#but now here we are again and I'M SIMMERING

[kominigiru]

im gonna start dumping my one-shots here from now on just bc. also posted on ao3!

satoru's guide to wedding day blunders

contains: female reader, fluff, crack, gojo being a menace, reader and toge are siblings, shoko and nanami being so done with satoru's shenanigans part 1 - part 2 (both in ao3)

Gojo Satoru is late to his own wedding.

You stand at the altar, fingers clenched around your bouquet, doing everything you can to keep from grinding your teeth. Shoko, standing to your right as your maid of honor, is shooting you sympathetic looks, while Nanami on the left looks like he's one deep sigh away from physically dragging Satoru here himself.

Your family sits in the front row, their faces showing various degrees of irritation, disappointment, and—worst of all—pity. They're whispering among themselves, making no effort to hide the glances they cast toward you, or the fact that they're annoyed on your behalf.

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to block out the noise. When you open them again, your mother is already halfway up the aisle, moving toward you with a determined look in her eyes.

"Sweetheart," she says, barely acknowledging Shoko and Nanami. "It's been over an hour. I think it's time to accept that maybe this wedding… isn't happening."

You stiffen, fingers going numb around your bouquet. Cancel?

Nanami sighs heavily, crossing his arms. "She has a point. Gojo's behavior today is completely unacceptable. It reflects poorly on him, and worse, on you. We can reschedule."

Shoko snorts in agreement. "Yeah, even I'm tired of waiting, and I'm not the one at the altar. Typical Satoru."

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. You don't speak often—as your Cursed Speech makes casual conversation risky—but the urge to say something now presses hard against your chest. Before you can figure out how to respond, you feel a tug on your gown.

You glance down to see your younger brother, Toge, standing at your side, his tiny arms wrapping around your waist in a comforting hug.

"Aniki's late," Toge mutters, his voice barely audible.

The way he says it tugs at your heartstrings. Even your usually patient brother is starting to lose hope.

Suddenly, with perfect, almost theatrical timing, the heavy church doors burst open, slamming against the walls with a deafening thud. You don't even need to turn around to know who it is.

"Sorry I'm late!" Satoru's voice rings out, loud and unapologetic, echoing through the silent church.

You finally turn, and there he is, Gojo Satoru, standing in the doorway like he's just walked in from some casual errand and not his own wedding. His hair is tousled, his sunglasses perched on top of his head, and he's grinning like this is all some kind of joke.

Satoru saunters down the aisle, waving casually at the guests. "Miss me?"

Your family collectively groans, and you can feel Nanami's simmering rage without even looking at him. Shoko rolls her eyes dramatically, muttering something about "classic Gojo" under her breath. You, however, stay rooted in place, fingers tightening their grip on your bouquet.

Satoru reaches the altar, looking perfectly at ease, as though he hasn't just kept an entire wedding party waiting for over an hour. He slides up next to you, his grin widening when he sees the expression on your face.

"Hey, sweetheart," he says softly, leaning in just enough for only you to hear. "Sorry about that. Had to deal with a curse situation. You know how it is. Life of a sorcerer and all that."

You stare at him, your mouth a tight line.

You've gotten used to Satoru's antics over the years, but even for him, this is too much. Still, speaking directly, even to scold him, could have unintended consequences thanks to your cursed technique, so instead, you breathe deeply through your nose and give him a pointed glare.

"Ah… right," Satoru says, catching on. "You’re upset. Understandable."

Nanami, who's been silent up until now, finally speaks up, his voice thick with irritation. "You're lucky we haven't already canceled the ceremony."

Shoko nods. "An hour late, Satoru? Even for you, that's ridiculous."

Satoru throws up his hands in mock defense. "Okay, okay, I know! But hey, at least I showed up, right? That's what matters."

You can feel the tension radiating from the entire room, but before you can think of how to express your feelings in a way that doesn’t result in your cursed speech accidentally knocking everyone unconscious, you feel a tug at your dress again.

You glance down, and Toge is looking up at you with wide, concerned eyes. "Tuna mayo," he says softly, which is his way of saying, Are you okay?

You crouch down slightly, giving Toge a reassuring smile and patting his head. It's a small moment, but it helps ground you. You straighten up, turning back to Satoru, who's watching the interaction with a sheepish grin.

"Look," he starts, "I know I messed up. Big time. But hey," he adds, flashing a grin, "You know you love me anyway, right?"

You stare at him for a long moment, taking in his disheveled appearance, his unshakable confidence, and his infuriating grin. Despite everything, despite the frustration, the embarrassment, and the whispers from your family, you can’t help but feel the corners of your mouth twitch upward.

Maybe it’s because this is so typically Satoru—unpredictable, chaotic, and yet, somehow, charming in his own way.

You take a deep breath and raise your hand to his chest, pressing two fingers lightly against him. It's a gesture you often use when you can't speak, one that means I forgive you, but don't do it again.

Satoru's grin softens, and he takes your hand, squeezing it gently. "I promise," he says, and for once, there's no teasing in his tone. "I won't mess up again. Well, not today, at least."

Nanami clears his throat. "We'll see about that."

Shoko shrugs. "Honestly, I'm just impressed you got here at all."

Toge, ever the voice of simplicity, tugs on Satoru's sleeve and mutters, "Okaka."

Satoru gasps dramatically. "Betrayed by a child! I thought we were family, Toge!"

Toge just crosses his arms, unimpressed, as you all share a quiet laugh at Satoru's expense.

Satoru turns back to you, his grin back in full force. "So, what do you say we make this official, huh?"

You glance at the altar, the officiant who's been waiting patiently, and then back at Satoru. Slowly, you nod.

Satoru's face lights up, and with a flourish, he turns to the officiant. "Alright! Let's get married before anything else decides to go wrong!"

As the ceremony finally begins, you can't help but feel a mix of exasperation and fondness swelling in your chest. Life with Satoru will never be predictable, but as you look at him now, standing beside you, you know one thing for certain: it will always be interesting.

And in his own chaotic way, you know that Satoru loves you—enough to show up late to your wedding but still make you smile in the end.

You squeeze his hand once more and and he chuckles, leaning down to kiss your forehead and whisper, "I love you, too."

—

Later that night, after the wedding reception winds down and everyone heads home, you and Satoru return to your shared house. You're still wearing your wedding dress, and he's got his suit jacket slung over his shoulder, looking as carefree as ever. He's been trying to sweet-talk you the whole way back, as if he hadn’t shown up an hour late to your own wedding.

"Come on, sweetheart, it wasn't that bad." He grins, nudging you with his elbow. "Everyone had a good laugh, right?"

You give him a sidelong glance, your silence speaking volumes.

"Okay, okay, maybe I pushed it a little. But hey, I made it in the end, didn't I? That's what counts!" He flashes his signature smile, the one that usually gets him out of trouble.

You pause at the front door, turning to look at him. For a moment, he thinks he's won you over. You're smiling, after all. But then, without a word, you toss him a single pillow.

Satoru catches it with a confused look. "Uh…what's this?"

You gesture to the pillow and point to the roof.

His smile falters. "Wait, wait, wait, hold on. You're not serious, right?" His laugh is nervous now. "You forgave me at the altar! We're good! We're married now!"

You shrug and head inside, but before he can follow, you turn around, blocking the doorway with your body. His eyes widen in panic.

"Come on! I can't sleep on the roof on our wedding night! People will talk! Nanami will find out and he will never let me live it down!"

Your only response is a raised eyebrow, and you slowly, deliberately, start to close the door.

Satoru jams his foot in the door with a dramatic gasp. "But I thought you loved me!"

You don't need cursed speech for this one. You give him a sweet, innocent smile—the kind of smile that would normally melt him on the spot. But tonight, it just spells doom for him. He knows that smile. It's the smile that means, "I do love you, but you're not getting away with this."

He groans. "Seriously? After all the curses I've fought, this is how I go down?" He leans his head dramatically against the doorframe, clutching his pillow like a lifeline. "Sleeping on the roof like a stray cat? Come on, babe, be reasonable!"

You sigh, your patience wearing thin. He's still whining.

With a subtle tap into your cursed technique, you say the words that you've been holding back all night. "Sleep on the roof tonight."

The power of your cursed speech echoes through the air, and Satoru visibly flinches. His body moves on its own, turning toward the roof like a puppet on strings.

"W-wait! No! I take it back! I take it back! You don't have to use that—"

But it's too late. His legs betray him, carrying him toward the roof with a dramatic flair, like he's being pulled by some invisible force. You watch as he scrambles helplessly, pillow tucked under one arm as he clambers up to his new "bed" for the night.

From the roof, you hear him groan, his voice tinged with betrayal. "But I'm your husband now! Doesn't that mean anything?!"

You close the door, letting out a small chuckle. Behind it, you hear him muttering to himself in frustration.

"Of all the things to use your cursed speech for..." he grumbles. "Could've just told me you were mad! But noooo, had to make me sleep outside on the night of my own wedding!"

You hear some shuffling from the roof, and then: "At least give me a blanket! It's cold up here!"

You open a window just wide enough to toss him a thin, scratchy blanket, watching it float up to where he's perched.

"Thanks," he mutters sarcastically. "This’ll totally keep me warm."

There's silence for a few moments before his voice drifts down again.

"I'm sorryyyyy!" he yells, his voice carrying through the night air. "I'll never be late again, I swear! I'll be early to everything! Our anniversaries, your birthday, breakfast—you name it! I'll never mess up again!"

You shake your head, smirking to yourself, knowing full well that's a promise he'll break within the month. But for tonight, the roof will teach him a lesson.

From the roof, you hear a long, pitiful sigh. "I thought married life would be more… cozy. Not like… this."

Finally, after what seems like an eternity of grumbling, he goes quiet, probably giving in to the reality of his situation. The stars twinkle overhead, and for a moment, all is peaceful.

Until—

"I bet Nanami's gonna find out and give me that look tomorrow." His voice suddenly perks up again, this time with a hint of dread. "You know the one. The 'I told you so' look. Ugh, I hate that look…"

You roll your eyes, closing the window fully this time, knowing that his whining will eventually tire him out. But still, you can't help but smile.

You know he'll be back to his usual antics by tomorrow, but for now, he can enjoy the roof.

As you settle into bed, you can faintly hear Satoru one last time from outside.

"You'll miss me eventually! No one can resist my charm!"

You smile into your pillow. Not tonight, Satoru. Not tonight.

[currentlyonstandbi]

[skywalkerslvt]

Cramped—Logan Howlett

❥Pairing: Logan Howlett x AFAB!Reader (no pronouns other than 'you' mentioned)

❥Summary: While on the run from enemies, Logan and reader find a temporary hideout; a cramped supply closet. Things ensue...

❥CW: 18+, smut, forced proximity, minor dry humping, fingering, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it hoes), 2.2k words

❥a/n: god I'm such a fucking slut for this man. Hope u enjoy reading this highkey cliché fic as much as I enjoyed writing it (I had way too much fun writing this it's concerning) NOT PROOFREAD!!

The plan had seemed foolproof—until it wasn’t. What was meant to be a quiet infiltration erupted into gunfire and chaos, forcing you and Logan to improvise on the fly. You sprinted through the labyrinth of hallways, the sound of pounding footsteps and barked orders hot on your heels. Just when your lungs felt like they'd burst, Logan's hand shot out, gripping your arm and pulling you into a narrow doorway. Before you could react, he dragged you into a cramped, pitch-black closet, slamming the door behind you. His chest was flush against your back, one hand swiftly covering your mouth to stifle your gasps while the other was wrapped around your waist. The heat of his body pressed into you as his breath tickled your ear. "Quiet," he whispered, voice low and rough. "We can't outrun them. We're hiding here until they pass." The tight space, the sound of your heart pounding in your ears, and the intensity of his presence made it impossible to focus on anything else.

You could feel Logan's chest rising and falling against your back, the heat of his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine despite the tension in the air. "Quiet, huh?" you muttered under your breath, shifting slightly against his hold. "This was your idea, remember? Charging headfirst into a whole squad of armed men?"

Logan’s grip tightened on your arm, his voice a low growl in your ear. “I didn’t hear you coming up with any better plans. Unless you count running in circles while getting shot at as a strategy.”

You rolled your eyes, even though you knew he couldn’t see it. “Maybe if you’d actually listened to me for once, we wouldn’t be hiding in a damn closet right now.”

Logan huffed, his breath warm against your ear. “Yeah, well, maybe if you weren’t so damn stubborn, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, but the sudden closeness of his body, the feel of his rough hand that had moved from your mouth to your collarbone, and his hot breath fanning against your neck stopped you short. The tension between you had always been there, simmering under the surface, but now, in this cramped, dark space, it felt like it might just boil over.

Blinking, you regained your composure. “Well, I-” you began, but were quickly cut off by his hand covering your mouth again, your words muffled against his flesh. 

“Someone's coming,” he breathed, his grip on you tightening as you were pulled impossibly closer against his body. Sure enough, footsteps sounded outside the door a few moments later. 

As the footsteps halted right outside the door, the tension between you and Logan grew almost unbearable. Your heart pounded wildly, not just from fear, but from the electric charge that seemed to crackle in the air between your bodies. Logan's chest pressed firmly against your back, his hand still covering your mouth. The warmth of his breath fanned against your neck, sending shivers down your spine despite the danger lurking just beyond the door.

You were hyper-aware of every point of contact–his solid body behind you, the rough texture of his hand on your skin, the way his breath hitched slightly as the person outside hesitated, listening.

Your senses were on overdrive, each second stretching out as your body reacted to Logan's closeness in ways you couldn't control.

It was wrong, wildly inappropriate given the situation, but the feel of his hard chest against your back, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist, was doing things to you that you'd never admit out loud. You shifted slightly, trying to ease the tension in your muscles, but the movement only made things worse–or better, depending on how you looked at it.

Your slight wiggle caused your hips to brush against his in the confined space, and Logan's grip on you tightened, a low, almost imperceptible groan escaping him. The sound sent a thrill straight to your core, your breath catching in your throat as you realized what you'd just done. You could feel the hard length of him pressing against you, his "predicament" unmistakable in the dark, cramped closet.

Logan's fingers flexed against your waist, his breath coming faster, rougher against your ear. He didn't pull away, didn't loosen his grip, and for a moment, you were both frozen, caught in the tension of the moment, the thin line between danger and desire.

Your pulse raced, and the temptation to grind back against him, to push things just a little further, was almost overwhelming. The footsteps outside were retreating, but neither of you moved, the charged silence between you heavy with unspoken need.

Logan sighed, his head thrown back against the wall in shame. He cleared his throat, his grip on your waist loosening slightly. “Listen…I-” he cut himself off with a groan as you pushed your ass back against crotch, your desire for him pushing your fear of getting caught to the side. 

“Shh. Just–just shut up,” you whispered, eyes squeezing closed as you leaned your head back against his shoulder. 

Logan's breath hitched at the unexpected pressure, his body reacting instinctively to the friction. His hand tightened on your waist, pulling you even closer as he groaned low in your ear, his restraint slipping. You could feel the heat of him through his pants, hard and insistent against you, the tension between you igniting like a spark to dry tinder.

"Fuck, you're really playing with fire," Logan rasped, his voice strained, teetering between warning and desire.

But he didn't push you away. Instead, his fingers dug into your hip, his chest pressed so tightly against your back that you could feel the rapid beat of his heart matching your own.

The weight of your mutual attraction was heavy in the cramped space, the unspoken desire that had been simmering beneath the surface now threatening to consume you both. You could sense the hesitation in Logan's movements, the conflict between wanting to push you away and the undeniable need that had taken hold of him.

"Yeah, well," you breathed, your own voice shaky with both fear and excitement, "maybe I like the heat."

You felt Logan's lips brush against the shell of your ear, his fingers now trailing your waistband, his hot breath fanning across your skin as his resolve finally broke. “Tell me you don't want this. Tell me to stop,” he muttered, but the way his body pressed into yours, hard and unyielding, told you he wasn't planning on stopping anytime soon.

You shook your head, breathing out a soft “no,” and that was all Logan needed to hear. His hand made its way down the front of your pants, fingers rubbing slow circles on your clothed clit as he sloppily kissed and bit at your neck. 

A small, breathless moan escaped your lips, the sound muffled by the thick air in the cramped closet. Logan's reaction was immediate–his hand left your waistband and clamped over your mouth again, his lips now brushing against your ear as he whispered harshly, "You need to keep quiet, darlin. Or we'll both get caught, and this won't end the way either of us wants."

The combination of his roughened voice and the intoxicating closeness sent a shiver down your spine. The feel of his body so intimately pressed against yours, his hand possessively over your mouth, only fueled the fire building inside you. But the very real danger just outside the door added a sharp edge to your desire.

Logan's hand lingered on your mouth, as if he wasn't sure whether you'd manage to hold back the sounds threatening to spill from you, the tension in his grip telling you he was barely holding on himself. His hips pressed into yours, the heat between your bodies growing more intense by the second, and all you could think about was how badly you wanted him, consequences be damned.

Logan's fingers hovered at the waistband of your pants, his resolve hanging by a thread. You could feel his hesitation, the way his chest heaved against your back as if he were trying to convince himself to stop. But when your hips shifted back, pressing firmly against him, it shattered any remaining restraint.

His hand slipped beneath the fabric of your pants, his rough fingers sliding past your underwear and finding your slick heat. A choked sound rumbled in his chest as his fingers began to move, slow and deliberate, tracing soft circles that sent jolts of pleasure through your body. He pressed his lips against your neck, muffling his own groans as he worked you over, the rhythm of his fingers steadily increasing in pace.

You bit your lip hard, trying to keep quiet, but each twist of his fingers made it harder and harder to hold back the whimpers threatening to escape.

Logan's other hand remained firmly over your mouth, his breath ragged in your ear. He was losing control, his fingers moving faster, deeper, curling inside you with a hunger that matched your own.

"Fuck," he growled softly, the curse slipping past his lips as he felt you tightening around him, your body responding eagerly to his touch. He couldn't take it anymore. The sound of your muffled moans, the way you writhed against him–it was driving him insane.

Without warning, he withdrew his fingers, earning a frustrated whimper from you. But before you could protest, he spun you around, pressing your back against the rough wall of the closet. His eyes were dark, filled with a raw, unbridled need as he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his hand already working at the buttons of your pants.

You broke the kiss just long enough to gasp for air, your hands fumbling with the buckle of his belt, desperate to feel him inside you. Logan groaned into your mouth, the sound low and primal, as he shoved your pants down just enough to give him access.

He pressed you harder against the wall, lifting one of your legs to wrap around his waist as he freed himself from the confines of his pants. The feel of him, hot and hard against your thigh, made your head spin, and when he finally thrust into you, the sensation was overwhelming–an exquisite mix of pleasure and pain.

Logan's grip on your waist tightened, his forehead resting against yours as he began to move, each thrust rough and urgent, his hips slamming into yours with a rhythm that was desperate, almost frantic. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he drove into you, his breath hot and ragged against your ear.

"Fuck... you feel so good," he groaned, his voice barely a whisper, but the raw emotion behind it sent a thrill through your entire body. The tension between you, the weeks of pent-up frustration and unspoken desire, all came pouring out in the way he fucked you–hard, fast, and with a reckless abandon that left you breathless.

Every thrust pushed you closer to the edge, your moans growing louder despite your best efforts to stay quiet. Logan's hand quickly covered your mouth again, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist to keep you steady as he pounded into you. "Quiet," he rasped, though the quiver in his voice betrayed his own struggle to keep silent. "Can't let them hear how badly you want this. How badly you want me."

The filthy words pushed you over the edge. Your body tightened around him, pleasure crashing through you in waves, and Logan groaned loudly against your ear as he followed you over the edge, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.

For a moment, the world outside the closet ceased to exist, leaving only the sound of your ragged breaths and the aftershocks of your release. Logan kept his forehead pressed against yours, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control.

Finally, he pulled back slightly, his hand still resting on your waist as he looked into your eyes, the intensity in his gaze softened by the shared experience. "You alright?" he asked, his voice low and hoarse.

You nodded, still catching your breath, the weight of what just happened slowly sinking in. But there was no time to dwell on it–footsteps sounded in the distance, reminding you both that the danger was far from over.

Logan adjusted your clothes quickly, his hands surprisingly gentle despite what had just transpired. "We gotta move," he whispered, his tone back to business, though the lingering heat in his eyes told you that what had just happened was far from forgotten.

With one last, lingering look, Logan cracked the door open, peering out to make sure the coast was clear. Then, with a silent nod, he took your hand, leading you out of the closet and back into the chaos that awaited.

[slu7formen]

MDNI. luke x fem!reader

you and Luke end up stuck in the same motel room on a mission, but as he tries his best to stay as far away from you as possible, he ends up with you sitting on his lap and moaning his name.

warnings: enemies to lovers (?, reader’s godly parent is not mentioned, CLASSIC share-the-same-bed prompt, cussing, clothed s3x, pet names, teasing, kinda virgin!luke, dom!luke for a sec, luke sees reader in her underwear

reminder: english’s not my first language so I apologize for any spelling mistakes

₊˚⊹♡

The groan of the rusty –stolen– car door echoed in the woods like a death knell. You slammed it shut with a wince, the throbbing ache in your shoulder protesting the movement as you placed your bag on it. The vehicle now lay crumpled against a giant redwood, a testament to the gigantic beast you'd just barely managed to outrun before Percy took take of it with Anaklusmos.

And him, ever the optimist, managed a weak attempt at sarcasm. "Well, that went great, don´t you think?" he muttered to you, his voice laced with exhaustion. A fresh cut adorned his cheek, a reminder of his near-death experience, from their recent encounter.

Luke, face dirty and torso sweaty, slammed the trunk shut with a finality that mirrored the exhaustion etched on his face. Dirt smudged his usually perfect features, and sweat plastered his black hair to his forehead, a sight that would have sent shivers down the spine of any other girl at camp. On you, however, it just fueled the simmering fire inside you that made you want to punch his face.

He slung his worn backpack over one shoulder, the weight of responsibility and fatigue pulling him down.

"Remind me not to let you drive again. Ever." he said to you, his voice laced with a mocking lilt.

You rolled your eyes, the familiar irritation sparking within you. "Oh, give me a break" you spat back, hands on your hips. "I'm the only one with a license here, genius."

"Is your license useful when it comes to a stolen car, genius?" he replied, voice lowering to match his mockery and a punchable smirk playing on his lips. He really knew how to push your buttons, even when you were both staring down the barrel of another night on the run, another night without a decent meal or a good night's sleep.

"At least I can drive" you countered, ignoring the prickle of annoyance that ran down your spine. "Besides, who else would have gotten us this far? You?" You gestured towards the flickering neon sign of a ramshackle motel in the distance, a beacon of hope in the gathering darkness.

"Enough" Annabeth said, her voice firm despite the tiredness in her tone. "You two can fight later, but right now, we need to find somewhere to stay. I am not spending another night sleeping on a tree"

With a determined stomp, she marched towards the side of the road. You and Luke both took a step forward at the same time, then stopped, locked in a silent battle of who would yield. You mockingly straightened your arm towards Annabeth's path. "Ladies first" you said to him.

He squinted his eyes playfully as he walked past you. “Very mature” he muttered.

The flickering neon sign cut through the twilight like a neon lifeline as you walked. ‘The Sun n' Sands Motel’ proclaimed in faded glory, the letters crooked and the sun sporting a single, sad-looking ray. It wasn't the exactly luxury, but after days on the run, a crumpled car, and a near-death encounter with a creature straight out of your worst nightmares, this place looked like a five-star resort.

"Finally" you sighed, relief washing over you in waves. You could practically smell the promise of clean sheets and a bed that didn't groan ominously with every movement. And a shower. Gods, you craved that.

Pushing open the glass door, you were greeted with a musty scent that hung in the air like a forgotten memory. The lobby was small and poorly decorated, the faded floral wallpaper clashing horrendously with the worn brown carpeting. Behind a chipped counter sat a woman whose age defied easy categorization. Her hair, the color of tarnished silver, was pulled back in a tight bun, emphasizing the deep lines etched around her eyes. She sat engrossed in a beauty magazine, oblivious to the four weary demigods who had just entered.

With a sigh that condensed the exhaustion of your entire journey, you approached the counter. Slamming a wad of crumpled bills onto the counter, you declared, "Rooms for four, please."

Percy shuffled behind you, his eyes flitting around the room with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. Annabeth scanned the lobby for any signs of potential danger, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of her dagger.

The woman finally looked up, her gaze lingering on you for too long before flickering to the rest of your group. A slow smile played on her lips, a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "One room, two beds?" she drawled, her voice thick with a southern twang that seemed to grate on your already frayed nerves.

"Two rooms" you corrected, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. Sharing a room with Luke Castellan, a roof, again, even in this desolate outpost, was an idea so abhorrent you couldn't entertain it for a second.

As if sensing your objection, the woman tapped away at a dusty computer terminal. A smirk played on her lips. "Couple's getaway, huh?" she asked, her eyes darting from Luke, back to you.

Percy and Annabeth exchanged a surprised and disgusted look. "What?" you demanded, your irritation bubbling over.

But before you could react, you felt Luke´s heavy arm slunging casually around your shoulder, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. "Looks like we're gonna have to get a little bit cozy, don't you think, baby?" he drawled playfully.

You gritted your teeth, biting down on the inside of your cheek to keep from exploding. You knew perfectly well he was just trying to get under your skin, and the worst part was, it was working. The thought of sharing a room with him was bad enough, but the idea of him calling you "baby" sent shivers down your spine – not of pleasure, but of pure, unadulterated annoyance.

Faking a sickly sweet smile, you leaned in and delivered a sharp elbow jab directly to his stomach. He doubled over with a groan, clutching his center for a moment. "Call me 'baby' again," you hissed, your voice low and dangerous, "and I'll punch way lower than that."

“Got it, muscles” he wheezed.

The receptionist, clearly enjoying the spectacle, leaned back in her chair and tapped away at the computer again. "Right now, we have one room with a double bed, and another one with two single beds" she explained.

You glanced back at Annabeth, a silent question hanging in the air. She nodded in understanding. Two single beds might not be ideal, but it was infinitely preferable to sharing a room with Luke.

"We'll take them" you declared.

The woman expertly counted the money, her lips pursed in concentration. "Rooms thirteen and fifteen." she announced, handing you two keys. "No smoking inside, and do not break anything, or you'll be charged double" the lady continued, her voice laced with a warning that was clearly aimed at you and Luke.

As you all four walked towards the stairs, you tossed the key to room fifteen at Luke. He snatched it reflexively in the air, a hint of confussion in his face. “Boys, you´ll share a room” you declare.

Luke scoffed behind your back. "What are we? Eleven?" he asked.

"It was a nightmare to drive a car with you in it" you retorted, "can't imagine what it would be like to share a room."

Later, after some questionable inspectioning around the room and re-organizing your bag for when you leave tomorrow morning, you finally had a little time to yourself.

The cool water splashed against your face, washing away the grime and exhaustion of the day. You glanced over at Annabeth, who was meticulously placing her most important things on the floor to clean and organize her bag; her dagger, her cap, a rope, a squished water bottle, and a few maps. Despite the cramped confines of the motel room, a sense of peace settled over you. Even with Luke's irritating presence hanging over your head, it was a welcome change from the constant fear and adrenaline that had fueled your journey.

A sharp rapping on the door snapped you out of your reverie. "Coming!" Annabeth called out. She opened the door just a crack as you peeked your head out of the tiny bathroom door. You were greeted by the sight of a very smug-looking Percy. His cheeks were puffed out, and he was clutching a brown paper bag that seemed precariously close to bursting.

"Uh, hey" he mumbled, his voice muffled through a mouthful of something chocolatey. "I raided the vending machine downstairs” he simply explained.

Annabeth turned towards you. “Dinner?” she asked.

The offer of a snack, however meager, was enough to send your stomach grumbling in protest. The idea of a proper meal sounded heavinly, the food from camp, the meat, the mashed potatoes. Gods, you really wanted to be back. But right now, even the greasiest bag of chips could be enough for you.

Percy shoved his way past Annabeth and into the room. He disgorged his loot onto the small bedside table that sat between your beds. Annabeth, with her usual organizational skills, started to create a semblance of order from the chaotic pile of snacks.

Across the room, you noticed Luke still leaning against the doorway. He had shed his usual polished exterior for a pair of worn sweatpants and a plain t-shirt, a sight that momentarily threw you off balance. He took you in with a lazy glance, his eyes lingering on your tired face and messy hair. "Looking good" he called, a smirk playing on his lips.

One of your eyes twitched in irritation. Grabbing the wet towel you'd been using, you flung it at him with a growl. He managed to snag it out of the air just before it connected with his face.

"Hilarious" he remarked.

Annabeth jumped in before the playful hostility could escalate further. "How about a movie?" she suggested, her voice laced with a hint of forced cheer.

The idea wasn't exactly appealing, but the prospect of some semblance of downtime outweighed the absurdity of watching television in a dingy motel room. You and Luke exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between you. You didn't know how much peace you could get in the middle of a mission, or for how long, but the idea of just sitting down and eating calmly while watching a movie was undeniably tempting. Even with the dubious snacks and the cramped quarters, it felt like a small oasis in the storm of your current situation.

The movie selection on the ancient TV was limited, to say the least. After a series of disgruntled grumbles and channel surfing, they settled on a cheesy romance movie with a plot that could have been predicted by a hyperactive squirrel. The acting was atrocious, the dialogue predictable, and the special effects looked like they were created by a bored teenager with basic editing software. Yet, despite the movie's inherent ridiculousness, a strange sense of camaraderie filled the room. Laughter, albeit tinged with exhaustion, erupted at the predictable plot twists and overly dramatic dialogue.

As the minutes ticked by, Percy and Annabeth succumbed to the fatigue of the day. Annabeth curled up by your side on her bed, but her eyelids eventually fluttered shut and her head lolled back against your shoulder. Percy managed to stay up for a little longer with Luke, but his snorting could easily be heard just ten minutes after.

Silence stretched between you and Luke, punctuated only by the rhythmic snores of Percy and the occasional sigh from Annabeth in her sleep. You glanced over at your friend, her head resting peacefully against your shoulder. Despite the discomfort of the shared bed and the dubious snacks, a sliver of normalcy felt oddly comforting.

Across from you, Luke mirrored your posture, leaning back against the headboard with his arms crossed. His gaze was fixed on the flickering television screen, but you knew his attention wasn't on the atrocious movie. He was lost in thought, a furrow etched between his brows.

There was tension in the air, a constant undercurrent simmering between you two. You didn't like each other, that much was certain. He was arrogant, self-serving, and his loyalty always seemed to have a price tag attached. Yet, a grudging respect had grown between you over the years. You both understood the weight of your responsibilities, the burden of protecting those younger, more innocent.

He cleared his throat, the sound sharp in the quiet room. "Hey, Per—" he began, his voice a low murmur.

“Hey” you called. Luke´s head snapped towards your direction. "He's been out for more than half an hour" you interjected softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Don't wake him up."

Luke's head tilted to the side. Confusion flickered across his brown eyes before settling on a scowl. "What?" he hissed, barely louder than a whisper.

"Think about it" you countered, your voice a low murmur that wouldn't disturb the sleeping teens. "Percy's been snoring like a miniature thunderstorm for at least ten minutes. Annabeth wouldn't wake up even if a centaur stepped next to her right now. Waking them up would just cause a monster of a different kind."

You knew Luke understood. You weren't just talking about Percy's physical exhaustion. You were both keenly aware of the burden these young demigods carried. They craved normalcy as much as anyone, and these stolen moments of peaceful sleep, however fleeting, were a precious commodity. Watching them, so vulnerable and carefree in their slumber, filled you with a fierce protectiveness. The last thing you wanted to do was disrupt that.

Luke didn't reply, but his gaze mirrored your sentiments. A flicker of something akin to respect softened the harsh lines of his face. You weren't friends, not by any stretch of the imagination. Yet, you shared a common enemy and a common purpose – to protect those who couldn't protect themselves.

The silence stretched for a momento before he cleared his throat again, the sound sharp in the cramped room. "So," he drawled, his voice laced with a hint of resignation, "what do we do then?"

You sighed, frustration creeping into your voice. "Guess we're stuck sharing a room after all" you muttered, throwing your hands up in defeat. The idea was far from appealing.

Luke's face contorted in horror. He let out a theatrical whine that would rival any crying toddler. "Oh come on" he whined, stretching the word into several syllables. "Sharing a room with you? Talk about cruelty and punishment."

“Oh, just shut up” you whispered-yelled at him. “Trust me, I don´t wanna sleep next to you either. I´ll build up a wall of pillows before you can even start snoring”

There was a certain absurdity to the situation, being forced to share a room with your least favorite person. But beneath the surface, you both acknowledged the unspoken truth – the safety and well-being of Percy and Annabeth took precedence over any personal discomfort.

You both rose from your beds, a tense air crackling around you. Picking up your backpack, you hoisted it over your shoulder with a sigh. "Alright" you declared, marching towards the door. "Let's get this over with."

Luke followed, his movements mirroring yours. The walk down the cramped hallway was filled with an tension. Neither of you dared to speak. Reaching his door, Luke fumbled for the key, his irritation evident in his clumsiness. Finally, with a click, the door swung open, revealing a room identical to yours – basic, cramped, and thoroughly unappealing.

Stepping inside, you couldn't help but let out a groan. A single, double bed dominated the room, leaving absolutely no room for separate sleeping arrangements. God, why did Percy have to fall asleep? Why didn´t you and Annabeth pick this room earlier? Everything was going the wrong way for you. You exchanged a look with Luke, the message clear in your burning eyes.

"Snort or drool" Luke began, his voice a low growl as he pointed a finger at you "and I swear I'll throw you out the window"

"Hm, how charming" you replied sarcastically, stepping past him and into the room.

The bed loomed before you, a battleground for an uncomfortable night's sleep. With a sigh, you dropped your backpack onto the nearest chair. Luke began building a formidable fortress of pillows in the center of the bed. You rolled your eyes at the sight. This was so ridiculous.

A glance at your watch confirmed your suspicions. It was not too late to hop on quick shower. Percy and Luke walked down to the vending machine so quickly earlier that you didn´t even have time to wash yourself before they came to your room with the so called dinner. Your clothes clung to you uncomfortably, the grime of the day begging to be washed away. You looked for a clean shirt you were sure you packed before leaving camp days ago. The possibilites of a shower were low in missions like these, but you never knew.

Leaving your backpack open on the chair, you made your way to the bathroom door, silently pushing it open. Luke watched your movements for a fleeting moment, but quickly went back to his pillow fortification once your figure disappeared inside the small bathroom. He didn't think much of it at first. You were just getting ready for the night, whatever your methods.

Inside the bathroom, you began stripping off your clothes, the cool air a welcome sensation against your heated skin. In your state of exhaustion, you neglected to fully close the bathroom door. A foolish mistake, perhaps, but in your defense, the room was tiny and the it wouldn't be winning any awards for spaciousness. Right now, all you craved was a chance to scrub away the road dust and find a clean shirt for the —uncomfortable— night ahead.

A few seconds later, a muffled curse broke the silence on Luke´s side. Luke, realizing he'd left his toothbrush in the bathroom, stopped himself from the pillows task and approached the bathroom door. He was expecting it to be shut. A polite knock, a request for his forgotten toothbrush – that was the plan. But as he drew closer, his steps faltered. The door wasn't shut.

“Seriously!?”

There you stood, completely devoid of clothes except for your underwear, taking off your camp´s necklace and your earrings. The warm glow from the bathroom light accentuated the smooth lines of your shoulders and the curve of your back. Time seemed to freeze for a beat. Luke's breath hitched in his throat.

You whirled around, startled. A small laugh escaped your lips as you saw Luke's flustered expression. His cheeks were flushed a deep crimson, and his brown eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape route.

"Didn't think you'd be so shy, Luke" It was a playful jab, a way to lighten the sudden tension that had filled the small space.

Luke sputtered, his voice barely even a regular tone. "Shy? I'm not-, I mean-…” he kept cutting himself off. “This-, don´t you know what privacy is!?"

His indignation was adorable, you couldn't help but think to yourself. You'd never seen him so flustered, so utterly out of sorts. A mischievous glint sparked in your eyes.

"Oh, come on" you countered, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Don't tell me you've never seen a girl in this state before."

The question just didn´t have an asnwer. Luke's mouth clamped shut. His eyes widened for a moment, then darted back down to the floor, avoiding your gaze. There was a flicker of something in his eyes – a memory, perhaps, or a realization – but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

The silence stretched, thick and awkward. You realized you had hit a nerve, a part of Luke you hadn't expected to expose, not in front of you. A pang of unexpected curiosity pricked at your insides. Just what kind of experiences had this arrogant, self-assured perfect golden boy had?

You opened your mouth to speak, to maybe apologize for your teasing, but Luke beat you to it.

"Just shower and get dressed, okay?" he mumbled, his voice tight with suppressed frustration. "I want to sleep."

He didn't wait for a reply, simply turning on his heel and retreating back to his pillow fort. You watched him go, a smile playing on your lips. The encounter had been unexpected, to say the least, but it had definitely shaken things up.

A low chuckle escaped your lips. "You'll wait for me?" you called out playfully, knowing full well he wouldn't answer.

"Shut up!" came his muffled reply from behind the pillows.

The silence in the cramped room was thick enough to spread. You emerged from the bathroom, a clean shirt clinging to your damp form and a towel wrapped around your head like a makeshift turban. You caught sight of Luke burrowed deep beneath the barricade of pillows, a picture of forced nonchalance. His eyes were resolutely fixed on the ceiling, but you could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

A mischievous glint flickered in your eyes. He might have gotten away with a verbal escape route earlier, but you weren't done yet. "Well, aren't you going to say something?" you queried, amusement dancing in your voice. "Speechless, Castellan? That's a first."

Luke remained stubbornly silent, his jaw clenched tight. He could feel the blush creeping back up his neck, a burning reminder of his moment of weakness. How was he supposed to act normal after seeing...well, after seeing more of you than he ever bargained for? The image of your smooth skin and the graceful curve of your back was burned into his memory, a stark contrast to the sarcastic warrior he knew.

You flopped down onto the bed, the makeshift wall of pillows separating you from Luke. You turned off the bedside lamp in silence before removing the towel off your hair, gently brushing it. The silence stretched on, broken only by the soft rustle of your brush. Just as you thought Luke had successfully retreated into a silent sulk, his voice broke through the tension.

"Look" he muttered, whispering "it was an accident. Just forget it, alright?"

You couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle. "Oh, come on" you teased, leaning back against the pillows. "Didn’t expect that seeing a little skin was such a big deal for someone like you."

Luke shot you a glare, but it lacked its usual bite. Someone like him? What the hell did you mean by that? Maybe it was the unexpectedness of it all, or maybe it was the way the dim light had cast your figure in a different light, one he hadn't noticed before. Whatever it was, it had thrown him completely off balance.

A sudden, and quite unwelcome, thought struck him. Just what kind of experiences had you had? He knew you weren't naive, or dumb. But the thought of you with someone else… the possessiveness that flared up within him surprised him. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly, but a strange sense he couldn't quite explain.

He pushed the thought aside, focusing on calming his racing heart. He needed sleep, not a philosophical debate about his feelings for his least favorite demigod. Just as he was about to drift off, your voice sliced through the silence, sharper than any blade.

"Are you a virgin, Luke?"

The question hung in the air, a verbal bombshell that shattered the fragile peace. Luke's eyes snapped open, wide with disbelief. Gods, you were bold. He stared at you in the dark, lifiting his head up just enough to peak from the pillows in between your boides, his mind struggling to process your words.

"What?" he finally managed, his voice husky with disbelief.

A faint blush crept up your cheeks, a stark contrast to the playful glint in your eyes. "You heard me" you countered.

Luke felt a surge of annoyance mixed with a strange vulnerability. He wasn't used to being caught off guard, especially not by you. He opened his mouth to retort, to deflect the question with his usual sarcastic wit, but the words wouldn't come.

His gaze drifted towards the wall, a silent battle raging within him. Should he answer your question honestly? The thought of revealing such a personal detail to you, his nemesis, was unappealing. But then again, a small part of him, the part he kept hidden away, craved a different kind of connection with you.

He took a deep breath, the decision made. "Does it matter?" he finally replied, his voice a low murmur.

You turned on your side, facing him across the wall of pillows, getting rid of some of them, dropping them to the carpeted floor. The moonlight filtering through the window cast an ethereal glow on your face, making your eyes seem to sparkle with mischief.

"Maybe it does" you said, your voice soft and laced with an undercurrent of something else - intrigue? Even in the darkness, you could see the way your words affected him, the way his dark eyes seemed to flicker with a mixture of emotions.

Luke opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get a word out, you cut him off with a laugh that seemed tinged with nervousness.

"Forget it" you said, shaking your head slightly. "Just... hormonal thoughts." The explanation felt flimsy, even to your own ears. This wasn't just idle curiosity; it was something deeper, something you couldn't quite explain yet.

Luke remained silent for a moment, your sudden change in direction throwing him off. Part of him was relieved you weren't pressing the issue, but another part, the part he usually kept suppressed, felt a flicker of disappointment. He wouldn't admit it, not even to himself, but he'd be lying if he said he hadn't found your boldness, your honesty, even your sudden vulnerability, strangely appealing.

"Hormonal thoughts, huh?" he finally echoed, his voice husky. "Does that mean you wanna have sex with me?" He dared to voice the possibility that you might be attracted to him. He must´ve been out of his mind.

The thought was simply impossible. Yet, the way your eyes sparkled in the moonlight, the way you'd turned towards him, discarding some of the pillows as if to bridge the gap…

"No!" you blurted out, as if reading his mind. The defensiveness in your voice surprised you both. "It's not that at all. It's just... I don't know." Frustration laced your words. This whole conversation was turning into a confusing mess. “Just… how far have you reached with a girl?”

Luke stared at you, dumbfounded. This night had taken a turn he hadn't anticipated. Why were you even talking about this? Why were you asking these questions? Why, despite the initial irritation, was he finding himself answering?

Heaving a sigh, he sat up against the headboard, exhaustion finally catching up to him. "Not too far, actually" he mumbled, the words laced with a weariness that surprised him. The words felt strange coming out of his mouth, a confession he wouldn't have made to anyone else. He hadn't meant to dwell on past experiences, especially not with you. He hadn't realized how much he'd carried on his shoulders, the weight of overlooked desires he never truly got to satisfy. Suddenly, the frustration in your voice clicked into place. Was that why you'd asked? Was it because you felt the same way, burdened by an unfulfilled yearning?

But as you shifted in your bed, suddenly sitting up on your knees, he couldn't help but notice the way your silhouette was illuminated by the moonlight. And then he saw it — the lack of shorts beneath your t-shirt, a detail he'd managed to conveniently overlook in the heat of the moment, which didn´t make sense at all.

"What are you—?" he began, the question dying on his lips as you moved closer. You began to dismantle the remaining wall of pillows, clearing the way between you.

His heart hammered against his ribs as you sat down on his lap, one leg on each side of him. You were close, closer than you'd ever been before. A mix of confusion and arousal that left him speechless. You stared at him, your eyes reflecting the soft moonlight, as your hands reached for his.

"Have you ever done this?" you asked, your voice gentle, devoid of the usual sarcasm you wielded like a weapon. You weren't mocking him, weren't trying to pry. This was a genuine question, a moment of surprising intimacy that neither of you could have predicted.

Luke stared at you, his mind reeling. His hands, usually quick and confident, felt heavy and clumsy under your touch. You guided them to hold steady of your thighs, even though you were not moving, not yet.

Luke had never been more confused in his life. His mind raced, searching for a coherent response, an appropriate action. Was this a trap? A test? 'What the hell?' his mind raced.

But as he looked into your eyes, searching for an explanation, all he saw was a reflection of his own thunderstorm. You were just as confused as he was, caught in a moment of unexpected intimacy.

Neither of you knew what to say, what to do next. This wasn't part of the plan. You were supposed to be enemies, rivals forced to share a cramped motel room.

You know, the classic shit.

But this wasn’t it. This was something strange that even though he hated to admit it, he didn’t want it to end yet.

So he trailed his hands higher. Higher, higher, higher. Then placed his hands on your hips. He was breathless, and a sudden feeling of dumbness filled his insides as he stared at you, reading you like a book; you were waiting. And he had no idea what to do.

But you surely did. A slight sway of your hips was all he needed to breath out the amount of air his chest was holding. Then another one, and another; each movement pressed deliciously against his cock, already hardened.

He let out a deep groan, teeth tightening and head falling back slightly.

You placed your hands around his shoulders, pulling him closer to you, almost chest to chest. Your hips kept rolling over him. If this felt good to him, it must’ve feel like heaven to you, due to your lack of lower clothes.

“You’re big, Luke” you whispered, a tiny smirk smudged along your lips. There it was. You again.

He thanked the darkness for hiding his red cheeks, but his state was not going to make him vulnerable again. He gripped your hips tighter, pulling at the top of your ass towards him over and over. “Fuck, just shut up for five minutes” he breathed out.

You didn’t answer. Your mouth hang open over his own. Your lips were dangerously close to touching, to kissing. But it was not gonna happen. As your hips rolled at a fast pace his breath tangled with yours, his moans, his groans, everything was swallowed by your own sounds.

He should feel embarrassed of behaving like this, not only because it is you but because he’s supposed to be in the middle of a mission. But come on, he knew this would happen soon or later.

All those years in which he secretly saved his feeling for himself. He had to hide the fact that whenever he touched your skin, whenever he felt your warm body against his hands, even the slightest and most teasing touch, a bolt of lighting went from the tip of his toes to his head.

He felt drunk in you in just a second and what, because he accidentally saw you almost naked?

He had to thank the gods for his luck.

“Oh, Luke” you moaned, head tilting back as you squeezed your eyes shut. Oh, he liked that.

He audibly chucked, laughed at you. “Who would’ve known?” he asked. “Who would’ve known you’d be so dirty, baby?”

Your eyes sparkled with fire, piercing Luke’s insides as the scar on his face twitched like every time he smiled. Despite the look on your face, your hips kept rolling over his; you couldn’t stop. It felt too good, too hot, too wet, even under Luke’s sweatpants.

“Don’t call me baby” you managed to blurt out, but the sound coming out of your mouth just made the whole sentence something pornographic. Luke didn’t complain.

You removed your hands from his neck. He was convinced you were gonna climb off of him and he would have to apologize repeatedly so he could finally get to cum with you on top of him; but instead, your hands travelled down his torso, and hid under his white shirt, pressing your palms onto his abs, pushing your own body harder against his.

“What should I call you then?” he whispered against your mouth, hands gripping impossibly tighter, finally gripping to your asscheeks. He had to hide a groan from the very back of his throat. “Bunny? ‘Cause you can’t deny you wanna hop on my cock?”

Now that was new.

If you were shocked, your face wouldn’t show it, but your body surely did. Your movements became sloppy, tired, and your chest moved up and down faster than ever. Luke rolled his own hips into yours, moaning uncontrollably at the feeling of his cock being constantly rubbed under your clothes pussy, and at the sight of the small wet patch you had on your underwear.

“Luke. I wanna cum” you moaned out. He liked that you didn’t warn you were going to, but you wanted to. As if you were asking for his permission.

“You won’t get off me until I cum, get it?”

He was a possessed man all of a sudden. His groans, growing deeper with every movement, his hands holding onto you for dear life and his breath twirling with yours as if you were the oxygen he needed to stay alive.

The tight feeling on your belly snapped as fast as you started to feel it. Yet you were obedient, so you kept moving.

The overstimulation was too much already, but when was gonna be the last time you would get to almost fuck Luke Castellan? Probably this time, you wouldn’t want to screw it up.

In fact, you wanted to do so much more. To suck his dick, to gag on it. To let him play with your body as much as he pleased and craved for. To let him take you anywhere and anytime he liked.

It didn’t take Luke long enough to hit his climax too, thankfully. His hips twitched against yours repeatedly as he placed his forehead on your chest. His breath was heavy as if he had run a million miles, his forehead sweaty.

Your hand reached his curls, smoothly running them down the back of his neck as if you were comforting him from the worst experience he had ever had. Little did you know this was his best so far.

“Do we-,” he cut himself off to swallow thickly. He didn’t realize how dry his throat was until he tried to speak. “Do we get to share rooms again?”

“What do you think?”

part two <3

[astraystayyh]

Say yes to heaven

hyunjin x reader. seven minutes in heaven except you're heartbroken and hyunjin has a huge crush on you. angst and softness and slightly suggestive in the end.

cw: mention of drinking alcohol and cheating. reader has lipstick on.

part 2. say yes to me

Hyunjin's legs are aching from sitting crisscrossed for so long. The music reverberates loudly, bouncing off the walls in Changbin's house. You are all playing truth or dare, a gathering of twenty people or something. But he isn't keeping count of anyone around. His eyes are fixated on you.

You are downing your drink, nudging Chan's side so he'd pour you another shot. He understands why you feel the need to forget, to fog up your mind until the world around you blurs. Your ex Suho, the one you had just broken up with two weeks ago, is kissing someone else, right in front of you. Hyunjin doesn't care enough to see who it is, his heart clenching at the sight of the tears brimming in your eyes.

You are hurt, rightfully so. Hyunjin never understood why you've ever dated Suho. He never cherished you, never treated you the way you were deserving of. Because you were beautiful, so beautiful it rendered Hyunjin putty in your hands. Though that was merely the surface of everything captivating about you.

The bottle is spined again, and Hyunjin's breath catches when it lands on him... Then you.

"Seven minutes in heaven!" Changbin shouts and you roll your eyes, before standing up and heading first into the closet. Hyunjin follows closely behind.

He closes the door, plunging you both into pitch darkness. Your hands find his arms suddenly, gripping them tightly.

"You okay?" he asks, concern dripping from his tone.

"It's really dark," you whisper, and Hyunjin's brows furrow further.

"We should leave," he suggests, moving to open the door but you pull him back. "No, no. Let's stay."

"But you're scared."

"It's okay. You're here."

"Is this about Suho?" Hyunjin asks tentatively, after a few silent beats, and he can hear you suck in a deep breath. He knows he just hit a sensitive chord.

"Yes."

One.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," he whispers, placing a reassuring hand on your back.

"Save it. I won't make out with you," you reply, sudden anger lacing your words. Hyunjin understands it's just your walls being put up so he wouldn't dare peek behind them.

"I know," he says softly, and your hold on his white shirt tightens. You're both so close, his chest is almost pressed to yours. Can you hear how wildly his heart is beating?

"Fuck, I'm sorry Hyune," the nickname slips from your mouth, sweet and familiar. He missed hearing it. Missed what you had before Suho came into the picture. "I'm just really really hurt," you admit, tears glistening in your eyes.

"Do you want me to fight him? You know I would," he tries to keep his tone soft even though raw anger simmers within him.

"You don't even know what he did," you chuckle weakly and he shakes his head. "He made you cry. That's enough for me."

Two.

You stay silent, but your forehead rests on his chest, as slight tremors shake your body. Your wound was still so fresh, and seeing Suho tonight only made matters worse. But Hyunjin's body is warm, and his arms tightening around you feel safe. You think you can face your ex again if he's by your side.

"Please don't cry," he says, hands reaching up to smooth down your hair, as his chin rests atop your head. He's so gentle with you, so sweet, more than Suho has ever been in your relationship.

"I'm sorry, this isn't what you signed up for," you apologize, but you can't find it in you to pull away. Instead, you wrap your arms around his waist, drawing him nearer to you.

"It's okay. This is nicer." You can't see him, but you can hear the smile in his voice. His smile is always so pretty, and his perfume is making you dizzy. You've drunk too much.

Three.

"How have you been?" you ask, fingers drumming gently along his back. Hyunjin doesn't know how he managed to speak normally to you up until now. Not when you've intoxicated him, when all he could feel in this cramped up space was you.

"Good," he finally manages to say. "And you?"

"I'm good. I missed you," you admit, and his heart seems to pause within his chest.

"You're drunk," he dryly chuckles but you shake your head against his chest. "I know what I'm saying. I'm sorry for taking my distance these past few months. The truth is... I didn't have enough energy to be a good friend, it was draining me to deal with Suho."

"Don't apologize. There is nothing to forgive."

"You promise me?"

"I promise."

Four.

You're full-on hugging now, arms tightly intertwined around one another, and hyunjin thinks this is his heaven- to bury his head in your hair, to smell the sweet scent of your shampoo.

"You smell nice," you mumble, cheek resting right across his chest. "Why is your heart beating so loud, Hyunjin?" you ask curiously, eyes closed.

Hyunjin thinks if he stays silent enough, then you'll forget you've ever asked. Because he can't bring himself to lie to you.

"You smell nice too," he settles on saying. "You look really pretty too."

"Thank you, Hyune." That damned nickname again. "I think... I think you're making my heart beat faster too," you mumble and Hyunjin shuts his eyes closed. You are killing him, stabbing him, and twisting the knife deeper inside his heart. And he's allowing it because it's you.

Five.

"Why do you think he cheated on me?" you ask, voice barely audible, and Hyunjin has to try his best not to storm out right now. He had guessed it was bad, but not this horrible.

"Don't. Don't ever think it was your fault. It wasn't. It could never be. It was his," he speaks the words firmly as if trying to drill them into your mind, erasing every wrong belief you held about yourself.

"Do you mean it?"

"I do," he leans away, cradling your face between his hands. He's so gentle. his voice and his touch and his existence. How could one be so gentle to you?

"You are everything someone would ever dream of. If I were him I would..." he cuts himself off, before saying something stupid; something that would tip the scale of your friendship.

"Finish it, finish what you were saying," you plead, voice shaky and he can't find it in himself to say no.

"If I were him, I would never let go of you. I'd do everything, anything to make myself worthy of you, of your love."

Six.

"Can I try something?" you ask tentatively, and Hyunjin feels as if the world stopped spinning around him. The outside world doesn't exist anymore, all he knows is you.

"Yes," he whispers, voice raspy, and you nod. Your shaky hands reach up to trace his face, cupping his cheeks gently. You're standing on your tippy toes, and Hyunjin can feel your breath fanning over his skin, feel goosebumps burst across his body. And then, the most tender kiss, placed on his cheek.

Your lips linger, pressing into his skin and marking it up for eternity. His hands find your sides, they're trembling, but they're warm and they feel nice to you.

You gulp, before kissing his cheek again. And then, you trail down, your lips finding the corner of his mouth. Hyunjin's knees buckle underneath him. It's too much, colorful dots cloud his vision and he hasn't even drunk anything.

Your hand curls around the nape of his hair, and then you brush your lips against his neck, slowly, deliberately, as if testing the ways in which you could drive him insane. You've succeeded, he wants to say. He's yours to do anything you want with.

Seven.

"Time's up!" Changbin's loud voice rings outside of the closet, and it snaps you both out of your haze. You stumble back, fingers brushing tentatively across your lips. It feels as if your entire body is on fire, even though your kisses were innocent, tentative. But you're feeling more than you've ever did with Suho.

"Hyunjin, I-" The door pulls open, sudden light flooding your vision. You can finally see the evidence of your kisses- crimson imprints on his cheek, trailing down his neck, giving way to a flushed chest. He's so pretty. And you've marked him up for everybody to see.

"We'll talk later, okay?" Hyunjin smiles, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"Okay."

Seven minutes felt like seven lifetimes for Hyunjin. And he'd live them all with you, love you in each if you'd let him. He'd do anything so you'd let him.

⁀➷✧･ﾟ

part two

[lovifie]

Fluff | Smut | 1178 words | Back to Masterlist

Simon Riley whose favourite hair was always yours.

The first time he touched your hair, you were both deployed. You were walking before him, your hair in a braid behind your head that was almost hypnotizing. You stick your head from behind a wall, and Simon pulls your braid the moment he hears gunshots to keep you away from the fire line. A whine escapes your lips that sounds almost like a kicked dog and you quickly look back to him. "Thank you, Lt." You mutter.

And in that moment, with your hair still in his hand, he knew he was in trouble.

Your hair doesn't glow in the dark, yet it always draws his attention. Like a lifesaver floating in an ocean. He quickly learns that he can't wait to touch it again, so he observes and waits for a chance to do so.

Like when you were rewriting a report on the mess hall, Price told you it was illegible and taking into consideration Price's handwriting you took it to heart. So there you were, writing again the pages with your best handwriting.

A lock of hair in the middle of your face had Simon almost sprinting to you to move it out of your face before you could it yourself. Of course, he didn't say anything romantic, instead, he said: "You are gonna go blind like that, and you are supposed to watch my back out there."

It wasn't romantic on its own, but his hand remained caressing the hair now behind your ear and when you looked up to meet his gaze, the both of you pulled away from each other as if you had been hit. "That line is dropping, start it again." He comments. "Yes, Lt."

On another occasion, you got late to practice, overslept. Obviously by your bed hair, not even time to brush it. Price quickly told you to fix it and Simon seriously considered if the insubordination would be worth it, because he would rip both his arms off if he could wake up every day with that sight.

It was at that point that Simon realized he was doomed, because he had not been slowly pulled to you, he fell face first and being honest to himself, he was happy with it. He wouldn't admit it yet, it was easier to believe he only liked your hair.

And as time went on, it became more and more easy to find excuses to touch it.

Like when you got sick that one time, waking in the middle of the night to empty your stomach on the toilet. And it went on until the morning, when he found you sitting on the bathroom floor, too weak to walk back to your room.

Face wet with tears for not being able to stop throwing up, for being tired and for feeling useless. He quickly crouched down, paper towel in hand to clean your face. "Why are you here?" He softly asked, mask hiding his expression but his eyes gave away his emotions.

"I got sick." You mumbled, voice hoarse with the strain of the night.

"That I can tell, love." The nickname caught the both of you by surprise, but neither complained. "Let's get you to bed."

You nod, grabbing his hand to stand up, before another round of nausea hits forcing you to back down to throw up again. He quickly moved your hair out of the way grabbing it at the back of your head. "You are gonna get sick, Ghost. Leave me alone, I'm fine."

"Number one, I'm pretty sure your dinner from last night is on my hand, so I believe we are past nicknames now." He says, being interrupted before being able to say the second thing.

"Don't touch my hair with puke on your hand!" You say grabbing his wrist, making him chuckle. You barely had the energy to pull your head up and still tried to fight him.

"I would never, love. That's the other hand." He said looking as you wiped your mouth, breath getting knocked out of him when you lock your gaze on his. "What is it?" You asked, confusing him. "Your name."

"Simon."

"Simon?"

"Simon Riley."

A beat of silence simmered in the bathroom for a second.

"That's a surprisingly sweet name, Simon."

And if the world had ended at that moment, Simon would have died a happy man.

But he didn't, instead, he eased his way into your heart.

It wasn't hard, and soon enough Simon didn't need excuses to touch your hair. And touching your hair was the excuse to get you closer to him.

Like when he was dying to kiss your lips, but you wouldn't look up to him. Why wouldn't you look at him? Couldn't you tell it was killing him? So he fisted your hair, pulling back slightly; enough to make you look up but not enough to sting. And when his eyes met yours, he dived right into your lips. Moving his hands to cup your face instead of your hair, needing to feel the warmth of your skin. The kiss pulling the air from his lungs but still making him feel more alive than ever.

Or like when you finally had the time and intimacy to make love. And when he had you on his bed, knees apart and face buried on his pillow, he fisted your hair again, pulling your head back, because he needed to hear you moan his name while he filled you to the brim. Simon Riley was not a saint, but he would go through the hell his life has been again if it meant he got to experience this. Your cunt milking his dick, your smaller hand grabbing the wrist of his hand on your hip, your moans filling the room and when you looked back to him over your shoulder, his life got meaning and he kissed your lips.

Or like when you would cuddle, and he would do tiny braids on your hair he would forget to undo or tell you about and you would find out hours later when you would try to brush your hair and end up with massive knots. Walking to him ready to throw the brush at his head and you would find him hugging your pillow in his sleep, completely relaxed and content with himself.

Or like when years later, he brushed the hair sticking to your forehead by the sweat while you pushed his daughter to life. If he could take the pain away he would, but he knew you were the strongest woman in this world and could do it. He also knew you needed his comfort, so he moved his hand from your hair to grab your hand even if you crushed every bone inside.

Your hair was always his favourite, until your daughter was born. Because she had Simon's eyes, but she had your hair. And your hair was beautiful, but his little girl's hair was the proof of the love between Simon and you.

Simon Riley loved your hair, but he loved you more.

[deerspherestudios]

i just finished day 3 and i am LOSINNNGGGG ITT genuinely my favorite indie vn FOR SURE! i have so many things to say but i don’t want to overwhelm you so i’ll keep it brief(er than i could), i promise!

after finishing day 3 i found out september is national mushroom month and WOWW THE UNIVERSE LOVES YOU IT IS ON YOUR SIDE AS A DEV

i played the first 2 days again and your improvement is so noticeable even though you were already so good ahdhjdjsjd—my favorite vn i’ll say it again—the slow burn and character development is SO SO IMPRESSIVE FOR THE SCOPE OF THIS! and the lore you drop based on different dialogue options is amazing. just so amazing…im in love with you /j

now that day 3 is posted… can we get an update on the meter of mycheal’s feelings for the player? for community discussion!! (do you remember that did i explain that well?)

GRAH IM NOT KEEPING IT AS BRIEF AS I THOUGHT I WOULD BUT I PROMISE YOU SHOULD BE IMPRESSED WITH THIS BECAUSE THERE IS SO MUCH MORE I WANT TO SAY! but i’ll let day 3 simmer for a bit before i let people see the foam in my mouth and steam in my racing brain. im so excited to see everyone’s thoughts, reactions, and content for this *sobs*

A a a tysm for the enthusiasm , ,, I appreciate you sharing your thoughts!! I actually got your other ask which I'll respond to as well because it was so sweet but without further ado:

1. I GENUINELY didn't mean to release the new update on National Mushroom Month that was completely a coincidence hahaha! Plenty remember I promised to release it sometime in August but it really was a funny coincidence.

2. Oh my god it's funny you mentioned that; looking back at the backgrounds I did in Day 1 I really couldn't keep my artstyle consistent for the life of me 😭But I'm flattered you've noticed the improvement! And yes! I definitely wanted to make each choice worth choosing in terms of lore, with a few flavor texts thrown in for personalization.

3. I definitely remember! I'm surprised the community remembers pfbt. Trust me, I've gotten a bunch of asks about and here it is-

Oh.

Hm.

Seems like you've gotten him confused,,,

[greyskyflowers]

I like to think about Charles really understanding what Edwin went through in hell. I really wished we'd seen more of that in the show. 😫

Like... how many times do you think Edwin got torn apart down there? How many times could he die and start over in an hour? A day? A year?

How many times did the demon mess him up just enough so that he couldn't run? Stuck sitting there just waiting to either bleed out or for the final strike before starting again?

Anyway ~ I'm feral for hurt/comfort and burn the world for you relationships so here we go ~

🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜

Sometimes Edwin has what they've been calling, for lack of better word, episodes. He had some prior to his second trip in hell but nothing like what he has now.

Charles can't decide if it's easier or harder to witness them now that he knows more about what happened all those years in hell.

Thankfully, most of the time, these episodes happen when they're home. Usually after a particularly rough day and often coinciding with times when Charles is briefly out doing something.

He always knows right away, steps through the mirror to a dark and quiet room. There's a brief but consuming feeling of panic every time he steps out and doesn't immediately see Edwin, but he doesn't think that will ever go away.

There's a few places Edwin tucks himself into when he has an episode, all of them small and dark.

Edwin claims it's muscle memory from all the years in hell he ran and hide.

Personally, Charles thinks Edwin finally has places to hide and takes full advantage of it. He doesn't remember seeing too many places to hide in those terrible, endless hallways of hell.

Charles hates these episodes.

He's trying to be better with his anger but everytime they go through this, everytime Edwin gets a certain look in his eye, or tries to nonchalantly get closer to Charles when something sets off memories, it reminds him that Edwin was taken away from him numerous times and was hurt over and over again.

It makes the rage simmer in his belly and he thinks no one would really hold it against him if he ever gets his hands anyone who's hurt Edwin and let's the rage take over for a minute... or a few minutes. He really wouldn't need more than that with all the anger that seems to burn under his skin.

He's quiet as he walks to the desk, eyeing the chair pulled out and shoved away to make room, before carefully peering around the edge to look under it and Edwin looks back at him with awful, terrified eyes.

He knows how this goes by now, almost the same every time. What a terrible thing to be familiar with.

He quietly sinks to the floor by Edwin and starts trying to squeeze himself under the desk with him. The space is not meant for two people, or even one, but like hell he's going to pull Edwin out of today's chosen hiding place so they can get resettled easier.

He'd done that at the beginning. Tried to remind Edwin where he was and that he was safe, had spoken softly but not as soft as he had in hell, and tried to pull Edwin out. It was a mistake. The look of terror and betrayal on Edwin's face had made sure he never tried that approach again.

It was easier this way, to play along.

He puts a hand on the back of Edwin's head because he always smacks it off the underside of the desk when they hide here, and while it might not hurt him like it would a living being, it still makes a painful sound that has Charles clenching his jaw.

Edwin ends up on his lap, really the only way they both fit, and thankfully he's usually too distracted to realize that Charles has his legs sticking out from under the desk and that their hiding spot isn't really a good spot for two people.

He trembles, even though he's stiff like he's trying desperately not to shake. He clings, hands grasping at Charles's shirt and burying his face in his neck like everything will go away if he can't see it.

Sometimes, it sends Charles spiraling down a rabbit hole, wondering how Edwin held himself up long enough to run in hell when he always shakes so hard during these episodes. His legs wouldn't carry his weight right now if they stood up, he'd go right back down.

It's not something he likes to think too much about, especially when Edwin needs him to hold it together.

Sometimes Edwin cries. Sometimes he begs. Sometimes the only noise is a frantic wheezing.

Charles pulls his legs up more and wraps his arms around Edwin tighter, curling around him as much as he can. He urges him to keep his face tucked away, pets at his hair, and strokes his thumb over his arm. He presses his lips agaist any skin close enough, and starts talking. Soft, and hardly even audible but it always helps.

He talks about everything and anything he can think off. Stories, memories, comforts, praises.

He tells Edwin that he's been absolutely brills to handle this alone before Charles got back, but he's here now and if Edwin needs to just hide away for a little bit, that was fine. Charles has him. Nothing is going to get him.

He's glad Edwin doesn't remember much from these episodes, panic making everything too hazy to understand when he tries. He just knows how they end, usually with the two of them tangled up somewhere, because Charles refuses to let Edwin go until he's completely back to himself but that's as far as he can usually recall.

Charles would crack open his ribcage and let Edwin hide in there if it'd keep him safe.

🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜🌜

Frantically scribbled this down during work so please forgive any errors. Got lots of ideas hanging around my head and little time to type them out 🤔

Gotta love all that trau~ma!

[whimsyfinny]

How to Avoid the Love of Your Life

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: (Y/n) had spent the last four years of her life avoiding him, but when her and Dean inevitably cross paths again it could go one of two ways - either really good, or really bad.

Warnings: Language, angst (so much fucking angst I'm sorry), Smut, PinV, Fingering, Oral (F receiving), Overstimulation, Dean being a sex God, reader being anxious, bad breakup, reader having a gun

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 8200 (wtf I'm sorry I got carried away)

A/N: Here it is! I'm sooooo sorry @jackles010378 that this took so long. I would've had it up last week but my kid got sick and I had to learn how to solo parent hahaha. Anyway, this is the final competition oneshot, and I hope you enjoy it!

“Well well, what do we have here?”

A voice that I knew all too well reached my ears through the crowd of people in the bar. The deep tone of his voice immediately brought goosebumps to my skin and a small smirk to my lips. I straightened where I stood besides the pool table, lowering the cue and leaning on it lazily as I turned to the direction the voice had come from.

“Dean Winchester,” I let my eyes travel over his rugged form; taking in the faint new scars on his face, his weather-beaten jacket and distinctive choice of plaid and denim. He looked virtually the same as he did when I last saw him four years ago - just older. His eyes now holding more haunting memories than any man should ever have to keep locked away in the depths of ones mind.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked with the tilt of my head as he took a step closer, ignoring the bustling of people trying to get past him to order more drinks.

“You know why we’re here,” he pushed his hands into his pockets as he took another step, slowly creeping closer.

“Hmm,” I hummed, reaching for my beer and taking a sip, letting the bitter bubbles sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing them down.

“So, I take it this has nothing to do with coming for that falsely promised personal visit, and all to do with the pack of werewolves that have moved in across town?” I jabbed the beer bottle in his direction, feeling the smile on my face lose its warmth. Dean sighed and looked at his boots, and when he’d pondered on his answer, ready to verbalise it, I cut him off.

“Jody has been doing her fucking best to keep shit safe around here with the skills you taught her. The least you could do is check in a couple of times a week - visit once a month.”

“Listen sweetheart-”

“I don’t need to hear how you saved the world five hundred times this week. I don’t need to hear it second hand from other hunters. I need to hear it from you. She needs to hear that you’re ok. We all do.”

Dean looked up, his eyes meeting mine, clouded by a regretful shadow.

“(Y/n) I’m sorry. Life has been so fucking messed up and sometimes I don’t even know what fucking month it is. I’ll do better. Me and Sam - we’ll be better.”

I stared at him intently, reassuring myself that he wasn’t saying ‘he’d be better’ if he didn’t mean it. He’d fed me empty lies wrapped in colourful silk in the past and I’d unwrapped every one with a hopeful heart, disappointment following every single one of them. People live and they learn, and I was no exception.

“If you’re not better, for Jodys sake - for Claire and Alex and even Donna - then I will never forgive you.” I stared at Dean long enough to feel the frustration towards him start to simmer in my veins, reminding me why I did what I did all those years ago. I was willing to endure him for my family’s sake despite hating that stupid pedestal they’d put him on - hating how in their eyes, he could do no wrong.

If only they could see him through my eyes.

The sound of long-strided footsteps and a familiar voice exclaiming “oh shit” snapped me from my festering thoughts, and I looked up to see Sam walk up and stand next to Dean.

“Sam!” I smiled, his face the picture of apprehension as he nervously smiled back.

“H-hey (Y/n), it’s been a while. I’m surprised to see you.”

I raised an eyebrow and looked around the room incredulously before locking eyes with him again.

“Surprised to see me? Drinking in a bar, in my hometown? Where you guys know that I live? I know, right? Who would’ve thunk it.”

Sam shifted nervously, like he wanted to whisper something to his brother or simply whisk him away to a booth where they could sip beers, work a case and ogle waitresses. I sighed out a mentally exhausted breath - the presence of the Winchesters flooding my mind with memories of a better time - a simpler time. Dean was right about one thing - that life was messed up.

“Look, I’m clearly keeping you boys from your secret club meeting. I promise to behave if you do too,” I eyed them, waiting for them to accept the proposal of peace. Sam nodded, offering a few lacklustre words of poor convincing whilst Dean just stared at me, his lips twitching into a slight smirk, his eyes swimming in defiance.

“You’ve never been one to behave yourself, have you? Let's see how long this lasts.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

Sam pulled Dean away before any more weaponised words could be fired, Deans lips forever holding that slap-worthy grin as he eventually turned his back and headed to the other side of the bar.

For the whole evening I could feel eyes on my back and a prickle on my skin. No matter what I did or how much I tried to distract myself - I was so hyper-aware that the Winchesters were sitting at a table just across the room. Every time I turned my back or walked to the bar, I could feel myself scrutinised under an unwanted observation. As I politely turned down the offer of a drink from a handsome stranger, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I reached to answer it, my palms growing sweaty when I saw the name flash on the screen.

“Hey Jody,” I fought to keep my voice steady, my previous frustrations starting to bubble to the surface again.

“Hey (Y/n)! You’re never going to guess who’s in town!”

My teeth immediately clenched and I shot a glare over to where the brothers were sitting, watching Dean tuck his phone back into his pocket and drop his head into his hands.

When I failed to utter a single word at Jody’s excited proclamation, she instantly caught on.

“Oh shit, you know already, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You at the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“I feel like I spoke at him, which counts I guess.”

Despite knowing my inner conflictions, she chuckled slightly.

“You give him a piece of your mind?”

“Yup,” I sighed, running a hand over my face, “I think I’m going to have to keep my distance from him, Jody. Just seeing him - looking at him after all these years - it hurts. It fucking hurts and he doesn’t realise how much he messed me up with everything that he did and said,” I could feel that all too familiar burn in my eyes as I fought desperately against the tears; biting my lip to stop it from trembling. When I gave my emotions away with a not-so-discrete sniff, Jody’s more sympathetic side emerged.

“Aw sweet girl, I know it’s hard. Do you want me to come and get you?”

I shook my head despite knowing she couldn’t see me and wiped away a rogue tear.

“No it’s ok, I think I just need to be alone. Plus I know you - you want to spend some time and catch up with them, which is fine and I get it. It’s just not something I can be there for right now,” I lifted my head and looked through the crowd of people, watching how Sam talked to Dean and Dean fiddled with his beer bottle again. I looked down before he could see me, though I knew he would be able to pick me out of any crowd anywhere within a matter of minutes. I hated that he knew me so well.

“If you’re sure, you know where we are if you need anything.”

“I know, thanks Jody. And… I’m sorry for making this so complicated for you. I know you have no reason to hate him, and I don’t like putting you in the middle like this.”

“(Y/n) I get it sweetheart, you have nothing to apologise for. Just…” she paused, as though debating if her words were worth saying.

“Just what?”

“Just don't do anything stupid,” I could hear the slight amusement in her voice despite her words of caution. I chuckled slightly, wiping away another tear.

“You know me - I can’t make that promise. Bye Jody, see you later.”

After the farewell I hung up the phone, deciding some fresh air would help me to cool my head.

I'd barely taken five steps out the bars entrance and into the parking lot when the harsh sound of rowdy chatter drew my attention. Snapping my head towards it, cold blood filled my veins at the sight in the shadows - the gut wrenching sight of a small group of men huddling together and attempting to steal a car.

To steal Baby.

The cold sensation of dread quickly transformed into the heat of fury as my blood started to boil at the sheer audacity of the thieving group, now doing their best to stay out of the glow of the street lamp. They were lucky it was me that had found them and not Dean, as the latter would have dropped every single one of them by now and not left a soul breathing. I know Dean and I no longer had any sort of relationship, but when we did, this car had been witness to every moment. Baby saw every smile, laugh, and happy tear shared between Dean and I, along with petty lovers quarrels and raw moments of lust filled passion. I'd lost count of how many times we'd steamed up those back windows since we were teenagers and Dean stole the car from his old man for our first date. Then there were the long rides from case to case - Sam and I arguing over who rode shotgun - with Metallica blasting from the speakers, windows rolled down and the wind wisping every worry away as we belted our lungs out. Those were the best moments of my life. In that car. And I'd be damned if I let some dive bar fuckheads steal her.

With zero hesitation I pulled out the gun tucked into my boot and fired three warning shots to the sky before aiming my piece at them, wary that they might also be packing.

“Get away from the FUCKING car - NOW!”

The anger in my voice was a deadly warning as the group turned to me like rabbits in the headlights before turning tail and bolting - one of them dropping a hefty crowbar in the process. As I lowered my gun when they fled, I turned around at the sound of hurried footsteps thumping on the gravel behind me.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean had arrived at my side before Sam and he reached to rest a hand on the small of my back; guided by muscle memory. I turned to face him, a small crowd gathering outside the bar to witness the fleeting commotion. As Sam arrived I explained, my voice harbouring a slight tremble of adrenaline and frustration.

“Some assholes tried to steal Baby-”

“WHAT?!” Deans voice filled with horror, yet his hand remained on my back.

“But you- you're ok right? They didn't hurt you?”

“What? No, I'm fine.”

With my confirmation he withdrew his hand and doubled over, resting his palms on his knees and dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Ugh thank fuck - you scared the shit out of me.”

Sam, who appeared shortly after Dean, patted him on the back and flashed me a split-second grin, the glint lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah, I don't think I've seen Dean move so fast - like… ever.”

I couldn't stop the soft, airy laugh leaving my lungs, a memory flooding my mind.

“I think the fastest I ever saw him move was when we used to hunt with your dad, and Dean took the car without permission. John ended up stranded at that god-awful motel for six hours after we accidentally fell asleep in the layby-”

“Oh god, was that the motel with those raccoons?” Dean stood up straight, the memory seeming to light up his face as he looked me straight in the eye, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.

“Yes - oh my GOD those raccoons were awful,” I started to chuckle and I could tell Dean was holding it in.

“Raccoons?” Sam asked, looking between us with a raised eyebrow. I opened my mouth to explain but Dean beat me to it.

“In every corner of each room there was a taxidermy raccoon, however the person who taxidermied them obviously had no idea what an actual raccoon looked like.”

“Most of them had eyes that were too close together and their bodies were way too long - like some sort of ferret-raccoon hybrid,” I chimed in, the memory bringing warmth to my chest at the comical idiocy of it all.

“I remember dad turned his so they faced the wall and away from the bed,” Dean let out a small laugh, managing to pull one from Sam as well as we slowly made our way over to the car, my gun returned to the holster in my boot.

“I'm pretty sure that was the first and last thing that ever gave John Winchester genuine heebie jeebies,” I looked up at Sam's disbelieving expression.

“And your brother hid his in the bottom of the closet.”

Dean grimaced before chuckling again.

“They had tiny little ferret-raccoon buttcheeks.”

“Oh god yeah, they were so prominent.”

“So prominent.”

Stepping up to Baby, Dean gave her a thorough once over, running his large hands gently over the places most likely to have laid victim to the crowbar. After three laps and continuous scrutiny, he deemed her unharmed.

We stood together for a moment in silence, the conversation having bled out, leaving nothing but our prior heavy tension and my own dwelling sorrow. I looked up at them both, my gaze lingering on Dean.

“Look, I need to go. I can't- I can't be around you right now, Dean. I'm glad Baby is ok and I…” I sucked in a breath, steadying my voice, “I wish you all the best. Both of you. Stay safe out there.” with my final words I spun on my heel and left.

The motel room was pitch black save for the small box TV flickering in the corner, the original Ghostbusters playing through blown out speakers. I sat in the middle of the couch rocking baggy plaid pj pants and an old band t-shirt (likely Deans, much to my own dismay). With criss-crossed legs and a bowl of popcorn in my lap, I attempted to wallow, Rory Gilmore style, over a man who I would never fully get over. Mine and Deans relationship had ended years ago, yet here I was, the wound still as fresh as the day it was inflicted. Most days I get by, and sometimes even forget the pain he caused me, allowing me to feel light and almost normal. But seeing him in the flesh, catching the scent of him and hearing his voice had turned my defences to ash. I felt exposed and raw, my heart practically on a silver platter ready for another round of being ripped to pieces. I thought I would be able to handle it if I ran into him. I knew deep down in my gut that it would happen eventually, that it was unavoidable given my living arrangements. That he would likely come and visit Jody and the others, and I would have to pretend that everything was ok - that my heart wasn't still breaking over him. I'd avoided him for this long, always able to find the perfect excuse to not be around when he showed up. It was about time the avoidance streak ran it out.

The sound of his laugh earlier this evening had tightened every muscle in my chest, reminding me of every blissful moment we'd spent together - obsessed with each others company and craving nothing else on this fucked up Earth. His smile had made me want to weep, knowing I no longer got to wake up to it every morning or let it be the last thing I witnessed before sleep. The smile that got us both into so much trouble, both as teenagers and adults alike. The smile that always made arguments feel absurd half way through. No matter who I encounter in life or how many people God throws at me in an attempt to fill the void left behind by Dean, it's an incurable hole in my soul that can never be healed.

I shovelled a handful of popcorn into my mouth as I watched the movie unfold - desperate for the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man to reach through the screen and devour me along with my melancholy attitude. Too preoccupied with the film and the strange attraction I seemed to be harbouring to men in boiler suits, I almost missed the low rumble of an engine pull into the motel parking lot outside my room. An all too familiar engine. My ears pricked before reality dawned, the blood draining from my face.

“That son of a bitch.”

I scrambled off the couch and ducked behind it, popcorn flying, knowing all too well that he'd come peering in through the gaps in the blind - which my dumbass had left open so I could watch the rain. Heavy rain and self pity went together like jack and coke after all.

There were a few breaths of silence after the squeak and slam of the impala door, and I thought maybe I'd gotten away with it. Perhaps he was staying in a room further down? Fate was forever against me though when there was a loud knock on the door. I flinched, anxiety dampening my palms as I tucked my knees into my chest and held my breath, praying to Chuck himself that Dean would leave. That he'd convince himself that he was making a reckless decision by being here, or that he had the wrong room. I almost jumped out of my skin when he rapped on the window and his voice boomed through the pattering of rain and static-y TV audio.

“I know you're in there (Y/n), now open the door.”

Even if I'd wanted to move, the ability to do so had fled my body, my muscles petrified at the thought of confronting him. I jumped again when he hammered on the door this time, the cheap wood rattling on its hinges.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/n)! Your truck is parked outside and I can see your hunting gear on the table. Open the fucking door!”

“Go away!”

“Not until you let me speak to you!”

“No!”

There was a loud THUD as his boot collided with the door and I heard him growl in frustration. I could just picture him pacing in a circle, running a hand through his hair.

“(Y/n)-”

“Please, Dean, just… just don't. I can't look at you.” I felt my voice shrink as I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, unsure if he caught my words. He did.

“What- why not?” His voice was a wretched mix of desperation and confusion, cracking between words.

I was quiet for a moment, letting the silence hang thick in the air before I pushed myself to my feet, instantly missing the comfort of the upright foetal position. I wandered over to the door, my fuzzy-socked feet padding on the thread-bare carpet.

“Because,” I leant against the wood, my heart aching at the thought of him being so close yet so devastatingly untouchable, “if I open this door I'm going to undo all the progress I've made with getting over you, Dean.” His name was bittersweet as it slid off my tongue. The quiet sound of Dean sucking in a breath hissed through the gaps in the wood.

“Please, sweetheart. I need you to open this door.”

The softer tone of his voice made him infinitely harder to resist, but I had to stand my ground.

“Dean, you know I can't,” my eyes burned as the tears started to well, my voice objecting to my words with a pitiful rasp.

“Yes you can,” he paused, “you have to, otherwise I'm going to kick this piece of shit down.”

My eyes flew wide.

“No-no Dean-”

“Stand back.”

“Don't!”

“Three…”

“Stop-”

“Two…”

“Dean-”

“One-”

“Fine!”

I grasped the handle and flung the door open, my heart dancing with my stomach when I finally caught sight of him. There he was, soaked through from the rain and giving me that woeful Mr Darcy stare. The water droplets clung to his lashes and trickled down his cheeks, the breathtaking beauty of him erasing the pre-prepared sentence from my mind. Now, all I could think at that moment was to get him warm and dry. The noose around my heart tightened when I reached a hand out to grasp his, pulling him in out of the downpour. As the door closed behind him there was a pause, my quickly dissolving self restraint making it agonising to be in his presence. And Dean seemed to know that, yet he remained.

“(Y/n)-”

“Don’t,” as the cold water started to pool around his boots, I paced over to the bathroom, quickly emerging with a fuzzy towel in hand. I passed it over to him slowly, treating him like a wild, unpredictable animal that could pounce at any moment. He took it gently from my grasp, his fingers softly brushing mine. His skin was cold and damp from the outdoors. We stood in silence for a few moments whilst Dean dried his hair as best as he could, shortly after shrugging off his jacket to hang on the dining chair beside him. As he continued to ruffle his hair dry, I steeled myself, taking a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Why are you here, Dean? What do you want?”

He lowered the towel and hung it with his jacket, sighing from the pit of his stomach.

“Me and Sam went to see Jody and the others. I was hoping to run into you again - I wanted to talk to you. But when you didn’t appear, Jody said you’d checked out for a few nights - said you wanted to be away from the house when… uh…” his voice faltered and something akin to guilt flashed in his eyes. Unable to finish his sentence he leant on the table, staring intently at the pile of hunting gear I'd dumped there.

“When you arrived,” I finished it for him, “Yeah, that’s right. And I told  her not to tell you where I was.”

“She didn’t,” he stood up straight again, holding his hands up, “I knew you wouldn’t have gone far, so I drove around until I spotted your truck,” he admitted, gaze flitting down to the floor. More silence followed, the atmosphere thickening as the seconds ticked by.

“Dean,” my voice was small as my anxiety spiked again, the question ready to spill from my mouth though no matter what he said, I knew I wasn’t ready for the answer. “Why are you here? What do you want from me? You say you want to talk, but you’re the one who ended everything. You ended our decades-long relationship out of fucking nowhere. What could there possibly be to talk about anymore. It’s been four years.” My voice trembled and he clenched his teeth, looking away from me before setting his eyes back to the floor. He dragged his gaze back up to mine, and something burned deep in those evergreen irises that took my breath away. Yet he remained silent.

“You crushed me when out of nowhere you said we were over - that we had no future. That you couldn't imagine growing old with me, like we'd always talked about. You have no idea how much you broke my fucking heart, and then you just expected me to live alongside you in the bunker like nothing was wrong? In my own room, far away from you? Why did you think that I would be ok with that?” I felt the familiar drip of hot tears and they flooded down my cheeks and rolled off my chin, the dam I’d fought so hard to contain now bursting wide with vengeance.

“You think I wanted you to leave?” Dean spoke up finally, his voice deep and gravelly, like it always was when he was upset. “You don’t think that telling you that everything was over wasn’t the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do? That I was happy watching you pack your bags and walk out without so much as a goodbye?”

“You didn’t love me, Dean, so why would you have cared? You obviously didn’t love me the way that I loved you.”

He flinched, but took a step closer. 

“You think this is because I stopped loving you? (Y/n)... it wasn’t safe- you weren’t safe in the bunker. You weren’t safe with me…” his expression turned to one of pain as his brows pinched and his eyes glistened. He took a deep breath. “I thought maybe if you just stayed in the bunker with little to no association with me, then it would be ok. I mean, I'd still get to see you, talk to you. Be in your fucking presence. I never expected you to- to…” he took another deep breath, his lungs almost stuttering. “I didn’t think you would leave.”

He never took his eyes off mine. I saw the years of hurt and heartbreak intertwine with glimmers of green and gold, the emotions I always knew he’d struggled to cope with were swimming in a pool of desperation and fear. On the outside, Dean Winchester was the strongest there was. He was an undefeated and undisputed leader of men. He was the King of hunters. The Alpha. The man who could make you wish you were dead. Yet here he was, wearing every vulnerable emotion on his sleeve as he stood before me with anxious breaths and fearful eyes. The sight made my heart break all over again.

“Dean,” his name was like a quiet prayer as he moved closer again, “I don’t think you understand…”

“Understand what, sweetheart?” the rasp in his voice pebbled goosebumps on my skin, and when he reached for a lock of my hair to twirl around his finger, I had to fight off every instinct to just throw myself into his arms and bury my face in his chest. His familiar scent floated through the air and wrapped itself around my senses, and when I breathed him in the aroma of old leather and gunpowder went straight to my brain like a hit of cocaine. The pleasant hum from my chest was involuntary. 

“I don’t think you understand that… that…” I sighed a woeful breath, looking up at him and seeing nothing but a warm, expectant gaze.

“That I’m still in love with you.”

The finger Dean had looped around my hair froze in place and I heard him suck in a breath, his lips parting. He remained unmoving, as though every thought racing through his mind had taken precedence over his body. It was a moment before he blinked, coming back down to Earth. When he looked down at me, all of the desperation, hurt and heartbreak dissipated from his eyes and in their place was the blazing heat of hope, accentuated by a small upturned twitch of his lips.

“You do?” 

“Yes.”

“You’re not fucking with me?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Before I could react Dean had scooped me into his arms and crashed his mouth onto mine. The urge to push him away and tell him to get the fuck out bubbled up inside me, however when his familiar taste graced my tongue, a taste that was home, every desire for him to leave evaporated. The years of being apart, of being unable to touch him had made every caress electric, no matter how feather-light. My hands had tangled in his shirt as he pressed his mouth harder onto mine, pulling him crushingly close. His embrace was almost suffocating before he gently slid his hands up and threaded his rough fingers through my hair, and I lifted my own hands to do the same. I took my time with the motion, reminding myself of what he felt like - not that the memory of him ever truly left. I remembered how the muscles across his stomach and chest felt hard beneath a soft layer of skin. I remembered the way they quivered at my touch, and how my touch always pulled soft moans from his lips. My hands crept up to take hold of his face, the familiar feeling of his rough stubble beneath my fingertips ever present, a reminder of how that rough stubble felt when it tauntingly brushed against other parts of my body. I cupped his cheeks, feeling my own tears dampen his skin. He kissed me in a way that said I’m sorry, a kiss that held four years of pent up emotions with a desire to be released. A kiss that I knew was designed specifically for me. Our breaths and lips became frantic, the pace in which we were now devouring each other was still not enough to soothe the wounds in our hearts that were so desperate to be healed. Dean pulled away and held my face in his hands, running his rough thumbs over the soft skin under my eyes to wipe away the tears.

“I miss you, so fucking much,” his voice was low, his words for my ears only - not that anyone else was listening.

“I miss you too,” I sniffled, resting my palms on his chest again and relishing in the heat seeping through his shirt.

He leant down and rested his forehead against mine, taking a deep breath with his eyes closed. The atmosphere shifted however when he dipped down lower and pressed a hot kiss to my cheek, then to my ear, and then to my neck - each press of his lips drawing a shiver from my spine. I gasped when he nibbled my pulse point gently and my hands flew to grasp the short strands of hair at the back of his neck, my nails dragging over his scalp. He groaned against me at the sensation, one large hand moving to grip my hair at its roots whilst the other slid to my hip - squeezing the soft flesh. A moan of his name slipped past my lips and it was like a switch was flipped as he pulled away suddenly. He turned to take a few steps across the room, attempting to put some distance between us. I stood, baffled for a moment, but when he turned back to me and his vibrant eyes were now black with lust, I almost knew what he was going to say.

“Do you really want to go there sweetheart? Do you think you’ll be able to handle it?” he started making slow strides back towards me and I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. 

“Yes,” my voice was more breathy than I’d anticipated.

“No regrets?” he was almost within reach again.

“No regrets.”

When his hands landed on my waist again, his frenzied kisses on my lips, I was expecting to be able to ravage him equally; but when he lifted me and threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing I let out a shocked yelp. 

“Dean!”

He chuckled, the sound low in his chest as he strode over to the bed and threw me down, the impact on the mattress knocking a breath out of me.

“I’ve not been able to fuck you sensless for four years, there ain’t no way I’m going easy on you tonight sweetheart.” I propped myself up on my elbows and watched as he tore his top from his body. I barely got a glimpse of his rugged physique that I’d so terribly missed before he all but pounced, trapping me beneath him. My hands immediately clung to the tight muscles of his back, my nails digging in and drawing a hiss from his clenched teeth before his mouth pressed to my neck right below my ear.

“Do you remember how you used to scream my name?”

I nodded.

“I’m going to make you scream much, much, louder than you ever have before. I’m going to make all past encounters feel like a warm up compared to what I’m gonna do to you tonight.” I shivered at his words as his hot breath fanned over my skin. His hands were fast, desperately tugging on my pyjama pants to slip one inside the soft fabric, not bothering to remove them entirely. There was an urgency to his movements like nothing I’d ever seen, the air leaving my lungs on a gasping moan when his fingers grazed my underwear. He chuckled slightly, pressing a series of searing kisses down my neck to my collar bone. 

“Well, aren't you sensitive? How long has it been, darlin’? Since someone else touched you - since someone else made you cum?” The heat rose to my already flushing cheeks at his words and I tried to cover my face with the back of my hand. My attempts to hide were futile as his long fingers wrapped around my wrist and he pinned my arm above my head. 

“Well?” he pressed, a smirk on his lips.

“Four years,” I all but squeaked. He thought for a moment before his smirk evolved into a widespread grin. “Don't let it go to your head, Winchester,” I did my best to bite out my words yet my voice trembled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. My head rolled into the quilt and my back arched when he pushed his finger against my clit through my underwear a second time, this time harder, more purposeful. His own breath was shuddering as he continued to plant hot kisses against my skin, the slight dampness from his lips cooling quickly when he pulled back to sit on his knees. My heart didn't know if it wanted to stop dead in my chest or palpitate itself into oblivion when he looked down at me. Dean eminated a dark, primal hunger, glazing his eyes with lust as he gnawed his bottom lip. There wasn't a part of me that he hadn't seen before, and despite my current lack of nakedness it was as if I wasn't wearing anything at all. He made a noise in his chest that seemed to roll up his throat, like a growl of approval as I lay like prey beneath him. Dean may be older now, but he was bigger. Broader. Larger. The years of saving the world and fighting every abomination in his path had forced him to bulk up most exquisitely. With my free hand I traced over the scars adorning his shoulders, chest and abdomen: some old and silver, some newer and pink. There were even a fresh few, still scabbed over, and he shivered at every gentle touch. His gaze, however, was unrelenting. Without uttering a word he yanked my pyjama bottoms from my legs and tossed them into the depths of the room, immediately doing the same with my underwear. Instinctively I attempted to pull my knees together despite him being planted between them and he laughed softly, dragging his dark eyes over my slightly squirming body. He clutched my hand that was touching his chest and pinned it with my other one above my head, leaning down to lift the hem of my t-shirt, to gather above my breasts with his teeth. A shiver tore through me as his hot breath dusted the soft skin of my stomach and ribs, perking my nipples instantly.

“I think your body missed me sweetheart.”

“Definitely not just my body,” I panted. He breathed over my lips for a moment, every possibility of tonight's endeavours flashing before his eyes before he dipped his head to kiss me. His mouth moved slightly slower this time, like he was desperately trying to control the beast inside and make every moment count. To make every moment memorable.

“Do you remember Oasis Plains, Oklahoma? With that fancy house we borrowed?” His voice dropped an octave, eyes hooded as he recalled the memory.

“Yes,” I practically clenched, remembering the late night escapades from all those years ago. In my mind it was like yesterday - the way his lips felt on my skin, how his strong fingers bruised my thighs, and how he brought me to total completion no less than three times. His lips twitched up as he slid down my body and off the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor. He roughly gripped my thighs and threw them over his shoulders before slowly, tantalisingly sliding his hands up the supple flesh to grasp my ass and pull my whole body towards him.

“I’m gonna make you lose your fucking mind, just like you did back then. Maybe I'll even beat that record.”

My eyes could've disappeared inside my skull with how far they rolled back, his mouth's quick descent over my most intimate area - a soft kiss placed just above my clit - had me gasping in anticipation. Without a second to gather my thoughts he pressed his next kiss to that bundle of nerves; the wet heat of his mouth sending a pulse after pulse of fire through my veins as I twitched at his touch. He was an expert. Every flick of his tongue was practised and calculated, knowing which way to swirl, to caress, and how much pressure to apply. It was only a matter of minutes before my hands plunged into his hair and I grasped desperately at the soft strands, feeling that tidal wave build, and build, and build before he daringly grazed his teeth over my clit and it sent the wave crashing down around me, my body arching off the soft mattress as I came undone in his arms at the mercy of his mouth. 

“F-FUCK- Dean-”

My limbs twitched as they relaxed on the come-down, Deans tongue softly tracing up and down my opening. Without pulling away, he spoke in a husky tone:

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how many times I've reminisced about you moaning my name like that.”

The breath from his words made me shiver, and I moved to prop myself up on my elbows. 

“Ready for round two?” His voice remained low, not waiting for my inevitable confirmation before slowly dipping a finger into my still-clenching walls. The moan that slipped past my lips pulled a groan from Dean, a second finger joining the first as they curled up to push against the soft cushion hidden in the depths of my core. He knew where to find it with zero hesitation - his fingers seemingly acting on muscle memory as he beckoned another orgasm from me. He coaxed it forward, my inner nerves dangerously sensitive as the pleasure began to pool for a second time. With every motion of his finger, again and again, I started to feel the coil twist. I was in two minds on whether to be mortified by how easily he could pull a climax from my very soul, or impressed by it. Either way, he had me teetering on the edge a second time before a single flick of his tongue snapped the coil and euphoria claimed me once more.

His name merged with the endless moans spilling from my mouth, my hazy brain struggling to differentiate the two.

“Shit, you taste so good baby. I could devour you all night.”

“I wouldn't stop you.”

He grinned.

“As much as I would love to indulge you, I need to fuck you. Now.”

He pushed on the backs of my thighs, urging me to centre myself on the bed before he climbed back over me. I could feel myself salivating at the sight of his broad shoulders flexing under his weight, his skin damp with sweat from being trapped beneath my thighs.

He leant down to capture my mouth again, a kiss fueled with raw, carnal desire as he struggled to hold himself back. He shuddered under my fingertips as I trailed them down his torso to his belt, hastily unfastening the buckle and top button of his jeans. It was a joint effort to push them off his hips and down his thighs, but that's as far as they went. The feral need to be inside me had consumed him, and I'd barely withdrawn my hands from between us when he lined up and buried himself to the hilt. 

The burn and stretch was immediate - knocking the air from my lungs as I clutched his solid biceps like a lifeline, my nails indenting his scarred skin. He had the common decency to stay still for around ten seconds before his self restraint diminished yet again and he withdrew slowly. I could feel the divine ridges on his length through the immense build up of my slick and his spit, and as he eased back in he dropped his head into the crook of my neck with a gasp and a groan. A large, rough palm glided down my thigh, goosebumps in its wake as he grasped beneath my knee to rest my leg on his hip. Another moan filled the air between us at the new angle, the top of his cock kissing the soft, sensitive cushion inside. His mouth was hot on my neck as his hips found a rhythm against mine - a rhythm that gradually increased in speed with the intense pleasure unrelenting on my over-sensitive insides. My next impending climax swiftly appearing on the horizon.

“Dean,” I pleaded, my eyes cracking open to look up at him through welling tears, “I'm getting close again-”

He lifted his head, that play-boy grin finding his lips as he saw the mess I'd become at his touch; the mascara-stained tear tracks smudging on my cheeks and the unruly sex-hair was always a good sign of a good time.

“I need you to let go sweetheart - cum for me. Please…”

His words were the cherry on the cake for my undoing yet again and I felt my whole body explode with pleasure and tense up around him. The third orgasm of the night had my vision blurring when he cursed under his breath at my contracting walls, yet he didn't let up. He fucked me through the mind blowing bliss, not letting me catch my breath as a fourth climax hit me out of nowhere, the torturous attack on my g-spot making me feel close to blacking out.

“F-FUCK- Dean- Please- I can't,” my voice was hoarse from the moans and ragged breaths ripping from my throat every other second and my whole body trembled, slick with sweat from both myself and Dean. Despite the death grip I had on Deans cock, every involuntary clench making my knees twitch, he still wasn't finished. His powerful thrusts stuttered slightly before he pulled out, causing me to suck a breath through my teeth. Before I had a chance to query his actions he flipped me with ease, landing me flat on my stomach, my face buried in the soft quilt. Much like before, he didn't wait for an invitation to push back in, the overstimulated nerves in my core sending a jolt through every aching muscle in my body. The deeper angle pulled a cry from my lips when he bottomed out, and if I didn't know any better I would've said that his cock was in my ribcage. Deans large, warm hands took up residence on the supply flesh around my hips, tugging them up so my ass was in the air.

“Shit, (Y/n), with a view like this I'm not gonna last much longer- fuck,” Deans words were strained as he picked up the pace again, albeit this time there was an urgency to his movements. A desperate desire to experience the same Earth shattering euphoria that he had hand delivered to me. With my face in the fabric I snuck a hand down between my legs, finding the pleasure of circling my clit both a relief and an amplifier for the scorching pleasure Dean was inflicting. It didn't take long for him to tear my hand away, only to replace it with his own - pulling noises from my lips that were a whole new calibre of erotic that I didn't know I was capable of. My moans had an effect on Dean, and the hand that was on my hip, that was kneading my soft skin with a bruising grip had shot forwards and planted beside my head, bracing his weight above me. I couldn't see him but I could feel his solid chest against my back, his head dipping down to place rough kisses against my shoulder, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there. I prepared myself for the bruises I'd find on my body in the morning - his firm hold on me would have been almost painful given any other situation. That's not to forget the biting and sucking he was now subjecting my neck and shoulder blades to - the sensation setting my skin ablaze. Deans strained breaths were a tell for his own impending end, with his hips losing their strong rhythm as he panted out laboriously. The sound of him on the verge of bliss, accompanied by every other agonising ministration performed on my body had me unravelling one last time; one hand fisting the sheets whilst the other reached back, my nails brushing over Deans scalp and toying with his short, soft hair. The fluttering of my channel around his cock was all it took to bring him to his long awaited fervid finish. I trembled beneath him as he groaned into my ear, the sound something primal, something almost unhinged. We remained still for a moment, waiting for the post climax clarity to come along and make us regret our decision. He pulled out slowly, earning a hiss from both of us at the loss of warmth and intimate contact. The simultaneous feeling of emptiness and relief was an odd feeling, as I know full well he’d ruined me for anyone else - no one in Heaven or Hell could compete with that. Not that I wanted them to in the first place. Every nerve ending in my lower region fizzled with overstimulation, yet I couldn't have felt more relaxed; more satiated. For the first time in a very, very, long time, I felt complete. 

Dean grabbed the towel he'd left on the back of the chair and used it to catch the evidence of our intimacy, the wetness cooling quickly on my thighs as I pushed myself to sit on my knees. I turned and looked up at him, watching as he stood beside the bed, eyeing me nervously. I raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on my lips.

“What's wrong? Regretting the whole ‘No Regrets’ thing already?” 

He shook his head.

“Do you?” His voice held a crackle that equaled his nervous expression.

I shook my head. He looked down at his clothes on the floor.

“No, although I'm getting the impression from you that this was a one time thing,” he must've heard the disappointment when I spoke, his eyes flying up to meet mine.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you're picking your shit off the floor like you're about to leave, that's why.”

“You…want me to stay? I thought-”

“Did I fucking stutter when I said I still love you, Dean? Because I do, and it's all-consuming and to be totally honest, I never want to leave your side again.” Heat bloomed across my cheeks at my sudden proclamation. Deans grip on his clothes slackened, letting it all fall back to the floor. From the look on his face it was like I'd just declared him King of the world; like a light switched on behind his eyes and a smile threatened to spread across his face.

“Yeah?” 

I fiddle with my fingers in my lap, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

“Yeah-whoa!”

I didn't get the chance to feel bashful or embarrassed when Dean tackled me onto the bed. At first he peppered my still-damp skin with small kisses that tickled with his stubble, before placing his mouth over mine. I couldn't recall a time that he'd kissed me so softly, and accompanied by the gentle embrace of his arms with his fingers carefully threading through my hair, it was enough to bring me to tears.

“I've missed you so much,” my sniffles brought an almost relieved smile to his features as he pulled back and stroked my hair with overwhelming tenderness.

“I've missed you too, sweetheart.

So fucking much.”

----------------------------

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[inkspiredwriting]

The Diner of Destiny

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: I hope it won't be long before I can post proper Five x Y/n stories again. Before the whole mess with season 4, I wanted to post a story of y/n having a girls day with Alisson, Sloane and Lila, and then five picking her up later and seeing what a mess they made. But now I'm honest, I don't want Lila and Five together in a story anymore xD I know it's stupid but I can't change it

Warnings: spoilers for season 4 episode 5-6, angst

Five stepped out of the shadows, his sharp eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. He had been here before, but something felt different this time. The station seemed to pulse with an energy he couldn’t quite place, pulling him toward a small, unassuming diner that he had never noticed before.

As he pushed open the door, a small bell chimed, and the dimly lit interior came into view. Its walls adorned with old photographs and clocks that tick out of sync. But what caught his attention most were the people inside.

It wasn’t just any group of people. They were him—Fives, from various timelines and realities. Each of them wore a different expression, ranging from annoyance to outright anger.

One of them, stepped forward, his eyes narrowing at Five. “You finally made it,” he said, his voice laced with bitterness.

Five frowned, his mind racing to understand what was happening. “What is this? Why are we all here?”

“You tell us,” The other Five shot back. “We’ve been waiting for you to show up and face the mess you’ve made.”

“The mess I’ve made?” Five repeated, confusion giving way to irritation. “What are you talking about?”

Another Five, one with a more disheveled appearance, chimed in, “You had one job—find y/n. She was supposed to be your anchor, the one to keep all of us stable across the Timelines. But instead, you got distracted.”

Five’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of y/n. He had never heard that name, and yet it felt like a punch to the gut. “What do you mean, ‘distracted’?”

The other Five crossed his arms, his glare intensifying. “Lila. You got involved with Lila, and that was never supposed to happen. You were supposed to fall in love with y/n in the greenhouse. She was the one meant for you, for all of us.”

Five’s breath caught in his throat. The greenhouse. He remembered it clearly—throwing strawberries, the laughter, the kisses. But it wasn’t y/n he was with. It was Lila. And suddenly, it all made sense.

The other Fives began to murmur, their voices filled with resentment. “We all felt it,” one of them said. “The moment you chose Lila over Y/n, we all felt the shift. She started to fade from our lives.”

Brisket Five added, “And without her, everything is falling apart. Our timelines are unraveling because you didn’t stick to what was meant to be.”

Five’s mind reeled. He had always prided himself on making the hard choices, on doing what needed to be done to keep the timeline intact. But now, he realized he had made a grave mistake. Y/n was supposed to be his anchor, the one constant in the chaotic sea of timelines. But by choosing Lila, he had erased her from existence, not just in his life, but in every Five’s life.

“Why isn’t she here?” Five demanded, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation. “Why can’t we find her?”

The other Five’s expression softened, though the anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface. “Because you erased her, you idiot. The moment you chose Lila, you erased y/n from all of our lives. The woman who was supposed to keep us grounded, to hold us together—gone. And now, we’re all suffering for it.”

Five felt a cold sweat break out on his skin. He had made a choice that he couldn’t take back, and now it was costing him—and every version of himself—everything. The weight of his actions pressed down on him, suffocating him with guilt.

“What do I do?” he whispered, almost to himself. “How do I fix this?”

The Five opposite from him sighed, his anger giving way to something more like pity. “That’s the problem. We don’t know if it can be fixed. Y/n was our everything, the one person who could make us feel human, no matter what timeline we were in. Without her… we’re lost.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, each Five contemplating the enormity of the situation. Five’s mind raced, trying to think of a solution, a way to bring y/n back. But every thought was met with the same bleak realization: he had broken something that might never be repaired.

Finally, Brisket Five spoke again, his voice low and resigned. “You can try to find her. But the truth is, we don’t even know where to start. You’ve changed the course of all our lives, and now… now we’re all paying the price.”

Five swallowed hard, his chest tightening with the weight of his guilt. He had always been the one to take control, to find a way out of impossible situations. But this time, he wasn’t sure if there was a way out. The woman who was supposed to be his guiding light, his North Star, was gone. And it was his fault.

The diner fell into a heavy silence, the weight of what had been lost hanging in the air like a shroud. The other Fives watched him, their anger slowly turning to resignation. They knew, as well as he did, that there was no fixing this. Y/n was gone, and with her, the stability and hope they had all desperately needed.

And as he left the diner, the weight of his actions bore down on him like a heavy burden, one that he wasn’t sure he could ever shake.

[pseudowho]

Defending Your Honour

A series in which the JJK guys stick-it to the creeps and perverts bothering the reader.

A multi-fic in a series ❤️🫖☕

Part 1 (Nanami Kento, Geto Suguru, and Todo Aoi) link here!

Part 3 (Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara, Inumaki Toge and Fushiguro Toji) link here!

More JJK men and women to come

Trigger Warning: spreading false sexual rumours, stalking, being followed home

Higuruma Hiromi

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You had to leave. You had to get another job. There was no way to come back from this; office-culture spread rumours like the plague, and whether they were founded or not, you still felt the pierce of dozens of judging eyes on you.

Your clothes felt too tight, too revealing, your skin prickled and your nose stung with tears as you gulped, chin held high but so exposed and vulnerable. A filthy rage roiled in your gut at the injustice of it all. The irony did not escape you, as you hot-footed away from the whispers of the legal office.

As you gathered files, clunky and unwieldy in your arms, you felt a hand pretending to be affectionate on the small of your back that made your skin crawl, covered in worms and mud.

"When you're ready," a low voice sing-songed to your right, smirking, gleeful, "just hop along to my office, and we can work something out, yeah?" You jolted with shame as the hand clapped your bum. The eyes flicked back onto you. The whispers spread, infectious. You were a leper, now.

Hiccuping as you ducked your head, you felt hot rancid tears stream down your cheeks, darting down a corridor and reaching for a door any door to take you away from all of these eyes and whispers and accusations and this one was usually empty so you snuck in and slammed the door shut behind you and--

"Oh! Hello," a low, warm voice offered, surprised. You gasped, clapping a hand over your mouth, unable to hide the tears and anguish. The man was tall, slender, his unruly black hair escaping in flicks over his temples, but he looked so genuinely concerned as he rose from his desk, that you sobbed, apologising and sinking to the floor with your face in your knees.

You felt the man crouch beside you, his hands on his thighs, his presence sincere and welcoming. He sat for a moment, apparently awkward and unsure how he could help you.

"It's okay," he reassured, "it's a fucking ugly office, I hate it too, it makes me cry--" You huffed out a wet, genuine laugh and heard him smile, amused puffs of breath from his nose.

"Really, though," he continued, "I'm happy to help...if I can. Not sure if you need a lawyer, or-- or for me to catch a spider for you, I mean I hate them too but I can certainly--" he stopped himself from rattling away. You sniffled, looking up at him with a cute watery smile that made his heart thump.

"You could get me a new job, maybe? Or just a new boss?" You wiped your eyes now, embarrassed by interrupting this lovely man. The lovely man raised his eyebrows, now sitting in front of you, cross-legged.

"And what has your boss done to make you cry?" He inquired, black eyes like beetles, reading you.

You fumbled, uncertain of yourself when explaining the crimes of a man to another man, "I think he didn't, uhm...didn't take being rejected very well and uh--" tears poured, unbidden, as your face crumpled again, "--he's started a rumour than uhm-- that I sleep with him and uhm-- I don't but everyone believes it, and he wants me to come to his office now, after he's just touched me, and I don't know-- I don't know what to do--"

You broke down again, weeping into your knees, as the lovely man before you simmered, his lid rattling with unbridled rage at the unfairness of it all.

He smiled at you, though, gentle and open, "Your boss...the sweaty one? Big guy, thinks he's all that?" You laughed wetly again.

"Oh, you know him?" You grinned together, and you blushed, painfully grateful for being treated with basic respect. Hiromi nodded-- he didn't know your boss. But, he knew men like him and they filled him with bitter disdain, a core loathing and disgust that informed his choices every day.

"Well then...you can share my office today," he insisted as he stood, rubbing his hooked nose between two long fingers, "I've got...something to do." You blinked owlishly up at him. He helped you up, pulling a chair to his desk for you. You perched, confused, but not arguing.

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Some time later, your boss headed back to his office from the vending machines, impatient for you to come to his office, feeling sickly gleeful for having punished you for humiliating him, and his heart leapt hopefully, because maybe he could offer to deny all those rumours, and then you would be so grateful that maybe you'd give him a--

He opened his office door, having just enough time to click it closed behind him before hearing a quiet, angry voice from somewhere above the doorframe.

"Domain Expansion: Deadly Sentencing."

Plunged into a different room, ostensibly not his office, your boss shrieked in terror as two terrifying black figures loomed over him, only one of them human.

"What the fuck are you-- where the fuck am I-- WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!"

Higuruma looked up at the Judgeman with a humourless smile, and back down at your boss, who scurried backwards until his shoulders hit the domain's edge, blind with panic.

"You've been a very naughty boy," Hiromi sang, "shall we see how naughty?"

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You jumped as the office door swung open, and Higuruma (you had worked out, from the lanyard he left on his desk) re-entered with two hot drinks. He smiled a wonky, loping smile.

"Coffee machine's finest," he offered, placing one in your hands. He stood for a moment, bouncing on his heels, chin and nose dipped in consideration.

"I should think... your days of problems with your boss may be over," he said, blasé and cryptic. He did not elaborate, but reached into his pocket, before slipping his card across the desk to you.

"My office is, uhm...hiring a new legal assistant, though. I can put in a good word for you." Hiromi looked into the distance across the room, one hand in his pocket as he continued to rock on his heels. He glanced down at you, eyes glimmering at each other as they met.

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Ino Takuma

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I loved meeting you last week. I thought we made a really special connection. I'd love to meet again. Call me.

You smelled so good today. I love how you're being such a tease. Can't wait for you to call.

I can't stand seeing you talking to other guys! Still haven't seen this so-called 'boyfriend' of yours though. He can't be that into you if he's letting other men near you. Call me.

You didn't answer when I knocked for you, but I know you're home. Bet you were upstairs being naughty, hope you were thinking of me, hahaha, jk. HMU, seriously. I miss you.

I know you're such a little slut behind that 'good girl' act ;) Quit playing hard to get. I finish at 5, I'll meet you from work and we can finally go on that date you owe me.

I've never been this in love before. So disappointed you ditched our first date. I'll catch you another time. I love you so much.

Hope you got the flowers I left on your porch. I love you so much.

I love you.

Good morning baby. I love you.

You're a nasty little bitch and you're gonna die alone and you deserve it. If this is how you treat a nice guy like me, how do you treat all the others? You should be grateful.

I'm sorry. I've just had a really bad day baby. You're my whole world. I love you.

Your hands shook as you scrolled through unanswered text after unanswered text. How had being friendly at a work conference gotten so out of hand? Your head spun as you recounted the memories; were you too flirty? Did you give hints of wanting to be more than just acquaintances? Did you dress too provocatively? Did you touch him?

In a desperate hunt for answers you blamed yourself. I should just be a standoffish bitch in the future, you thought, trying to hold back tears.

Leaning over your desk to pack your bag, you began to feel the walls close in around you, terrifying and claustrophobic, a rat in a maze, and you saw tears splash down onto the leather of your work diary. Would he be waiting outside work again today? Or would he be just outside your office door? Would he be waiting in your home?

You felt a pair of warm, strong arms wrap around your waist from behind, "Hey gorgeous! Guess who got off work ear--"

In a shrieking panic, you lashed out, spinning with your hands raised in attack and defence. Your wonderful, kind boyfriend, Takuma, threw himself backwards, alarmed and apologetic, raising his own hands in placation.

"Whoa, whoa, hey! Oh babe, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you--...what is it? Why are you crying? What's happened?"

Weeks and weeks of trying to ignore your stalker, hoping he would go away and forget about you, tumbled out of you at once. In a wild babble of explanation, he keeps texting me, and I'm not interested, and he won't leave me alone, and he leaves things on the doorstep, and I'm so, so sorry.

You had thrust your phone into Takuma's hands, and he held you close to him with one arm as you sobbed into his shoulder. The other hand scrolled through messages from your unwanted admirer; Takuma's face grew quiet with rage, his lips curled in disgust, a flush of anger smattered hot and pink across his cheeks.

"Babe," he started, "why didn't you..." Swallowing, Takuma stopped himself, "This is not your fault. This guy, there's...there's something wrong with him. Have you kept everything? All the stuff he's left you? All the messages?" You nodded as Takuma gripped you by the sides of the shoulders, your face crumpling as his hand raised to cup your cheek, staring deeply into you, leaning forward to press a desperate kiss to your forehead.

"Okay, listen, I'm gonna fix this," Takuma nodded hard, staring into you again as you started to shake your head, "no, no no, trust me. I promise I'm gonna fix this. Listen, you're...you're gonna go to Nanami's place. I'll call him. He'll understand. There's this lawyer at the school now, we'll gather everything and get it to him. I've...I've got to go out. I'll fix this, I mean it. I wouldn't let you down."

Takuma's heart wrenched as you continued to sob, apologising to him as if it was your fault. Within minutes, Takuma had called Nanami, and put you in a taxi. Sticking to the alleyways as he headed out into the streets, Takuma pulled his balaclava down, his eyes ferocious and vengeful as he took to the hunt.

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Your stalker was grossly familiar with your routine now. What you ate for breakfast (he had gone through your bin bags). What colour underwear you preferred (he had seen you through the gaps in your curtains). Which work events you were going to attend (he had scoured every inch of every company calender).

Thanks to some sloppy administrators, he even knew where you lived. Grinning to himself, he felt such a satisfying possession over you, knowing you inside-out. Hiding behind your neighbours' fence panels, he peeked, waiting for you to get home.

One hand leaned past his face, resting on the fence panel beside him, and his stomach froze into knots when he felt himself doused in the icy presence of some dark, unknown force. He opened his mouth to scream, and a second hand pressed over his mouth with horrifying strength.

"Hey, big guy! Wow, you really must be a hit with the ladies," air hissed through Ino's teeth and he sighed in feigned disappointment, "Not with my girl, though." Your stalker squeaked as blackness closed in around him. Ino let out a noise of disgusted amusement as the man's trousers darkened down one leg.

Ino continued, letting the man cry and shake under his hand; "Here's how this is gonna work..."

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Several days had passed since Ino had arrived at Nanami's to collect you, with a deeply satisfied smirk on his face. You had received no more messages. No more flowers. No more thinly-veiled threats. A dark cloud lifted off your mind, and you breathed easy.

Curled up on the sofa that night, you stroked Takuma's chest, listening to the clockwork thump of his heartbeat under your ear. Your curiosity got the better of you.

"Takuma...what did you do?"

Takuma grimaced, "Just showed him the error of his ways, babe. He won't be bothering you again."

While grateful, your belly swirled with fear, and guilt that even if your stalker left you alone, he'd just find someone else, another woman, and harass her just as he had harassed you-- or worse. Takuma read you like a book.

"Look, I-- I didn't want to force anything on you the other day. But I promise you, this guy knows that if you go to the cops about him, and he doesn't 'fess up, it'll be more than just me after him."

Ino smugly pictured Higuruma and Nanami, ready, Misters. Law and Order, prepared to flex their quite complementary powers of threat and legal representation.

You smiled, surrounded by an impenetrable wall of support. Leaning up, you tangled your fingers into Takuma's hair, and he let out a sweet hum of happiness as you kissed him deeply. Nose to nose, you took delight in showing your appreciation.

The next day, wearing a mantle of quiet bravery, you walked into the Police Station.

"I'd like to report a crime."

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Itadori Yuuji

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You had chosen absolutely the wrong shoes to go out in.

You shivered in the chilly night air; your skirt hadn't been this short all night, had it? The cold had a way of exposing things the mirror didn't. Still, you smiled to yourself as you leant against a lamp-post, removing your heels with a sigh of relief, certain you'd be comfier taking the last few streets before home barefoot than in these beautiful monstrosities.

You could not bring yourself to regret such a fun night. Waving your friends goodbye, you had foregone taking a taxi home. Tokyo was a safe city, anyway. It was only a short walk home. You could do with sobering up a bit.

Feet padding gingerly on the cold concrete, you tapped away on your phone as you began to walk home. Within a few minutes, the hairs on the back of your neck stood up, cold prickles running down your spine.

Running a hand through your hair, you shielded your glance backwards; a man. Some distance away. By the lamppost you had removed your shoes at. You gulped-- it's nothing, you lied to yourself, just on his way home like me. But, just in case, you started walking faster, the soles of your feet stinging as they clapped against the floor.

Feeling tingles at the base of your skull a minute later, you felt the man closing in on you and bile climbed in your throat, feeling the alcohol threaten to come up into your mouth, options running through your head at breakneck speed, to scream or call the police or stop and fight or try to run faster or--

It was no use. He was almost on top of you now; you rounded the corner to a tree-lined street. You could smell the sweat on him, and you spun to face him, losing your footing and falling backwards onto the floor--

All at once, you screamed, a dark mass plummeted from the tree above you, and there was a sickening crunch as it flattened your pursuer to the floor.

The black mass, burly and pink-haired, stood up and turned to face you, opening his mouth--

You screamed again, still panicking, throwing a shoe at him, "What the hell are you? What are you doing?" The young man crouched, eyes wide, both hands in front of him, bleeding from the lip from your shoe.

"I'm a Yuuji, I'm a Yuuji--"

"--a Yuuji?!" You raised your hand again and he flinched. Your pursuer groaned underneath his feet.

"--I don't know if you know, but this guy was following you-- oh shit, you're not friends are you-- please don't throw another shoe at me--" Yuuji squeezed his eyes closed, hands still raised above his head in arrest. You surveyed him from the ground, your panic slowly abating.

He's cute, you thought as your head spun violently, and you rocked to the side, vomiting all over the pavement. Yuuji crept over to you, hands uncertain at first, but eventually settling on holding your hair back as the alcohol evacuated your stomach.

Patting your shoulder with upbeat reassurance, Yuuji turned to look at the man on the floor with a scowl.

"Creep," he grumbled, crushing the man's hand under his shoe. As the man squirmed and complained, Yuuji gave him an effortlessly hard punch to the side of the head, knocking him out cold in an instant. Rummaging in the man's pockets, Yuuji pulled out a drivers' licence.

"Oh hey, he lives nearby. Want to drop him home with me?" Yuuji asked you with a shit-eating grin.

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"Think that'll do it?" Yuuji dusted off his hands, surveying his handiwork with satisfaction. Tied up in the offerings of the man's shed (some old garden hose, with a wooden freshly painted sign hung around his neck), the man was dropped unceremoniously onto the doorstep. You snapped a quick photo on your phone, hand over your mouth as you laughed to yourself.

Yuuji pressed the doorbell, and grabbed your other hand, pulling you behind a hedge as you giggled like children together.

"I FOLLOW GIRLS HOME" read the man's sign, as his mother opened the door.

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"--so anyway, I should probably get back to work, I guess...after you get home."

You rested your chin on Yuuji's shoulder as he piggy-backed you home, your shoes slung in one hand as he ambled, slowly zigzagging along the tree-lined street. Your eyes drooped, breathing in your new friend's soft, cosy smell, still occasionally giggling to yourself.

Arriving at your doorstep, Yuuji lowered you to the ground, and brought one hand up to awkwardly scratch the back of his head. His face blushed crimson when you leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. He grinned, shuffling sweetly, bidding you goodnight, but hesitating. You bit your lip, head tipped, waiting. Yuuji didn't get the hint, turning to walk away.

"Hey, my hero. All that, and I don't get your number?"

Yuuji's smile could have split rainclouds.

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Higuruma waiting on the ceiling above the office door like

Coming next: Gojo Satoru, Fushiguro Toji, Toge Inumaki, Fushiguro Megumi and Kugisaki Nobara.

[burnorgetburned]

EVEN MORE CLARA DOLL DETAILS:

So you know how the Dolls have their own distinctive clothes?

Guess who else has their own distinctive clothes!

That’s right. The multiple Homuras are actually Clara Dolls.

And that’s why ‘Homura’ is smiling.

Here they are! The one with the striped hat is Nekura (Gloominess or Pessimism) and the one with the flower is Mie (Vanity).

Here’s their descriptions from the art book.

[The second one to come was Gloominess. Walking out with a tapping sound, she sneered at Good-for-Nothing. “This is Good-for-Nothing! How very unbecoming.” These dolls are only disciples of Freedom, and are devoted to their lust for it.]

[The tenth to come running is Vanity. She exaggeratedly avoids Good-for-Nothing's head and says a few words. “I wouldn't be able to bear dirtying my cape with that sticky blood!” These dolls make fun of the witch's self-mutilation.]

Good-for-Nothing is Homura, by the way, but the Clara Dolls seem to consider Good-for-Nothing to be good for something after all after she splits Madoka. She turns into the Devil, and the Clara Dolls are stated to be “okay” with the Devil. If the young voices in the trailer belong to the Clara Dolls, then they also call her “Akuma-sama” now. Something like Mistress Devil, implying a sense of respect.

[… if they are not summoned, they will simmer. There are orders they will comply with, and also orders they will disobey. What they are and the witch herself's own magic are not well understood.]

At the end of Rebellion, Homura gave Madoka her ribbon back. She declared that they might become enemies in the end. Honestly, I thought that Homura would try her best to avoid Madoka entirely. The trailer suggested that Homura was meeting Madoka, though. Here’s the answer: it wasn’t Homura herself, but Gloominess, who wants freedom.

Now, I’m not sure how this situation works out. Do Clara Dolls have free will? Are they obeying Homura’s orders? Acting out Homura’s true emotions? Is Homura perhaps directly puppeteering them in order to fulfill her goals, or do they act on their own?

I find it likely that it’s a mix of both: some of them obey her, and some of them will try and fulfill her (probably very conflicting) desires, as familiars usually do. Gloominess is likely part of Homura who wants the freedom to talk to Madoka, for example, but Vanity seems to me like a Clara Doll who is obeying Homura. After all, she still needs magical girls to fight wraiths, at least until she finds a way to wipe them out.

[I'm Vanity (Mie). I'm pushing myself to the limit for someone.] And she is, of course. All of the theatrics, the calls, the organization of magical girls. These are things that Vanity is shown to engage in. All of this is for Madoka.

We see with Gloominess, at least, that she seems to be fulfilling a specific desire: in the background are white spider lilies. Instead of the red spider lilies that mean death, final goodbyes, and lost love, white spider lilies mean a hope for the future and a fresh start. Maybe this really is the first meeting for these two in a while, and she wants to be friends again?

Or maybe, being Gloominess, she wants to warn her about something.

[I'm Gloominess (Nekura). Forcing smiles tires me out.]

Then there’s this Homura.

Nothing about her clothes is very different. She is wearing ribbons as Homura in the wraith universe does, but look closely: the ribbons are different. They have some wavy stripes on them, while Madoka’s ribbons are plain. She does not correspond to any known Clara Doll.

However, there’s mentioned to be a fifteenth Clara Doll that is not yet born: Ai, representing love. This could be her. Is it love for others? Or love for herself? I’m hoping it’s the latter, but very likely it’s love for Madoka and her friends. This would explain why she’s trying to fight Homucifer in the poster, as Homura believes that she’s a danger to everyone else.

How can this be? Well, here’s a few options:

- The Clara Dolls are grown-up familiars. They ate souls, and they became a copy of their witch. This is a process that was explained to us in the original series, where some magical girls are stated to farm familiars by letting them eat people so that they would grow souls/grief seeds.

- The Clara Dolls are not familiars, or wraiths, but instead a secret third thing. “What they are and the witch’s own magic are not well understood”, as said in the Rebellion art book. They could be magical constructs of a different kind, but I do think that this would get into overcomplicated explanations quickly, so I favor the familiar explanation.

- The Clara Dolls could be familiars, but instead of eating souls they’re simply powerful enough to change their shape. Their strength is equal to the strength of a magical girl…. when Homura was a witch, before Homura became something more. It could also be energy from the contracts making them stronger. Maybe it’s me being sentimental, but I don’t like the idea of Homura letting anyone’s soul be nommed on.

Now, before there’s a panic about how they’ll juggle fifteen extra characters, here’s a few thoughts:

- Just because they seem different doesn’t mean they’re actually different. It might be that the Clara Dolls are a way for Homura to present herself. As Vanity, she might show off more, or have dramatic flourishes like her throne and her dress. As Gloominess, it might be that she doesn’t believe that her plans will work, so she tries to do what makes her happy. It’s likely that the Clara Dolls are just extra ways to explore Homura’s character. They’re parts of her soul, after all, and right now she is extremely powerful. She might simply want to keep her true self away from humans.

- They could work like projections. Homura wants more bodies to work with, but she has to filter herself through the Dolls’ personalities. This could result in a lot of juicy character interactions, as the things she tries to keep hidden are closer to the surface.

- Will ‘Ai/Mystery Homura’ fight against Devil Homura? Very likely! How can this be when they’re the same person? Well, who hates Homura more than Homura? That’s right. Nobody. Anyone can fight and argue with their self, it’s just usually not on the level that a reality-warper like Homura can manage.

If this is true, there’s plenty of interesting directions they can take it.

- Because the Clara Dolls have a degree of separation from Homura, they can show other characters things that Homura herself has ignored or locked away. Bad memories, affection for her friends, the resentment she must feel - everything from concern to a cry for help can be plausibly shown through them as the actors.

- Manuke (Stupidity) is specifically more naive/sincere than the others. Maybe interacting with this Doll would show the Quintet that there’s something more going on than a Devil who wants to hurt other people.

- If Ai represents a love for other people, Ai can have a strange character arc where she learns to value Homura/herself, and become self-love.

- On the other hand, Ai can represent self-love from the start, and because Homura looks very fucking unhealthy in the trailer, she only wants to stop her because she’s hurting herself. This option plays into the themes of self-sacrifice and happiness, which I believe to be some of the major themes that they’re going for.

- The poster could be misleading and Ai ends up fighting everyone but Homura. I find this the funniest option.

- Homura can hug herself. It’s possible. In fact, every character can hug Homura 15 different times.

Smiles are a Clara Doll’s default expression. We have yet to see Homura smile for real.

Is this going to get very ambiguous and confusing? Probably. But rewatching for details was the fun part in Rebellion, so I’m looking forward to it!

[alesandraelin]

𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚘 - 𝙾𝚗𝚊 𝙱𝚊𝚝𝚕𝚕𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Description: Y/n Bonmati and Ona Batlle have just moved back to Barcelona after their stints in opposite sides of Manchester, can they keep their relationship hidden?

*google translated spanish*

The summer sun bathed Barcelona in a golden glow as Y/n Bonmati stepped onto the lush green pitch of the Barcelona training grounds. It had been a whirlwind few weeks since she and her girlfriend Ona Batlle had returned to FC Barcelona Femeni, their beloved home club where their football journeys began. Y/n, who had made her name at Manchester City, and Ona, a star at Manchester United, had decided to come back to Barcelona.

"Finally back." Y/n breathed the Catalan air in deeply as her head fell onto Ona's shoulder as they watched the sun set over the pitch they hadn't trained on in years but loved so much.

"Finally home." Ona smiled as y/n's head fell comfortably onto her shoulder, she pressed a kiss into her girlfriend's temple as they sat on the turf.

Their love had blossomed quietly over the years, starting with shared glances on the field and late-night conversations after tough matches. It had been a secret kept tightly between them, not out of shame but out of a desire for privacy in a world where their every move was scrutinized. Now, back in Barcelona, they hoped to breathe freely again.

But old habits die hard, and the fear of judgment lingered. Especially from Y/n’s older sister, Aitana Bonmati. The midfielder had been the main pillar of support in Y/n’s life from when she just began at a grass roots club to when she joined La Masia, the Barcelona B team and then when she went to Manchester for experience. Aitana was perceptive, her eyes sharp and her intuition keen. Y/n feared her sister’s reaction the most, worried that their revelation might strain their close bond.

Their first few days back were a whirlwind of training sessions and team bonding activities. Y/n and Ona stole glances and brief touches whenever they could, their love simmering just beneath the surface as they navigated the watchful eyes of their teammates. The couple had made the decisions to have two apartments close enough to each other they could walk over at any point and stay there so that team mates and family who came over wouldn't question them living together, let alone sharing a bed.

The team decided that it should be Ona who would host team bonding night, Alexia really just wanted to see if the apartment hadn't been destroyed already. Y/n was already sitting on Ona's couch in an old Manchester city tracksuit when the rest of their teammates started making their way through the door to the apartment, loudly disrupting the young girls attempt to sleep.

"It is not time to sleep pequeña, we are here to have fun." Y/n was startled as Patri creeped behind and grabbed her shoulders.

"You only get louder Patricia." Y/n huffs, giving her friend a playful frown before pulling her down into a hug. "Missed you amiga."

"Good to have you back chica." Patri let her go and sat on a seat next to Pina.

The loud laughs of the older girls talking to Ona had Y/n turning her head. "Are you sure you haven't broken or burnt down something yet Oni? The place looks to... clean." Alexia questions Ona with raised eyebrows and a smirk.

Y/n engages in many conversations with the girls she grew up with in the academy as well as the girls she had never met throughout the night. She met Mapi's girlfriend Ingrid, who was super tall by the way and Ingrid's good friend Frido who was even taller. She caught up with her big sister who was currently the favourite to win the ballon d'or after her performance last season and during the World Cup the sister won together.

As it got later, the girls started to say their goodbyes and go back home. Aitana approached her little sister offering to take her back home. "It is alright Tana, I'm staying overnight with Ona, it's tradition to sleep over before we start the season remember." Y/n makes the excuse, reminding the older sister of the times y/n and Ona slept over at each others houses before the seasons began when in the youth teams.

"Only if you are sure hermana, te amo." Aitana said slightly suspicious but still said her goodbyes to her sister and Ona before heading home.

As all their guests had left, y/n let out a dramatic sigh and sat back down on the couch tiredly. Ona quickly joined her girlfriend, pulling y/n's legs over her lap before pressing a kiss to y/n's lips which she returned. "Come on amor, we have training tomorrow, bed time now."

"Yes please." Y/n replied, her girlfriend picking her up and taking them to bed to replenish before their first training session back with the team.

The next morning, under the bright Catalan sun, the team gathered for a rigorous training session. Jonatan gave instructions with his usual blend of authority and encouragement, setting the tone for the day’s drills. Y/n and Ona found themselves on the same team during a scrimmage, giving each other a smirk as they grabbed their bibs.

The scrimmage began the play went back and forth, Ona intercepting passes and y/n attempting to build forward on the wings. One mistake from Salma gave Ona the ball, she spotted y/n with wide space, the rest of the players being marked, she expertly delivered y/n the ball and the other team's defenders scrambled to keep up withy y/n. Y/n was one on one with Sandra who was that light bit off her line giving her the opportunity. She brang her foot back and gave the ball a powerful strike, ending in the back of the net.

Ona instantly came up to her girlfriend and pressed a kiss to her head and patted her back as the game continued. The interaction raised the eyebrows of Alexia, Patri, Mapi, Ingrid and Marta. Aitana's eyebrows furrowed slightly as she saw the kiss but brushed it off, the couple were nothing more than best friends in her eyes, they had always been that way.

Later that afternoon, during a break in training, Y/n and Ona found a quiet spot by the sidelines. Ona leaned against the fence, catching her breath, while Y/n stood beside her, a smile playing on her lips.

“You were brilliant out there,” Y/n complimented, brushing a stray lock of hair from Ona’s forehead.

Ona grinned, her eyes sparkling with pride. “You weren’t bad yourself, Bonmati. You always know how to surprise me.”

Y/n chuckled softly, leaning closer. “It’s all part of my plan to keep you on your toes.”

Ona’s laughter mingled with the sounds of the training ground, a melody that echoed the joy they felt in each other’s presence. She reached for Y/n’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m glad we’re back here,” Ona confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” Y/n admitted, her gaze softening as she met Ona’s eyes. “It feels like we’re finally where we belong.” Their moment was interrupted by the approach of their teammates, laughter and banter filling the air. Y/n and Ona reluctantly let go of each other’s hands.

The whistle blew, marking the end of a thrilling match at Estadi Johan Cruyff. FC Barcelona Femeni had secured a decisive victory against Levante, thanks in part to Y/n Bonmati’s stellar performance – a goal scored and a perfectly executed assist to Caro that sealed the win. The stadium erupted in applause, fans chanting their names as the players made their way off the field.

Amidst the jubilation, Y/n and Ona Batlle lingered on the sidelines, caught up in the adrenaline rush of the game and the sweet taste of victory. Ona’s eyes sparkled with pride as she watched Y/n interact with their teammates, her heart swelling with admiration for the woman beside her.

"You played so well amor, it's like we never left." Ona said in y/n's ear, her mouth against her ear and her hands around the winger's waist.

"You did too cariño, so good to be back." y/n replied as she melted into the older girl's touch. "Let's go back to the dressing room." The two walked down the tunnel with Ona's arm around her shoulder and y/n's wrapped around Ona's torso.

Ona, her eyes glowing with pride and affection, couldn't resist pulling Y/n into a passionate kiss, unable to contain her joy and love for the woman who had just shone so brightly on the pitch.

Their lips met in a tender embrace, the taste of victory mingling with the sweetness of their love. They lost themselves in each other, oblivious to the world outside the dressing room, their hearts beating in sync with the rhythm of their shared passion

Unbeknownst to them, Marta and Alexia had returned early from their post-match interviews. They rounded the corner into the dressing room, laughter dying on their lips as they caught sight of Y/n and Ona locked in a tender kiss.

Marta's eyes widened in surprise, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a gasp. Alexia stood frozen in place, her gaze alternating between the couple and the doorway, unsure of what to do next. The air crackled with tension as Y/n and Ona slowly pulled apart, their cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and affection.

"Marta, Alexia," Y/n stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. "We... um..."

"I think we know what's happening pequeña." Alexia laughed slightly as Ona scratched the back of her head embarrassed. Marta stifling her laughter.

"I knew it, Caro owes me 10 euros." Marta laughed triumphantly. "We had a feeling," Marta admitted, her voice gentle yet firm. "But seeing you both like this... It's clear how much you mean to each other."

Alexia nodded in agreement, her expression softening. "You don't have to explain yourselves, Y/n, Ona. We're happy for you."

Before Y/n could respond, the locker room door swung open, revealing the rest of the team. The players filed in, their voices mingling with the echoes of celebration from outside. Asisat and Caroline exchanged knowing glances, while Pina and Patri whispered excitedly to each other.

Mariona, always one for drama, gasped dramatically. "Well, well, well! What do we have here?"

Y/n and Ona exchanged a sheepish look, their cheeks burning with embarrassment. Aitana, standing beside Keira, smirked at her sister's red face.

“You’re together,” Aitana stated, her voice a mixture of surprise and understanding.

Y/n nodded, her gaze steady. “Yes, Aitana. Ona and I are together.”

A silence settled over them, broken only by the distant sounds of celebration from the stadium outside. Aitana studied her sister’s face, searching for any hint of doubt or hesitation. Instead, she found only a quiet resolve and a love that radiated from Y/n’s eyes.

After a moment that stretched into eternity, Aitana’s expression softened. She stepped forward, enveloping Y/n and Ona in a warm embrace. Tears pricked at the corners of Y/n’s eyes as relief flooded through her, the weight of secrecy finally lifted from her shoulders.

“I’m so happy for you both,” Aitana whispered, her voice filled with genuine joy. “You deserve every happiness hermana.” Aitana told her sister before looking to Ona. "And you, treat her good or else." Aitana tried to be intimidating as she looked up to Ona who stood a few inches taller.

"Don't worry Aita, she's mi amor, I will never hurt her." Ona laughed at her girlfriend's sister.

As the two lovers were left as the rest of the team changed out of their kits, they remained seated on the bench, arms wrapped around each other. "Te amo mucho Oni." Y/n whispered in Ona's ear.

Ona brought her head down to peck y/n's lips. "Te amo mucho más, cariño".

[imthebadguyyy]

my boy only breaks his favourite toys

pairing : charles leclerc x reader

fandom : f1

series : the tortured poets department

warnings : angst baby angst, no comfort here.

a/n : this broke my heart a little but oh well.

oh here we go again...

The late afternoon sun filtered through the large windows of the Monaco apartment, casting a golden hue over the modern, embellished living room. You and Charles  stood in the kitchen, a simmering tension between you.

"You know how important this event is to me, Charles," you said, your voice steady but with an edge of frustration. "I've been looking forward to it for weeks."

Charles sighed, running a hand through his tousled hair. "I know, and I'm sorry, but you know how demanding the F1 schedule is. I have commitments I can't get out of."

You crossed your arms, your eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh, here we go again," you muttered, more to yourself than to him. "Every time I have something important, it's always the same excuse."

Charles's eyes flashed with a mixture of guilt and frustration. "It's not an excuse, Y/N. This is my job. It's what I've worked for my entire life."

"And what about what I've worked for?" you shot back, your voice rising. "This event is a big deal for me, and it feels like you don't even care."

Charles stepped closer, his expression softening as he reached out to touch your arm. "That's not fair. I do care, deeply. But I can't just drop everything because our schedules clash."

You pulled away, taking a deep breath to steady yourself. "It feels like your career always comes first, Charles. I need you to be there for me too, just once."

He sighed, frustration giving way to a deep sadness in his eyes. "I want to be there for you, but I don't know how to balance everything."

You looked at him, your eyes filled with unshed tears. "Maybe it's time you figure out how, because I can't keep doing this. I need to know I'm important to you too."

Charles's face hardened slightly, a storm brewing in his eyes. "This again? You think I don't know how important you are? I can't be in two places at once, Y/N."

Your voice shook with emotion as you replied, "I'm not asking you to be perfect, Charles. I'm asking you to make an effort."

His frustration boiled over, his tone sharp. "I am making an effort! But you can't expect me to be there for every single event when I'm fighting for my career."

Your tears finally spilled over, your voice breaking. "I'm not asking for every single event. I'm asking for this one. But it seems like that's too much to ask."

Charles stared at you, his jaw clenched, before he turned away abruptly. "I can't do this right now," he muttered, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair.

"Where are you going?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"Out," he said curtly, not looking back as he headed for the door. "I need some air."

The door slammed behind him, leaving you standing alone in the quiet apartment, the echo of your argument hanging heavy in the air. You sank onto the couch, wrapping your arms around yourself, feeling a cold emptiness settle in your chest. The silence was deafening, and for the first time, you wondered if your love could withstand the strain of your clashing worlds.

rivulets descend my plastic smile...

The grand ballroom of the FIA Gala was adorned with sparkling lights and elegant decorations, a fitting venue for the prestigious event. You arrived on Charles's arm, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. As a famous singer, you were set to perform a song later in the evening, and the anticipation was palpable.

Charles looked dashing in his tailored suit, and he squeezed your hand reassuringly as you made your way through the crowd, greeting fellow drivers and attendees. You couldn't help but notice the pride in his eyes as he introduced you to his colleagues, but a small part of you hoped that pride would extend to your performance later.

As the evening progressed, you were called to the stage. The crowd applauded as you took your place at the microphone, the spotlight shining brightly on you. The music started, and you poured your heart into the song, your voice resonating through the grand hall.

But as you sang, your eyes scanned the audience, searching for Charles. When you found him, your heart sank. He wasn't watching your performance. Instead, he was at the bar, engrossed in conversation with a group of people, a drink in hand. He didn't even glance in your direction.

You fought to keep your composure, finishing the song with as much passion as you could muster. The crowd erupted in applause, but the hurt gnawed at you. As you stepped off the stage, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz, Alex Albon, and Pierre Gasly approached you, their expressions a mix of admiration and concern.

"That was incredible, Y/N," Lewis said, giving you a warm hug.

"Seriously, you were amazing," Carlos added, his smile genuine.

Alex and Pierre echoed their sentiments, but there was an undercurrent of awkwardness.

"We're sorry about Charles," Pierre said quietly, glancing towards the bar. "He should have been watching you."

You forced a smile, gratitude for their support mingling with the sting of Charles's neglect. "Thank you, guys. It means a lot."

After exchanging a few more pleasantries, you excused yourself, needing a moment to collect your thoughts. You made your way to the bathroom, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. Once inside, you locked the door behind you and leaned against the sink, the tears you'd been holding back finally spilling over.

The sound of the bustling gala outside was muted here, leaving you alone with your thoughts and your pain. You couldn't understand why Charles couldn't be there for you, why he couldn't even watch you perform for just a few minutes. The hurt and frustration were overwhelming, and you let yourself cry, the tears a cathartic release.

As you stood there, you wondered if this was something you could continue to endure. Being with someone who couldn't support you in the moments that mattered most was taking its toll. For now, though, you just needed to let the tears fall, hoping that somehow, things might get better.

but you should have seen him when he first saw me...

The apartment in Monaco was filled with the echoes of another heated argument. You were standing in the middle of the living room, tears streaming down your face, your voice rising with each word.

"Why can't you understand, Charles? I need you to be there for me! It's always about your career, your races, your commitments! This is the grammy's! the most important awards night ever! Why can't you make time for me?!" You screamed, the frustration and pain evident in every syllable.

Charles stood across from you, his face a mixture of anger and helplessness. "I do understand, Y/N, but you know how important my career is! I can't just drop everything whenever you need me!"

Your hands trembled as you wiped away the tears. "You should have seen you when you first saw me," you cried, your voice breaking. "You looked at me like I was the most important person in the world. Where did that go, Charles?"

The memory hit Charles like a punch to the gut, sending him back to the first time he saw you. It was at the Monza Grand Prix. He had just finished his race, the adrenaline still pumping through his veins, when he saw you standing near the paddock. You were talking animatedly with a friend, your smile lighting up the entire area.

Charles had stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his throat. He remembered how his teammates teased him about looking like a lovestruck puppy, but he couldn't help it. You were captivating, and he had been instantly drawn to you.

In the present, he struggled to reconcile that moment with the reality of the argument unfolding before him. "I remember," he said quietly, his voice filled with regret. "I remember how I felt when I first saw you. But things have changed, Y/N. The demands of my career... it's not easy."

"Things have changed because you let them," you shouted, the pain in your voice cutting through him. "You let your career come between us. You promised you'd be there for me, but you're never there when I need you."

Charles took a step towards you, reaching out, but you recoiled. "Don't, Charles. I'm tired of empty promises."

He dropped his hand, feeling the weight of your words. "I don't want to lose you," he said softly, his voice breaking.

"Then start showing it," you whispered, your tears flowing freely. "Because right now, I feel like I'm losing you."

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the unspoken fears and regrets that had been building between you. Charles stood there, torn between his love for you and the relentless demands of his career. And you, feeling the ache of his absence even when he was right in front of you, wondered if things would ever go back to how they once were.

Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, Charles turned and left the apartment, the door closing softly behind him. You sank to the floor, the tears coming harder now, the memories of better times a bittersweet reminder of what you had lost.

he saw forever so he smashed it up..

The soft glow of the bedside lamp cast a warm light over the room as you and Charles lay entwined under the covers, the quiet hum of the city outside barely audible. His arms were wrapped around you, his heartbeat a comforting rhythm against your back. It was one of those rare, peaceful moments when everything felt just right.

You turned slightly to face him, your head resting on his chest. "Charles," you began softly, tracing patterns on his skin with your fingertips, "do you ever think about our future? Like, where we might be in a few years?"

Charles's hand stilled on your back, and you felt his body tense slightly. The question hung in the air, and a heavy silence settled over the room. You waited, expecting him to respond with his usual confident assurance, but instead, there was only hesitance.

"Charles?" you prompted, your voice quieter now, a hint of uncertainty creeping in.

He shifted slightly, looking away as if searching for the right words. "I... I don't know, Y/N," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The silence that followed felt deafening. You tried to hide the sinking feeling in your chest, forcing a small smile as you looked up at him. "It's okay," you said, attempting to sound light-hearted. "We don't have to figure it all out right now."

But the emptiness inside you grew, a hollow ache that his words had planted there. You cuddled closer, burying your face in his chest, hoping the warmth of his embrace could fill the void. Yet, the unspoken truth lingered, a shadow over the moment of intimacy.

Charles held you tighter, as if trying to reassure both you and himself. But the hesitation in his response, the uncertainty in his eyes, left you feeling more alone than ever. You had wanted a glimpse of a shared future, a promise of what could be, but instead, you were left with doubts and questions.

As you lay there in his arms, you couldn't shake the feeling of loss, the odd emptiness that settled over you. The love you shared was real, but the future you hoped for seemed suddenly fragile, like a dream that might slip away at any moment.

ill tell you that he runs because he loves me...

The lively buzz of conversation filled the upscale restaurant as you sat with Charles and a group of fellow F1 drivers—Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz, Pierre Gasly, and Alex Albon. The evening had started well, laughter and camaraderie flowing easily around the table.

Charles had been in good spirits, joking and sharing stories, but after the main course, he excused himself to go to the bathroom. At first, you thought nothing of it, but as the minutes ticked by, the knot of anxiety in your stomach grew tighter.

Carlos glanced at you, his brow furrowing slightly. "Everything okay, Y/N?" he asked, his voice gentle.

You forced a smile, trying to appear unconcerned. "Yeah, he just went to the bathroom. He'll be back soon."

The conversation continued, but your eyes kept darting toward the hallway, hoping to see Charles returning. After what felt like an eternity, the worry and embarrassment began to creep in. You knew the other drivers were aware of the growing tension.

Lewis leaned closer, his expression kind but concerned. "Do you want to go check on him?"

You shook your head, swallowing hard. "No, it's fine. He runs because he loves me," you joked, trying to keep your voice steady. "He just needs a moment."

The table fell into an awkward silence. You could see the sympathy in their eyes, a silent acknowledgment that they understood more than they were letting on. It stung, their pity, but you held your head high, determined not to let your emotions show.

Pierre reached over, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. "We know he loves you, Y/N," he said softly.

Alex nodded in agreement, though his eyes mirrored the concern you felt. "Sometimes it’s just hard to see someone we care about struggle."

You nodded, biting your lip to keep the tears at bay. "Thanks, guys. I appreciate it."

Just as you began to lose hope, Charles finally reappeared, looking slightly disheveled but smiling as if nothing had happened. He slid back into his seat beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Sorry, I took so long," he said lightly. "I got caught up talking to someone."

You nodded, leaning into him, though your heart ached with the knowledge that something was off. The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the camaraderie tainted by the lingering unease.

As you all said your goodbyes and headed home, you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness. Charles held your hand, but the connection felt fragile, like a thread that might snap at any moment. The sympathy in the other drivers' eyes haunted you, a reminder that love alone might not be enough to bridge the growing distance between you.

he took me out my box...

The dim light of your bedroom lamp cast a soft glow over your face as you lay on your bed, your phone propped up on the pillow. Charles’s familiar features filled the screen, but there was a distance in his eyes that you couldn’t ignore. The nighttime quiet amplified the unspoken tension between you as you spoke quietly over FaceTime.

“So, how was your day?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation light.

Charles smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Busy, as usual. Lots of meetings and prep work for the next race.”

You nodded, offering a small smile in return. “I miss you. It feels like we haven’t really talked in ages.”

He glanced away for a moment, his attention seemingly captured by something offscreen. “Yeah, I miss you too,” he said absently, his focus clearly elsewhere.

The silence stretched, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness. You studied his face, searching for the spark that had once been so evident. Your mind drifted back to a time when things were different, when his love had been your anchor.

It was a little over a year ago, at a time when you were at your lowest. The world seemed bleak, and you had felt utterly lost. Charles had been there, though, in a way you never expected. He spent every day by your side, offering comfort and support. He made you laugh when all you wanted to do was cry, held you close when you felt like falling apart. It was during those dark days that he had fallen for you, his love a beacon of hope that guided you through the storm.

You remembered the gentle way he would look at you, as if you were the most precious thing in the world. He would bring you your favorite tea, sit with you in silence when words were too much, and remind you every day of your worth and strength. It was those moments that made you fall in love with him, his unwavering presence and the way he seemed to understand your pain.

“Do you remember when we first started dating?” you asked softly, breaking the silence.

Charles’s eyes flickered back to you, a hint of confusion in his expression. “Of course I do,” he replied. “Why do you ask?”

You hesitated, trying to find the right words. “I was just thinking about how much you were there for me when I was going through a tough time. You spent your days looking after me, making sure I was okay. It meant the world to me.”

His face softened slightly, a small sigh escaping his lips. “Yeah, I remember. You needed someone, and I wanted to be that person for you.”

Your heart ached at his words, knowing how far things had drifted. “I needed you then, and I still need you now, Charles. I miss how close we used to be.”

He looked at you, the conflict evident in his eyes. “I’m still here, Y/N. Things are just... different now.”

The emptiness you had been trying to ignore settled heavily in your chest. “I know. It just feels like we’re growing apart, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Charles remained silent, his gaze dropping to the floor. The connection that had once been so strong now felt fragile and tenuous.

“I love you, Charles,” you whispered, hoping to bridge the gap between you.

He looked back up at you, his expression weary. “I love you too, Y/N. I really do.”

But as the call ended and the screen went dark, you couldn’t shake the feeling of loss that lingered. The memories of better times clashed with the present reality, leaving you with a deep sense of longing for the man who had once been your everything.

im queen, of sand castles he destroys...

The tension in the air was suffocating as you and Charles stood locked in a heated argument, words flying like arrows, each one piercing deeper than the last. His face was contorted with anger, his fists clenched at his sides, and in a moment of blind rage, he reached out and grabbed the grammy award from the shelf.

"No, Charles, don't!" you cried out, but it was too late. With a violent motion, he hurled the award to the ground, the sound of shattering glass filling the room.

You gasped, the shock of his actions leaving you momentarily speechless. Tears stung your eyes as you stared at the broken pieces of your prized possession, a symbol of your hard work and dedication. Anger surged through you, hot and fierce, but it was quickly replaced by a cold, numbing emptiness.

"You... you destroyed it," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles's chest heaved with exertion, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and regret. "I don't care," he spat out, his voice dripping with venom. "I'm sick of pretending like everything's fine when it's not. I can't stand being with you anymore."

The weight of his words crashed down on you like a tidal wave, leaving you reeling in disbelief. He had shattered more than just an award; he had shattered your trust, your love, everything you had built together.

Without a word, you turned away from him, your heart heavy with grief and betrayal. You couldn't bear to look at him any longer, couldn't bear to see the man you had once loved reduced to this. With trembling hands, you reached for your phone, dialing a number you never thought you'd have to call.

"Hello?" a voice answered on the other end.

"Mom," you choked out, tears streaming down your face. "Can you come over? I need you."

As you hung up the phone, you felt Charles's eyes boring into your back, but you refused to turn around. The damage had been done, irreparable and irreversible. And as you heard him storm out of the room, you knew that this was the end.

when I fix me, he's gonna miss me...

The stage was set, the crowd buzzing with anticipation as you stood under the bright lights, microphone in hand. Your heart raced with nervous excitement, knowing that tonight would be a turning point in your career. As the music swelled and the spotlight found you, you took a deep breath and began to speak.

"Thank you all for being here tonight," you said, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. "I have some exciting news to share with you all."

The audience leaned in, hanging on your every word as you made the announcement they had been waiting for. "I'm thrilled to announce that I'll be releasing a new album," you declared, a smile spreading across your face as cheers erupted from the crowd. "And not only that, but I'll be dropping the lead single tonight."

As the excitement built to a crescendo, you couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. This was your moment, your chance to take control of your narrative and reclaim your power. With a sense of purpose, you raised the microphone to your lips once more.

"The lead single is titled 'My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys'," you announced, your voice ringing out clear and strong. "And to the boy who broke all his favorite toys and my fucking heart, this is one big fuck you from me to you."

The words hung in the air, charged with emotion and defiance. There was a collective gasp from the audience, followed by a thunderous applause that seemed to shake the rafters. In that moment, you knew you had struck a chord, tapping into a universal truth that resonated with people far and wide.

As you launched into the song, pouring your heart and soul into every word, you felt a sense of liberation wash over you. This was your anthem, your battle cry, and you sang it with a fierce intensity that left no doubt in anyone's mind that you were taking back control of your life.

And when the performance went viral, spreading like wildfire across social media and capturing the hearts of millions, you knew that you had made the right choice. You had turned your pain into power, your heartbreak into art, and in doing so, you had found a strength within yourself that you never knew existed.

a/n : thanks for reading! as always comments likes reblogs feedback etc is always appreciated 🤍

TAGS

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charles : - @chanshintien @eternalharry @janeholt3 @magicalcowboyarbiter @oneafterdark @leclerc13 @moon-enthusiast @crlsummer @superlegend216 @electrobutterfly @formula1mount @f1lov3r @livsters @inkfablesandstories @ssararuffoni

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[all-purpose-dish-soap]

1.6k / 19 / same continuity as TF141's free use medic

...

Soap steps inside the makeshift saferoom with you and slams the door behind him. He looks down at you, his eyes hot and aggressive from combat moments before. You'd heard him loose all kinds of insults and frankly brutal threats on the enemy soldiers after they'd almost managed to get ahold of you. Even now, with both of you relatively safe and the room clear, you know the adrenaline will take time to run its course in his system.

He sees the look you're giving him. "What?" he snaps. "Got a problem? Want me a little less loose with my tongue? Maybe you ought to be, considering all the things I could say right now."

You set your jaw, patience short. "Yeah? Say it."

"Well," he says, "let's say I think it's bloody embarrassing that you've been acting like a moody little twat ever since we left the bird."

You cross your arms. "Yeah? So what?"

"So I think you should stop acting like a goddamn child before you make me put you over my knee."

nsfw ⬇

"You're the one who wanted to come this way. I told you not to."

"And I said that I was coming anyway," he snaps, leaning closer to you so that your faces are only a few inches apart. "I'm startin' to think that might've been a mistake."

You stand your ground against him, hot, self-righteous anger simmering under your skin. "What was your first fucking clue?"

"I think the real question," Johnny says, his temper rising as well, "is why I still waste my time on the likes of you."

"Because all you care about is getting your dick wet," you snap. "And you're too lazy to buy a fucking fleshlight."

His head snaps back a little at your reply. His expression darkens. "And all you care about is making people miserable just because you're so goddamn miserable yourself, huh?"

"Yeah. That must be it." You can't deny the spark this is lighting in your gut, either. It's like you need the catharsis.

His eyes travel slowly over your body before he leans back a little, looking you up and down. His expression is still murky, but there's something like interest there. "So you're just gonna stand there and talk like that? Is that what you want to do?"

"Depends," you snap. "Are you just gonna let me keep baiting you, or are you gonna shut me up?"

His expression seems to grow more intense for a few seconds, and then, without warning, his hand tangles in your hair and his mouth presses against yours. He kisses you roughly, aggressively, groping you roughly under your uniform.

You growl into his mouth, feeling his hands on you. It's rough, but you want it rougher. "Is that all?" you hiss. "Do you even want to fuck?"

"That all you want me for?" he barks. He grabs your wrists and pulls you in close. His eyes flick up and down your body, taking in every curve, before he leans down again and whispers roughly in your ear. "And let's not get it twisted here," he adds, his voice low. "Much as I like it when you act like a little tease, I came here to fuck you. So shut up and let me do it how I want."

Before you can retort, he grabs your waist hard and pushes you against the wall. He slides one hand into your uniform, grinding the heel of his palm against your core. You groan through gritted teeth.

He chuckles. "That's more like it."

With his free hand, he grabs your chin and pulls your head back so he can meet your eyes again. "Tell the truth," he says, breathing hard. "Are you being a brat on purpose so I'll be rougher with ya?"

You feel yourself get wet immediately at that and press your thighs together. "Maybe."

The corner of his mouth twitches. "You really are a fucking troublemaker, aren't you?" He suddenly releases your chin and jerks the neckline of your uniform down, exposing your breasts and nearly tearing the fabric as he kneels down between your legs. Your breath hitches as he starts suckling on your nipple, eliciting a whimper from you.

"Soap, we... we don't have much time."

He hums around your nipple, pulling it gently. "Don't you dare go changin' your tune now, hen," he warns, his voice like gravel. "Not when you were just beggin’ for it so hard." He undoes your pants and slides his hand back in, reaching for your panties and ripping them aside. He slides two fingers inside you, and you gasp. "Not when you're already so fucking wet."

He works you over until you're arching into him, your knee tucked under his arm and the soft flesh of your tits pressed into his teeth.

He smiles wickedly. "Oh, I thought ye were a brat, but now..." He licks along the tendons in your neck, moving up to your mouth. "Now I think you're openin' right up for me." He kisses you deeply, his tongue pushing past your lips. His fingers move faster, his need driving him faster and rougher.

The comm on your neck crackles to life. You bite down on a moan just in time to hear Graves' voice in your ear. The static jolts you back to awareness. You're standing in a dark room, mid-mission, coming apart in Soap's hands.

"This is Shadow 0-1," Graves says. "Encountering trouble reaching rendezvous point." There's a beat of silence as you bite your lip, not trusting yourself to speak. "... Do you copy?"

Soap's fingers slow but don't still inside you. "Copy that, Shadow 0-1. Anyone hurt?"

"Negative," Graves replies. "Just finding an alternative route. Assuming you two are making your way just fine. How's our little medic?"

You see deep irritation flash through Soap's eyes when Graves says that. You're not sure why Graves gets such satisfaction out of flirting with you in front of your team. You just know Soap's nerves are raw and his patience is razor-thin at this point in the mission.

"I'm fine," you say quickly. "We're close to the rendezvous point. How long will you be?"

"Not long at all, sweetheart," Graves replies. You hate that your cheeks heat up immediately.

"We'll be there in ten minutes,” Soap interject, sharp and strained. He glares at you. "And we'll be keepin' our voices low."

Your heart hammers in your chest as you hear Graves chuckle lightly over the comm. “Understood. She's in good hands, right, Soap?”

Soap switches his comm off, muttering something about that bloody fuckin' idiot under his breath. Then he shifts his focus back to you.

"Soap--"

"Felt you clench up just then. Don't act like you didn't."

You ignore that, pushing on his shoulders even though he doesn't budge. "We should keep going. We need to stay focused."

His grip only tightens around you. "Focus, my arse."

He shoves his fingers into you roughly again. You cry out in surprise, your head hitting the wall behind you as your body spasms. He redoubles his speed. Your hands hit the wall, almost climbing it in your haste to regain some semblance of control. Your thighs clench and twitch with the sudden, intense pleasure his rough fingertips send through your every nerve ending.

Soap's voice is hot on your chest. "Still likin' this, hm?" His fingers drag your inner walls tortuously. "Still want to cum?"

Yeah, and you hate how close he has you to cumming already. You've been too fucking pent up. Dealing with Soap's bullshit, even when he's not inside you, just makes it worse.

He starts to slow down and you buck your hips into him impatiently. You reach for his belt, but he pushes your hand away. You curse and slide your hand to your clit instead. "Let me cum on your cock already," you grit out. You're not sure what's making you more desperate to finish--your body's urges or the urgency in the front of your mind to get to the rendezvous point.

"I wouldn't want to do that," Soap murmurs against your shoulder, his breath warm and ragged. "Not until I'm good and ready." A smirk seeps into his voice as he rubs deeper, grinding against your clit as you're trying to work it yourself. The pleasure jolts through you like lightning, and you bite back another cry. "You don't call the shots here, hen. I do." 

"You're not my--" Your protests are cut off by a gasp as he thrusts hard again, driving you closer to the edge. 

"Might have a whole team to patch up once we get there," he murmurs, nipping at your earlobe. "They'll need their medic back in tip-top shape, won't they?" 

He pulls out abruptly, leaving you panting and cursing.

"Soap-- fuck--"

As you struggle to catch your breath, Soap fixes your clothes. There's a dark look in his eyes and a smirk on his face. You know instantly he was waiting until he felt you on the very edge of your orgasm--could feel your walls tightening up on his finger--before pulling out. He wanted to get you that close to the edge and leave you frustrated.

He refastens the last buttons on your shirt and leans in close to your ear again. "Next time, don't engage with that asshole." He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. "But don't worry... I'll take care of you later. Let's move out. Wouldn't want to keep your man Graves waiting."

...

more Soap / more multi-141 and poly 141 / masterlist tag

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

Never Say Never| Pt1

Warnings: Cursing

Pt2 Pt3 Pt4

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You and Hyunjin had always been a passionate couple, with emotions running high in both good and bad times. It was something that you had yearned for- being in a relationship as passionate as a gasoline fueled flame; but in time you had realized what you had was both a blessing and a curse.

The day had started out like any other, but a simmering tension had been building up for weeks, ready to boil over.

Simple things had been irritating you both, yet you were too afraid to communicate those things in fear of causing issues.

You had just returned home from running some errands when you noticed the look on Hyunjin's face as he stared intently at something on the screen of his phone.

"Hey, I'm back," you called out, placing your bag on the kitchen counter. You had left the dorms earlier to run out and pick up a few things you intended to use to cook the guys dinner, running to a few other places as well throughout the late morning until early evening.

Hyunjin didn't respond right away, his side turned to you as he scrolled through his phone. You sensed something was off but decided to ignore it for now, too anxious of a person to start confrontations.

"How was your day?" you asked, trying to keep the mood light.

He turned around, a frown creasing his forehead. "Did you see this?" he asked, showing you an article from Dispatch.

You glanced at the screen and sighed. "Yeah, I saw it. They're always making up rumors and releasing things. You know that." The headline read:

STRAY KIDS HYUNJIN DATING FOREIGN NON-IDOL?

Hyunjin's frustration was palpable. "It's not just rumors this time, Y/N. They have photos of us together, and they're saying you're a distraction to my career." He rushed a hand through his hair. "And this isn't the first time its happened. Remember when you took my Instagram pictures but forget to edit your reflection out of the mirror? Thankfully it was just your shoulder, but you've put us in multiple situations because of stupid mistakes you make. Like the photo in the article-" He shows his phone to you. "Everyone knew I was doing an isolated photoshoot. None of the other members were there and I said you could come but to be careful when leaving so you aren't seen at the shooting scene. But rather you aren't careful and they have a picture of you in my varsity jacket."

You sigh in frustration. "Hyunjin, they don't even know what my face looks like! I always wear a hat and glasses and a mask and clothes that cover me up. I don't see the big deal in people speculating you being in a relationship! Just ignore it and it'll die down." You turn to go put some of the groceries away but Hyunjin spoke.

"I wasn't finished Y/N. You seem to think its that easy. I'm supposed to look desirable - attainable Y/N. I have to live the life of a bachelor even if it isn't the case."

You turn at the sound of his voice. You don't know if it was the flippant tone he used while saying something so dismissive or if it was because of how fed up you were of hiding but you scoffed.

You felt a mix of anger and hurt. "So, what? Am I not supposed to be around you because you need to feed into people's delusions? Are you expecting me to sit at home and pretend like we're nothing more than just two people who have mutual feelings but can't act on them because of fanservice? All because of a tabloid article?"

He ran a hand through his hair again, clearly agitated. "It's not that simple. My career is on the line here. The fans, the company—they all have expectations."

Your temper flared. "And what about my expectations, Hyunjin? Does that not matter?"

Hyunjin's eyes flashed with frustration. "Of course it matters, but we have to be realistic. You- this could ruin everything I've worked for."

You laughed humorlessly at Hyunjin's slip up. "So...me loving you is ruining your career?" You licked your lips and then puckered them in thought. "Makes sense. considering I was the one who said yes to your advances." Your voice has a biting sarcasm to it.

"Y/N don't start. You knew what you were getting into- I warned you about dating an idol."

You threw your hands up in exasperation. "This wouldn't even be an issue if you just disclosed our relationship! How many times have we had to sneak around and hide like we're doing something wrong? And you didn't warn me about this. Matter of fact you warned me about how people would act knowing you were in a relationship. They don't know shit Hyunjin, because you have yet to tell anyone other than the members about us. And they wouldn't have found out so quickly if it wasn't for Jisung being nosy and following you."

He scoffed. "Its common sense. You've lived here long enough to know not all relationships are disclosed right away. "

"You gave me the impression that you were going to inform people! It's been a year, Hyunjin! A fucking year."

"You know it's not that simple. Disclosing our relationship could have serious repercussions. I could lose everything I've worked for."

Your voice rose in frustration. "And what about me? Do you know how it feels to be kept a secret? To constantly worry about getting caught, about being labeled as a distraction or worse? Getting doxxed? At least if you told people they could be warned of legal reprecussions! Or maybe they would feel inclined to love someone their idol loves just out of decency. Not labeling us as a couple to the public is making things worse. Its making it hard for me-"

Hyunjin took a step closer, his frustration evident. "Do you think this is easy for me? I have to think about my career, my future. It's not just about us!" His voice was sharp and there was a hint of something underlying you weren't sure you had ever heard before.

You felt tears of anger and hurt welling up. "So, what? Am I just supposed to sit here and accept that I'll always come second to your career?"

He shook his head, his voice rising. "That's not what I'm saying. But you have to understand, this is my life. This is what I've worked so hard for. I can't just throw it all away."

"But you don't realize doing all of that is just slowly throwing me away?"

The argument escalated quickly, with both of you hurling accusations and past grievances at each other. Each word was a dagger, cutting deeper and deeper. And if emotions were blood you would have been dead by now.

"You never appreciate what I sacrifice for us," you shouted, tears streaming down your face. Your throat hurt from the past few minutes of the screaming match you and Hyunjin had been in. "I'm constantly worrying, constantly hiding! And for what?!"

Hyunjin's voice was equally loud, the frustration palpable. "And you think I don't make sacrifices?! Playing damage control all the fucking time! I'm getting tired!"

The room felt suffocating, the air thick with unspoken hurts and unresolved issues. The argument had spiraled out of control, touching every sore spot in your relationship.

"You know what, Hyunjin?" you said, your voice trembling with emotion. "Maybe we need some time apart."

His face fell, shock replacing the anger. "Are you serious?"

"Yes," you replied, feeling a strange mix of relief and heartbreak. "I can't do this anymore. I don't want to fight with you-"

Hyunjin's expression hardened. "I should have never asked you out in the first place. I guess I'm finally free from that mistake."

That sentence hung in the air, a cruel echo of his frustration and regret. The final blow to an already fragile situation.

You had intended for this to spark a moment of calm, so you could both take sometime to gather your thoughts and talk things out civilly rather than pierce each other.

You hadn't expected it go anything farther than that. Not a breakup.

You felt your heart shatter, and without another word, you turned and left the apartment. Tears streamed down your face as you walked away, leaving behind the life you had built together.

The immediate aftermath was a blur. You found yourself at your best friend's place, seeking solace and trying to make sense of what had just happened. The pain was overwhelming, and every memory of Hyunjin felt like a knife to your heart. Your friend welcomed you with open arms, offering a shoulder to cry on and a place to stay, since they doubted that you'd want to be where Hyunjin knew you'd be.

They made you a cup of tea and sat with you on the couch. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You shook your head, the words stuck in your throat. "Not right now."

Your best friend nodded understandingly. "Take your time. I'm here for you. Whether you want to cry or be angry. Punch things, break things. Whatever makes you feel better. But for right now I'm gonna take this." They gently took your phone from your hands, entering your password and blocking the sultry eyed boy; already sensing that this turn of events wasn't a kind one.

Meanwhile, Hyunjin was left alone in dorms, staring at the space where you had stood before. Regret and anger battled within him, and he found himself replaying the argument over and over in his mind. He sat on the couch, head in his hands, wondering how things had gone so wrong. The words he had said echoed in his mind, each repetition amplifying his regret. "I should have never asked you out."

He knew he didn't mean it, but the damage was done. The love of his life had walked out the door, and he was left to face the consequences of his words.

He sat there ruminating on it, feeling his anger slowly melt away and turn into immense guilt and then a deep sadness that spurred an onslaught of tears when he heard the members arrive and Jeongin's voice ring out asking what you had made them for dinner.

Days turned into weeks and the void you left in his life grew more apparent with each passing day. He missed your laugh, your presence, the way you made everything feel better. But he also knew that the words he had said couldn't be taken back.

You, too, were struggling. The pain of the breakup was a constant companion, and you found it hard to focus on anything else. Your friends tried to comfort you, but nothing seemed to fill the emptiness you felt inside.

One evening, as you sat in your best friend's living room, staring at the boxes of the last few belongings you had yet to unpack in your new shared home. You couldn't help but think back to all the good times you and Hyunjin had shared. The way he used to make you breakfast in bed when you'd spend the night at the dorms, the late-night talks,. when you were and the spontaneous adventures you took- specifically the ones that were far from the public gaze where you didn't have to worry about hiding. It all seemed so distant now, yet so vivid.

BSF/N noticed your pensive mood and sat down beside you. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes. "I miss him. I don't want to but I do. Its been months shouldn't I be over him?"

"You need to move on love. There are plenty of people who can love you better than he ever did." Your best friend stated with the conviction only that of an angry bestie could hold. "He may have been good but you can find better than that coward." You nodded along, grateful for your friend's unwavering support, but still fostering that seed of pain.

Hyunjin was grappling with his own feelings of regret and longing. He often found himself staring at his phone, contemplating whether to call you or text you. Even if he knew you had more than likely blocked him. He didn't dare text, because he didn't want to see the tangible answer to his biggest worry.

So instead threw himself into his work, using his busy schedule to distract himself from the gnawing emptiness. Rehearsals, recording sessions, and performances became his refuge. Yet, every time he stepped off stage or left the studio, the loneliness crept back in causing an ineffable ache throughout his entire being.

His friends and groupmates noticed the change in him. He was more withdrawn, quieter, his usual spark dimmed.

"Hey, you okay?" Felix asked one evening as they wrapped up practice. "You've been pretty out of it lately."

Hyunjin forced a smile. "Yeah, just tired."

Felix didn't look convinced but nodded anyway. "If you ever want to talk, you know I'm here, right? You never...really told us what happened...we want to be here to support you, you know?"

"Thanks," Hyunjin muttered, his thoughts already drifting back to you.

Nights were the hardest for the both of you. Alone in the quiet darkness, memories of Hyunjin haunted you. You didn't have his voice to fall asleep to, neither did he have your soft snores. You would often wake up, reaching out for you, to see if he was still on the line. Only to find a dark screen, only occasionally lit up with the random spam notification you got throughout the night. The ache in your chest felt unbearable, and more than once, you found yourself sobbing into your pillow, wishing things had turned out differently.

Hyunjin wasn't faring any better. He would lie awake for hours, staring at the ceiling, replaying every argument, every mistake. The guilt and regret weighed heavily on him, making sleep elusive. He missed the sound of your voice, the feel of your hand in his, the comfort of your presence.

One night, unable to bear it any longer, Hyunjin found himself walking through the city streets, lost in thought. The bustling noise of the city was a stark contrast to the turmoil inside him. He found himself standing outside your favorite café, staring through the window at the place where you'd shared so many happy moments. The happiest one being the moment he had first saw you, smiling at the register happily as a new hire taking his order- only to see the cutest face of disgust he had ever seen at the mention of the word Americano.

It was a stupid way to fall, but wasn't love stupid?

The days dragged on, and the pain didn't lessen. It became a constant, dull ache that colored everything you did. Friends and family tried to pull you out of your shell, but nothing seemed to help. The weight of Hyunjin's words lingered, a reminder of how things had fallen apart.

One particularly rough day, you received a message from your workplace. Your performance had been slipping, and they were concerned. It was a harsh wake-up call, a reminder that life was still moving forward even if you felt stuck in place.

You tried to throw yourself into work, hoping it would distract you from the pain. But every little thing reminded you of Hyunjin. The music playing in the background, a passing comment from a colleague, even the smell of coffee—all of it brought memories of him rushing back.

Hyunjin, too, was struggling to keep up appearances. He would smile for the cameras, perform with his usual energy, but behind the scenes, he was a mess. His bandmates grew increasingly worried, their attempts to cheer him up falling flat.

The breaking point came one night after a particularly grueling performance. Hyunjin had given it his all on stage, but as soon as the lights went down, the emptiness hit him like a tidal wave. He retreated to his dressing room, shutting the door behind him.

He sank to the floor, head in his hands, and let the tears fall. The loneliness, the regret, the pain—it all came crashing down. He missed you more than words could express, but he didn't know how to make things right.

Your breaking point was the night you sat alone in your apartment - BSF/N on a business trip -staring at your phone. Watching the birthday live you would have never been allowed to watch if your roommate was home. The ache was too unbearable, and sparked your motivation to finally let go so you could be free from it.

Once you had hit 3 months without Hyunjin, the pain began to change. It didn't lessen, but it became a part of you, a background noise that you learned to live with. You went through the motions of daily life, but the joy and spark you once had were dulled. But as 3 months turned to 6 months which then turned to 9 months, it was almost a distant memory. And you were able to laugh again, the hollowness of your cheeks disappearing and becoming flushed with youth and your noticeable dimples once more.

Hyunjin's friends and bandmates continued to support him, but they could see the toll it was taking. He was a shadow of his former self, his passion dulled by the heartbreak. It was unnoticeable to the public - to them he seemed fine, they just minimized his dull eyes to exhaustion rather than depression. But to his best friends, it was as clear as day how hard he worked to push through every day.

"Hyunjin," Chan said one evening, pulling him aside. "You can't keep going like this. You need to start living again."

Hyunjin shook his head. "I can't move on...what if they come back- what if - what if they take me back?"

"You're never going to know unless you try talking to them," Chan urged. "You owe it to yourself, to both of you, to at least try. Seungmin has seen Y/N around. They've talked and he says it seems like Y/N is struggling as well. Even if you don't get back together, if you become friends again first..." Chan sighed. "Seungmin asked Y/N to unblock you. So I'd try reaching out."

But Hyunjin couldn't bring himself to reach out. The fear of making things worse, of hearing that you had moved on, was too much to bear. So, he continued to suffer in silence, the weight of his regret a constant burden.

For you, moving on felt impossible at first.

One evening an old friend was hosting a small get-together and wanted you to come. It was a chance to get out, to try and find some semblance of normalcy.

You had reluctantly agreed. The evening was a blur of faces and conversations, none of which seemed to penetrate the fog of your indifference until and old crush had sparked conversation with you...

Back in his apartment, Hyunjin stared at his phone, fingers hovering over your contact. He wanted to reach out, to apologize, to try and make things right. But the fear of rejection, of causing you more pain, held him back.

He set the phone down with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. The silence of the apartment was deafening, each minute feeling like an hour. He missed you more than words could express, but he didn't know how to bridge the gap that had formed between you.

But in a spur of confidence he sent you a message. Simply apologizing as asking if it would be okay to meet up as friends.

Because he needed you in his life in some manner. He knew he couldn't live without you. And he would be content with loving you quietly, unknowingly, putting on a mask of platonic affection if it meant you'd stay around.

Which seemed to be what he would have to do, after recieving your response.

He didn't know whether to cry tears or joy or pain.

Because while you had agreed to meet him again, to spark a new relationship with him - he immediately regretted ever harboring a hope of you loving him again.

Especially after seeing your profile in his feed for the first time in a long time, causing him to wish he hadn't reached out, wish you hadn't unblocked him- wish you weren't so kind and loving to agree to be his friend again.

Because no amount of time with you, no amount of your presence could ever be enough to even cover a fraction of the pain he felt seeing a new face in your feed.

A face that mimicked the exact face he had in your company.

Eyes that mirrored the exact sentiment and display of love he felt.

The face of one who knew the one they loved was the moon in a world full of stars.

And he knew from experience just how easy it would be for you to fall for someone who gave you that-

Considering he had been that person for you once...

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