the door open, her movements sharp but not loud enough to wake Enid—at least not intentionally.

The werewolf stirred anyway, her blonde hair a tangled mess as she sat up groggily. “Morning, Wens,” she mumbled before her eyes widened slightly, a sly smile creeping onto her face “So… how was your night?”

Wednesday paused. She considered her words carefully, weighing the exact tone she wanted to convey. “Satisfactory.”

Enid giggled, fully awake now. “Satisfactory? That’s it? You spent the whole night with her, and that’s all I get? Come on, give me something!”

Wednesday turned to face her, her expression deadpan. “I slept. She slept. The end.”

Enid gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “No juicy details? No heartfelt confessions? No midnight cuddles?”

Wednesday’s eyes narrowed. “Your imagination is a breeding ground for delusions, Enid.”

But there was no sharpness in her tone. And that, more than anything, gave Enid pause. Her smile faded as she tilted her head, studying Wednesday with a level of seriousness she rarely displayed.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Enid asked, her voice softening.

“Nothing,” Wednesday replied curtly, moving to her side of the room and starting to change out of her clothes.

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me,” Enid said, pulling the blanket off her lap and sitting up.

Wednesday remained silent, her back to Enid as she reached for a fresh set of clothes.

“Something’s bothering you,” Enid declared, crossing her arms. “Come on, you can tell me. Was it something she said? Did you guys have a fight?”

Wednesday’s hand froze momentarily before she resumed her task. “No. Everything is fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Enid said, clearly unconvinced. She climbed out of bed, padding over to Wednesday, “Look, I know you don’t like sharing your feelings or whatever, but you can trust me, okay? If something’s wrong, I want to help.”

Wednesday didn’t want to talk about this, especially not with Enid. Your bucket list wasn’t something she could share without your consent, and the thought of exposing your vulnerability felt wrong.

Wednesday finished buttoning her shirt, her movements deliberate as she finally turned to face Enid. “Enid, if someone completed all the wishes they had for their life, what would they do next?”

Enid blinked, clearly caught off guard by the question.

She tilted her head, thinking for a moment before a warm smile spread across her face. “They’d find someone else to wish for them,”

Wednesday stared at her, the words sinking in far deeper than she wanted to admit. She gave Enid a small nod.

Enid watched her for a moment longer before nodding back with a warm smile, sensing that whatever was on Wednesday’s mind was something she wasn’t ready to share. For once, the werewolf respected her boundaries, retreating back to her side of the room.

As Wednesday returned to her preparations. But as she moved through the motions of her morning routine, Enid’s words lingered in her mind, echoing louder than she wanted to admit. Can she wish for you?

As Wednesday walked alongside Enid towards the quad, she spotted you standing there, leaning casually against the stone archway. Even tho you always wait for her right there, Wednesday can't help but still feel the familiar flutter in her chest everytime.

Enid noticed you too and nudged Wednesday with her elbow, a sly grin spreading across her face. “Look at that. Your personal ray of sunshine, waiting just for you.”

Wednesday shot her a glare sharp enough to cut steel. “Enid, I will personally ensure your demise if you continue speaking.”

Enid merely giggled, unfazed. “Aww, you’re so grouchy in the morning. It’s adorable.”

Suppressing the urge to retort, Wednesday quickened her pace as Enid struggled to follow.

“Hey, Enid!” you called, smiling warmly.

Enid grinned "Morning Y/n!"

As the three of them walked towards their usual table, you turned to Wednesday. “We’re grabbing breakfast. I’ll get yours too.”

Wednesday gave a single, curt nod, watching as you and Enid disappeared into the crowd. Her gaze lingered on you for a moment before she turned her attention to the table, sitting in her usual spot.

Her mind was almost back to the list again when she noticed Bianca and Yoko approaching with their trays.

Bianca slid onto the bench beside her, setting her tray down, “Morning, Wednesday.”

Wednesday gave her a withering look, her jaw tightening. She didn’t move to greet her, instead staring blankly ahead as if Bianca wasn’t there.

Unbothered, Bianca smirked and began eating. “You’re as sociable as ever. Anyway, I was just wondering—how’s Y/N doing?”

Wednesday’s posture stiffened, but her expression remained impassive. She refused to let Bianca’s question unsettle her. “She’s fine,” she said curtly. “For now.”

Bianca raised an eyebrow at the vague response but didn’t press further. Instead, she sighed, leaning back slightly. “You know, I used to think Y/N was just some weird girl. Quiet, always in her own little world.”

Wednesday’s glare intensified, her dark eyes narrowing dangerously.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” Bianca said, holding up her hands defensively. “That was back in my queen bee era, okay? I’ve grown since then.”

Yoko snorted. “Barely.”

Bianca shot her a look before turning back to Wednesday. “Anyway, my point is… Y/N’s a lot stronger than I gave her credit for. She’s… too pure for this world, honestly.”

Wednesday was silent, her mind momentarily drifting to you—your laugh, your smile, the warmth you brought into her otherwise cold and calculated life.

Then she spoke, her voice low and firm. “Do not, under any circumstances, remind her of her condition. Not even for a second.”

Bianca held up her hands again. “Alright, alright. Message received. Geez.”

Before the conversation could continue, you and Enid returned, balancing trays of food in your hands. “Here you go,” you said, setting a tray in front of Wednesday with a small smile. “Sorry, Wednesday. They were out of dead spider salad.” you joked as you took a seat across from her.

Wednesday gave you a dry look, but there was a faint flicker of amusement in her eyes.

The table fell into a comfortable rhythm as everyone began eating, the conversations weaving in and out around bites of food. Through it all, Wednesday remained mostly silent, her focus flitting between her meal and you. She noted the way you laughed at Enid’s jokes, the way your eyes lit up when you spoke about something that excited you.

When breakfast ended and it was time to head to class, the group dispersed, each going their separate ways. You and Wednesday walked together, as you shared the same first class of the day.

“My dad will be here at noon,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence. “He’ll pick me up after classes.”

Wednesday glanced at you, her expression unreadable. “I’ll be there, too.”

You smiled, your eyes softening. “I know. Just like you said.”

Wednesday didn’t respond, but the weight in her chest eased slightly at your smile. It was a reminder, however fleeting, that you still had reasons to smile—and she would do whatever it took to keep it that way.

Wednesday glanced at the mirror, her reflection as stoic and composed as ever, but she couldn’t deny the subtle tension in her jaw or the slight tremor in her hands.

Behind her, Enid sat on her bed, watching with an uncharacteristic silence. Finally, after a few moments of hesitation, Enid asked, “So, uh… where are you going?”

“To Y/N’s doctor appointment,” Wednesday replied without looking at her.

Enid’s shoulders sagged slightly. “Oh…” She looked away, biting her lip. Her mind raced with things she could say, ways she could reassure Wednesday, but nothing felt right. Nothing felt truthful. It’s gonna be okay she almost said, but her voice caught in her throat. Is it gonna be okay? Even Enid didn’t know.

Wednesday continued straightening her outfit, her movements sharper than usual. Nervousness was an emotion she’d spent years suppressing, burying beneath layers of cold indifference and iron will. But now, it clawed its way to the surface.

A knock at the door broke the tense silence. Enid jumped to her feet and opened it, revealing you standing there, dressed simply but with a glow about you that only made Wednesday’s nerves tangle tighter.

“Hey Enid,” you said, smiling brightly before looking at Wednesday, “Ready to go?”

Wednesday nodded, moving toward you without hesitation. As she stepped into the hallway, you turned to Enid, “Bye, Enid!” You gave Enid a small wave, but before you could say goodbye, Enid lunged forward and wrapped you in a tight hug.

You blinked in surprise, hugging her back just as tightly. “Not that I mind the hug but what’s this for?” you asked with a soft laugh.

“Just felt like it,” Enid said, her voice muffled against your shoulder.

Wednesday stood a step behind, her dark eyes watching the exchange. She wasn’t one for public displays of affection but even she could understand this, Enid’s hug wasn’t just a goodbye; it was a shield, a silent promise of support, and a wordless prayer that everything would turn out fine.

As you pulled away, you smiled warmly at Enid. “I’ll see you later.”

Enid nodded, her usual pep replaced by a quiet seriousness. “Yeah. See you later.”

You turned to Wednesday, your smile softening. “Let’s go.”

The drive to the hospital was mostly silent but you seemed determined to lighten the mood, trying to spark a laugh from your dad with small, hopeful remarks about the weather, the drive, or even the slightly crooked sign outside a diner you passed.

You glanced at Wednesday in the rearview mirror, offering her a small, reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Dad, remember that time I tried to cook you breakfast for your birthday? and I set off the smoke alarm? The pancakes looked like hockey pucks.”

Your dad’s lips twitched, but the smile didn’t quite form. “I remember,” he said quietly, his voice strained.

The car hit a red light, and your dad exhaled, long and slow, as if he were trying to let out all the tension in his body but failing miserably. You reached over, placing a hand gently on his arm. “Dad… it’s going to be okay,” you said softly.

He glanced at you briefly before turning his attention back to the road. “I hope so,” he said, his voice low and strained.

In the backseat, Wednesday sat stiffly, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

She wanted to say something, anything, to cut through the heaviness, but words failed her.

Instead, she focused on you. The way you kept trying, despite the weight pressing down on you. The way you smiled, even when your eyes betrayed your fear.

Each turn of the wheels felt like a countdown, drawing you all closer to something none of you could predict. Something Wednesday was powerless against.

It was Wednesday’s second time here. The memory of the last visit lingered vividly in her mind. The Raven. Your collapse. The beeping monitors. Your pale face as you lay unconscious. It all played on a loop.

And now, here you were again, but this time walking under your own strength. Wednesday’s eyes flickered toward you briefly, taking in the way your hand rested lightly on the strap of your bag, your shoulders squared despite the tension visible in your clenched jaw. You were trying to be brave, and Wednesday could see it. She hated that you had to be.

The door to the consultation room was just ahead. Your father reached out and pushed it open, holding it for the two of you. Inside, four doctors sat around a polished table. They stood as you entered,

“Miss Y/N,” the woman said as she rose to greet you, her German accent faint but clear. “Mr. L/N. Please, come in and have a seat.” Wednesday’s sharp eyes darted to the woman, then to the others. She didn’t trust them. Not yet. But as you stepped into the room, she followed without hesitation, positioning herself just behind your chair.

Your father offered a polite nod, guiding you to the chair.

You sank into it, your movements slow but deliberate, and Wednesday took her place at your side. She crossed her arms, her dark gaze scanning the room as if daring anyone to show a sign of incompetence.

“We’ve had time to review your case thoroughly,” the older doctor began, his hands folded neatly on the table in front of him. “Your medical history, test results, and the detailed reports from your previous doctors have given us a comprehensive understanding of your condition.”

The middle-aged doctor nodded, picking up where the older man left off. “You’ve been diagnosed with a congenital heart valve disease. Specifically, the mitral valve in your heart is severely damaged, which has caused a range of complications, as you’re well aware.” Your father’s hand clenched slightly on the armrest of his chair, but he didn’t speak.

The woman leaned forward, her calm, measured tone cutting through the weight in the room. “Your current treatment plan—medications to manage symptoms and reduce strain on your heart—has been effective to some degree. However, it’s not a long-term solution. The valve’s condition will continue to deteriorate, and unfortunately, the symptoms will worsen.”

You nodded slowly, your face pale but composed. Wednesday, standing stiffly beside you, felt a sharp pang in her chest at their words. They were speaking clinically, detachedly, as if your life were a puzzle to be solved. It wasn’t wrong, medicine required logic and precision, but Wednesday despised it all the same.

“We’ve discussed your case extensively, and there are two possible paths forward. The first is to continue waiting for a heart transplant. As you know, this option is highly dependent on donor availability, and the wait time could be months but most like years for your age.” the older doctor interjected, his tone careful. “A transplant offers the highest likelihood of success long-term, but the waiting period presents risks. Your heart’s condition may deteriorate further during that time, which could complicate recovery post-surgery.”

Wednesday’s jaw tightened. Her eyes flicked to you, noting the way your hands gripped the edge of your chair, white-knuckled but steady.

“And the second option?” you asked, your voice steady but quiet.

The woman answered, “We’ve discussed your case extensively, and there is an alternative approach we believe may be worth considering. It is not without risk, but it could potentially stabilize your condition while you await a transplant—or, in the best-case scenario, eliminate the need for one entirely.”

“A transcatheter mitral valve repair procedure. It is a minimally invasive technique where we would implant a device to improve the valve’s function and reduce regurgitation. The procedure itself is highly specialized, and while we have performed it successfully on numerous patients, each case carries its own set of challenges.” The oldest doctor added.

Your father straightened slightly in his chair, his expression a mixture of hope and caution. “And the success rate?”

The room grew heavier as the woman exchanged glances with her colleagues.

Finally, she spoke, her voice even. "Given the severity of your condition and the intricacies of this procedure, the success rate is approximately 30 to 40 percent. It is a challenging operation, even for a team as experienced as ours. We must be honest about the risks involved."

Your father let out a sharp exhale, leaning back in his chair as he ran a hand over his face. You, however, remained calm, your gaze steady.

“And if it fails?” you asked.

“If the procedure is unsuccessful,” the older doctor said, “it could lead to further complications, including complete heart failure."

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air. Wednesday’s fingers curled against her lap, her nails biting into her skin. She hated this—the clinical detachment, the way these doctors spoke of risks and percentages while you sat there, your life reduced to numbers and probabilities.

“But if successful, it could significantly improve your quality of life and extend your life expectancy." the woman said gently to divert your attention from the negatives, "We understand this is a difficult decision. You don’t need to decide today. Take some time to think it over, discuss it with your family, and let us know within a week.”

You nodded again, your voice soft as you replied, “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”

The doctors exchanged polite goodbyes, and your father rose from his chair, placing a hand on your shoulder as he guided you toward the door. Wednesday followed silently.

The walk through the hospital corridors was a blur, and you… you were quiet too, your steps slow and deliberate as if each one required effort.

As your father slid into the driver’s seat and started the car, Wednesday stole a glance at you in the backseat beside her. You looked out the window, your head tilted slightly, your gaze distant.

“Do you want to go home, hun?” your father asked, his voice soft, careful.

Wednesday’s stomach knotted. She braced herself for your answer, convinced you’d say yes. How could you not, after what you had just endured? Surely, the comfort of your home, away from the prying eyes of the school, would feel like a sanctuary.

But then you turned to your father and said, “No. I want to go back to Nevermore.”

Wednesday felt a flicker of confusion. Why? she wanted to ask. Why would you want to return to the place that seemed to amplify everything—the stares, the whispers, the weight of your condition? But she didn’t ask. Instead, more than anything, she wanted to hold you. Not to speak, not to offer any empty reassurances. Just to wrap her arms around you and keep you close, safe from everything threatening to pull you away from her. To show you how much she cared. To show you how much you meant to her.

Wednesday noticed how your fingers absentmindedly toyed with the hem of your sleeve, how your foot tapped softly against the car’s floor. You were deep in thought. She wondered what you were thinking, what you were feeling. She wondered if you felt as lost as she did.

When the car finally pulled up to Nevermore’s gates, you stepped out first, followed by Wednesday.

Your father turned to you, his eyes softening with worry. “Call me when you’re ready to talk, okay? I’ll be waiting.”

You nodded, offering a faint smile. “I will. Thank you for everything, Dad.”

He pulled you into a hug, holding you tightly for a moment before stepping back, his gaze lingering on you as he climbed back into the car.

Wednesday stood silently by your side, her dark eyes fixed on you as you watched the car pulling away, disappearing down the road.

You stood there for a moment, watching until the car was out of sight. Then, you turned to Wednesday.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you smiled—a small, sad smile that tugged at something deep inside her. And then you offered your hand.

It was an invitation.

Without hesitation, Wednesday took it. Your fingers intertwined with hers. Wherever you were going, she would follow.

Wednesday didn't ask you where you were leading her, she didn't need to, and before she knew it, you had brought her to the greenhouse. She blinked, realizing she had no memory of how she’d gotten there. Her eyes, however, never left you.

You led her to the far corner of the greenhouse, where the light was dim.

“I wanted to show you something,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wednesday didn’t respond, her dark eyes scanning your face intently.

You knelt down and carefully uncovered a small batch of black roses nestled in a pot. Their petals were delicate, almost velvety, and they seemed to drink in the dim light, their color impossibly rich and dark.

“I found them a while ago,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “They were dying when I saw them. Almost gone. But I couldn’t leave them like that.”

Wednesday stared at the roses, her mind a storm of thoughts she couldn’t untangle. She wasn’t easily moved by sentimentality, but there was something about the sight of those flowers, fragile yet living, that tugged at something deep inside her.

“I love you,” you said, your words quiet but unwavering. “I know I’ve told you before, but I just… I need you to know. I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. And you’ve given me so much. More than I ever thought I could have."

Wednesday felt her breath hitch. Your words were like a blade, cutting through her carefully constructed walls.

“I’ve been so scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “Scared of what’s going to happen, scared of what I might lose. But you… you make me feel brave. You make me feel like I can face anything.”

Your words came out in a rush, stumbling over each other, and you paused to take a shaky breath.

“And these roses,” you continued, your voice softer now, “they remind me of you. Strong, beautiful, and a little intimidating... but worth everything. They remind me of how you’ve been with me through everything. How you’ve been my strength when I didn’t have any left.”

Wednesday’s throat felt tight, her chest heavy with emotion she couldn’t quite name.

“I don’t know what the future holds,” you said, “but I know that I want you in it. For however long I have left.”

You looked down, your hands trembling slightly as you folded them in your lap. “I’m sorry. I’m probably rambling. I just… I needed to say it.”

Something inside Wednesday shifted. She couldn’t put it into words, couldn’t articulate the storm of emotions swirling within her. All she knew was that she couldn’t hold back anymore.

Without warning, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a fierce hug.

You froze for a moment, startled, before relaxing into her embrace, your arms winding around her waist.

Perhaps Enid's hugging disease was contagious, but it felt right. Perfect, even.

But the warmth of your arms around her wasn’t enough. The thoughts screaming in her mind, the fear, the anger, the overwhelming tenderness she didn’t know how to handle—they demanded something more. Slowly, Wednesday pulled back, just enough to look into your eyes.

Your cheeks were flushed, your breath shallow, and your eyes brimmed with unshed tears. "Wednesday," you whispered, your voice trembling, filled with a depth of feeling that made her chest ache.

And then, she acted. Her hands moved up to cup your face, her fingers trembling ever so slightly.

She leaned in, pressing her lips to yours.

It wasn’t tentative. It was fierce, almost desperate—a silent plea, just last lifetime.

You responded almost immediately, your hands clutching at her blazer, holding her as if you were afraid to let go.

The kiss deepened, softening into something more vulnerable. It was tender, reverent, as if you both were trying to pour every ounce of feeling into it, to say everything that words couldn’t.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless. You rested your forehead against hers, your fingers lightly brushing against her arms as if grounding yourself in her presence.

“I love you,” you whispered again, your voice shaky but sure. “I love you so much, Wednesday.”

She stared at you, her heart pounding in a way she wasn’t used to. She opened her mouth to respond, to tell you again that she loved you too, but then it clicked.

You’d made your decision. That’s why you’d brought her here, why you’d shown her the roses, why you’d spoken those words.

“Have you…” she started, her voice hesitant. “Have you decided?”

You stared at her, looking down, back at the roses, and then you answered.

Next Chapter.

[Author's note: Cliffhanger? Nah Y/n is cooked. Comment or my cat kills Y/n.]

@ognenniyvolk @mally-ka @protozoario @machyishere @freakshow2501 @101rizzlrr

[osamiiya]

“But that one’s obvious”

Atsumu x reader

warnings // very suggestive! postcotial discussions. mention of alcohol

summary: Atsumu keeps a bucket list of things he would like to experience in his life.

notes: stares and blinks.

— — —

Atsumu is entirely ungraceful as he flops onto the bed next to you, skin damp with sweat as his chest heaves.

It’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds in the room heavy breathing and the ticking of the clock in your kitchen.

When you realized your crush on the MSBY setter, you hadn’t anticipated his reciprocation, much less the admission that he’s liked you pretty much since you met.

The hookup had also been a spur of the moment thing, the two of you were together at a charity event MSBY was invited to, and you tagged along as his plus-one. The two of you spend the night laughing while sipping cups of water as Bokuto and Hinata made tipsy fools of themselves.

One surprisingly deep conversation later, you found yourself cupping his jaw affectionately and his eyes seemed to flutter shut as you leaned in.

It’s a blur of confessions and clothes and kissing before you find yourself staring up at the ceiling, chest heaving.

“Crossed that off the bucket list.” Atsumu huffs from next to you.

You turn your head to give him a confused look, hair mussing slightly.

“..What?” Your voice is slightly scratchy from your previous activities.

“Making a hot person scream my name in bed.” Atsumu sends a shit eating grin as he wipes at his forehead.

“You’re impossible.” You laugh, head shaking in disbelief.

Atsumu just grins as he goes to collect a rag from your bathroom to clean up with.

“Everyone has one.” He hums as he returns.

His hands are gentle as he cleans you up, eyebrows knitted in concentration as the rag brushes over the panes of your body.

“What’s on it?” You sigh out, relishing in the feeling of being taken care of.

He doesn’t respond as he pulls on his boxers, and finds something for you to wear before flopping next to you on the bed.

“What’s on what?” Atsumu grins, he’s clearly getting a kick out of this. He doesn’t tease further as he lists off some more… intimate, items on his bucket list.

“Are they all sexual?” You snort, pushing him away as he inches further to kiss at your neck.

“Why? Did you want to cross some more off tonight?” You can feel his teeth against your neck as he smiles, laughing slightly.

“Absolutely not, keep your hands off me.”

Atsumu whines dramatically as he places one last kiss on your neck before gathering you in his arms as best he can from his angle.

“I want to try skydiving.” He hums, “And going to the olympics.”

He’s surprisingly thoughtful as he lists off various items on his bucket list, along with a short explanation when you press him for more details. Atsumu’s hand finds yours to hold loosely, thumb drawing languid circles as the two of you just talk.

It’s comfortable, you’ve been friends longer than you’ve been dating. Considering the series of confessions that had only happened earlier that evening.

You can tell Atsumus nearing the end of his mental bucket list when he hesitates and looks you shyly in the face.

“And confessing to you, but I checked that one off.” He hums thoughtfully, he chews on his bottom list as he lists off one last one.

“And treating you well. Dating you for a long time, spending as much time as I can with you.” He smiles fondly, eyes softening.

“But that one’s obvious.” He hums, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

It’s as if the air in your lungs has been sucked out of your body as he speaks, and there’s no stopping the smile that creeps onto your lips.

“That one’s obvious.” You echo softly, eyes searching his.

[joonsytip]

I love you, I'm sorry || Seungkwan

Pairings: Seungkwan x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: When he falls in the pit, you come to save him.

Warnings: mentions of accident, major character death, angst.

Word Count: 1.1k

[ SVT Masterlist ] [ SVT Flick - Fic Masterlist ]

“You came back, really?”

Seungkwan double takes, blinking his teary eyes. He looks around and pinches himself. It hurts his skin, he's not dreaming.

“Honey”, he rushes to you, engulfing you in his embrace. He inhales your scent, a sense of relief feeling his chest.

“I missed you.”, he pulls away, kissing your forehead.

You wipe his tears, “How could I not come?”, and smile, “I could never stay mad at you.”

Seungkwan smiles in relief. He takes your hands and sits you on the worn out couch, the one which he can't get rid off, the one which is bound to his sentiments. You caress the furniture, feeling the cotton tickling your fingers through the tears of the cover.

“You know right, that I didn't mean any of it?”, Seungkwan asks in desperation, “That it was all nonsense, something I said just out of fit.”

You nod, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

And you could feel the tension dissipate, when your lips meet his. Seungkwan melts under the touch, his both hands tightening their grip around you.

“The colours have faded, you should get the walls painted again.”, you sigh, your eyes wandering around your adobe. The one you both had built from scratch with love.

“We can do it together, like we've always done.”, he says, caressing your arms.

“I won't be able to do it this time.”, comes your quiet reply as you fidget with your fingers.

That's when Seungkwan notices your finger is void of the wedding band.

“Where's the ring? Did you give it for cleaning?”, he asks, sounding confused. Legit, because you never put it off and even if you do, it's Seungkwan who takes both of your rings for cleaning.

“Kwanie, they never found it.”,

Seungkwan looks at you, brows furrowed, “Who never found what?”

You look at him, helplessly.

“Kwanie, don't blame yourself. What happened wasn't your fault. I shouldn't have stormed out of the house on a rainy night–”

“Yes, but I too went overboard. I should have chased you as soon as you went out but I waited for myself to calm down instead. I'm sorry for that.”, he caresses your cheeks, “You're back, here with me, and that's what matters. I promise this won't happen ever again.”

Sobs wrack your body and Seungkwan gets worried.

“You need to accept it, Kwanie.”, you say in between hiccups, “You have to accept that I can no longer be with you. That my death wasn't your fault, it was no one's fault. The accident was bound to happen, it was my fate.”

The bubble bursts as Seungkwan gets pulled into the reality. He freezes as the memories of the past few days come back to him.

The cruel aftermath of a fight that claimed your life. How he was late to reach you, that you left him even before he got to you. How your hand that was void of the wedding band fell out of the blanket while they carried your body on the stretcher.

Seungkwan now remembers that he went back to the accident scene just to find your ring, the only jewellery you held dear, how you constantly emphasized that you hated to look at your hand without the ring on it.

He's to blame. His heart crushes as he recollects how his words had killed you even before the accident, which was so unfortunate that it claimed the life of the driver in the car as well.

“It's all because of me.”, he declares, as if more to himself, “I should have chased you, no, I shouldn't have started the fight. I-I’m to blame. It's my fault.”

You shake your head to which he looks at you with the most devastating eyes, “Don’t leave me please. If you have to go then take me with you.”

“I can't take you with me, you have your entire life ahead.”, you say smiling through your tears, “But I'll be waiting for you. Live to the fullest, check all the items on the bucket list we created. When it's time, come and find me. I'll listen to all of it.”

Seungkwan falls into the endless loop of despair. It's abyss, but the one with no end to pain. When he married you, his childhood sweetheart two years ago, after dating for more than ten years, he had made a promise to himself, that was to love you for the rest of his life, to be the partner you always looked for, to make you happy.

And though he'd love you for the rest of his life, he just can't bring himself to think about a life without you in it.

It's you, the one he grew up with, his first and only crush. The girl he dated, the woman he married.

“Promise me, Kwan, that you'll pick yourself up. Promise that you'd move on with life and if love knocks on your door again you'll accept it without feeling guilty. Even though I won't be present, I'll be always watching you.”

You hand him three carnations, one red, one pink and one white.

“Red carnations symbolise love and affection. Pink ones symbolise gratitude and white ones are for rememberance.”, a faint smiles graces on your lips,

“When you miss me, go to the garden. Look at the carnations and they'll convey my messages. The red ones mean that ‘I love you’. The pink ones will convey that ‘I’ll never forget you’. The white ones will remind you that I'm always with you.”

Seungkwan nods quietly, trying to muffle his sobs but the little trembles give it away. He doesn't dare to look up, he doesn't dare to meet your eyes.

Your tears have dried off, you don't think you can produce any more of them.

“Stop crying please. How am I supposed to leave you?”

“Then don't go.”, he begs, “I can't think of a life without you.”

You engulf him in a hug and he doesn't let himself get seperated from you. Seungkwan wants to forget everything, wants to live here with you.

“It's time, Kwanie. I'll have to go now.”

It settles in his bones and he steps back. He takes one final look at your face, with a sad smile, tears in his eyes and croak in his voice, he says, “I love you and I'm sorry for everything.”

You reiterate his words, “Thanks for everything. You taught me the meaning of love, camaraderie and loyalty. You're the partner I have ever wanted. You're so strong Kwanie, I know you'll move past this.”

Suddenly the water starts leaking through the roof and pours on you both.

You give him one last look, the water camouflaging your tears, “I love you and I'm sorry for leaving you behind. It's time for you to go back.”

Seungkwan feels his body shake and he wakes up to find himself near your grave with the rain pouring and three carnations in the shades of red, pink and white in his hand.

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