#but still. they are so tender and repressed

[emmiesoverthemoon]

Good day my fellow mate ay

Could you write kang daesung x fan!reader angst,fluff??

Please im stravin' it can be ab anything have free will js feed me🙏

i think i strayed from the fan bit but i hope u like nonetheless! thank u!

𖤓 promise to not leave me behind

Pairing: kang daesung x reader

Word Count: 3,326

Summary: You and Daesung were childhood best friends, closer than anyone could be. When he had suddenly skyrocketed to fame, however, he had left you in the dust, a cloud full of confusion and anguish. You learn and grow to forgive him after one fateful evening when he shows up on your doorstep and promises to heal your pain.

Tags: teenage friends to strangers to friends to lovers, angst, fluff, emotionally repressed, romance

cross posted on ao3 here

You never thought you'd see Daesung again. Not in person, and not like this.

For years, he was just a flickering image on screens too bright, a voice crackling through your speakers, a name that everyone knew—but one that you had to train yourself to forget. He had become a myth, a story you used to tell yourself late at night, a ghost of teenage laughter and whispered dreams under star-drenched skies. Before Daesung was what he is now, before the world claimed him as its own, he was your best friend.

You remember the beginning of the end; him fading away. The texts that became concise, then sporadic, then nonexistent. The missed calls that turned into unanswered voicemails, your voice going unheard in the void. The first time you saw his face on a billboard instead of in person, the realisation hit you like a freight train—he was slipping away, and you were powerless to stop it.

At first, you made excuses for him. He was busy. Overwhelmed. This was his dream, after all. He had worked for this, fought for it, deserved it. But then birthdays passed without so much as a message, inside jokes became memories only you still held, and one day, you woke up and realised you weren’t waiting for a reply anymore. You had stopped expecting one.

And it broke something inside you. You believed he had deserved every minute of fame and recognition that he had, but you also believed you were not deserving of being tossed away and forgotten like you were, without any warning. And it made you saddened, obviously, but it also made you bitter.

Through repressing your feelings, you learned to move on from Daesung. Or at least to pretend to. You filled the gaping void he left behind with new routines, new friendships, and a new life that held no reliance on the echoes of his laughter. At times you felt purely pathetic for mourning a friendship from your teenage years, but Daesung was one that was hard to forget. But on some darker nights, when the world was quiet and your heart ached in that old, familiar way, you let yourself indulge in your memories and miss him. Just a little.

But here he is. Sitting on the crumbling steps of your older apartment building, his head tilted back against the railing, his legs stretched out like he has every right to be here. Like time had not carved a canyon between you, and he stood on the edge of the cliff, holding a shovel in assistance.

The sight of Daesung punches the air from your lungs. You freeze, gripping your keys so tightly they bite into your palm. Your pulse thrums in your ears, drowning out the street noise, the wind, the distant honking of impatient cars. You try to convince yourself you are hallucinating. That your exhaustion has finally overcome you and conjured a ghost from the past. But then his gaze lifts, and his eyes—still impossibly golden, still full of every sunrise you ever trusted—find yours.

His lips part like he wants to say something, but for a long moment, the words don’t come. Then, in that same achingly familiar voice, he breathes, “You promised you’d never forget me.”

A hurricane of emotion surges through you, clawing at your throat, creating tender, bleeding wounds that you had taken years to mend, threatening to all release at once. Anger, grief, longing—all tangled together, suffocating. You want to tell him that you didn’t forget. That forgetting would have been a mercy. Instead, you spent years picking up the broken pieces of his absence, teaching yourself how to live in a world where he wasn’t beside you anymore. But the words tangle in your throat. The audacity of this man to just show up. So you do the only thing you can. You walk past him, forcing yourself up the steps, pretending you don’t see the way his shoulders stiffen, the way his fingers twitch like he wants to reach for you.

“Wait—” Daesung calls out to you. 

The desperation in his voice is unbearable. You hate how your body reacts before your mind can catch up. How your feet hesitate just before the door. How the sound of his voice still feels like home even when it should not even bear the thought. You should give him the same treatment; let him feel the pain, let him be alone and watch you run from him. 

Daesung is up in an instant, standing in front of you, closer than he should be. His presence is overwhelming, a warmth that seeps into your bones despite your resolve. You can feel him thawing your forcibly curated walls of pure cold ice. You despise how easily your subconscious let him in. The city buzzes around you, cars pass by blissfully unaware, street lamps flicker idly, noises that fill your ears but simultaneously cease to exist. The world might as well be silent and also excruciatingly loud.

“I know I don’t deserve to ask this,” Daesung murmurs, his voice thick with something fragile. “But can we talk? Please?”

You should say no. You should tell him that he lost that privilege the day he stopped calling, stopped answering, stopped being the person you thought he was. But then he smiles—soft, nervous, hopeful. And you realise with horrifying clarity that you were never going to say no, you had zero intention to as soon as you laid eyes on him.

The coffee shop is quiet, tucked away from the crowds that would recognise him. He keeps his head down, his hat low on his forehead and face mask clad on the lower half, but his knee bounces beneath the table, restless, anxious. He’s always been like this—electric, kinetic energy thrumming under his skin, like he’s afraid of standing still for too long.

You stir your drink, looking through him, waiting for him to speak.

He sighs, removing his hat and running a hand through his wavy dark hair. “I—I don’t even know where to start.”

“Try the part where you disappeared.” Your voice is calm, but the bitterness edges in before you can stop it.

His eyes darken with guilt. “I didn’t mean to.”

“But you did.”

He flinches. And for a second, you see it—the exhaustion, the weight of something heavier than fame pressing against his ribs. He looks older, more worn. Less like the boy you knew and more like the man the world made him into.

“I thought staying away would protect you,” he admits quietly. “Everything was changing so fast, and I was scared that you would end up hurting somehow because of me. I convinced myself you’d be better off without me.”

Your heart clenches, your voice holds significantly less edge now. Daesung was your achilles heel. You were stubborn, but his face was an easy book to read, and it had scripture of nothing but yearning, pain, and regret. “You don’t get to decide that for me. I could have had some kind of warning.” 

“I know,” he says, his voice breaking. “God, I know. And I hate myself for it.”

The rawness in his voice is unbearable. You look away, trying to hold onto your anger, your hurt, your suffering. But then his hand reaches across the table—tentative, hesitant, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. His fingertips graze yours, and the warmth is immediate, intoxicating.

“I missed you,” he whispers.

Your breath catches.

And just like that, the years between you shrink. The walls you built so carefully begin to crack. Because the truth is, despite everything, you are still the teenage girl you once were, and that girl still feels everything deeply—her soul carrying the burden of unspoken words. You are still that girl, with the same capacity to ache, to grow, and to be reborn with every new opportunity. And so, you let him through the gates of your walls. 

Rebuilding isn’t easy. There are moments when the past still stings, when the ache of abandonment threatens to overshadow the sweetness of reunion. But if there is one thing about Daesung, he is persistent. He shows up for you. Every day, in sweet, genuine, little ways.

He texts you good morning. He calls when he knows you’ve had a hard day. He drags you out to stargaze like you used to when you were young, listening to you point out constellations he had never heard with that same wide-eyed wonder as all those years ago. He remembers your favorite things, your pet peeves, the way you like your coffee. He slips back into your life like he was never gone, but with one difference; this time, his claws are in deep, he’s holding on for dear life. 

One evening, as you sit on the balcony of Daesung’s home, watching the city lights flicker below, he turns to you, eyes bright with something too big to name.

“I don’t want to lose you again. I can’t lose you again.”

You swallow hard, “Then don’t.”

His smile is blinding. And when he pulls you into a hug, holding onto you like you’re the only real thing in his world, you finally let yourself believe it. Because some people come back. And sometimes, just sometimes, they stay.

There were nights when you sat side by side on the couch, the only light coming from the soft glow of a flickering candle between you. The silence wasn’t awkward; it was a space filled with unspoken things, a comfort that had once been so easy to take for granted. Daesung would often glance over at you, his eyes searching for something, maybe answers, maybe reassurance, but you never shied away. You welcomed it—his gaze, his closeness. It was just you and him, sharing the same breath of the night.

“I always thought we’d be like this forever,” he would whisper, voice barely audible over the hum of the city outside your living room’s window. He spoke the words like a confession, as if he were laying bare his vulnerability across the coffee table to you in a way that was so rare for him.

“Me too,” you would answer softly, your heart beating in rhythm with his.

And in those moments, the walls that had once stood so tall between you—the walls built from years of missed opportunities, hurt, and silence—began to crumble. Not with force, but with a quiet surrender. Slowly, ever so slowly, you realised that whatever had happened in the past, whatever had pulled you apart, no longer mattered. What mattered now was this—this quiet, fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, there was still something here worth fighting for.

There were moments when Daesung’s hand would brush against the small of your back as he helped you into his car, or when he’d hold the door open for you, his smile lingering a little longer than usual, his eyes searching yours as if looking for some sign—some signal—that you felt it too.

And you did. You felt everything.

Like the way your heart fluttered when he playfully nudged your shoulder while you both stood in line at the café, or the way your stomach flipped when he grinned at you, his eyes crinkling into crescent moons, just like they always had.

You missed Daesung in ways you hadn’t let yourself admit before, but now, it was different. You weren’t just missing an old best friend; you were missing the version of him that existed only in these quiet moments—those gentle smiles, the way his voice softened when he said your name. You realised you’d been holding your breath all these years, afraid of something you couldn’t even name, but now, the air between you was thick with it. It wasn’t fear. It was something sweeter, something more.

The transition from the comfortable camaraderie of friendship to the trembling uncertainty of something more wasn’t instant. It crept in quietly, like the soft glow of dawn and the buildup of dew on flower petals before the sun fully rises to melt it away. Like the gradual loss of chlorophyll pigment in the swaying tree’s leaves as the season changes from summer to autumn. At first, there were small moments—subtle touches, lingering glances—that made your heart race when you least expected it.

You had always known Daesung—the way he laughed, the way he ran his hands through his hair when he was nervous, the way his eyes softened when he looked at you. But now, everything feels different. You’d forgotten how it felt to be this close to him. The feeling of his presence, his warmth, had been absent for so long that it felt almost foreign. And yet, it was familiar in the best way possible, like slipping into a favorite sweater to protect you from a cold night. 

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment when you realised the tone of your relationship had shifted between you and Daesung—maybe it was the way his hand brushed against yours as you both reached for the same cup of coffee, or the way your fingers seemed to linger just a little longer than necessary. Maybe it was the way his gaze would flicker to your lips when you laughed, or the way his smile would widen just a little more when you made eye contact.

But it didn’t scare you. No, not this time. For the first time, it felt like a promise—a quiet one. You could feel the magnetic pull between you, a connection that had always existed but had now resurfaced with undeniable intensity. Everything felt too natural, too comfortable, but you had no reason to feel fear. 

It wasn’t just the stolen moments; it was the quiet ones, too—the way he listened when you spoke, his undivided attention so rare in the noise of the world. The way his thumb would gently trace the edge of your hand as if he were memorising the contours of you. His affection was the warm kind that was a blanket wrapped around your heart, comforting and steady, and you found yourself leaning into it, allowing it to surround you, you were unafraid of becoming dependent on this feeling.

One evening, as you sat together, your heads tilted back to admire the stars—just like the old days—Daesung turned to you with a look on his face that you couldn’t read. The soft glow of the streetlight illuminated the lines of his face, the shadows dancing beneath his eyes, making him seem both familiar and foreign at the same time.

“I used to come here,” Daesung admits, nerves written all over his face. Despite his anxiousness, there were absolutely zero traces of hesitation or dishonesty. It shook you to your core.  “Whenever I felt lost. Whenever I missed you too much. I would constantly think of you, and I now know there’s never been anyone like you. Not in all the years I was out of your life. I was just so afraid of reaching out. I thought you hated me.”

Your breath caught in your trachea. He was so close, so close you could feel the heat radiating off of him, and could hear the faintest tremor in his voice. You knew what he was about to say before the words left his lips, and yet, when they did, they hit you with the force of a storm.

He turns to you, eyes shimmering in the moonlight. “I’m not going anywhere this time.”

And as he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours, you realise—you believe him.

“I didn’t only miss you as my best friend,” Daesung confessed, his gaze flickering with raw vulnerability. “I missed you as something… more.”

You looked at him, the weight of his words hanging between you like a fragile thread. Your heart beat so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it. But you couldn’t look away, not now. Not when the years had led to this moment, this raw, beautiful revelation.

You couldn’t speak at first, there were no words, every coherent thought that ran through your mind that could be translated to language that could be utilised verbally had abandoned you. You were a mess of embarrassment and unpreparedness–you were not expecting this depth from him. So, you did what felt natural—you reached for him. Tentative at first, your fingers brushed against his, a question, a plea, an invitation. He didn’t hesitate. His hand closed around yours, warm and steady.

“I never stopped loving you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. It was uncertain whether you were releasing this to yourself, or confessing it to Daesung, who was just as flushed as you were, if not more. “Not really.”

And in that moment, the world outside seemed to fade away. The noise, the chaos, the uncertainty—all of it disappeared in the quiet space between you, where only your hearts remained, beating in time. Daesung leaned in slowly, his face inches from yours, his breath warm on your skin. The space between you was electric, charged with everything you had been too afraid to admit. And when his lips finally met yours, it was soft and slow, like a promise.

A promise that this time, he would not dare let go. Not of you. Not of whatever this was. 

And as you kissed, you felt all the years of distance, all the doubts, all the anguish, melt away. You felt your heart open up again, not to the past, but to the future. The future you would share, side by side, hand in hand, where the road ahead was yours to walk together. Your repressive tendencies melted from you, he had rid of any reason to feel those ways in the first place.

You were his gravity, his anchor, and in that perfect exchange of sweet kisses and fleeting touches, you realised that love, at its purest form, is not just something you feel, but something you become—souls entwining, floating in a world where nothing but each other’s affection matters, and everything else fades into sweet, eternal oblivion.

As each morning and night with Daesung came and went, you fell deeper into the pools of adoration, drowning in sweet, romantic tenderness, the currents of affection sweeping you further into a realm where time and space blurred into nothingness. It was a silent surrender, where every beat of your heart mirrored the pulse of the universe itself, and in that vast expanse of feeling, you met Daesung—already waiting at the very bottom of that pit, his eyes like twin flames burning with a warmth that eclipsed the sun. His gaze was a soft embrace, an ocean of tenderness so profound that no words could ever hope to capture its depth.

There, in the quiet of that sacred space between you, the language of your souls spoke louder than anything uttered. Daesung’s love wasn’t a whisper; it was a blazing explosion of light, the crackling energy of fireworks lighting up the night sky, the electric hum of a thousand volts coursing through your veins. It was a force that filled the air with laughter, a pulse that shook the very ground beneath your feet, as if the universe itself had orchestrated this vibrant dance of passion. The way he looked at you—eyes sparkling like stars caught in an endless celebration—was as if you were the center of his world, the spark that ignited his joy, the sun that set fire to his soul. It was an exuberant, unstoppable kind of vulnerability, the kind that could only exist when two hearts collided in perfect harmony, creating a symphony of love that echoed louder than any doubt, brighter than any fear.

thank u for the request! if u have one, mine are open!

[yunmeng-jiang]

I know we all wish Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao were having beautiful loving sex for 13+ years, but unfortunately JGY refuses to be like his father in any way so he would never cheat on his wife, and LXC would never let himself be a homewrecker. Very tragic circumstances

[redpearlearring]

I'm rewatching Bloody Romance. I'm obsessed with this show. I'm suffering. Why am I doing this to myself.

[player042]

HEARTBEAT | kang dae-ho.

pairing: kang dae-ho (player 388) x reader

summary: during the third game you reunite with dae-ho who is everything but thrilled to have his pregnant girlfriend surrounded by death. requested here.

warning: pregnant!reader, established relationship, hot baby daddy dae-ho 😫 angsty and emotional, mention of financial struggles, survival themes, please enjoy ♥️

word count: 2.8k

The door slammed shut behind you, the loud clank of the mechanism sealing you and Dae-ho inside the small, dimly lit room just as the timer hit zero. For a moment, the air felt charged, thick with all the words left unspoken. You stood frozen near the wall, your hands instinctively cradling your belly, while Dae-ho's tall frame loomed near the door. His jaw was clenched tight as you heard gunshots and screaming coming from the other side of the door, his eyes were fixated on the floor as if forcing himself to maintain composure.

Neither of you had so much as exchanged a meaningful glance in front of the others, too scared of what even a flicker of familiarity might invite in this place where alliances were fragile, and vulnerability was a target. But here, in this room, with no one else watching...

"Dae-ho," you breathed, the sound of his name cracking the tension like a dam breaking.

His head snapped up, and within seconds, he crossed the distance between you, his hands cupping your face as he kissed you fiercely, desperately. It wasn't soft or tender, it was raw, like he'd been holding his breath for days and could finally exhale. His lips moved against yours as if trying to drink in everything he'd been forced to repress since seeing you again.

"You're here," he murmured against your lips, his voice trembling as he pulled back just enough to look at you. His hands slid to your shoulders, down your arms, as though reassuring himself that you were real. "God, you're really here."

Your breath hitched, your chest tightening as the weight of his words hit you. "I didn't want you to know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

"That's obvious," he said bitterly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. His gaze softened, his worry bleeding through the anger. "You shouldn't be here. What the hell were you thinking? You're pregnant. And you joined this… this hell?"

Tears stung your eyes as you turned your head away, breaking his gaze. "What choice did I have?" you said, your voice cracking. "We're drowning in debt, Dae-ho. The baby needs a future. What else was I supposed to do?"

"You were supposed to rely on me," he snapped, his hands dropping to his sides, his frustration spilling over. "I would've-" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair as he paced the small room. "I would've done something. Anything. But you just- You didn't even tell me. You just left me out of this."

"I didn't want to drag you down," you said, your voice trembling. "You've already done so much for us, Dae-ho. I couldn't-"

"Don't," he interrupted, his voice low but sharp. "Don't give me that. You didn't drag me down. You're the one thing in my life that kept me sane." He stopped pacing and turned back to you, his gaze piercing. "And now you're here, risking not just your life but our child's. Do you have any idea what it felt like seeing you out there? Pretending I didn't know you? Pretending I didn't care?"

"I didn't want to need you," you confessed, "Because needing you… it scared me. It still does."

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking as he looked away, his hands balled to fists before he relaxed them again. "You can need me, damn it," he said softly, his voice low but fierce. "You think I don't need you just as much?"

You pressed a hand to your stomach, the guilt and fear twisting inside you, whispering,"If they know we're connected, they could-"

"I don't care what they do to me," he cut in quickly, his voice rising. "You should've thought about what it would do to me if something happens to you. If something happens to our baby."

The silence that followed was heavy, the air between you thick with regrets. Finally, Dae-ho took a deep breath and stepped closer, his hands finding your shoulders again. His voice softened, though the edge of desperation still lingered. "We'll figure this out, okay? We'll keep our distance in front of the others, but I need you to promise me something."

You looked up at him, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his eyes. "What?"

"You don't take unnecessary risks," he said firmly. "You stick to the safest options. You stay out of the way whenever you can. And if there's even a hint of danger, you let me handle it. Got it?"

You hesitated, the weight of his words pressing down on you. "I'll try," you said finally, knowing it was the best promise you could give.

He exhaled, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. "That's not good enough," he murmured. "But it'll have to do."

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, holding onto each other as the reality of your situation loomed over you. His arms wrapped around you gently, one hand resting protectively over your belly.

"I'll get you out of here," he said softly, his voice full of conviction. "You and the baby. I swear it."

Dae-ho held you close for a moment longer before stepping back, his hands still lingering around your waist. His gaze softened, though the worry didn't leave his eyes.

"You should stick to Jun-hee," he said, his voice firm but kind.

You blinked at him, confused. "What?"

"She's part of my team and she's pregnant too," he explained. "If you two stick together, it'll make it easier for me to keep an eye on you. I know I can't be obvious about us, but at least this way, I'll know you're not alone. And I can look out for both of you without drawing attention."

You opened your mouth to argue, but something about the way he looked at you, pleading, almost desperate, made you pause. "You're really planning to take care of two pregnant women in a place like this?"

He huffed a humorless laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's just… what I do. I can't not try to help. You know that about me."

"That's not an excuse," you said back, your frustration bubbling to the surface. "You're acting like this is all on me, but what about you? Why are you even here, Dae-ho? You didn't exactly tell me you were planning on joining these games either!"

His expression faltered, guilt flashing across his face. "I was trying to protect you," he admitted quietly. "I didn't want you to know. I thought I could-"

"Could what?" you interrupted, "Fix everything? Take on the world by yourself? You think that's what I wanted? You think I wouldn't have tried to stop you if I knew?"

"I didn't want you to stop me," his shoulders slumped, "I thought if I could win… I could pay off everything. For both of us. For the baby. I didn't want you to worry about anything anymore."

You stared at him, your heart aching at the sincerity in his voice, but the frustration didn't subside entirely. "So you thought it was okay to risk your life without telling me but not okay if I want to do the same? That's not protecting me, Dae-ho. That's keeping me in the dark."

"I know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But when I saw you here…" He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling shakily. "I didn't know whether to be furious or terrified. And now we're both in this mess."

The silence stretched between you, heavy and tense. Finally, you sighed, the fight draining out of you. "As you said, we're in this together now," you said, your voice quieter. "Whether we like it or not."

He nodded, his eyes locking with yours. "And as I said, I'll make sure you make it out of here," he said firmly. "You and the baby. No matter what."

"And what about you?" you asked, your voice trembling. "What happens to you, Dae-ho?"

"That doesn't matter," he said without hesitation. "What matters is that you survive."

The conviction in his voice made your chest tighten, and you shook your head. "I'm not letting you sacrifice yourself for me. Not again."

"We'll figure it out," he assured softly, reaching out to take your hand. "One game at a time. But for now, promise me you'll stick with Jun-hee. Please."

You hesitated, the weight of the situation pressing down on you. Finally, you nodded. "Fine. But promise me something too."

"Anything," he said without missing a beat.

"You don't do anything reckless," you said, your voice firm. "No heroics, no self-sacrificing. If we're getting out of here, we're doing it together."

His lips curved into a faint smile, though his eyes remained serious. "Deal."

For the first time since joining these games and for the first time for a very long time, you felt a flicker of hope, fragile, but real. Whatever came next, at least you weren't alone.

Dae-ho let out a shaky breath, and before you could say another word, he sank to his knees in front of you. The sudden movement caught you off guard, but it wasn't until his arms wrapped gently around your waist that your breath hitched. He rested his forehead lightly against your stomach, his large hands cradling your sides with the utmost care, as though you might break.

"Dae-ho," you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

He didn't respond immediately, just stayed there, holding you as if you were the most fragile, precious thing in the world. After a moment, he tilted his head slightly, his cheek pressing against your belly. His warm breath fanned through the fabric of your shirt, and when he spoke, his voice was soft, tender, almost reverent.

"I can't believe it," he murmured, his gaze softening as it dropped to your stomach. He placed a hand there, his palm warm and loving. "There's a piece of us right here." You couldn't help but smile.

His voice was quiet when he spoke again, the words almost a prayer.

"Hey, little one," he murmured, his words directed at the life growing inside you. "It's me… your dad."

Your hands moved instinctively, threading through his hair. The soft strands slipped between your fingers, grounding you in this surreal moment. Dae-ho closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into it like a man starved for comfort.

"You probably can't hear me yet, but…," he continued, his voice trembling slightly, "I need you to be strong, okay? Just like your mom. And I promise,  I'm going to do everything I can to keep you two safe. You're my whole world now, you know that? Both of you."

A lump formed in your throat as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You hadn't expected this, this unfiltered love pouring from him. It made the weight of your circumstances feel both heavier and lighter at the same time.

"I bet you're going to be just like her," he said with a small chuckle, his hand gently rubbing your side. "Strong, smart, way too stubborn for your own good."

You let out a teary laugh, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Hey, don't encourage that."

He tilted his head back slightly, looking up at you with a crooked grin that melted your heart. "Can't help it. It's in the genes."

His gaze softened as he looked back at your stomach, and he pressed a gentle kiss to the fabric of your shirt, his lips lingering for a long moment. The action was so tender, so full of love, that it nearly brought you to your knees as well. He rested his forehead there again, his arms tightening around you.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking. "For everything. For not being there when you needed me. For making you feel like you had to do this alone."

"Dae-ho," you whispered, your own voice cracking as you cupped his face, guiding him to look up at you. "You're with us. That's all that matters."

He swallowed hard, nodding as his hands slid down to hold yours. "I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. I'll fight through hell if I have to. I'll keep you safe, no matter what it takes."

The tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over, and you knelt down with him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed your forehead against his. 

"We'll survive this," he repeated softly, his breath warm against your temple. "And when we get out… we'll make a real life together. The three of us."

You hesitated, your heart hammering as you realized it was the moment to tell him. "Four," you said softly, your hand covering his where it rested protectively over your stomach.

His body stiffened slightly, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Four?" His voice was cautious, almost as if he were afraid to hope.

You nodded, your throat tightening as emotion swelled. "Before I came here, I had a doctor's appointment, and… we're having twins, Dae-ho."

The silence that followed was deafening, his stillness unnerving. For a moment, you worried you'd broken him, but then he slightly leaned back on his knees, his eyes wide and glassy as they searched yours.

"Twins?" he repeated, the word barely audible. His hand shifted, trembling slightly as it moved to cradle your stomach. He said nothing for a while, just staring at you as if trying to comprehend what you'd just revealed. His lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping as his thumb traced over the fabric covering your belly.

"Twins," he repeated again, this time with a mix of wonder and disbelief. "We're having twins?"

A small smile tugged at your lips, despite the tears streaming down your face. "Yes. I wasn't sure how to tell you… or when. But yeah. Two little ones."

His head dropped, forehead again pressing gently against your stomach as he let out a quiet, shaky laugh. His strong arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. "Two," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know whether to cry or laugh."

Your fingers softly tucked a strand of hair away from his beautiful face, "You can do both," you said gently, "I did."

He tilted his head up to look at you, and the raw emotion in his eyes took your breath away. His lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn't quite hide the tears slipping down his cheeks. "Twins," he said again, shaking his head slightly. "I didn't even know how I was going to handle one. Now there are two of them. Two little… us."

The way he said it, so in awe, so full of wonder, made your chest ache. "I wasn't planning on telling you here," you admitted, "Not in this nightmare. But I couldn't… I couldn't keep it to myself anymore."

"I'm glad you didn't," he said, his voice steadying. He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing away the tears you didn't even realize had fallen. "No matter what happens in this hellhole, no matter how dark it gets, knowing they're waiting for us? It's everything."

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. "Dae-ho, we can't let this place take us."

"It won't," he said firmly, his jaw tightening. "I won't let it. We'll make it. I'll make damn sure of it."

His hands slipped back down to your waist, his fingers splaying over your belly as though he could somehow shield the life growing inside you from the horrors outside. "Two little heartbeats," he murmured, his voice softening. "Do you know what that means?"

You tilted your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "What?"

"It means we're going to need twice the strength," his gaze locked with yours, "But it also means we've got twice the reason to fight. Twice the reason to win."

You leaned forward, your noses almost touching, your hands covering his on your stomach. "We'll do it together," you assured quietly. "The four of us."

"The four of us," he echoed, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss so tender it left you breathless. "You're stuck with me now. Forever."

You let out another teary laugh, the sound mingling with his soft chuckle. "I've been stuck with you for years, Dae-ho. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

For a moment, the world outside that room, the horrors of the games, didn't exist. It was just two lovers holding onto each other and the heartwarming hope bound on a fragile string of the future that was worth fighting for. You allowed yourselves to feel it, this unwavering love, this promising hope that had been buried beneath the fear. It wasn't much, but it was enough to remind you both why you were fighting, to survive, to protect, and to make it out of this nightmare as a family.

And whatever came next, you knew you wouldn't face it alone.

[yandere-daydreams]

file #3: the foot fic.

part of the FREAK SHIT MARCH evidence packet.

pairing: yandere!nanami kento x reader (jjk)

length: 2.1k.

warning: non/con, fem!reader, oral sex (f. receiving), foot jobs, unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, mentions of kidnapping, unbalanced power dynamics, and cannot mention it enough: feet.

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up here.

Which was to say, you weren’t entirely sure how you’d ended up in this position, not this physical location – the small kitchen of Nanami’s up-until-recently neglected apartment, back pressed against the rounded edge of a pristine marble countertop and hands clasped so tightly in front of you that your knuckles were beginning to turn white. That, you could explain in fifteen words or less: Psychotic Ex-Boyfriend Kidnaps Overly Trusting Partner To Roleplay Repressed Domestic Fantasies, with further elaboration possible if you ever got the chance to talk to anyone who wasn’t currently holding you hostage. That, as much as you hated it, was normal. You knew why you were here.

It was much less normal to have Nanami on one knee in front of you, head bowed and one of your feet sitting in the palm of his hand. You hadn’t decided whether it was good abnormal or bad abnormal, yet, but still – not normal.

It must’ve been a rough day. He always looked tired when he got home, but tonight, he seemed exhausted – blond hair in a state of styled disarray, tie gone and shirt already partially unbuttoned, the circles under his eyes just a shade darker than they had been that morning. There was a cut on his cheek, too, and a tear along the wrist of his sleeve. Usually, he would’ve tried to get you to fuss over the damage, to trade privileges like a few minutes of T.V. and the latest news about your friends and family and not being handcuffed to his bed whenever he couldn’t watch you himself for sex and domestic labor and the faux-reciprocation of his obsession, but you hadn’t been able to say anything, let alone do anything before he’d fallen into his current position at your feet, his cheek resting gingerly against the inside of your thigh and his pale face slightly pink. He hadn’t said anything, either. You were starting to think he never would.

Unable to find an explanation written on the back of his head, you turned your attention to yourself. You’d been thinking about what you were going to make for dinner when he got home, because cooking meant he had to trust you with something more dangerous than a plastic spoon and you couldn’t go back to not being able to hold your own toothbrush, even if that meant having to trip over yourself to play housewife with your captor. You were dressed for housework, but that didn’t mean much. Nanami picked out all of your clothes, and he liked you in soft, pastel silk gowns and cutesy, garish vintage dresses. Your current dress was far from overly provocative – the neckline above your collarbones, the skirt falling to your knees. He’d seen you in it before, too, and never had this reaction.

The only new factor was your socks, but that would’ve been ridiculous. It was a new pair – a far cry from the thigh-highs and nylon stockings he usually bought for you. The material was thick and white and cottony, only ankle-high with ribbed hems and a lace trip. He was cupping the arch of your foot, his hand slotted in the tender space between the heel and the upper sole, and the plush fabric rubbed uncomfortably against your skin as he shifted his hold ever so slightly downward. More out of reflex than anything, you jerked back, your toes curling downward as you tried to weakly pull yourself out of his hold, and as if pulled out a trance, Nanami snapped up at you, tired eyes weary and lips slightly parted. Your eyes met his, and for a second, it was all you could do to stay still, to stay quiet, to not yell or scream or thrash until finally, Nanami’s weary expression broke into a slight grin, an airy laugh trickling past his lips as his stare fell back to your foot. “They’re… cute,” he started, slowly, nuzzling his cheek gingerly against your thigh. “I knew they would be, but—” A pause, a kiss to the tender patch just above your knee. “—you always manage to surprise me.”

You managed to smile shakily. “Sorry, Kento, I didn’t mean to distract you. Why don’t you sit somewhere a little more comfortable? I can start on—”

“In a minute.” Another hand was brought up and wrapped around your ankle, just above the lace trim of your sock. His forehead settled against your thigh as he lifted your foot gently and with an almost painful sort of delicacy, pressed the sole of your foot into the bulging tent in his pants that you’d been trying so hard to ignore. You felt his lazy grin press into your skin, and something cracked open in your chest.

This time, you couldn’t stifle your immediate reaction; lurching back, your hands finding the edge of the counter as you tried to pull away from him. It took nothing for him to keep you in place, though, and even worse – the ball of your heel pressed into his shaft as you tried to get away, rolling against his cock with a little too much force and drawing a low grunt from the base of Nanami’s throat. Instantly, you regretted moving at all. “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

 “Again.”

You fell silent. His head lulled forward, pressing into your thigh, and somehow, you managed to spit something out. “…I’m sorry, Kento?”

“Again, angel, please,” he muttered, his eyes falling shut. You didn’t move, but he didn’t need you to – his hips jutting forward, grinding stiltedly against the sole of your foot. Any vague illusion of wholesomeness was forgotten entirely as he fell onto his knees, unabashedly rutting against your leg with all the shame and all the pride of a stray animal, desperate for its twisted idea of affection. You made a half-hearted attempt to distract yourself, to focus on the white tiles of his kitchen (not quite dirty, but not as clean as they could be, either – you’d have to do the floors tomorrow), then the far wall (there was a layer of dust along the edge of the light switch fame – you could take care of that later on tonight), but it would’ve been impossible not to think about the wet, hot breath fanning over your thigh, the stiff cock throbbing against your foot. You thought would’ve gotten used to his—uh, his unwanted attention by now, gone numb to the feeling of his mouth on your neck and his fingers on your clit, but this was a type of fresh humiliation you weren’t familiar with, the kind of unthinkable debasement that made your face heat-up and your thought spiral down, down, down. When your paralysis persisted, Nanami grit his teeth, rocked your foot against the length of his cock without ever letting his hips stop moving – like he was trying to fuck a hole through your heel. It was a rough, jagged motion; almost clumsy, despite the fact that you’d never seen him so much as trip. It might’ve left you off-balance, if you hadn’t been holding onto the counter so tightly. You might’ve fallen, if you thought that you would be enough to make him stop.

You shut your eyes, forcing yourself to suck in a shuddering breath, but that was a mistake – showing any kind of weakness was a mistake. You felt one of his groping hands on your upper thigh, then your ass, finally finding the thin, flimsy material of your panties and pulling. There was no elegant way to strip you down, so he didn’t try to be elegant. There was a harsh tearing sound, the feeling of blunt nails scraping against unprotected skin, and then, scraps of ruined material were scattered on the floor at your feet, the skirt of your dress pushed up to your waist as he forced his face between your legs, mouth already open and tongue already lapping over your cunt.

It was a bad position; the distance too far, the angle too sharp, everything about strained and awkward and unnecessary, but Nanami didn’t seem to notice, didn’t seem to care. His tongue ran over the length of your slit before he latched onto your clit and sucked. Instantly, it was too much – a strangled cry tearing past your lips as you buckled into yourself, your knees nearly giving out as another reverberating moan sent pangs of something sharp and electric stabbing into your core. Against your better judgement, your hands shot from the counter to his hair, your fingers soon knotted in a mess of blonde in a futile attempt to pry him away from you. He only melted into your hostile touch, one of his hands remaining on your ankle while the other found your hip, keeping you still and pliable as his attention dipped lower, the flat of his tongue pushing broad patterns into your entrance as the bridge of his nose ground lazily against your clit. “Love you,” he mumbled, his voice little more than a throaty, ragged murmur – almost too deep to be audible and constantly interrupted by the sound of your slick on his lips, on his tongue. You wished he wouldn’t talk. You wished he wouldn’t pretend to love you. You wished he wouldn’t force you to do the same. “You’re so—so pretty, and so perfect, and—”

A guttural moan cut him off, and his attention shifted, his head lulling back just far enough to stare up at you with eyes so soft and so tender, you could almost forget he was humping your leg like a bitch in heat. You were suddenly aware of your own distraught expression – all grit teeth and misty eyes, misery and pleasure flooding through your veins in tandem. You wanted to ask him not to look at you. You needed to ask him to stop, but—

You felt a frigid ache in your left wrist – the wrist he’d kept shackled to the bedpost for the first three weeks of your kidnapping. You tried to open your mouth, but your tongue was deathly dry, your throat stuffed with cotton, the feeling not entirely unsimilar to the residue left behind by the velvet gags he used to shove in your mouth when you didn’t want to lay there and let him break you. You couldn’t say anything, couldn’t do anything as he let out a final, primal groan – as you felt something thick and hot soak through the fabric of his dress pants and into your ridiculous, childish socks. He whined into your cunt, fingers burrowing into your waist as he dragged you that much closer to his mouth. His tongue fucked shallowly into your cunt, and a whine caught in your throat as your vision burnt white, as you came unwillingly on his tongue.

You couldn’t do it, anymore. With his hand still on your hip, his cum still searing into the sole of your foot, you collapsed. Nanami caught you before you hit the ground, and you hated him for it. You wished he’d let you crumble to the tile floor, wished he’d just watch and laugh as you curled into a ball and stayed there for the rest of the night, the rest of the week. You wished he’d—

Oh, god, you’d made yourself cry. Nanami let out a breathy chuckle as you sniffled and tried not to wail, kissing your tear-stained cheeks with a gentleness you couldn’t seem to link to the man who’d just cum to a pair of socks. “It’s alright, angel. You can let it out.” Another kiss, this one to your forehead. “Too much?”

You nodded, burying your face in his shoulder. You felt his arms wrap around you, keeping your body pressed into his chest as he pushed himself to his feet. There were a few seconds of quiet, unthinking solace before he lowered you onto your shared bed – a pair of shackles still hanging, unlocked and waiting, from the headboard. Immediately, you scrambled for the nearest pillow, burying your face in the plush material and sobbing openly. Nanami’s comfort came in the form of a wry grin, a pair of hands on your hips, turning you onto your stomach and starting on the buttons of your dress.

As he settled between your legs, his calloused fingertips skirting over your bare skin, you couldn’t help but wonder if the shackles had really been so bad.

[millersfinest]

untethered⁶ | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 8.9k

series: chapter one, chapter two, chapter three (you’re here!), chapter four , chapter five , chapter six (you’re here)

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: lmao flip phones, r and ellie might have beat the cheating allegations, more use of y/n then i would prefer, she/her pronouns, some vulgar language, jealous!ellie (kind of), the millers, r is a writer (she doesn’t write much in this ch wink wink), ellie being insecure a bit, tommy and joel being brothers, r being a little self-deprecating, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, jealous ellie, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, abby is a plot device lmao, hella angst, rich!abby (one of r’s evil exes), repressed emotions, a flirty/horny cliffhanger-ish.

note: thank you guys for flooding my inbox w untethered ch 6 demands…. i hear you, i see you, i understand you… AND HERE’S THAT CHAPTER!!! im sorry for making you guys wait so long. it wasn’t easy writing this chapter, and i still feel like it sucks, but i hate keeping you guys waiting. like i genuinely feel bad 😞. theres like one paragraph that i love in here and thats's it... but as always, i hope you guys enjoy this chapter… next chapter (and final chapter) should be even more angsty, and hopefully, sexy. bisouu my loves <3 (if something doesn't make sense... yes it does)

The smell of broiling honey ham filled your nostrils. Humored voices of your father and Joel echoed from the outside as they grilled their sirloins over burning charcoal. You set the counters with the food that was already cooked and ready to eat, leaving them out like it were a buffet. The warm desserts were placed after the savory vegetables plated on some of your mother’s finest china. You and Maria waited for the ham, as it was the last thing to be ready—she wanted it to be fresh.

During this time, you changed into your evening clothes, which was none other than a pair of overall shorts, a white frilly crop top, and your cowboy boots. Clean ones, of course.

You haven’t seen or heard from Ellie since your little squabble. Joel had come in with a nicely cooked pie in his hands, without her, claiming that she had to make a quick run. Then, you noticed Cat was gone, too. Perhaps, there was some correlation there. You didn’t want to pester because of how tender everything was after your confession. That didn’t mean you weren’t curious, though. While you felt an immense pressure lifted from your shoulders, there was an underlying level of an unnerving feeling.

Old habits die hard, they say. And you find that to be true.

“So’s… your friend still comin’, honey?” Maria checks for the crispy brown on the shell of the ham in the oven. “Or is that called off since your realization…”

In the midst of sorting out your mother’s finest plates, you paused. “Shit,” You cursed, clenching a fist and shutting your eyes, tightly. Abby was still coming over for dinner—you completely forgot all about that! Fuck. You looked at the time on the oven, squinting your eyes. 5:57. “Is it too late to cancel on her?” You muttered, peering at your mother.

“What time did you tell her to be here by?”

“6-ish…”

Maria took in a deep breath, glancing up at her ceiling. “To be frank, Bug,” She inhaled through her teeth. “At some point you gotta throw in the asshole towel—“

There was a knock on the door. You cringed, gritting your teeth. “Please, can you answer it?” You beg, furrowing your eyebrows.

“No.” She deadpans.

“Well, I can’t… Because— because I have to go help dad and Joel with the steak.” You pressed your lips into a line, preparing to walk out to the back porch. You didn’t know if the culprit of the door knocking was Abby, but all the odds were pointing to her. If it were Ellie, she wouldn’t have knocked. And, if it were Cat, she’d be behind Ellie.

Before you could get far, she tugged on the back of your overalls, pulling you to a stop. “Answer the damn door.” Maria commanded, flashing her stern, bright eyes at you.

You pouted, stomping your foot. Nervousness arose in your chest, tightening and constricting. With a sigh, you approached the front door. When you pulled it open, the sight of a tall, muscular blonde grinning at you—caused a knowing smile creep onto your face. “Abby,” You sighed her name, taking in a deep inhale, leaning on the door.

A bottle of wine was held in her hands. “I hope I’m not too early.” She chuckled with a hint of nervousness. It was sweet.

“No… Not at all.” You ran your tongue over your lips, awkwardly reaching to hug her. You slid your arm around her waist, instead of her neck like usual—pressing your sides together, platonically. As if she were an acquaintance. Don’t think she didn’t take notice to that. “Come on in.” Gently, you take the bottle from her hands, peering at the label. It was a red wine, Pinot Noir, not your favorite.

You shut the door behind her, sighing once it clicked with your hands braced against the cool wood. Like that could cure the queasiness building in your stomach. With dragging legs, you walked her to the kitchen. Where your mother feigned unawareness. “Maria, this is my friend, Abby.” You introduced her without focus, setting the bottle on the kitchen counter behind the desserts. The use of your mother’s name was you trying to quip at her for making you answer the door.

She tucked her long, golden hair behind her ears, reaching a hand out to shake mother’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to put a name to a face.” Maria spoke, firmly taking hers. “How did you meet my daughter?” She followed up, quickly.

You rolled your eyes, scoffing under your breath. That was question was irrelevant to ask. She was asking her with the tone of a protective parent, but Abby was only ever going to be a friend—especially, after the last few days.

“We met at a fundraising event last year. My dad, he was a top bidder, and her agent, Isa, was a very persistent businesswoman.” Abby chortled, charmingly. She always managed to slip her financial status within her conversation—she was good at it. In that statement alone, she announced to your mother just how much she knew you. Enough to know the name of your agent, enunciating Isa’s name in a way to exploit your closeness—because how would she know how grueling that woman was at times? As well as letting her know that she could support you in ways others probably couldn’t.

My dad, he was a top bidder.

What the fuck did that matter? Her presence alone was getting under your skin; more than it ever had. And you weren’t sure if it was her fault, or your own.

You yearned for the girl who claimed to love you earlier in the day. That’s you’re fuckin’ problem. Always wanting to be perfect— but you’re not! Not even close. And I fucking love you for it. You could hear her raspy voice crowding over Abby’s friendly words. How Ellie achieved simultaneously calling you out, while passionately confessing her love for you—again—seamlessly… You’ll never know.

“Abby,” You spoke up. “Why don’t you help set the table? I’m gonna go check on the steaks… Maybe, after, I can give you a quick tour before dinner.” The only way to survive that was to push through—make her feel at home, try not to be weird.

“Sounds great!” She rubbed her hands together, excitedly. You hand her the delicate plates, giving a smile that barely met your eyes.

On the way toward the porch, you make eye contact with your mother. Curt. Stern. Irritated. Maria didn’t care to give a reaction—you must lie in the bed you made. Even though, you didn’t intend to forget to call things off with Abby. It’s been a very busy, dramatic two days.

Slipping through the back door, you look for the comfort of your father’s eyes. “Bug! Come taste this!” Tommy clamped his tongs, motioning to his tray of steak.

“I think you should taste mine first—“

“No! She’s my daughter— she’s tastin’ mine first.”

You waved a dismissive hand, chuckling under pouty lips. “I’ll taste both, but… I have to ask you somethin’ first, Joel.” Your face fell into a serious expression.

His brown eyes twitched, amused features melting from his aged face. “Yeah…”

“Ellie’s coming back, right?” Your fingers intertwined with themselves, while you chewed on the soft skin inside of your mouth. “The secrets out now, so… She can come back.” You shrugged, childishly. “And dinner’s gonna be ready any minute now— mom’s only gonna hold off for so long. She likes her ham hot.” Words flooded from your glossy lip, followed by a timid gulp.

“What made you think she wouldn’t come back, sweetheart?”

“It’s not like you explained where she went, Joel.” You deadpanned. “I was left to my own devices— as in, my own dysfunctional brain. You know what happens when I do that.”

He pursed his lips, fighting the grin he wanted to share. Joel glanced at his brother, huffing. “You didn’t ask, either, Bug.”

You paused, crossing your arms. “Did you ever consider that I didn’t want to? If you haven’t noticed— which I know that you have— she’s pissed at me.”

Joel inhaled, cutting off a piece of his steak for you. “I’m not pissed at you, though.” He hands it over to you on a fork, and you take it mindlessly. You weren’t known for having anger issues, but it seemed as if Joel was testing you.

“Joel, can you stop being a dick and tell me where she is?” You whined, childishly, before putting the square piece of meat into your mouth, chewing with identifying eyebrows. You looked up at the darkening sky, humming. His piece blossomed with flavor. It was a little tough, but you didn’t mind it because of how flavorful it was. “This is… Great. A little tough—” The voice of your father cut you off, mid-thought. Joel shrugged, nudging Tommy’s shoulder, teasingly.

Tommy scoffed, cutting a piece for you. “He manipulated you into trying his steak first— here’s mine.” He gasped, leaning the fork your way.

With a shrug, you took the fork, pulling the meat from the prongs with your front teeth. You hummed, again, peering at your father with wide eyes. Tommy’s was more tender, with a softer, pinker inside between the char. “Okay…” You roll your tongue in your mouth. “Whichever one of you tells me where Ellie is first, wins.”

“Honey, that’s not fair—“

“She’s dropping off Cat at the train station. I suggested they break up, and I’m sure they did— Ellie should be on her way back by now.”

A mischievous grin coursed over your features that were being bitten by the crisp, autumn air. “Silly, silly, Joel.” You shook your head. “You win on flavor… Dad, you win on texture— meaning overall, my favorite is yours. Congratulations.” You pat your fathers’ shoulder, pressing your lips into a tight smile.

You pivoted on your feet, chewing on the inside of your lips in thought. Ellie was dropping Cat off at the train station—you wondered what brought her from the ledge of revenge to return home on Thanksgiving. Unfortunately, you didn’t get the chance to apologize to her for your thoughtless behavior. But… Partially, you were relieved that you didn’t have to face her. However, there was a pull in your gut that you had to apologize regardless of her absence.

It was a tug of war with your morals and ego.

Basically, you snatched the screen door open, huffing and getting the attention of the chatty blonde and your mother. She was chewing on a piece of ham, moaning in delight. “Mrs. Miller, I hope you don’t mind if I have more than one serving later…”

“There’s plenty of ham to go around, hon.” She waved a hand, the ends of her lips curling.

Your eyebrows jut together, but you covered that small change of expression with a tight smile. “You ready for that tour, Abs?” You snapped your fingers. It was an awkward and very rare movement from you, but it was barely noticed. Not by Abby, at least.

She wiped her lips with a napkin, dusting her hands on her tight jeans. “If you don’t mind?” Abby politely spoke to your mother, and for a moment, it didn’t bother you. A few months ago, these little moments were what you wished for. You envisioned her eating your mom’s cooking with a smile, conversing with her in your childhood home—but she didn’t want that. It was bitterly humorous how much of a natural she was in the scope of things.

Maria nodded, giving you an off glance, and jutting her blonde eyebrows upwards. You took her hand, dragging her out the front door, shoving through the screen door. Once you were out in the brisk, autumn air, you slid your hand from hers—crossing your arms over your chest like a shield of some sort.

“I thought your bedroom would be the first stop…” Abby chortled to herself, glancing down at you. However, you barely reacted. Perhaps, she was joking or jesting—trying to make you laugh.

Internally, you cringed. “My bedroom is the least fascinating thing here.” You narrowed your eyes at her, leading the woman down the porch. “So, what interests you the most? Horses? Goats? Cows?” You perk an eyebrow, peering up at her. Eyes switching between her semi-awkward stature and the background of the front of the house. You yearned for the dull high beams of Ellie’s truck.

“Horses are cool…” She nodded, surveying your features, trying to determine your thoughts. Abby has never been so focused on you, and frankly, it made you feel weird. A part of you wanted to relish in the fact that she was giving you the energy you had been wanting from her all along. But the wound that was severed by the touch and attention of your past lover—nothing could compare! It would be greedy for you to welcome this modified version of Abby Anderson. Deep down, if it came down to it, you’d choose Ellie over Abby; no questions asked.

“My dad, he has a soft spot for animals… The last time I saw a horse I was, like, fifteen.” Abby continued, while you led her toward the horse barn. “He took me to some ranch for my birthday.”

You hummed, raising an eyebrow. “It wasn’t this one, right?” A chuckle fell from your lips, stuffing your hands into the pockets of your overalls.

Abby guffawed, pushing a straying piece of her hair behind her ears. “No, it wasn’t this one. The ranch I went to, their horses were very easily frightened—which was odd because their whole shtick was horse-riding.” She deepened her eyebrows at the memory, shrugging her shoulders. “I almost fell off one of ‘em.”

“Geez, Abs.” You puffed air from your lips. “Well, my parents have always spent lots of time training these horses— so, you have nothing to be worried about.” Your fingers grazed the material of her shirt on her arm, pressing your lips into a smile. “The only one that isn’t formally trained is Sarah, but she’s only a few weeks old. And to be honest, she takes to new people very well.” As you approached the barn, a few of them still grazed around. It was Shimmer and Sarah out along the fence, and Hamlet sort of just watching them.

“Alright, I’ll have to trust you.” She pursed her lips.

“I’d never lead you into the fire, Abby…”

You opened the gate, walking into the enclosure of the barn. Abby appeared apprehensive about walking into their space. Her previous experience with a horse must’ve truly affected her. Warmly, you held out a hand for her—giving her the option to take it. You wiggled your fingers, sporting a slightly teasing smile. Abby took your hand, firmly, holding onto your hand as if she never wanted to let go. Spark.

Her fear was endearing; it was like seeing her in a different light. How confusing.

“Over there, that’s Shimmer and her baby Sarah. They’re both the most affectionate. Sarah takes after her mother in that way. And lingering off to the side… That’s Hamlet—he’s a bit of a loner. He likes to walk around and keep an eye on everyone.”

“Like a protector?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.” You nod, still holding onto her coarse hand. “I could introduce you to Shimmer? Like I said, she’s super sweet— I’m sure she’ll adore you.” You wanted to give her the option because that was just the type of person that you were. Despite your flip-floppy relationship, in a sense, you allowed her admittance of a small fear to soften your heart to her. The tethering of your hands, the feeling of leading her—controlling her, guiding her—it gave you a sense of comfort. It was a connection that you were waiting for. However, still, it didn’t feel the same compared to the auburn-haired artist. Now, that there was a chance to compare.

Her palms were too coarse, more focused on her inner knuckles, remnants of her history with heavy lifting. While Ellie’s exposed her love of physical art, music, drawing, painting. The callouses relied on her fingertips rather than her palms—and for some reason, that mattered more to you.

With her hand in yours, you lead her toward Shimmer, cooing as you approached her. You muttered sweet words to the much shorter horse, Sarah, before guiding her hand to touch Shimmer. You palm over the back of her hand to reassure that Abby was safe—that she wasn’t going to hurt her.

You weren’t leading her into the fire.

Her soft, blue eyes gleamed at you, but it was hard to notice at first as you were focused on Shimmer. Your other hand scratched at the side of her neck, burrowing your nails under her coarse fur. A nervous tick; an attempt at ignoring the harsh gaze of the blonde next to you. Abby’s dilated irises penetrated the side of your face with the weight of a glare. You swallowed a lump in your throat, averting your eyes from Shimmer’s copper fur toward her enamored features.  

There wasn’t much time for you to take in her look of yearning before she enveloped you into her arms, attaching her lips to yours. She shared her warmth with her firm arms cradling your bare ones, and it did, in fact, warm you up. But it wasn’t warm. Although, your arms automatically wrapped around her shoulders—fingers imbedding into her fine, blonde hair—you allowed her touch to consume you. Her desperate touch. Her lips plead against yours, pleading for you to dive into her as she wanted you to. As you used to with fervor. Abby noticed your lack of enthusiasm, or more so attempt to replicate your past enthusiasm. She prided herself on her intelligence, meaning that she knew something had changed between the two of you. Either you gained more self-respect for yourself, or there was someone else.

Someone who touched you better than she did. Someone who had the time to love you how you wanted to be loved.

Off in the dark, a truck pulled onto the graveled driveway of the younger Millers’ home. When she put the car in park, leaned her head against the stirring wheel, releasing a groan of relief. The trip to the train station was long, and initially silent. Until Cat became livid enough to make Ellie pull over for an hour. She was sobbing, screaming, unleashing her pent-up anger on the artist—and deservingly so; Ellie knew that much. Debatably, it was one of her best fuckups because it brought you back to her.

It all began with the tempting of a fruit. The garden of Eden—your quivering lips in a filthy, bar bathroom. Historians call that the fall of man, however, ever since she succumbed to you, she’s felt higher than she ever has. A burning joint was nothing compared to you.

Ellie’s poor decision making was worth Cat’s wrath if it brought her back to you.

But there was a lingering pressure that haunted her mind like a juvenile insecurity. A two-syllable word that was a poltergeist in her mind—fickle. Was the reigniting of a fire, the fire that Ellie sparked, received for the sake of receiving. Maybe, you didn’t love her like you claimed—but that didn’t make sense. Not for you!

The disorganized artist worried and worried and worried. When her dull high beams reflected off the white, farmhouse ahead of her; her nerves only increased. There was this need to prove herself to you that she couldn’t shake.

After gathering courage, she hopped out of her truck, slamming the door to release the energy that harbored at the pit of her belly. Ellie shoved the key into the driver’s door, locking all of the doors with a huff. Her toes pivoted, hands sliding into her front pockets as she approached the house—mentally readying herself to see your face again. The last time the two of you spoke, she proclaimed her love for you despite your blundering imperfections. Ellie was sure that you didn’t take well to that; she needed to explain!

Her beat-up converse crunched over the gravel; she could feel every pebble under her deteriorating sole. In the dark, her earthy eyes squinted in the direction of the barn—to get a look at the grazing horses she spent time with earlier. Ellie wanted to check up on them from the distance in which she walked. However, she was met with a sight that burned her from the inside out.

It was you wrapped in the arms of the same woman from the bar. Tall in her stature, in a black shirt that hugged her protruding muscles perfectly. Long, glimmering, golden hair that your fingers punctured. To feel a combination of emotions was an understatement.

Her fingers tingled up her slender arms, lips arching in disgust. “What the fuck is happening…?” Ellie muttered with grit, starting to stalk toward the house, scoffing under her breath. But, before she reached the stairs to the porch, she turned on her feet again. Consumed with frustration, she began to lead herself toward the horse barn with stiff shoulders and balled-up fists.

Ellie appeared on the opposite side of the fence than you and Abby with a look in her eye that could be confused for estrangement. While you were already breaking apart, placing your hand on Abby’s firm chest, unable to meet her eyes—afraid to expose your apprehension. The artist’s appearance caused you to nearly jump out of your boots. You jumped a few inches from the taller blonde woman, placing your fingers over your glistening lips, ruminating with regret.

“I’m afraid we haven’t gotten the chance to meet— I’m Ellie.” Her raspy voice was taut, and too formal. It was barely the voice that you were used to. She failed to offer a physical greeting, like offering her hand; she just kept her hands had her sides.

You hid your face in your hands, cursing to yourself. Fuck. Fuck. Abby lips parted, awkwardly. “Uhm, Abby Anderson… I’ve heard a lot about you.” Her slender eyebrows jutted upwards, and she held out her hand, but wasn’t met with warmth. It was true that she knew about Ellie—the past version of her, at least. She’d heard the story of her poking and prodding at you in your youth, but even with that, you never spoke ill of her. By the time you met Abby, there was a level of accountability taken over the situation that didn’t exist years before.

She was nothing more than a story about your first love.

Ellie glanced at you, bitterly. “Yeah, I’m sure you have…” She ran her earthy eyes up Abby’s tall, muscular figure with a frown.

“Ellie—” Her voice cut you off before you could speak, causing you to look off to the side in contempt.

“Dinner’s ready, right? We should probably head inside… Wouldn’t wanna leave Maria waiting.” The auburn-haired woman stalked off before either you or Abby had the chance to react. You sighed, barely sparing the blonde a glance before following behind her. A frown pressed deeply onto your lips, mind racing behind your shifting, watering eyes. Abby muttered a ‘what the hell’ under her breath, smacking her hands against her thighs. But you didn’t say anything, just gnawed on the inside of your lip, anxiously. The tables turned too fast for your liking.

The auburn-haired artist didn’t care to hold the screen door open for you and your guest, quickly entering the house. Tommy and Joel were inside sorting the steaks out in a singular disposable tin pan. They looked up simultaneously, like brothers, at the sight before them. Joel squinted at the sight of a fuming Ellie, or the sight of her trying to hide her frustration and anger. And Tommy looked to you with a similar look, and a simple jut of his eyebrows at the blonde woman behind you.

“Steak! I’m fucking starving.” You heard Ellie mutter, walking to the counter after taking a plate from the dining table.

A sigh left your lips while your father handed you an empty plate, but you passed it over to Abby—still, not sparing her a glance. Then, he handed you another one. The blonde man leans down, speaking in your ear while your mother tried to break the awkwardness of Abby’s presence. “Something happened?” He muttered, putting food on his plate.

“Mhm…” You glanced at him with wide, weary eyes.  

Somehow, everyone found themselves sat at the dining table: you between Abby and your mother, and Ellie between Tommy and Joel—you were looking straight at each other. You pleaded with your eyes for her not to react; that you could explain if you were given the chance. But that was too much to say with only a pointed gaze.

“So, Abby, what do you do?” She asked the blonde beside you, cutting her steak, forcefully.

“I’m a surgeon— an intern at Bellevue Hospital.” She nodded, forking the vegetables on her plate.

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Tommy nodded, he glanced at her. His comment made Ellie’s eye twitch, subtly. “I have a friend who works in the medical field— have you figured out your specialty yet, or…”

Abby hummed, sipping water from a shiny glass cup, looking over the rim to meet your father’s eyes. “Not quite. My dad’s a general surgeon, so that interested me the most— but the more I work with surgeons under different specialties, the more I find myself interested in other things.” She swallowed, blinking. “Like, now, I’m considering orthopedic surgery.”

“That’s the one with the bones, right?” Joel questioned, partly chewing on his food.

“Yes, sir. That’s the one.” She chuckled, leaning her forearms on the table.

You watched Ellie take a gulp of her beer before speaking once more. “So, if you’re a surgeon… And y/n’s a writer— how’d the two of you meet?”

Maria smiled, glancing at her husband. “Well, Ellie, they met through her agent, Isa. At an event— what was it? A gala?”

“A fundraiser.” Finally, you spoke up to correct, holding up a finger that proclaimed your usual know-it-all behavior. Then, you reached for your wine glass, taking large gulps to down the substance—hoping it’d ease your uneven temper. You noticed that your lover, the auburn-haired one, had played the word fundraiser on her tongue. Under her breath, she talked to herself as if she was mocking the way you said the word.

The muscular blonde beside you cleared her throat, leveling her bright eyes onto the woman in front of you. “What do you do, Ellie?” Abby wondered with a barely noticeable sneer, but you caught it.

From the corner of your eye, you peered at her, stiffening your frame.

Her round, olive eyes glared at her—a glare that nobody at that table could miss. Everyone but Abby knew Ellie through and through; her anger couldn’t be hidden. In fact, she was the last person at that table who could ever hide her anger. “I’m an artist.” She curtly responded.

“So, you draw?”

“And she paints.” You fill in, turning your head in the direction of your guest. Her inquiry seemed backhanded—passive aggressive—and that struck a nerve. As if drawing was insignificant. “She’s really good at it.” Your eyes meet hers and for a moment her harsh, green eyes softened.

“Have I seen any of your work anywhere?”

“You don’t seem like a coffee shop person, so I doubt it.” Ellie grimaced, rolling her eyes. “I’m getting another drink.” Abruptly, she stood out of her chair, to walk into the kitchen that was hidden behind a wall and corner. The wooden legs screeching against the floor, causing you to cringe.

Abby shrugged, peering at you with a slight curl to her lips. “I love coffee.”

You scoffed, shutting your eyes. Without saying a word, you stood to your feet to follow her into the kitchen. Before you slipped away, you managed to slide your fingers along your guests’ shoulders as a way of reassurance—mainly so she wouldn’t get the urge to follow you.

When you entered the kitchen, Ellie was found with her hands braced on the counter and her head hanging low. The heels of your cowboy boots clicking against kitchen floor, slowly. Apprehensively. Nervously. You played with your fingertips, puffing air from your lips. “Ellie…”

“What the fuck was that?” Her eyes met yours, stressed and irritated with striking red veins.

You shrugged, pressing your lips into a line. “I was sticking up for you—“

“That’s not what I’m talkin’ about and you know that…” She scorned, barely even blinking her eyes. They bored into you in a way that almost petrified your frame.

You swallowed, casting your eyes up to the ceiling, guiltily. “It just happened.”

“It just happened?” She perked a scarred eyebrow, chortling, dryly. “It just fucking happened— I bet you could say the same for what happened between us, too, huh?” Ellie turned her body toward you, keeping her other hand leaning on the counter. Her voice was level, trying to keep the conversation down so other wouldn’t hear it—because even when she was angry, she still felt the need to shield you. Or more so, keep your relationship problems undercover. “Tell me, y/n… Am I fucking idiot? You made this big fuss about me breaking up with Cat, and the second I do, I see you eating Abby’s fucking face!”

“I wasn’t eating her face…”

“Semantics!”

“It was out of nowhere— I didn’t ask her to kiss me, Ellie!” You tried with a deep furrow in your brow, lips quivering. “It’s just… It’s just we have history—“

She laughed, bitterly.

“We have history and she’s stuck in a cycle I haven’t had the chance to break.”

Ellie squinted her eyes at you. “What the hell does that even mean?” Voice pulled taut, stepping closer to you. “You said that if I got rid of Cat, you’d get rid of Abby.”

“I forgot she was coming! Did you forget the day we had?!” The space between you was closing in the heat of frustration. “We didn’t exactly end on good terms earlier— excuse me for letting something as minuscule as Abby attending dinner to slip my mind.” You rambled with a secretive voice. “I had a very eventful day—“

“And you think I didn’t?”

You groaned under your breath, bunching your hands into fists at your sides. “I never said you didn’t… I just said that I did. There’s a lot on my mind.” A sigh fled your lips, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose. “You know, I told my parents about us— right after our argument, because I couldn’t let them hear it from you or Cat.” Your voice softened, peering into her dilated eyes. Your trembling fingers tethered to the cotton that covered her arm, sliding down, attempting to reach for her hand. “I made peace with what we did… Because I wanna be with you, Els.” The choice to quote her own words wasn’t intentional, it was your truth.

When she had scolded you in your own bedroom, it wasn’t a great feeling, but she wasn’t wrong. You needed to stop wanting to be perfect all the time—nobody makes the best decisions every chance they get. Sometimes people fuckup and that’s okay.

The image of you searching her eyes made her heart melt. She wanted to fall into you—to kiss you, and say everything was fine… Even if it wasn’t. Ellie felt your hand creeping into hers. Your soft fingertips tapping her stiff palm. She found herself proud of you for admitting your faults to your parents—it was your greatest fear, but you did it anyway. Perhaps, you have changed or you were learning to. However, the looming presence of that buff surgeon irritated her.

Jealousy was a raging bitch.

And, speaking of… There she came, strutting into the kitchen with a look of concern. “Hey, is everything alright?” Her deep blue eyes only looked at you, gaging your stability—she couldn’t care less for Ellie’s.

Ellie swiped her hand from yours, running that same hand through her hair. “Yeah, everything’s fine.” She reached into the fridge, snatching a glass bottle of beer from the door. Just as quick as she did that, she fled the scene. Not sparing you a glance.

Eerily, your hand felt cold. You pouted, watching her leave, scratching your eyebrow. Abby uttered your name, sliding her hand around your waist. Your body tensed under her touch—it wasn’t what you yearned for. “Everything’s fine, Abby.” You breathed, gently touching the hand on your waist, removing it. However, you hid your form of rejection by turning to her, plastering a fake smile on your face.

“Joel started playing his guitar… Didn’t want you to miss it.”

“Nothing I haven’t seen before— but I don’t want you to miss it, so…” You take in a deep inhale, averting your eyes. “I’ll meet you in there. I need a minute.”

Abby appeared taken aback and confused. You weren’t acting like the person she thought that she knew. And to be fair, it all started at the Tipsy Bison. “What’s going on— is something wrong—?”

“I just need a minute, alright?” You stressed, pinching your features. Almost snapping at her, but not quite. Still, your tone unnerved the blonde. She twitched, backing up from you with dejected shoulders. Abby scoffed under her breath, leaving you to pace in the kitchen alone—just like you wanted.

Because of your sudden stance at the dinner table, standing up to trot after Ellie, you forgot your empty wine glass. Instead of ducking toward the table to grab it, you just grabbed a clean glass from the cabinet. You poured a full glass of the Pinot Grigio that Ellie and Tommy had brought—nearly filling it to the brim. God, you needed a cigarette. The nicotine could hold you and console you better than a full bottle of wine. Better than the large, calloused hands of Abigail Anderson. But, better than the nimble, lightly calloused hands of Ellie Williams? Her arms? The whisps of her bluntly cut hair tickling your skin—no. Nothing was better than that… Than her.

The melodic sounds of Joel’s guitar filled your ears, and the impressed chuckles of his brother—your father. You missed hearing him play. His pleasant strum eased the spirits slipping down your throat. Then, you heard another tune, and it pulled you from the confines of the kitchen.

Your fingers held the bulbous part of the glass, resting your elbow over your arm. You moved as if you were being drawn spiritually to the living room, appearing behind Abby.

Ellie had propped herself on a stool in front of the television, with her own guitar, the one that had an inscription of your initials on the neck. It couldn’t be seen from the position you stood, but the feeling of knowing it was still there made your heart lurch.

Your parents sat on the couch, and Joel had been on a loveseat toward the side, fiddling with his own guitar. Nervously, Ellie plucked the copper strings of her guitar, attempting to quickly tune it. Her freckled cheeks were warm and a light shade of pink.

Her earthy eyes looked up at your sudden appearance and you smiled behind your full glass of wine, shyly. The corners of her plush lips curled in a subtle way that your guest would miss it—or at least you hoped that she did. Or… Maybe you didn’t. You’ve proven to be a shameless person over the past few days.

When she began to strum the guitar, she played the tune of a song that was familiar to you—Keane—Somewhere Only We Know. It was one of the songs featured on her MySpace account, in her bio. One of the first things a lurker would notice after seeing her fandom username.

Her soft, timid voice rose from her throat, singing the beginning of the song. You sipped at your white wine, lowering the glass so she could see the smile unable to fall from your lips. There was a rasp to her voice that exposed her skills to be an effect of her hobby-ing. Ellie sung not because she was good at it, but because she wanted to—it gave her comfort. And, perhaps, that’s what she needed.

“So, tell me when you’re gonna let me in… I’m getting tired, and I need somewhere to begin.”

Your epidermis burned, cheeks heating up as if it were w furnace being heated by charring charcoal. Let me in. It was selfish for you to apply yourself to the words she spoke that was written by another person. But you needed to let her in! Irrevocably.

However, for you to do that… You needed to let Abby out.

You reached up for her shoulder, tugging her closer to your level, so you could whisper in her ear. “Meet me in my bedroom in five minutes— upstairs.” Your lips moved close to the shell of her ear, fingers tapping along her strong shoulder. She didn’t know where your bedroom was, but you were certain she’d find it.

Maria side-eyed you as you slipped away with slumping shoulders. Ellie noticed your departure, stammering on the lyrics she was singing, but she kept going, dejectedly.

The navigation from the living room to your bedroom helped you realize the sum of what you drank. You stumbled on your way up the stairs, holding onto the railing, shutting your eyes and shaking your head to gather yourself.

When you entered your bedroom, you set the glass on your bedside table, meandering to your reading nook. You had swiped the pack of cigarettes from your dresser, opening up the window and lighting up to calm your wired nerves.

The cool breeze wafted into your bedroom, sending a chill down your spine. Between your index and middle finger was your burning stick of nicotine and tobacco. Remnants stuck to your clothes before slipping out the flushing window.

You practiced how you were going to break it off with her. Direct or indirect—which one was best?

Abby, we need to talk…

Abby, I have something to tell you—

“There you are…” The blonde woman peeked into your bedroom before walking inside. She shut the door behind her, and you frowned out your window. “Your room’s pinker than I thought I’d be.” Abby chortled, preparing to join you on the nook, but you spoke before she could.

“We can’t see each other anymore…” You puffed smoke from your lips, eyeing her from the corner of your eye.

She bunched her eyebrows together, lips parting. “What—?”

“And don’t act like we weren’t seeing each other, because we very much were.”

Her hands hit her thighs. “I wasn’t going to.” A deep sigh came from her mouth, fingers reaching up to pinch the bridge of her nose. “Fuck, I should’ve seen this coming.” Abby muttered, shaking her head.

You tapped your thumb around the mouthpiece of your cigarette to get rid of the ashes. “I should’ve never invited you here. I knew better, but—“ The corner of your mouth lifted and you laughed. “I wanted to be an asshole. You don’t deserve that, though. Even if you led me on for a few months.”

“Is that what all this is about? What happened with us?” She ran her hand through her hair, cheeks reddening. “y/n, I wasn’t thinking and…”

“It doesn’t matter, Abby.” You looked at her, intently. “I need someone who makes time for me— even in the oddest of situations, and that’s not you.” You tried to keep your business to yourself. The relationship that was blooming between you and an old flame; it was sacred. And, she didn’t need to know that you were taking on homewrecking as a hobby.

She scoffed, averting her eyes from you. “What did you think me driving down here was, then? Skipping out on my friends to come to a place you didn’t even want me to be—“

“I didn’t ask you to skip out on your friends—“

“Well, I did anyway!”

A beat passed between the both of you.

The blonde woman frowned. “For you, because I wanted to make up for…” Her voice trailed off, eyes welling up with tears. “It was all for nothing, clearly.”

Earlier, you had made promise that you wouldn’t lead her into fire. Yet, that’s exactly what you did. “Abby, I still appreciate you coming and being so helpful and kind to my family but… To be honest, it’s too late for me.”

Her hand wiped against her face, roughly. She trained her eyes on a spot in your room that was interesting enough to keep her emotional gaze—instead of looking you in the eye. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

You deepened your eyebrows. “Do I think you’re stupid—? “

“It’s Ellie, isn’t it?”

Your lips fell open, gaping like fish gasping for air. “You textbook lesbian…” Abby muttered to herself, chuckling, dryly.

“Abby!” You scolded, glaring up at her.

“What? It’s the truth. I never had a fucking chance to begin with.”

In a fit of frustration, you dabbed the end of your burning cigarette onto one of your pillows, burning through the material. “That’s not true!” You stood up, abruptly. “I gave you a chance months ago, and you fucking blew it!” You pointed an accusatory finger. “You’re career meant more to you—“

“Since when is that a bad thing—?”

“Fuckin’ other girls meant more to you!”

She gasped. “Oh, come on, you know that’s a reach…” Her eyes rolled, dismissively.

Stubbornly, you crossed your arms. “Do I?”

Abby scoffed, laughing, dryly. “Ever since I met you… I liked you— I was into you. I wanted you.” She confessed, tiredly. “My unavailability wasn’t some made up lie to pull a fast one. I was an overachieving, fourth-year med student who didn’t wanna risk too many distractions.” The woman explained, pausing for anxious breath. “Yeah, I know, I said some things that probably hurt your feelings—“

“Probably?” You perked an eyebrow.

She sighed. “Hurting your feelings was the only way I knew you wouldn’t expect anything of me more than what I was capable of— and, at the time, relationship-wise… I wasn’t capable of anything.” Her shoulders shrugged, weakly. As if she’s been keeping this to herself for some time.

Weirdly, you’re shoulders relaxed at her explanation. While you didn’t agree with her techniques to keep you at arms-length, you weren’t in the position to keep holding onto that frustration with her. You had other priorities. “I guess you’re right… I fucking blew it.”

Now, you sighed, averting your eyes around your room in thought. “You know, maybe, we were always meant to be friends?” You offered, rocking on your feet.

“You think I wanna be friends with you, right now?” Abby raised an eyebrow, looking at you from the side of her irritated eyes. But, there was a light smile on her lips, exposing that she wasn’t completely upset. Just disappointed that things didn’t work out as she’d hoped. “Seems like there’s something going on with you and that artist downstairs… That’s not something I wanna see— at least, not anytime soon, so…”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, whenever you have some free time on your hands, whenever you, you know, find someone else, or whatever… Maybe we could get some coffee— as friends.”

She genuinely chortled, cheeks blushing. “Yeah, whatever, Miller.” Abby jutted her thumb toward your door. “I’m gonna head out.”

You nodded, walking her to your bedroom door, following her out. “You want me to make you a plate, or anything?” That southern hospitality that was bred into you through your family could never be mistaken for being gone. Those years in the city hadn’t deteriorated you in that way. Even when you were breaking up with someone.

The woman pressed her lips into a line. “You know, what? Yeah, sure.”

“Good, because I was gon’ make you one anyway.” You nudged her side with your elbow, grinning ear to ear.

There was freedom that came to your unabashed honesty. As you walked down the stairs, your limps felt lighter, and that drunken feeling had almost spared you completely. Almost. On the last step, you nearly tripped but the sturdy railing kept your body level.

As you rounded the corner, Ellie brushed passed you and out the front door with her hand clutching her guitar. Her emotional eyes had caught the smile on your lips and perceived something that wasn’t true—just a shady assumption.

And she had every reason to assume.

The television had been turned up, and the sounds of the football game was blaring through the lower level of the house. You held up a finger to Abby, walking to your mother. “Hey,” You greeted, massaging your father’s shoulder as a physical greeting. “Would you mind makin’ Abby a plate to take home?”

She raised an eyebrow, an impressed eyebrow. “Oh, she’s leaving so soon?”

“I’m throwin’ in the asshole towel.” You shrugged, referencing her comment from earlier.

Maria chuckled, but her husband looked up at you with deepened eyebrows. “What the hell did you just say? Asshole towel—?”

“Just focus on the game, honey.” She patted her husbands shoulder, jumping to her feet. Maria met you around the couch, leaning close to you. “You go’n ahead and check on Ellie.”

You smiled, kissing her cheek, lovingly. Before you left out the door you, pointed at the tall doctor lingering in your kitchen. “Text me when you get back into the city, okay?”

Abby gave you a thumbs up. “Yeah,” Her eyes turned to your mothers frame. “Thank you, Mrs. Miller.”

Then, you slipped out the screen door, busting into a hasty speed walk. The uneven gravel wrecking havoc on your ankles, due to your slight impairment.

The porch light at the guesthouse flickered—it must need its bulb to be changed. When you appeared on the porch, your fist trembled as you raised it to knock on the door. Knock, knock, knock. You wrapped your arms around your body to keep warm.

A few moments passed and she didn’t respond.

You knocked the same pattern, and waited. Only for her to not respond, again. Behind you, you heard the engine of Abby’s Jaguar sounding off, beginning to roll along the gravel. But, you didn’t care much for it.

Heat in your cheeks blistered. “Ellie, I know you’re in there… Please, can you just open the door?” You tried with frowned lips. “It isn’t gettin’ any warmer out here…”

There was a brief silence before you heard her raspy voice on the other side of the door. “What? Abby can’t keep you warm anymore?” She scoffed.

You sighed, leaning an arm on the door frame. “No, she can’t because she just left.”

The door swung open, revealing a disheveled artist, fingers covered in charcoal. “Really?”

“Really.” You met her eyes with sincerity.

Ellie groaned, releasing the tension that she’s been harboring, leaving the door and walking into the living room.

That was her letting you inside, so you adhered, walking into the guesthouse. You shut the door behind you, eyeing her slender retreating frame. She meandered into the living room, placing hers on the stool in front of her easel. It was a new canvas, still being sketched on before she added the paints.

The pan of the pie sat on the coffee table in front of the couch, with a fork inside of it. She had taken the pie for herself, and instead of making a plate, she ate it from the tin.

Ellie continued the project she was working on, barely even giving you a glance. To break the silence, you spoke. “I meant what I said earlier…”

You couldn’t exactly see what she was sketching because you wanted to keep your distance for her sake—to respect her uncertainty. “I don’t know…” She muttered, shaking her head.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

The woman sighed, turning her body toward you on the stool. She pushed the pieces of her auburn hair behind her pierced ears. “I’m an artist who’s only sells my paintings to local coffee shops for under a hundred bucks, because I’m too scared to try anywhere else— she’s a fucking doctor… And she’s ripped!” Her hands slapped against her thighs. “Why do you wanna be with me?”

Taken aback by her outburst, you blinked. A soft scoff left your lips. “Well, I don’t like you only because you’re an artist… And I didn’t like Abby only because she was a doctor— what kind of person do you think I am?” You questioned, softly. “I wanna be with you because I love you, Ellie— Abby could never make me feel what you make me feel.” You giggle behind your finger, briefly averting your eyes. “It’s like… I can fuckin’ smell colors and taste sounds—“

“Okay, now you’re just saying whatever.”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked why I want to be with you. I’m just being honest.” You shrugged, approaching her. Gently, you caressed your fingers up her bare arms, sliding up her neck to the crevice of her jaw. “I know it wasn’t easy to see what you saw earlier, and I’m sorry— I mean, just seeing you hug Cat made me wanna blow up.” She leaned into your touch, keening to you.

Smiling down at her, your eyes casted to the canvas on the easel. It was an outline of you—matter of fact, your naked body. “Ellie,” A gasp fled from your lips. “This better be an example of your photographic memory.”

Her hands had snuck along your hips, pulling you close enough for her head to rest on your chest. “It is… What do you think— I’m some sort of creep?”

“I find it funny that when you’re mad at me… Your first instinct is to draw me naked.” You snicker.

She hummed against the center pocket of your overalls. “I wasn’t necessarily mad— I was just… Sad.” Ellie looked up at you with a pout on her lips, batting her big, green eyes at you in a way that compelled you. “Abby is so much more than me— fuck, she’s financially worth more than me.” She inhaled, deeply. “What made me upset was that I understood why you’d choose her… She has a great career—“

Interrupting her, you plotted your lips against hers until her reciprocating was less confused and more enthused. Your finger dragged along her scalp, gripping slightly. When you pulled away, she leaned forward for more. “I don’t wanna talk about her anymore.” Your thumb grazed over her eyebrow, ingesting her soft features. The freckles that littered over the bridge of her nose, the subtle cracks in her lips. “I’ve been waiting to get you all to myself for days now— I refuse to waste it away because of some girl.”

“Some girl, huh?”

“Mhm.” You hummed. “I missed that cover of Keane that you had sung earlier… You think you could play it for me?” You pursed your lips, and she pulled your hips closer to her, pulling you between her legs.

Ellie peered up at you with yearning irises. “I can play whatever you want.”

A giggle escaped from your lips before you plotted them against hers once more, pulling her up to her feet. You pulled her to the bedroom, where her guitar was thrown over the messy, unmade bed.

She propped herself on the edge of the bed, and you plopped onto the ground so you could properly be her audience. You hugged your legs to your chest, looking up at her with a level of awe that you haven’t had in a while. Reflections of your past looked back at you—Ellie gripping the neck of her instrument, strumming the metal chords that’s been with her for years. Those chords had witnessed the glimmering eyes you were giving her; at a much younger age, before shit went haywire.

The smooth tone of Somewhere Only We Know glided through your ears, ignoring the chords she lagged on, or messed up because it didn’t matter. When she finished, Ellie barely got the chance to look at you before you leaped up to kiss her again. Gently, you pulled the guitar from her hands, leaning it up against the bed, tethering to her as if she were a wave crashing along an eroding boulder.

To love her freely was a weight lifted off your shoulders. It was a rush of water sprinting up the sand within a storm. A breaching of magma exploding from the mouth of a volcano—a expression of a release of passion. The inevitable.

No more Cat. No more Abby. But, besides the good sex, and the warmth of each other’s genuine embrace, and the comfort of knowing each other through and through… What else was there?

taglist: @autisticintr0vert , @liasxeatt , @hopingforgoodblogs , @lia-winther , @macaroni676 , @tobiotruther , @anewkindofloove , @fatbootymuncher , @maiaska , @culuvr , @0phantom0 , @onlinelesbo , @bbnbhm , @lovelaymedown , @lamorenita , @scatapple , @elliewilliamsblunt , @goddessofchaosss , @mikellie , @emmanetalias , @sevyscoven , @lluvbk , @saturnhas82moons , @na0koz , @violetszn , @prwttiestbunny , @superbscissorsdeanexpert , @iheartclairo66 , @avalovesmus1c , @flowerl1lly , @meow4510 , @222celestial , @sawaagyapong

[hoseoksluna]

RUSE | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x strategy!oc (feat. police officer!taehyung)

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook wants to reciprocate what you've done to him, but what he doesn't know that you're always one step ahead.

word count: 6.2k

pin: strategy

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, gaslighting, smoking, stray animal, mentions of cum eating, trauma, ptsd, depression, metal anguish, fear, anxiety, male masturbation, disgust, post nut clarity, gun, mentions of female oral sex and sexual intercourse, mention of rape, lack of hygiene.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna’s note: oh my babies, i didn't have much time to write throughout the week because i've been so busy, stressed out and tired. i wrote this rly fast today, but it actually wrote itself. i myself was surprised when i wrote the end of this chapter and i need to talk about it, so hit my askbox as soon as you finish reading. ENJOY MWAH. <3

past chapters: STRATEGY ; SCHEME ; masterlist

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster,

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@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

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@psychicjellyfishalpaca @Kooloveys

Jungkook didn’t sleep a wink that night.

As much as his hands yearned to clean you off his cum under the hot steam of a shower and his lips to kiss yours in order to shift the moment into an atmosphere of tenderness, he didn’t do any of those things. Like a person bereft of any blood, any worth and any purpose in life, he stood there, outside of the bubble of your self-indulgence while you consumed, quietly in your frantic pursuit, the sticky beads of his passion for you, which he splattered your body with. Your gaze didn’t wander off to see where he’s gone—you weren’t concerned about his empty hands at all. Instead, you stared at your own, licking them off, and then, like him, you got off the bed and hit the shower without so much as glancing back at him. 

You didn’t even leave the door open. If you had done that, he would’ve crawled on his hands and knees like a needy cub and pawed at your legs just to get a droplet of water, cascading from your skin, upon the bottom of his lip. But you didn’t. You didn’t care for him at all. And because of that, there was nothing left for him to do than to pick up his clothes, get dressed mid-walk, and slam the door behind him so harshly that he felt the reverberation of his rage crawling across the muscles in his arms like spiders. Back and forth, back and forth—like the motions of his cock that slid in and out of you just a moment ago. 

He didn’t hope you heard it. Hell, the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind because as soon as his finger pressed the elevator button, it was burdened by a certain memory that penetrated it like a body of water breaking open the wooden constitution of a boat. While what he felt for you as an individual in that moment was something akin to hatred, what suddenly budded in his soul for that swollen pearl of lasciviousness and for that tight hole below, which leaked so much liquid sweetness that he still felt it coating his inflexibly stiffened dick… it unequivocally contradicted it. In his heart, he knew that the dreams flooded him because he had fought them and repressed them for so long, but the logic of the matter was useless to him. The overlay of your pussy eclipsing, at last, over his mind, was so cosmic, dotted with the stars of your arousal, and so paralyzing that he didn’t know when the doors had opened and when they had closed, when the transportation took him down and when the air finally hit his lungs. His fingers didn’t rummage through his pockets for his cigarettes—he stared at absolutely nothing while perfectly seeing your cunt that he fucked. Yes, cunt. The word that you deserve after what you had done to him. The shiny folds. The clit that he rubbed, licked and sucked until you gave him your orgasm. And the tight hole that falsely welcomed him behind the pretense of adorably needing him. 

The other half of him, which was ruled by his anger, was heightened. He clenched his fist, yearning to express that emotion laced with his frustration through the act of breaking something. He saw red, but he saw pink too—the pinkness of your flesh, and within that second he perceived that he wasn’t an amalgamation of you and him, but that he was a mere dusky particle of chaos, a bundle of confusion, lack and abandonment. Unloved, unneeded in the right way, fruitless and purposeless, an instrument of lust—a spear hardness that got you off, and nothing else. 

Jungkook was fuming, but at the same time he relived the memory of him rubbing his nose on your clit while his tongue slipped in and out of you, and the split drew his tears to his waterline with such harsh, painful hardness that he closed his eyes just to soften the pain. And had it not been for the bright streams of his car headlights digging into his eyelids, he would’ve sleepwalked like this home. 

He had left the door to his driver seat open, and the edges felt soothingly cold as he gripped them for support while getting inside. He didn’t close them because he longed, now that he was partly outside of the dream, for the equally cold spring air to filter through his lungs. Soak up the heaviness and the nicotine he’d shared with you, exchange it for absolute lightness. The tears burned behind his eyes, pushed against them, and they would pour out and spurt down onto his cheeks, had a small animal not made a soft noise somewhere below him. 

A shivering, sodden ginger cat placed its round paws against the threshold of the car. 

At first, Jungkook nearly soundlessly gasped. A desperate, yet saddened huff of air escaped his mouth as he looked down and saw that fragile body freezing due to the aftermath of the rain. And then, his heart ached so much that he picked up the animal with careful hands—as if he were handling a baby, he slid his hands under the armpits of the cat and cradled it to his chest. From this close proximity, he studied the state of the furry friend while he caressed its head. And upon noting the scratches across its brow and the bridge of its nose and feeling the jagged bones of its ribs under his hand, Jungkook discerned that it was as broken as him. 

A friend in need, indeed. His pain multiplied, and the dam of his emotions burst apart. Like the debris fell, he fell as well. Burying his head into the wet fur of the still shivering cat, he wept. He wept for its misfortune and low living conditions, and he wept for his own, too. There weren’t many differences between them. And the more he wept, the more the cat settled down. His bitter tears warmed its cold body, eased up its shivers, and it rested against his shoulder and the crook of his neck until it began to purr. And then the services of utmost kindness and love were exchanged as the cat’s feline murmurs of comfort soothed him and paused the cascade of his tears. As if telling him—don’t cry anymore, you have me. 

Evocatively, Jungkook sensed that he bonded with the cat. More than he ever bonded with you, and something whispered to him that the furry friend would never treat him the way you did. 

A torrent of logic surged through his mind. While he may have picked up the cat in a moment of weakness because he needed the relief from the emotional pain he experienced, it didn’t mean he was quite willing to let go of it and let it go back to its old life of desolation. The cat clung to his neck, and that alone gave him the strength to reach over and close the car door shut. To turn on the heater, not for him because he was burning under his clothes, but for the poor animal. Abel Tesfaye’s voice boomed through the dark interior of his car, but Jungkook turned down the volume until he eventually shut it off entirely. He longed for the cat to be undisturbed, especially if it alone longed for him back. 

He couldn’t get it off his neck, and that alluded that it was his now. 

He wanted to place it on the passenger seat beside him. Roll the seatbelt over its small body and clip it shut, securing its safety. The cat, however, would not budge, and would actually sink its claws into his throat, ever so gently, if he would try, after the millionth time, to pry it off. It wasn’t until he was halfway home that the kitty began to softly snore and, using all the tenderness he was capable of, Jungkook used the opportunity to place it on his lap. The cops didn’t see, his phone didn’t ring—all went smoothly. 

You didn’t haunt his mind. 

He carried the cat upstairs, holding its butt for support as he diligently put it back to its original position on his shoulder so it wouldn’t notice it was moved. It slept so soundly that it didn’t stir awake even when he set it down in the corner of his couch and covered it with the only blanket he had. He wondered how long it had searched for food that it was so exhausted, and the tears rushed back up his eyes with their bitterly hot temperature that he couldn’t handle. He caressed its head again, kneeling on the carpet in front of the couch, careful not to touch the wounds it had. Thought about how he was going to take it to the vet the next morning. He had saved up enough for your future to now spend it on the animal, and he didn’t feel one ounce of regret that you were never going to see that money. 

The kitty would, and it would appreciate him for it. 

Jungkook traced its fluffy ear and even in its deep sleep, it twitched in response. He cooed and pondered how he was going to take care of it and pour all of the love he had for you into it until his eyes became heavy. Then, he got up and ritually took off his clothes in order to take a shower—but when he stood in front of the tinted shower doors, he realized he was standing in front of his greatest enemy. 

And it is at this present moment that all the memories are hurled at him like bullets. 

But they’re not of the lustful kind, the blazed snippets of your femininity that were strung together in his mind as soon as he flung your door shut. They’re of a sinister kind, reminding him of what you’ve done. And the shower represents some sort of portal that holds the heartless hazard of him reliving the pain again if he were to step inside. All because you ate his cum and left him barren, overlooking or plainly ignoring his own sensitive needs and taking a shower without him after he thought what you and him had was more profound than the casualness you showed. 

Jungkook takes a step back. His heart thumps, and the tears that have been threatening to pour out in the last minutes stain his cheeks in immense fear. 

Fear of the pain. Fear of the heaviness. Fear of… you. 

The teardrops form a rivulet upon his clavicles, trickling down his empty heart that feels full at the same time. Full of love yearning to be given out; full of love ungiven to you. 

He doesn’t know how he does it—gather the courage to wipe his cheeks down with his palm and use the same hand to plunge deep into his chest somewhere and grab the bunny of his love. Kneel on the tiles and lead it to jump out of his hold in front of the shower. Turn around and refuse to watch the way the innocent and the sinless herbivore tuck down its ears, tilt its head up and beg him not to leave it behind. 

This is the first time it hears it speak. Please, please. Such subdued, little tone and how great of a power it bears. Still, Jungkook grabs the door knob and as gently as he can, he clicks the door shut, ignorant to the last part of the plea that he shall never hear again. 

Wearing nothing but his black Calvin’s, which are sticky and uncomfortable, he walks into the kitchen where he washes his hands. Pulling out a plate of eggs and a tube of spam and pouring one and a half scoop of rice into the rice cooker, he fixes a quick dinner and doesn’t hesitate to grab a small black teacup plate, the smallest he has, which belonged to Taehyung once. He had broken it and Jungkook fixed it for him, but hyung never wanted it back. Still to this day, whenever Jungkook looks at it, he wonders why he never took it back. He traces the glued split fracture before he tenderly tears the spam for the kitten and places it on top of the unseasoned scrambled eggs he made for it. With both of the plates, he walks over to the couch to see the animal still folded in a deep slumber. 

Jungkook thinks if a human slept in the same position, his heart wouldn’t melt as much and he wouldn’t feel so much for it, especially now after he got rid of all the love he had. 

Setting the plates down, he sits beside the kitten and folds over it just the same. Petting its head, he’s adamant to wake it up, the picture of its fatigued and starved body very much vivid in his mind. It can sleep peacefully for the rest of the night, but it needs to eat now. 

“Wake up, baby.” 

The pet name reminds him that he’s never checked for its gender. In the moment of weakness, it wasn’t important to him, he didn’t care and he didn’t need to know. But if the animal is supposed to be a part of his life now, he should know for the sake of a deeper bonding. It should have a name as well. 

Jungkook rubs his nose in the especially sensitive and soft place of its head—right below its ear. “Are you a little boy or a girl, hm?” 

He’s guilty to think that he’d rather prefer it to be a boy after what happened tonight. That he overall considers the option to be safer rather than if the kitten was a girl. His heart constricts, and he fights his own feelings for the sake of it because it doesn’t deserve it. It shouldn’t matter. 

“Your food’s getting cold. Wake up.” 

Despite the fact Jungkook used a singsong pitch of tone, the cat doesn’t budge. Still it breathes evenly, the blanket lifting and falling under his chest, and he thinks it's time to pull out the big guns. 

Reaching over for its plate, he picks up the smallest piece of the spam and brings it to its nose. The kitten sniffs it, quickly opens its eyes and lifts its head, confusingly searching for the source of the delicious smell. It doesn’t get up like Jungkook expected it would, and it looks at him like it makes sure he’s the safe person it chose before it slowly nibbles on the meat. Jungkook feels the tears rush up again and his heart does a somersault as he feels the kitten’s teeth and its gentle scraping on his fingers. 

And somehow this time, he doesn’t stifle them back. 

Freely, he lets them out, but the unrestrainment to his emotions causes him to sob with all the violence that was stored in him for so long. It scares the cat however—it gazes up at him with a parted little mouth, drawn an inch back from his fingers—and he regrets it. Terribly, terribly he regrets it. 

“No, I’m sorry. I won’t cry again,” he apologizes to the animal, wiping down his face. “Enjoy your food. I won’t interrupt again. Just eat.” 

And he pushes the rest of the piece of meat to its mouth. The cat sniffs it before it hesitatingly takes it again, and Jungkook is ready to give it the tiny scrambled egg as he watches it chew, choking on the surge of tears and the lump in his throat. Once it swallows, it denies the egg and instead gets up on wonky, sleepy legs, waits for Jungkook to lift his torso and once he does, it walks over to his lap and settles into a position of a loaf of bread. 

Was that to comfort him? A tear and a cry escapes, which he quickly muffles with a palm over his mouth, and he distracts it with the scrambled egg that it willingly takes. And because it can’t see him, he silently weeps. Because it eats, because it so evidently comforted him, and because it chose him in the middle of his loneliness. 

The kitten doesn’t finish its plate. Jungkook’s own dinner has gone cold, but he doesn’t mind. He picks up the cat and returns it to its former position, but it surprises him by rolling over onto its back, showing him its flat, skinny belly. Jungkook immediately remembers one of the short videos he had watched in the past. He himself never grew up with any animals, let alone a cat, so he never knew how they worked, but as a little boy he always longed for one non-human friend—he’d gaze with a certain kind of jealousy at neighbors who’d walk their dogs and as he got older, he’d satisfy his longing with videos. And the recent one he saw, it explained how cats show their vulnerability and sense of safety with their owners by showing their belly. 

He doesn’t hide his emotions. This is all he ever wanted all his life, beside the sight of the sea. With a tear-stained hand, he rubs its belly. And there he sees the gender of the kitty—as if it showed it to him, as if it could see the contents of his anxious thoughts and it decided to smooth them out. 

The cat is a girl. 

A faint line of disappointment courses through his veins, which is then smoothed out, once again, by the purring she exudes. As if she was saying—don’t worry, I’m not a human, remember? And for that, Jungkook kisses her belly, sinks his thanks into the fur, which slightly stinks. He doesn’t want to contemplate where she lived all this time. Not that he can—because a greater problem resurfaces. 

If he can’t wash himself, how will he wash the cat? 

Many thoughts of many faces swirled in his mind while the kitty girl snored. 

Jungkook didn’t realize the sun had unraveled its light across his street until one of its beams, streaming through the window, landed on the wounds of the animal. She stirs awake, peeking with one eye open, which soon closes back again as she stretches her jaw in a big, long yawn. 

He held her the entire night. Sometimes, he would press his ear against her heart just to get answers to his unending questions. There, he would doze, but he would never fully sleep like her. Sometimes, he would caress her; sometimes he would just keep his hand on her while he tried to figure out what the next day and the following trajectory of his shared life with her shall look like. 

He did figure it out, and Jungkook thinks that somehow, in her dreamland, she radiated her smartness to him through transcendent waves of a human-and-animal relationship. There was no evidence of heaviness in terms of the decisions he made, and while he did feel the pinpricks of the pain poking through his heart when he thought about the events you made happen in his life, he also felt good in the long run. And he’s sure he has the kitty girl to thank because she kept him company and because she saved him. 

He feels the need to share it all with her, now that she’s awake. 

“Good morning, baby,” he intones, coaxing out her purring, which showers him with shocks of muted joy. “Did you sleep well?” 

She stops her purring, jutting out her tongue just to clean her paw that she was laying against all night. His heart twists, its jagged parts piercing his lungs. 

“I know, I know,” he soothes, fondling her head and her ears. She stops her cleaning just to gaze back at him as if she was double checking that this was reality, that she didn’t dream about her rescue. His lungs bleed at that. “We’re gonna go to my friend’s place downstairs and Appa’s gonna scrub you clean. He needs a shower, too. I’m sorry that we can’t use mine.” 

His heart doesn’t allow him to expand on the reason, not quite yet, and he’s relieved that the kitty continues doing her thing without pressuring him. He’s so used to your ways that the silence feels more than rewarding—something way beyond that, incapable of being confined by the walls of the human, worldly system. He smiles at her, his eyes getting teary again, but the violence of his emotions has quieted. He kisses her head, over and over again, making kissing sounds that do bring back the memories of what he did to your lips and cunt last night, but they’re so faint and so powerless that he’s able to tune them out. He doesn’t want to imagine what his morning would look like if he didn’t have the kitten to distract his thoughts, and so he continues kissing her until a certain matter floats up. 

“What is Appa gonna call you?” 

The kitten purrs, drifting to a serene morning nap, ignoring him or rather giving him the reins. Jungkook did think about this matter, but he couldn’t figure out a name that would flow out of his lips for her with an ease such as the pet name. He planned to have a conversation with her about it, but it seems as though she’s too sleepy to pay attention. Or maybe she just doesn’t care. 

“Are you Appa’s baby?” 

The kitten sighs, and that’s good enough of an answer for him. Baby, it is. 

He leaves her to nap while he goes to make his morning coffee. Stronger and blacker than usual. Yesterday lies inside the pit of his stomach that is empty of all food, having ingested the little he ate, and he wishes to scald it with the dark liquid and burn it with the ash of his cigarette, and that’s precisely what he does, suppressing the memory of the rising ash of the cigarette you smoked while he ate you out. 

He smokes three of them while he’s at it, lost in the realm of his thoughts. Baby is taken care of, but there’s the lingering matter of you that won’t let him be, simmering somewhere low within him even through its faint temperament. Does he ghost you and live a placid life with Baby, never driving up to your street or through the streets of Hongdae to protect girls better than you—or does he take his revenge? Take your schemes and adjust them, make you pay for what you’ve done? 

This is a silent dead end that he faces, but something of a kind, hopeful nature whispers to him to leave it be for now. But if the matter of you won’t leave him be and he’s asked to leave it be in reciprocation, then he’s relatively inclined to be radical and ruin your life. 

Nevertheless, he doesn’t punctuate that thought—he truly leaves it be for now, despite the fact that the idea arouses him. His sack feels heavy, having only orgasmed once yesterday when he usually needs to do it at least one more time in order to secure his sexual well-being. When the memories of your pussy haunted him, he was too numb to be aware whether he was hard or not, but now, now that numbness is slightly swept away from him as if it were a fabric of silkiness draped across his body. His cock stiffens, and he senses that familiar pressure in the low of his abdomen, and he sighs, overcome by lust that he can’t say no to.  

He checks whether Baby is still sleeping and once he sees her resting, he makes haste. 

Carefully shutting the door behind him, he wraps his fingers around the bottle of lotion to his right, which sits upon his desk. He plops down onto his bed, his body situated in the middle of the mattress while his legs are perched on the floor. He tugs the material of his boxers down, his cock springing free, sticky with dried crumbs of your virginal blood. He closes his eyes at that, willing the pain to go away, refusing to go through it again, and instead he focuses his mind on his own personal ruse. 

Stealing you away to a place far away. Lots of ropes. Lots of lube in the right places. 

Jungkook fists his cock. His veins throb under his hand, but the stickiness of your residue and all that blood gives him an icky feeling. Normally, he would wash himself before doing this, but because he physically can’t, he fixes the issue with a great amount of lotion. He spreads it all around with both hands, letting out little breaths and gasps of pleasure when his fingers squeeze the right spots. All is increased by that overspilling creamy substance as it begins to squelch like your cunt did—and Jungkook sweats and pants for air. And allows himself to form a mental image of his ruse. 

He would tie your wrists up around the headboard of a bed he never slept in and never shall. And while you would try to shimmy out of your panties, he’d only pull them up higher. Squirt an overwhelming amount of lube on his cock and slide it inside from the edge of the fabric. Like this, he would moisten your cunt. He wouldn’t touch it, he wouldn’t rub it. Only start fucking it like this, using your femininity, holding your panties in place and also tightening it around his shaft. He’d shock you and he’d disappoint you, giving you a taste of your own poison.

He would count how many times you came like this when you weren’t allowed to, and just as many times he’d punish you because you were such a little bitch that didn’t deserve anything. 

There his fantasy paused. His chest shudders, his pleasure on the cusp of the peak. He doesn’t know how he would punish you without spanking you because he didn’t want to encounter his father again, but the idea of it, the idea of it being different nearly makes him come. 

He lets go of his cock. His shaft pulsates, reddened and milky. Drops of his precum slither down, melting into the thickness of the lotion, and he’s so out of breath and his vision is swimming so much that he has to rub his eyes with the back of his hands, devoid of the makeshift lube. 

And then it comes to him and his manhood asks for him again. One hand wraps around his thickness, the other clutches his full balls. And it’s so perfect, so smart and exactly what you deserve that when he begins to move again, the orgasm feels as though it’s about to fasten around him. He speeds up his movement, concentrating on the tip of his cock, and the idea plays out over and over again on loop. He whimpers needily, bucking his hips into his fist as he massages his sack, eyes squeezed shut, the image of it so bright and so impeccable that it almost makes him feel as though he were soaring. 

What he would do to you is that he would— 

A scratching on the door yanks him out of the flawlessness of the dream. But his body is still there, and despite the fact he stopped the movements on his private parts, he comes so hard that his torso is pushed back onto the mattress, his cock leaking so much of his cum that it bathes him in white. The pulsation is vivified, amplified, worsened, and while he should be experiencing a celestial relief that would cleanse out his spirit, he’s strapped down by a guilt so boundless that feels more awful than he did before. All because Baby is scratching the door, asking for his presence. 

He should’ve been with her, deepening her sense of safety, not fucking his cock to the thought of sexually using a person he hates. 

His orgasm is ruined, no aftershocks of pleasure run through his body, stained with so much fucking cum that he’s disgusted by it. Post-nut clarity hits him, putting salt on his wound, and he’d much rather die right now than get up and live with the fact that he’s a sorry case of a human being. He can’t catch his breath, the sweat lining his body is aggravating him, and the heaviness returns to him. 

No redemption for him, no saving because despite the poison absorbing his system, he still wants to follow through with his ruse. He was steered to let this be, but he simply can’t.

“Just a second, Baby.” 

Jungkook wipes off the cum stains with a bunch of tissues and tucks his flaccid cock back into his dirty boxers, cringing all the way through. He hurries as he opens the door to find the ginger kitten sitting on her butt, looking up at him. He can’t read her emotions, he can’t tell if she’s asking questions, and he’s ashamed to take her into his arms. Not after what he’s done, not when he’s so soiled. 

And he takes his gaze away from her potential disappointment when he turns around and leaves her there, opening his closet to get dressed as quickly as possible. And he’s not ignorant to the fact that she won’t step inside, as if the ghost of his sin prevented her from entering. 

Rightfully so, Jungkook thinks. 

“You have a cat? Since when?” 

The sound of Taehyung’s deep voice outright irritates him as soon as he hears it. His hyung had scowled at him once he opened his front door after Jungkook ringed it, but his distasteful expression dropped the second his brown pools noticed the small, unnerved orange kitten in the crook of his arm. 

Jungkook had to grit his jaw and push through after he got dressed and Baby meowed at him from the threshold. The act alone of putting clean clothes over his dirty body squeezed every last ounce of life out of him, and the fact he had to pick up her up and touch her with his sinful hands, cradle her to his dishonorable chest revolted him. His mood plummeted down, and even the softness of her fur couldn’t lift it back up. 

It didn’t help that Baby didn’t like the change of scenery. She started fidgeting and tried to escape out of his arm as the darkness of the hall enveloped them. The song of his door locking behind him scared her and as her fear spread out, she cried so loud that Jungkook had a hard time quietening her down. His fast paddling down the stairs stole her attention from it and decreased her cries, but her body wasn’t still and Jungkook really wanted to die. 

And now he wants to strangle Taehyung for asking a stupid question, but since he’s asking for a favor, he puts on a fake smile whilst his eyes remain dead. Baby buries her head in his breast, her claws digging into the muscle there. 

Upon seeing the feigned kindness, Taehyung steps aside and Jungkook walks in.

His apartment is a mess, stacked full with strange decor, take out food and cups and bottles of different unfinished soda. The first thing Jungkook’s gaze lands upon, however, is the rumpled police uniform thrown over a chair right in front of him, and his stomach turns over, bile rising up. 

A dead dream, indeed. 

Just yesterday, it was the greatest thing he longed for, and today he shall never venture out into the evil streets of Hongdae. He’ll never take care of the girls seeking adrenaline, and his fist will never break bones of the little pussies who take advantage of their enthusiasm. He’ll never probe Taehyung's real cases of crime and he’ll never sit in the passenger seat of his own police car. And he’ll never ever again dream about wearing that uniform. 

The tears don’t reappear, but a thick layer of sadness adheres to him, gouging out a hole inside his chest, where his dream can rest for all eternity and where the funeral for it can take place. Jungkook will be the only one present. 

He hears the shuffling of Taehyung’s feet and Jungkook pulls himself together, forcing himself into the reality. Taehyung asked him a question, and even though it exasperated him so much and he’d much rather just wordlessly take a shower and leave, he turns around and answers it, playing a role because there’s nothing left for him to do. 

Taehyung can’t know about this pain. No one can. 

“I found her yesterday,” Jungkook says, truthfully, willing strength and a steady façade to his voice so Taehyung doesn’t pry in something that isn’t any of his business. 

Taehyung comes to stand beside him. A question is wrung into his features that is let up a little when he looks down at Baby. Both of his hands are in the pockets of his silken carmine pajama pants and one of them raised to pet Baby’s head. Distrustful, the kitten buries her face deeper into Jungkook’s chest and respecting and honoring her wishes, Jungkook maneuvers her and upheaves her to her favorite place, swallowing the memory of you, too, having favorite places on his body. Baby almost crawls to his neck and Jungkook lets her, stroking her back. 

“You found her? You didn’t rescue her?” Taehyung asks, slowly, and it’s pissing him off that he’s asking so many questions and that he can’t retort back like he’d wish to. 

He sighs. “Sort of. She came to me when I was about to drive away from… a friend’s house. She’s a stray and I took her.” 

Jungkook swelters under his clothes, feeling more uncomfortable than ever. Taehyung studies him and the whitely dotted orange fur of the cat, contemplating the information he was given. Jungkook dislikes the principle of him assimilating his personal business to such an extent that he’s ready to open his mouth and just outright ask to do what he came here for. But Taehyung is faster, and he’s not quite satisfied with what he got. 

“Have you taken it to the vet yet?” 

Jungkook shakes his head. “Not yet, but I’m about to. This is actually what I came here for—”

“You should’ve taken it as soon as you decided to keep it. You don’t know how sick it can be. What did you feed it?” 

Jungkook fully swivels to face him, cocking his brow at the absolute disrespectful tone he used. Anger pricks his fingertips and he no longer wants to be here because he knows that the longer he stands here, the more he’s going to be affronted and Taehyung is going to make him feel like a small child. Mirror shards of his father begin to be placed on Taehyung’s unkempt form and Jungkook is aware that this is a test and that he needs to fight. 

“First of all, it’s a she and second of all, I know what to do—”

“Where were you last night?” 

The question catches him off guard, diminishing the fact that his speech was interrupted again. Who is this person and where has his friend gone? Why is everyone against him and why does no one seem to love him? Is he that unlovable, that worthless? 

Jungkook sucks in a breath through his teeth, cognizant of the fact that he can’t stay here any longer. “What’s it to you?” 

Taehyung rolls his shoulders back, his oversized sleep T-shirt clinging to his prominent muscles. He looks down at his feet before he brings his gaze back to him, biting his bottom lip briefly. Jungkook feels as though he’s being investigated, and he doesn’t like that one bit. 

“You smell like sex. Who did you fuck last night?” he questions, his tone low and deliberate. Jungkook’s heart sinks, his mind blanking out at the personal attack. “I saw your car parked in front of my girl’s house on my patrol last night,” he adds, mentioning your name, firing a gun at that unlively flesh that a ghost of you is holding with him. “At first I didn’t believe it until I checked the license plate and found out it was yours. And then I called her, many times, but she wasn’t picking up her phone. I’m sure you’re the reason why.” 

Jungkook’s lungs cease to function. His body goes into a state of numbness and his mind spins, his vision scattered with a lusterless kaleidoscope of stars. The memory of a ringing phone that he foolishly thought was his own slinks into his eardrum, where it begins an orchestra of madness and bloodshed. 

And it gains volume when the ghost of you that he saw develops into a true human form. 

You emerge out of a room, wearing a lacy robe that leaves nothing to the imagination. Your breasts show through, your stomach and the cunt that caused this all. The long bell sleeves conceal the end to his existence, and it is soon revealed when you lift a hand, around which a gun rotates, and place it on Taehyung's shoulder. 

“This is the guy that stalked me and raped me, Oppa.” 

This is the end of him, but what will happen to Baby? 

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[cutehoons02]

Puppy Love: The Hybrid's Heart

*pairing: Golden retriever puppy hybrid Jake x human popular bratty Girl

*trope: oppositive attraction

*synopsis: What if you were to do a project on the economic boom that brought hybrids into the human world in terms of love and sex with Jake a golden retriever hybrid who at first glance looks like a puppy but slowly becomes obsessed with you, and you with your shameless insolence propose to write an essay on the overselling of sexual protections against hybrids? This idea of yours might be brilliant academically but on the plane between your relationship with the hybrid Jake could bring some spicy consequences

*tags: a lot of fluffy and fun, a lot of tension, Jake is a shy fake boy, the protagonist is quite bratty and spoiled but also has a tender side, teasing, territorial animal instinct and possession, kisses, sexual tension, masturbation (f.receives) unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) fingering, knot filling, pet names (baby,princess) (puppy,jakey)

7.6k (🐕)

(English is not my native language,)

The world was no longer just for humans.

Since hybrids became an integral part of society, each sector had to adapt to their presence. Medicine, law, food, and education; the world has now normalized the presence of hybrids, who coexist with humans in every aspect of society. Some are still considered "tools" for certain purposes, but others, like Jake, want to prove that they are more than what they were created for. At school or university, hybrids have mixed classes with humans, but there is still some prejudice against them. Some see them as merely trained life companions, others as true peers, instead, you were extremely skeptical, saw them as beings too perfect to be true, always kind, always smiling... which you suspect but your friends always told you to charge one or to feel the thrill of being filled by one of them but you in a sense also hated the male human gender; Going with a hybrid would have been even worse and you firmly believed that the hybrids had repressed instincts and that all their sweetness was just a mask to hide their true primordial nature of possessing someone.

In the human world, there were various forms of hybrids the most common ones were those of dogs with then the sub-species and the same thing was for cats, then there were rabbits, hamsters, and then birds but if you thought that there were only these species you were mistaken. There were hybrid wolves which were the rarest especially if they were Alphas, foxes, deer, bears, snakes, and so on.

The auditorium was full of students, and the hum of whispers filled the air while the professor was busy with the projector. The door snapped open, and a figure came in steadily without the least embarrassment of delay.

Jake barely looked up from his notebook and saw you dressed in tight jeans that tied your legs and a sweater that slipped on your shoulders.

He had never spoken to you but knew you by hearsay in the halls of the university that you were one of the most popular girls, but he noticed you immediately. Not so much for your appearance - even though it was clear that you were aware of pleasure - but for the way you moved: confident, almost cocky, as if you challenged anyone to tell you something.

Your eyes set on the only empty place next to him and with a theatrical sigh, you approached and stopped right there in front of him.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" you asked in a slightly sarcastic tone.

Jake looked at you for a moment, then tilted his head. An involuntary gesture, almost canine, that betrayed his hybrid nature, and felt his tail bursting more than it should.

«Not too much,» he replied, with a relaxed smile.

You raised an eyebrow, then dropped down on the chair with a studious ease and pulled out the notebook slowly, as if you were doing the professor a favor by attending the class.

Jake looked at you again, out of the corner of his eye and that’s when he heard it.

Your perfume, my lord. Sweet, with a vanilla note... but also something fresh, almost pungent. It was rare that a smell hit him like this, the hybrids had a developed sense of smell, sure, but after years among humans he got used to ignoring certain things but this... was too good.

Too persistent.

He barely shook his head, trying to ignore him, but at that moment you spoke again.

"I’ve never seen a hybrid in an advanced course," you commented, crossing your legs under the bench and Jake barely smiled.

«And I have never seen a girl arrive late with so much confidence and boldness»

You smiled amused because you knew how the hybrids could always be perfect in everything, never late, always right at every deadline was a thing that united their species.

"It’s a natural talent that in just a few years!" you said as you flicked through the pages of your notes.

«It must be difficult to perfect, in the human world there are clocks for this, alarms, and reminders but maybe you don’t know that.» He said looking at you with a suspicious smile that made you get on your nerves

"Oh, yes, it takes years of practice, in my house as you may have deduced there are no alarms or maybe I’m just too careless."

Jake chuckled. You liked to tease, this was obvious but not aggressive... it seemed more like a game for you.

"Anyway," you said, getting a little too close for Jake’s taste "Mine wasn’t a joke. I have never seen a hybrid in such a course. I thought they would give you more... practical courses."

Jake stopped tapping his fingers on the bench and turned slightly toward you.

«Practical?» he said intrigued by your question and felt his ears curl up with curiosity.

You smiled, just tilting your head to look at him carefully and he was really beautiful: he had black hair slightly fluffy, his ears were golden and deduced that he was a hybrid of a Golden retriever, wore a black shirt where you could see he had nice muscles and a black leather jacket, of the ripped jeans where you could see his toned legs and the only contrast was his slightly long tail that since you were sitting next to him did not stop moving and was extremely adorable but there was also a darker side: an intensity in his eyes that you had noticed immediately, a smile with perfect teeth that seemed more clever than it should be.

"Yeah. You know, things like obeying, being affectionate, devoted..." Jake laughed softly, his elbow resting on the back of the chair. «If by "practical" you mean that, then I suppose so.» But you shook your head, snapping your tongue.

"No, I mean other things." Jake looked at you with a shadow of curiosity in his eyes.

«What other things?»

You didn’t hesitate for a second to speak and Jake understood that you were extremely cheeky and had no hair on your tongue.

"Obsessing about people. Being territorial. Being perverted from morning to night. And, of course, to breed in mass, I have a friend who has a hybrid at home and is extremely territorial with her, I would never be able to take home a hybrid if then in your nature you become so obsessed and territorial with us» Jake’s smile froze for a moment and for the first time since he had met you, he was speechless.

You had said it too naturally, with too much confidence, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, and for a second, Jake felt the heat rise. He was not angry, no but... he felt strange.

He knew well that there were still people who thought so, who saw the hybrids only as beings programmed to satisfy the humans and to satisfy themselves but to hear it in his face, with that almost contemptuous lightness, struck him more than he would have wanted to admit.

He passed his tongue on his teeth, then cleared his throat.

«... And tell me,» he said with a smile that he was trying to mask the irritation. «Do you want me to do these things?»

You burst out laughing, god also he had seriously the taste of humor at the stars and no doubt knew how to tease you and always had the ready answer, maybe his master had trained him well for life as a hybrid mixed with that human being.

"Are you serious?" Jake just stared at you, waiting for your answer and you shook your head, crossing your arms with a haughty little smile.

"No, not even in my worst nightmare would I sleep with a hybrid."

Jake looked away for a second.

Okay, that sentence... had more effect than expected.

Not that he was interested in that way - he said - but the way you had said it, with that absolute confidence, had left him a small, annoying scratch in his pride and passed a hand through his hair, then came back to look at you with an ironic smile.

«Ah, well...» he said, lowering his voice. «I’m sorry to break your heart, but even in my worst nightmares I wouldn’t dream of jumping on you.»

You laughed again, but this time his eyes shone with satisfaction and Jake stared at you for a moment, then barely shook his head, returning to focus on the professor but your scent kept invading his senses and was damn good.

The teacher clapped his hands a couple of times to get the class’s attention.

— Well, guys. For future lessons, I want you to work in pairs with those next to you. You will have to write a short essay on the economic and social boom that occurred after the integration of hybrids in our society, especially in the sentimental sector and... - paused, putting his glasses on his nose, - sexual.

In the courtroom, there was a murmur mixed with some suffocated laughter. Someone turned to look at his sidekick with funny or embarrassed expressions.

Jake ran his hand through his hair, letting go a slight sigh. Fantastic and his new sidekick snorted and laughed.

"Well, I guess you won’t get rid of me that easily then," you said. Jake turned to you, finding you with a clever smirk on your lips. There was something mischievous in your tone as if you were enjoying every second of that situation.

What about him? He wasn’t sure how to feel. On the one hand, the idea of spending more time with you meant dealing with your cheeky attitude and sharp tongue.

On the other hand... your perfume, it was absurd, sweet, and pungent, insinuated itself in his senses in a way that he could not ignore.

"That might be a problem," he thought, his tongue in his teeth.

You meanwhile stretch out your hand, with an almost bored expression, as if you were simply doing your social duty.

"My name is Y/n." Jake looked down at your hand for a moment, then did the same.

«Jake,» he said in a low voice smiling at you, and as soon as your hands touched, both of you felt a slight electric shock. You withdrew your hand after a second, barely clenching your fingers, as if you were unsure of what she had just felt. Jake, on the other hand, stood still, his face as relaxed as ever... but something inside of him had lit up.

He had felt the shock more intensely than he should. Like a shiver along the back, an impulse that had made his hair on the arms and clenched his jaw, trying to ignore it.

It was nothing, could not be anything.

Yet, as you turned to take your notebook and start working, he stood still for a moment too long, his eyes still fixed on his hand, as if trying to figure out what the hell had happened.

Jake nervously drummed his fingers on the table, trying to ignore the annoyance that twisted in his stomach every time you came into the library or private rooms to continue with the work your economics professor had assigned.

There were days that you worked together and, if possible, he found you more and more unbearable; you arrived late every time, as if it was your natural right and sincerely thought you did it on purpose to see him annoyed by you. And not a few minutes, once you had waited 40 minutes under the bus shelter and it was raining and when you arrived you looked at him as if you had before you not a human and animal half but a puppy left alone. Although to be honest, today ten minutes seemed almost a miracle, and then the way you dressed... always those little skirts that seemed to come out of an anime for under 18 years old, always those soft sweaters where you let see your skin smooth and perfect that slipped on your shoulders, and the loose hair that framed your face with almost irritating ease.

And your perfume, damn it, your perfume. Every day it seemed to get more intense, more enveloping, as if she wanted to drag him inside without anything he could do about it.

Jake strove to look away while you sat beside him with the usual carelessness, pulling out your notes with exasperating slowness but then saw you take something out of your bag.

A small box and he felt his breath stop for a moment, Jake recognized it instantly.

Anti-hybrid contraceptives. In pill format for girls. In condom format for boys. He felt the blood go to his head instantly, and a burst of heat rose on his cheeks before he could even control himself. Instinctively, he also felt his tail flutter hard, too hard and forced himself to stop it, clearing his throat in a desperate attempt to mask his reaction.

You noticed immediately and, of course, you made you laugh.

"Oh? What’s this face, Jake? You’re a little too reactive to be such a smart hybrid, aren’t you?"

Jake put his hand on his neck, trying to ignore the way his body was reacting against his will.

«It’s nothing,» he mumbled, trying to appear indifferent but you did not let yourself be fooled and you leaned at the table with a mischievous smirk, making the box swing between your fingers.

"Ah-ah, I wouldn’t say. You lit up like a light bulb. What, you’ve never seen one before?"

Jake stared at you. «I know what it is,» he said, trying to keep her cool. «I just didn’t expect you to take it out so... naturally.»

You laugh again and open the box, taking out a pill and swirling it between your fingers.

"Oh, honey, I always have an escort with me. You know, just to be safe. You never know, with all these hybrids around, so obsessed, territorial, and..." you got a little closer, looking at him provocatively, "perverts from morning to night."

Jake clenched his jaw and thought you were a damn problem and the worst part was that you knew exactly how much you were causing it.

You laughed and slipped the pill back into its wrapper.

"I guess your master didn’t explain to you what it means to be ironic, I’ve never taken one of these pills in my life sincerely; I just wanted to make fun of you a little bit," you said, putting the box on the table. " We can talk about it in our essay."

Jake raised an eyebrow and did not understand what I wanted to say sincerely.

«Contraceptives?» he said in a low voice as his cheeks warmed.

"Sure." You leaned on the back of the chair, fiddling with the box. "Come on, think of the gigantic market that has been created since hybrids entered our lives. The anti-hybrid condoms and these pills are very popular. Sometimes they’re even sold out in whole cities. It’s a multimillion-dollar business and thank God they are used to protect us from diseases and becoming mothers too soon!"

Jake nodded slowly, acknowledging that the argument made sense.

«It’s true. We could also talk about the condoms that we hybrids can use to release our seed and knot inside.»

You smiled and clapped Jake’s hands and sensitive ears rose with speed as he heard you slap them and smile.

"Perfect. So let’s try to put down our ideas and see that they are not as bad as you thought!" You gave him a slight elbow in the side and he nodded slightly feeling for a few seconds your skin in contact with his.

You worked, exchanging ideas and writing the first few paragraphs. As much as he found you annoying, Jake had to admit that you were brilliant had a lot of ideas for the head, and knew how to connect concepts, and how to make the essay interesting.

But he... he had a problem.

Since that little box appeared on the table, his body seemed to activate without his permission.

His golden tail did not stop moving, slamming against the leg of the chair. His ears were always on alert, picking up every sound or movement. And then... the heat on his cheeks. He needed to run his hand through his hair, to fix the collar of the sweatshirt as if he could find some relief.

It was a disaster and every time you talked to him you noticed that there was something strange about him and after two hours of notes thrown down in the computer you tore yourself into the chair and cleared your throat and watched him for a moment, narrowing your eyes.

Jake was... beautiful. Too beautiful. The kind of beauty that made hybrids seem even more dangerous than they already were. His face was sculpted but soft in the right places, and when he smiled he had that vaguely mischievous air that made the weak college girls knee-deep, and now, as he stirred, it was even more obvious that his body was reacting strangely.

You bit the inside of your cheek, then, with your usual insolence, you asked:

"Jake... have you ever laid a litter?" He suddenly froze and his eyes opened wide, surprised and passed the drink that he was drinking and you gently shook your hand on his back to make him recover

«What?!» said slightly incredulous of having heard that phrase coming out of your mouth that you couldn’t keep quiet for more than two minutes and you laughed amused.

"You understand very well. Have you ever had a litter?" Jake was speechless for a second, then burst out laughing, incredulous at the blatant question

«No!» and you stared at him, shocked.

"No? What’s not?!"

Jake crossed his arms, shaking his head with a funny smile.

«What surprises you so much? I can not inseminate and tie puppies from morning to night» he told you in a funny way

"You’re a hybrid!" you exclaimed. "I thought it was... boh, part of your instinct. Like, that’s what you were made for, right?"

Jake raised an eyebrow, this timeless amused.

«Wow. Is that how you see it?» said Jake in a somewhat sad and annoyed way, and you shrugged your shoulders, not breaking up.

"I see reality, Jake." He looked at you for a long moment, then shook his head with a half smile.

«Not all hybrids are obsessed with reproduction, you know?»

"No, but most do."

«I don’t,» he replied firmly

"Really?" you said curious

"Y/n. Sooner or later I would like to have a family of either single hybrids or half hybrids but for now, I want to make a career as you are doing, I would like to graduate and then find a job that satisfies me, and who knows also a companion to be with and not only to breed puppies!»

You looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, Jake was really a good guy and you could see that he tried every day to be respected and not fall into the traps of humans and then you bowed your head and smiled again.

"Well, then you’re an anomaly but I like this more "human" side of you that you want to make a career and live a normal life. We are bombarded with stories of hybrids that mate just for pleasure!"

Jake chuckled, returning to writing.

«Or maybe I just have high standards of life and love» he said looking at you and smiling.

"Ah yes?" you said curious

«Yes, Y/n. Go back to studying» You stared at him for a few seconds, then you just laughed, shaking your head.

That afternoon you were writing on the computer all the different types of contraceptive pills for hybrids and read there was a lot for any knot that filled you with animal and you were curious but also a little shocked and wanted to ask too much Jake if he had ever filled some. Nobody at school talked openly about what it meant to be with them in a physical sense. It was a taboo subject in sex education classes, yet, in the real world, everyone talked about it.

Many of your friends had fun with the hybrids at least once, and they all said the same thing.

"It is amazing."

"Being filled with them is an absurd feeling."

"The knot... is the best thing you can feel."

But you were always skeptical, you couldn’t stand certain humans, let alone hybrids. They were stronger, more instinctive, more... Unpredictable yet, sitting next to Jake, curiosity tickled you.

He was so beautiful that it hurt to the eyes, and yet it all seemed almost... Embarrassed when you provoked him you slightly turn towards him, resting your chin on the hand.

"Jake..." He didn’t take his eyes off the notebook, but his ears moved slightly.

«Mh? What other uncomfortable question will you ask me today?» he said laughing.

"Have you ever knotted anyone?" Jake instantly stuck his fingers on the paper, and his tail, which had been moving slowly until then, suddenly twitched and turned to you, and for the first time, he saw something he’d never seen in your eyes before.

Embarrassment, serious, genuine embarrassment.

«What?!» he asked, almost as if he had not heard well.

"You heard me very well, don’t be shy with me. Have you ever knotted anyone?" Jake felt the heat rise to his head in a flash. He ran his hand through his hair, as he always did when he felt nervous and looked away.

«I..» He shook his head and you flashed your eyes.

"Oh, come on!" you exclaimed with an incredulous laugh. "You’re a liar. You’re too good-looking to have never been with anyone."

Jake gnawed his cheek inside and heard his tail churning for your appreciation of him, he didn’t like where he was going to end that conversation, not with you so close, not with that perfume that invaded his lungs and clouded his thoughts.

«It happened only once,» he finally admitted, with a lower tone. You stared at him carefully, grasping the tension in his body, the way he seemed to... restrain himself.

"So? How was it? Did you like it?" Jake put his hand over his neck, undecided whether or not to answer, and finally sighed.

«No.» You stopped laughing and looked at him, confused.

"What do you mean?" you said in a low voice and Jake looked down slightly.

«It was not... an act of pleasure.» he paused, clenching his hands. «They used me only to make me lose my virginity, both hybrid and animal.»

You felt something gripping your stomach and you didn’t expect it, not from him.

You had always mocked him, convinced that he was like all the other hybrids, that he was just another boy too handsome and too sure of himself but now, seeing him like this... You wanted to say something, to fill the gap that had been created between you.

You approached him cautiously, looking at him with a mixture of hesitation and displeasure. You had never seen him so... Vulnerable and without thinking too much, you reached out your hand and gently caressed his golden ears. Jake froze for a second, surprised by the contact, then unintentionally relaxed. It was as if his body reacted by itself as if your gesture had a calming effect on him. His tail, which until then had been agitating nervously, stopped.

"Sorry," you whispered, in a tone you had never used with him before and Jake shrugged, looking away.

«You can even stop pretending to be sorry,» he said, with a half-bitter smile. «I know very well that you don’t care about me. You just like to tease me.»

You looked at him for a long moment, then shook your head.

"No. I won’t make fun of you any more about these things. And I won’t ask you any more personal questions." Jake turned to you with a cheeky smirk, his usual cocky attitude coming back to life.

«Oh? Then it’s my turn to ask personal questions?»

You raised an eyebrow. "Depends on the question."

Jake leaned against the table with a relaxed look, then looked you straight in the eye.

«Have you ever been with a boy?» Did you get stuck for a moment Jake tilted his head slightly. «I mean, did you lose your virginity?» And at that moment you realized he had asked you the exact same question. And you were bad with him and looked slightly down, then nodded slowly.

"Yes. I had... a kind of boyfriend" Jake stood in silence, waiting for him to continue and you were fiddling with the pen between your fingers as if you were unsure what to say.

"But I didn’t enjoy sex with him so much, maybe because I didn’t love him or to be honest I never loved anyone" Jake heard a slight growl forming in his throat, Almost imperceptible when he heard that you were not in love with that boy and that you did not like the sexual act.

«Did he hurt you?» Asked in a low voice and you felt that there was something in his tone that made you shudder, it wasn’t just curiosity, it was protection, it was territoriality and Jake felt the urgency grow inside of him uncontrollably. A primordial need to protect you from having you for yourself.

You looked into his eyes and shook your head.

"No, it didn’t hurt" but you saw that Jake wasn’t the same anymore, you were furious with yourself, you had used too heavy words with Jake, and now he was looking at you with a hidden wound and without thinking,

You grabbed it by the collar of the sweatshirt and pulled it to you, the lips that collided with hers in a kiss full of emotion and repressed anger.

God, what were you doing?

Jake stood motionless for a moment, surprised, but his animal instinct overwhelmed him soon after. His hands slid on your hips, holding them firmly as he lifted you with ease and seated you on the table. Her kiss answered yours with a mix of sweetness and pure possession, the lips that devoured yours with growing hunger.

«Y/n...» he murmured against your mouth between one kiss and another, the warm breath that touched your skin. «You are a little pest. Always teasing me, eh?»

Smile at his lips, nibbling on his lower lip before answering. " And you’re a golden retriever always too loyal... but maybe you have a wild side after all."

Jake growled quietly, amused and provoked by his words. «Oh, Y/n... you don’t even know what trouble you’re in.»

His hands went up your thighs, making you feel the warmth of his touch even through your clothes and you stroked his ears, knowing exactly how sensitive he was at that point. A shiver passed through Jake, who closed his eyes for a moment, panting softly.

«Damnation, Y/n...» he whispered with a crooked smile. «If you continue like this, I will not answer for my actions.»

You slowly recline, sinking your fingers in his hair. "What if that’s exactly what I want?"

When you left, Jake’s tail couldn’t stop. He felt so good, but at the same time excited, and whispered to you: «You are driving me crazy from the first day.» you smiled maliciously and tried to kiss him on the neck. When Jake heard you lightly sucking his skin near the ear, he groaned softly but immediately broke away from you.

«We can’t continue,» he said in a roaring voice and you looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "Why not?"

Jake sighed, lowering his voice. «Why would I stop. I’d fill you with my knot several times,Y/n. Your perfume makes me go crazy. And I know you’re still reluctant about hybrids... If I gave you to me, everything would change between us.»

His look was serious, intense. «For me, it’s not a game, and I know it’s not for you either. You act like a cheeky little girl, but I know that you have respect for me and the other hybrids. First, you have to figure out if you really like me or if I’m just a hobby. When you find the answer, you’ll tell me. But until you know, I can’t take any chances. I want to be just one person. I don’t want to get hurt again.» And with these words, he gave you a little kiss on the forehead and made you stand up from the table.

In those weeks of study, you were still a cheeky and popular girl with Jake you loved to tease him but at the same time understand him. You had first seen him in his animal form as a golden retriever and he was beautiful and playful with you, Jake had made you meet Sunghoon a friend of his hybrid snow fox, and Jungwon a hybrid Bengal cat. At first, you were strange and anxious about this thing but over time you had made friends with them and well Jake every day that passed could not stop touching you.

You kissed a little too much even though you weren’t engaged. He explained everything about him and the sexual part of the knot and slowly you realized that he was really starting to like you and becoming more and more important to you.

The research you and Jake had done on the economic boom of hybrids using anti-hybrid contraceptives was a success. The professor even complimented you. But that victory also had a downside: you didn’t have Jake as your work partner anymore. You noticed it, he seemed a bit down in morale, even if he never admitted it openly.

Fortunately, you both studied economics, so over the next few months you would have had more classes together.

The students of the course had organized a party and you were there with your friends, dressed in a dress perhaps a little too succinct for Jake’s standards. He looked at you with that territorial gaze, every interaction you had with some human being, especially male, seemed to make him tremble with irritation. He knew you were popular, but not that much. He noticed how some guys looked at you all night and, at one point, he got fed up.

With his tail wagging slightly and his ears raised, he approached you with a grin.

«Baby», he said, tilting his head with fake innocence, «are you aware of how many glances you attract with that little dress?»

You gave him a mischievous smile, sipping your drink. "Oh? Are you worried about me, puppy?"

Jake snorted, getting even closer. «Worried? No. Tired of seeing all these idiots staring at you as if you were a succulent meal? Absolutely yes.»

You laugh and enjoy his jealousy. "What’s the problem? It’s not my fault I’m pretty."

He clenched his jaw slightly, then leaned towards you, his voice getting lower. You know, you could be a little more discreet. Don’t you mind being looked at like that?»

You came even closer, your lips a few centimeters from hers. "And you don’t mind?"

Jake looked at you for a moment, then his hand touched your side with an almost imperceptible but possessive gesture. «It depends. If you want all those guys to know that you’re out of reach, I can make it clear to them.»

You raised an eyebrow, nibbling your lip. "Oh? How would you do that?"

Jake smiled, tilting his head. «Do you really want to find out, Y/n? Because I don’t know if you’ll like being claimed in front of everyone.»

Your heart skipped a beat, but you kept the cheek.

"Maybe you should try it, then. Let’s see if you have the courage."

Jake laughed softly, his eyes shone with a dangerous light. «You’re playing with fire, baby. And you know it.»

You smiled, caressing his ear distractedly, making the poor hybrid shudder. "And then burn me, Jake."

Late at night, the music was still pulsing in the disco and everyone was dancing. You were having fun too, but Jake, tired of the whole situation, came up to you with a look full of tension. «I can’t take it anymore," he murmured in a low, hoarse voice.»

You smiled maliciously and, caressing his soft golden retriever ears, mocked him. " Oh, does the little golden retriever have to sleep?"

Jake growled softly, approaching you with a predatory look. «I’m not tired of sleep,» he hissed, his eyes fixed on you. «I can’t stand to see you dancing with those idiots anymore. I want you so much, Y/n. You’re driving me crazy.»

Without thinking too much, you took his hand and together left the disco, walking quickly towards your university room. The journey was quiet, charged with electricity, and as you closed the door behind you, Jake did not waste time. His hands squeezed you firmly as his lips pressed against yours in a possessive but sweet kiss, laden with desire held back for too long. His tongue explored his mouth with greed, while one of his hands crept into your hair, squeezing it lightly to hold you close.

It was only for a moment, the breathless breath. «I want you, Y/n. I want to make you mine.»

You looked at him with bright eyes, your heart beating like crazy. Annuisti, but Jake was not satisfied. He touched your face with his nose, his warm breath on your skin. «No, I want to hear your beautiful voice tell me. Tell me you love me. Tell me you want to be mine... that you want my knot to fill you.»

You shivered at the sound of those words, feeling the heat enveloping you more and more. He looked at you with devastating intensity, waiting for your answer.

"I want to be yours, Jake." When Jake heard these words coming out of your mouth slightly pushed you onto the bed and without thinking began to smell you and then give you small kisses on your neck mixed with small pacifiers and light bites to claim you that made you crazy and moan his name, You began to rub yourself in its length covered by his jeans and at the same time caressing his hair and his ears and felt it more and more excited and the same thing happened to you.

There was something almost intoxicating in having him over you, his wide body looming over yours, his dark brown eyes with heavy eyelids peering at you as if he wanted to devour you completely and to have you all to himself, continued his kiss trail along your body, Stopping only when you pulled the top over your head, leaving you with only your underwear and saw his cheeks warm up when he took off your breast-rest and began to tease with one hand your right breast and the other began to suck your bud; It was a beautiful feeling and while he sucked you and left some trail of saliva you pinched him slightly and stuck your back to the feeling of his hands in your breast and his tongue that was doing a dangerous game just to tease you and make you go away the head.

«Fuck, you’re so sexy but at the same time sensitive to my touch». Jake panted as his hand touched your breast, the nipple creaking against the cold feeling of his tongue making you groan. You were so sensitive, the feeling sent you a jolt, gasping as Jake smiled at your skin and thought if you were so sensitive with only his tongue in your buds, he couldn’t wait to see you go crazy while he’d innocence you to him and push himself inside of you.

His other hand slid between your legs, touching the wet stain that had formed on your underwear as you pushed into his hand with a moan.

«Fuck, you’re soaked for me, baby». Groaning to the feeling of your excitement covering his fingers, the lips meeting yours once again in a hungry kiss, Jake detached himself from your lips, quickly lifting his shirt off his body as he threw it somewhere in the room, The sound of his belt unbuckling hit you right to the heart.

You watched him in just his boxers and he was definitely beautiful, his hair was messy, his cheeks were red, his body had beautiful abdominal ridges and you licked your lips when you saw his V-line go down to the stuffing of its length.

"I want you so much." Whining.

Jake smiled as he hovered over you again, his hands meeting your full boob again and the other hand traveling to your inner thigh, snapping his finger under the hem of your panties, caressing your clitoris, and ripping a jolt.

"Jake..." you panicked, hands clenching on his shoulders as the pleasure slowly invaded you. He smiled, bowing down to kiss your neck with warm and moist lips. «Calm down, baby...» he whispered in a tone full of possessive sweetness. «I have to prepare you well. I too can’t wait to fill you up, but I want you to be ready.»

You could feel the redness rising up your neck as her touch made you shiver, your thighs trembling with desire.

"Please..." you said in a low voice as you heard him take off your wet panties

«Please, what?» His thumb caressed your clitoris, the sudden friction made you groan, and Jake moved away slightly, his lips brushing your lobe as he murmured. The heat that accumulated in your stomach overwhelmed you as you felt that with one finger he was tickling your clitoris and with another had filled your pussy pulsing around him, You felt that it was pumping and at the same time, it was teasing your clitoris and pinching it just to make you arch your back and beg you to have it inside of you.

God, where was the shy boy who would be embarrassed if you teased him?

"Fuck me, please Jake, I need you" As you came in his fingers he lifted up slightly and your hands fell down, finding their warm and pulsating length between his delicate fingers.

Jake moans softly to the touch, his breath accelerated as his fingers sank deeper into its wet center. «Damn it, baby... You’re so perfect...» he mumbled against your skin, nibbling at her ear lobe.

You barely moved, the hands exploring him with curiosity and need, while your body was tending more and more under his caresses. "Jake... I can’t wait any longer..." You whispered with a supple tone and lowered his boxer shorts and saw his lengthy erected and full of slime liquid and you couldn’t wait to be tied to him and feel it inside you.

"Fuck." You whisper, wondering how beautiful his cock was, which was clinging around your hands and you pumped it slightly and Jake looked at you softly as he put it on top of you. «God, you’re so fucking beautiful.»

You both groan simultaneously at the feeling of his cock touching your clitoris and moving again, aligning with your entrance.

«Ready?» he asked, with a roaring and stinging voice and with a tail that was rumbling for joy and anude, biting his lip.

"Use your words, princess.» he flicked his toe along your folds

"Yes! Yes, please. Fuck me."

He shoved his cock tip into the heat, rubbing it provocatively against your folds and Jake groaned as he pushed his length inside you, your body twitching at that feeling.

It was hot. Big. Deep. The knot was filling you in a way that you would never have imagined; now you understood why human girls were crazy about hybrids. It wasn’t just pleasure-it was the feeling of being held, tied, branded. There was no escape, and yet you didn’t want to run away. Every movement of Jake made you shiver, his knot pulsed inside you, and the mixture of pain and pleasure sent you crazy.

Jake’s dark eyes devoured you, full of desire, with a visceral lust that made him almost savage. The hybrid instinct in him roared, calling you, asking to brand you, to bind her to himself permanently.

When he finally pushed himself inside you, a deep growl escaped from his lips. The feeling was overwhelming, perfect.

"Jake..." your voice trembled, and your eyes were bright as the knot pressed inside you. "It’s so... intense."

He stopped for a moment, inhaling your scent, that sweet aroma mixed with sweat that was driving him crazy.

«Shh, baby... » he leaned over you, the tongue that touched your neck, tasting you. «My knot is trying to tie you to me.»

He pushed deeper and you held your breath as he felt the knot swell, and expand inside you. The mixture of pleasure and that subtle burning made you shiver.

"Jake... the knot..." anxiously, the nails slid down his back, scratching him slightly. "It’s too much... it’s driving me crazy."

He kissed you with force, suffocating his groans in your mouth, the tongue that explored yours with a primitive, possessive hunger.

«You’re almost there." His breath was warm against your skin, his ears flattened for pleasure. «Your body is adapting to me... do you feel it? You are perfect for receiving me.»

It moved again, and the pressure within you increased. You trembled when the knot swelled further, locking it inside you, and preventing it from coming out.

"God..." whispers, clenching at him. "You’re driving me crazy."

Jake smiled at your skin, the tail moving slowly behind him like a satisfied predator.

«Fuck you, baby feel how it grows inside of you.» With each push, you felt the knot getting bigger and bigger and the pleasure penetrated you completely as you felt Jake always pushing himself inside of you and at the same time tickling your clitoris to make you come.

«You know what it means, don’t you?» His voice was low, seductive, almost hypnotic. «It means that my body is trying to tie you to me. He’s trying to... put my puppies inside you.» Your eyes pounded, the heart pounding in your chest. He touched your cheek with his lips, then dropped down the neck, leaving little bites everywhere, imprinting his mark on you.

«I know you’re taking the anti-hybrid contraceptives, baby.» His smile was almost smug. «But sooner or later my knot will fill you in the way it should.»

A shiver passed through you. Those words should have frightened you, but instead, they lit something inside of you, something deep and primordial; you felt the rush of chills and adrenaline take you in the blow and came and after two more pushes Jake filled you completely with his knot and his sperm came out of you and he licked you while you felt that it was still hard and him with those puppy eyes but mixed to territoriality and perversion you looked and nodded slightly as you felt that he sank his cock inside you again, Jake sank his face into the hollow of your neck breathing in your sweet and intoxicating scent while his knot still pulsed inside her. He felt you tremble, your body still shaken by the waves of pleasure that had swept you both away.

«You are so perfect for me... feel how your body is holding me back? As if it didn’t want to let me out...» He said in a hoarse voice, kissing your jaw softly

"I feel it, Jake... God, I feel so full..." you said with a sigh of pleasure

Jake moved slowly inside of you, feeling the pressure wrap him even more, the swollen knot that was still glued to you.

«And you will always be. Always full of me. Of my knot... and my seed.» he said whispering in your ear, with a satisfied smile.

You visibly shudder at his words, a mixture of excitement and total surrender in your dark eyes.

"Yes... yes... I want to be all yours... filled by you..."

Jake kissed you ardently, slowly sinking again «Good, baby. Tell me how much you like it.»

You were anxiously, clinging even more to him. "Jake... you make me feel so good... it’s too beautiful... I still feel the knot throbbing inside of me..."

Jake laughed softly at your lips «Because my body knows that you are mine. I will never have enough of you.»

He moved again, this time more deeply, and moaned, feeling the heat spread everywhere.

Jake with a satisfied sigh, caressed your face sweetly as he looked into your eyes «Do you want some more, baby?»

Bite your lip, clenching your legs around his hips with a mischievous smile: "Yes... yes, Jake... I want more."

Jake growled softly, with a satisfied smile as he kissed you passionately. «Then let me fill you up again. Cause I’m not done with you.»

When Jake broke away from you after you came, he helped you gently clean himself by caressing your face. «Did I hurt you?» He asked with a thread of concern in his voice as he saw you still shaken.

You laughed, shaking your head. "No, you were incredible... just a little intense!"

Jake hugged you, like a real puppy looking for affection, and kissed your head with sweetness. «You’re perfect for me,» I murmured, clenching myself. «You drive me crazy every time... and I think I’m starting to love you."

You looked at him surprised, your heart beating faster in your chest. " I have never loved anyone... but when I am with you I feel something strong," you admitted, looking down.

Jake smiled and, jokingly, whispered: «I can’t wait to hear it for real.»

You chuckled and replied with a fake bored tone: "Yes, maybe in a couple of years."

He burst out laughing and, without warning, began to tickle you, making you laugh and trying to shake off his loving hands. The room was full of laughter, and complicit looks, something that was growing between you, stronger and stronger.

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[yandere-wishes]

˚｡✮ Yandere! Darth Vader {Anakin Skywalker} x Apprentice Reader

˚｡✮ Bad, bad news, One of us is gonna lose I'm the powder, you're the fuse, Just add some friction, You are my strange addiction

˚｡✮ We've talked about Yandere! Anakin Skywalker falling for Padawan! Reader... But what about Vader falling for his acolyte/apprentice?

⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ★⋆.˚

Vader isn't nurturing.

It feels almost sacrilegious to entertain the thought.

That's why it's so troubling when the galactic empire's staff take note of a smaller morbid figure trailing after the ebony monstrosity.

I can see there being many interesting scenarios in which Vader would pick an acolyte. The most heartwrenching and particularly curious case would be if his acolyte used to also be Anakin Skywalker's Padawan.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader searching for you across the galaxy. He feels your force signature reverberating inside him, calls out to it, tries to bind and morph it. A sardonic love letter he pens with rage and perplexion. Still, you always slip away. He keeps your hunt a secret, some ancient wound that's never healed right. The swing of your saber still haunts him, your satisfied grin as you land a blow on him. The force works in mysterious ways and Vader's desperation can't fully be reasoned. He's given up everything that Anakin once had. Forgone to an almost spiritual level. But you are the one pesky thing that still lingers. He likes to think that it's because he knows your true power. That you're a threat as long as you live.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader finally, finally finding you. Mesmerized by how much you've grown. You're rugged, wild. Some strange creature wearing the skin of the girl he once loved. You don't hesitate to attack, and Vader signs it off as a blessing. He needs a reason to hurt you, to drag you back kicking and screaming. He needs an excuse to push his fury between your bones and drown you in his sorrows. He needs revenge in the worst way.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader winning because of course he does. He leaves you bruised and broken, bleeding on the soft grassy ground. Your eyes are so beautiful when they're filled with terror. Your voice melodic as you scream in agony as his saber severs your leg and arm. Vengeance, Vengeance, Vengeance. You left him, left him to face Obi-wan alone, left him to be mutilated and disfigured.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader only coming to terms with who he is, and what he is as he's watching the medical droids repair your body. He can never escape Anakin, cause that's who he still is. Anakin hasn't died just grown. He's no longer the kid with a schoolboy crush on his pupil and supernovas under his tongue. He's swallowed the burning stars, let their fires and explosions paint him in shades darker than the nights on Tatooine. He runs a cybernetic hand across your head, feeling you for the first time in forever.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader training you once more. It's been months since your capture, months of brutal and tender torture. He's ripped you apart and rearranged you so meticulously. Picking favored parts to hem and sew with a buzzing red needle and dark doctrines. Only when Vader notes the red-rimmed golden shift flicker across your eyes does he know he's truly won. Your connection to the light is nearly completely severed. Your past is left to rot on the green planet. What stares back at him from the corners of the dark, damp cell is a creature forged of hate and malice. A sith in every way.

˚｡✮ Imagine Vader only ever happy when he's with you. He's finally free to train you as he pleases, to touch you as he pleases, to kiss you as he pleases. He's taken you to ice worlds to bleed kyber crystals and to Mustafar to forge your new armor. He kisses you on a battlefield littered with the corpses of dead resistance soldiers. Metal clancks against metal all wretched sinister love. You're beginning to love this new master, he's everything Anakin had repressed, he's everything you have always feared. But the thing you must realize about fickle fears is that once you fall in love with them, you begin to lose yourself.

˚｡✮ Imagine Pulling up Vader's mask and kissing the burns across his face. Your kisses are laced with such passion and hate he feels like he's drowning in lava once more. He's brutal in the way he handles you, each touch leaving a plethora of bruises, singing I love you. You like the way each training session starts with a deep all-consuming kiss and ends with him using the force to smash your head into the ground as you laugh and laugh. His force signature is different now, you like the way it slithers across your body, all fire and pain, all destruction. Love the pain that comes with him, this grisly bloody love affair that makes the stars shutter.

The staff of the galactic empire, Find the little midnight creature all too bizarre.

She trails after their commander with vicious playful skips and plays uno with their lives. She twirls around the galaxy's most feared as if she's playing hopscotch.

The staff of the galactic empire doesn't know whether to feel pity or terror...

I think about how at the beginning of being Vader, Anakin was so quick to reject who he once was. Trying desperately to kill off any semblance of Anakin. But by the time of the Original Trilogy, he's sort of come to terms with who he is and who he once was. Anakin isn't really dead he's just grown stronger now, and in a strange way, he even seems to embrace his past as a Jedi, wearing it as - a not so obvious- badge of pride.

[mononijikayu]

hugs and kisses — fushiguro toji and nanami kento.

After all that you’ve been through before him, he has put you through the edge again. And when something breaks that badly, you can’t always put it back the same way. He knows that. He knows he’s the reason you’re different now, that you love him in a way that doesn’t burn like it used to. So, he swallows the bitterness that rises in his throat.  He doesn’t have the right to it. He doesn’t have the right to let it out. He doesn’t ask for more. He doesn’t have the right to. He doesn’t ask you to stay a little longer. He doesn’t ask if you still mean it when you say I love you. Because the truth is, he’s scared of the answer.He’s scared you wouldn’t be his accomplice anymore.

GENRE: alternate universe - actor/s au!;

WARNING/S: afab! reader, nsfw, r-18, explicit smut, sexual intercourse, making out, scratching, kissing, rough sex, p-i-v sex, creampie, angst, hurt/comfort, pet names (babe, good girl, etc....), age gap (reader is late early 30s, toji and nanami late are in 40s), marriage, long-term relationship, secret relationship, infidelity/cheating, explicit affair, guilt and shame, toxic relationship, drama, jealousy, emotional repression, emotional baggage, depression, grief, regret, longing, alcohol consumption, drunknness, profanity, acting, actors, work mates, depictions of sexual acts, depiction of naked bodies, depiction of depression, depiction of cheating, depiction of grief, depiction of emotional repression, mention of sexual innuendo, mention of sexual intercourse, actor! toji, actor! nanami, actor! reader;

WORD COUNT: 14k words

NOTE: i know i disappeared for a while and i'm sorry for that. i'm just going through the motions of life, as always. i wanted to get this out sooner, but i couldn't and it just, just a mess. but i hope you enjoy it a lot. this is the only angst on the list, so i wanted to get it out. a lot of you wanted toji to suffer and so i made it so. i hope yall enjoy it!!! i love you all <3

masterlist

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kayu's playlist, side 2500;

prequel - toxic till the end

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THIS IS NOT THE LIFE HE HAD IMAGINED FOR HIM. But after all that happened, it’s all he had. It’s the only one he wants to know. It’s the only life that had you in it. That’s why he was willing to live it with you, to be with you. It pales into comparison to what life you had together before all the mess he made. But all he could think was that it was a better life than being alone. 

Fushiguro Toji feels like he's living a life on eggshells. It’s a feeling he’s never known before, not in the fights he’s been in, not in the kills he’s made. He’s always been the one with the upper hand, the one in control. But now? Now, he feels like he's one wrong move away from losing you for good.

And that terrifies him.

Why wouldn’t it terrify him? You took him back. You love him. You do, you tell him. He could see it. But not the way you used to. That was all too obvious. You knew it as well as he did. But you both shut your mouths. There was nothing to say. There was nothing left to be explained. All the truths were echoed in both of your complacent silence.

Toji feels it in the way your kisses don’t linger as long as they used to, in the way your lips barely ghost over his before pulling away like you’re afraid of staying too long. He feels it in the way your hands only graze his skin in passing. It was never staying, never searching. Never yearning, like it used to. 

There was a time when your fingers used to tangle in his hair, tugging, caressing, holding on like you never wanted to let go. Now, they only brush through briefly, detached, like you’re reminding yourself of something that no longer belongs to you. He feels it in your voice, too. 

In the way you still tell him you love him each and everyday but never with the same tenderness, it wasn’t as sweet anymore. It felt like it was devoid of anything it used to be. All the words fall from your lips so softly, so delicately, like they might shatter in your mouth if you lingered on them for too long.

There was no warmth in your touch either. Each and every moment, your fingers touched his, it felt like the winter had devoid him of spring or even summer. There was only desolation in your love. One that he couldn’t escape. And perhaps that was the one thing that makes him feel like he’s dying.

It’s in the way you walk past him like you’re not sure if you should touch him. In the way you smile, small and tired, as if holding onto the weight of a love that no longer feels like home. It’s in the space between your fingers that never reaches for him anymore. It’s in the moments where silence is louder than anything you could ever say.

Everything about you, about this fragile love—about the us and the them of it all. It feels like a world on the verge of collapse. It was stupid, to let yourself be consumed by a fragile thing with cracks running too deep.

It was a place he dwelled, where goodbyes are felt more often than reassurances. But that was all that remained for Fushiguro Toji. It was all that he’s ever known. It was all he ever wanted to know.

Yet, everything about it sounds like an ending.

And it was bound to happen, stories do end.

Everything does.

And yet he’s frightened when it does.

But he can’t blame you when it does.

Not for any of it.

He can’t blame you for the way you’ve changed, for the way you’ve built walls between you and him, for the way your heart no longer belongs fully in his hands. Because he was a fool. Toji was the one who dropped it first, he knew that. He was the one who shattered the foundation you had built together. 

After all that you’ve been through before him, he has put you through the edge again. And when something breaks that badly, you can’t always put it back the same way. He knows that. He knows he’s the reason you’re different now, that you love him in a way that doesn’t burn like it used to. So, he swallows the bitterness that rises in his throat. 

He doesn’t have the right to it. He doesn’t have the right to let it out. He doesn’t ask for more. He doesn’t have the right to. He doesn’t ask you to stay a little longer. He doesn’t ask if you still mean it when you say I love you. Because the truth is, he’s scared of the answer.He’s scared you wouldn’t be his accomplice anymore.

And the worst part?

You still come home to him.

And for now, the cycle just repeats.

Toji sits at the kitchen table, rolling his empty glass between his fingers, listening to the quiet hum of the fridge. It's the only sound in the apartment—besides the clock, ticking away the hours since you left. His jaw tightens as he glances at his phone. No messages. No missed calls. He knows better than to expect one.

The front door won’t unlock tonight. The sheets won’t smell like you in the morning. Because you’re gone. And he knows exactly where you are.  Still, he tries. He calls. Once. Twice. It rings. Then stops. No answer. Toji exhales sharply, setting the phone down, rubbing a hand down his face.

When his phone buzzes, his heart kicks against his ribs, a stupid, desperate hope clawing its way up his throat. Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re calling. Maybe you changed your mind and you’re coming home. Maybe, just maybe, there’s still a part of you that aches for him the way he aches for you.

His fingers tremble slightly as he picks up his phone, eyes scanning the screen.

It was just a message. Your message.

"Don’t wait up."

He swallows hard, feeling his breath hitch deep.

"I’ll see you tomorrow, babe. I love you."

I love you.

God, those words cut through him like a blade.

They used to mean something. They used to hold weight, used to feel like a promise—one that soothed the restless parts of him, the ones that never really knew peace until you came along. But now? 

Now they feel like a placeholder. It was the words you say for the words you couldn’t. But he knows what those words were. Love and hate were the same sides of the coin. The word love is like something you say out of habit, out of obligation, out of the lingering memory of what you once felt for him. Because you can’t bear to say the other word.

Fushiguro Toji clenches his teeth, staring at the message until his vision blurs. He wants to throw the damn thing against the wall, wants to smash it into pieces just to silence the echo of your words rattling in his skull.

But what would that solve?

Nothing.

Just like everything else.

Because this is what you are now. 

What the two of you have become.

A love that feels more like an echo of something that once burned bright. It was a flickering candle in a room that was already cold. A connection held together by fragments of a past that neither of you can let go of, even though it’s already slipping through your fingers. You say I love you, but it doesn’t feel like it belongs to him anymore.

And Fushiguro Toji—he’s a fool, because he still clings to it anyway.

Because he knows you’ll be just as big of a fool with him.

At least he prays for that.

When you came back to him and gave him another chance, Toji had told himself he’d take whatever scraps you were willing to give. If this is what it meant to have you, he’d endure it. He told himself that he could handle it all. He wouldn’t do it again. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. But fuck, it’s getting harder.

You didn’t say you wouldn’t hurt him back.

And he didn’t say that he wouldn’t let you do it.

Even then, how could anyone take this?

How could anyone live like this?

Because you’re in love. His heart shouted at him. This is your only chance.

Because you have to. His brain screamed at him. You messed up.

The sound of the door unlocking jerks him out of his thoughts. He hadn't even noticed the time passing. It was already dawn, the sun waiting to rise high in the sky. He looks up as you step inside your home, your once neatly kept hair slightly disheveled, clothes a little too neat for someone who's been out all night.

His stomach twists at the sight of you. He took a breath as he turned to the coffee machine. Pressing a button, the humming tune of its roaring life didn’t bother you. He continues to move on to making a plate for breakfast. He doesn’t ask right away. You don’t explain, you didn’t have to. That’s the unspoken rule at this point, isn’t it?

You sigh as you kick off your shoes, stretching your arms over your head like you didn’t just drive a knife through his chest by walking through that door. "You’re still up?"

Toji leans back in his chair, arms crossed, watching you. "Couldn’t sleep."

A quiet nod. No apology. You don’t owe him one. Not anymore.

"Have you eaten yet?" you ask, already heading toward the fridge, acting like this is normal. Maybe for you, it is.

"Nah, not yet." he mutters. "Wasn’t hungry earlier."

You pause, looking at him for the first time tonight. Really looking at him. "Toji—"

"Did you have fun?" He cuts you off, his voice low, rough. His knuckles tighten around the glass in his hand.

Your expression flickers back at him. Was it guilt? Was it any sort of anger, or was it some truthful annoyance? He can’t fucking tell anymore, he doesn’t really know how to read it all well anymore. But you don’t answer, and that silence is worse than anything you could have said.

He exhales a humorless chuckle, shaking his head as he stands. "Forget it, babe. Sorry."

“It’s alright.” You tell him in response, low and aware. “You were just….” 

You stop yourself from saying anything else. Nothing was going to change what you were already aware of. Toji knew what was going to happen before it happened.  He watched as you sat down on the counter stool, looking at the bareness of his back. 

Silence bristles between the two of you. The only sounds you could hear came from the sizzling skillet, the sausages cooking well against the runny eggs you so liked. The coffee machine hummed gently as the caffeine filled its glass confines.  The sound of the bread popping out of the toaster, golden and fresh. 

Before you could say anything, Toji took out one of the porcelain plates and started to move about the kitchen with precision. Almost immediately, he had plated the sausages and the eggs. He had taken out the bread from the toaster.

The plate faced you almost a few seconds later, the fork and the knife in front of you. You swallowed your words back, away from him. He places the mug of freshly made coffee a few meters away from the plate.

“I’m going to bed.” He whispers back to you. “Go…go eat, okay?”

You wanted to say something, to tell him those words. But none would come out. You nodded. He took a moment, staring at you, before taking a breath. You can tell. He was hesitating if he should place a kiss on your head. 

“Thank you for the meal.” You whispered to him, taking his hand from across the counter. 

“....I wanted to do it.” He whispers back at you, looking at how your hands were nuzzled together in your palm. His free hand lifts it to his lips and he closes his eyes as he kisses it. “You don’t have to thank me.”

Soon enough, he puts your hand down and lets his touch slip away. You felt like all the breath in your lungs disappeared. You watch as he mumbles something incoherent before moving away from the counter and leaving for the bedroom.

You lift your head, trying not to get your eyes wallowing into the tears. You didn’t have the want for tears. You didn’t want to find yourself in the bitterness of the feelings you were trying to quell. You don’t want to. You didn’t need to. You knew what sort of life you both had. You both knew  what sort of love you have. So, you don’t reach for him again, don’t call his name.

But still, ever so truthfully still, both of you know you’ll be in his bed tonight. You’ll curl up beside him, and he’ll let you. Because at the end of the day, no matter where you go, no matter whose arms you find comfort in. You always come home. And for now, that has to be enough.

Toji stares at the ceiling. The morning sun started to peek through the blinds. He wanted to sleep. You were finally home. He was reassured you’ve come back safely. But he couldn’t find his eyes shutting tight. He took a deep breath. He hated when he got like this.

Toji clenches his jaw, pressing a hand over his face. He’s been trying to ignore the ache in his chest, the way it spreads through his ribs like a wound he can’t stitch up. He can’t stop thinking about it. where you’d been, whose hands had been on you, if you had kissed them the way you used to kiss him. If, when you touched them, you closed your eyes and pretended it was him.

No, that was impossible. 

You don’t pretend, not about this.

That’s the difference between you and him.

A bitter laugh catches in his throat before he can stop it.

You come into the bedroom almost two hours later. Toji hears you the moment the door clicks shut, the soft shuffle of your footsteps as you move through the dimly lit space. He doesn't turn his head, doesn't acknowledge you.

Your husband just keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling, his massive body still, his breathing even. He was pretending to be asleep, pretending he doesn’t know where you've been. Pretending that it doesn't crush every fiber of his being.

But he does. He always does. That was what was easier. For the both of you. It was easier when there was a desire to pretend as always. He could feel the faint scent of soap and clean linen drifting toward him as you passed by. You’ve already bathed and cleaned up. Changed into different clothes from the night before.

Good. He thinks to himself. That’s better for me to breathe.

At least he doesn’t have to smell it. The scent of someone else on your skin, on your clothes, in your hair. He didn’t have to deal with the guessing game he’s started to play for you over the years. You’d given him some mercy today. And he appreciated that.

Toji hears you move around, hears the quiet rustle of fabric as you shut the blinds, casting the room into complete darkness. You both didn’t like the sun whatsoever. You preferred this sort of thing. Living in the dark, loving in the dark. That’s just how it was. So, he doesn’t move, doesn’t shift, just listens as the mattress dips under your weight.

And then you’re beside him.

Warm. Close. Familiar.

But it doesn’t feel like home.

Even if he wanted it to be like that.

You sigh softly, settling into him, pressing against his side, your hand resting lightly against his chest. The weight of it is something he used to crave—something that used to steady him, anchor him to a world that had always felt too uncertain. But now, all it does is remind him of what’s missing. What he’s lost.

Still, he doesn’t push you away. He doesn’t have the heart to. He doesn’t want to. Even though the air between you is thick with the things you’ll never say. Even though the warmth of your body does nothing to chase away the cold that’s settled deep in his bones.

Fushiguro Toji clenches his jaw, staring into the darkness. He wants to say something. Anything. Wants to break this silence before it chokes him to death. Instead, you beat him to it.

“You’re still awake.” Your voice is soft, barely above a whisper.

He exhales slowly. “Yeah.”

A pause. Then, “Did you eat last night?”

His massive fingers twitch against the sheets. The question is so painfully normal, so casually mundane, like you hadn’t just spent the last few hours in someone else’s arms, perhaps even in someone’s bed. Like you hadn’t planned to question him. Like you hadn’t just come home to him afterward.

He swallows. “Wasn’t hungry either.”

You shift softly beside him, pressing your forehead lightly against his muscular shoulder. It’s an affectionate gesture, one you used to do all the time—back when things were different. Back when he was still yours. Back when you were still his.

“Don’t do that.” he mutters, his voice barely more than a breath.

You stiffen slightly. “Do what?”

“Act like this is normal.” His voice is rough, raw, strained with the weight of everything he’s been holding back. “Like you weren’t just with someone else.”

A sharp inhale from you. A tense silence. Then, a quiet, measured response. “You knew what this was, Toji. It meant nothing.”

Yeah. He did. He knew that it wasn’t anything.

He’d done it too, so he was well–versed in it.

But knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.

His fists tighten in the depths of the heavy sheets. He doesn’t know what he wants from you. Doesn’t know what he expects you to say. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Maybe something that proves this still means something to you.

You shift away from him slightly, putting space between you. He should be grateful for it, but it only makes the ache in his chest worse. He wants to lash out. Wants to say something cruel, something that will cut you the way you’ve unknowingly cut him. Wants to make you feel this, the way he does.

But he doesn’t do anything.

Because he has no right to be angry.

Because he is the one who ruined this first.

He’s the reason you’re like this now. He was the reason your love feels more like an obligation than a choice. He was the reason everything was dark and bitter. He had no one to blame but himself. He knows this. There was no one to blame but him. 

So he forces himself to breathe, forces himself to push down the bitterness, the desperation, the unbearable ache. Like has learned to practice over the years. He knows what to do. He knows what needs to be done. If he didn’t, you both would be alone. And he doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want to be without you. He doesn’t want to be alone. 

And he knows all too well, you don’t want to leave too.

You don’t want to be alone.

After all, you would never be here, if you did.

Instead, he exhales a shaky breath and mutters. “Forget it.”

You hesitate for a moment; then whisper back to him, “Okay.”

And just like that, the conversation is over. The distance between you feels like an entire world. And Toji…..he doesn’t know if you’ll still be here when he wakes up. And perhaps thinking about it was for the best. But right now, you were here with him. That was all that truly mattered.

══════════════════

YOU DIDN’T EXPECT THAT IT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN. But the offer comes on a rainy afternoon. The wide expanse of the sky outside is a dull shade of gray, raindrops tapping lightly against the windowpane, as if the universe itself is waiting with bated breath. Your phone buzzes. When you pick up, your agent’s voice spills through the speaker, brimming with excitement.

"You got it, darling. Lovers by the Seine. It's finally happening."

For a moment, you say nothing. The words sink in slowly, like ink bleeding into paper. You had auditioned for the role a long time ago, so long. In fact, you had almost forgotten about it. Projects get shelved all the time, lost to the industry’s fickle tides. But now, it’s finally happening. And as expected, the role is yours.

You were intrigued by the script when you first read it. It was such a good read that you called your agent about it even before it got the funding. Your agent was sceptical about it for a while, but you doubt that to be the case now. It was getting a big production greenlit from the biggest production firms you knew. 

It was an episodic drama-romance set in Paris. A story about love after loss, about grief and reconciliation, about a divorced couple forced to live together again after their child dies. It’s the kind of role that lingers in your bones. The kind that means something. And that’s why you wanted to do it from the beginning.

Your fingers tighten around the phone. "I’ll do it. You already know this."

Your agent laughs. She already knew how much you wanted it. Soon as you both finished talking about the scripts and who the other casts and crew were going to be, you already moved on to contracts and schedules and flights. 

One would expect that these things would feel overwhelming, but they don’t. At least not anymore. You had been so used to it that it just felt so natural to you. So you sit there and you listen, nodding along, feeling the words settle inside you. 

You glance to your side, where your husband Fushiguro Toji sits. He’s sprawled on the couch beside you, his attention half-absorbed by his phone, absently scrolling through his many work emails or messages. He doesn’t look up when you hang up, doesn’t ask what the call was about. So you tell him.

“They offered me a movie with Nanami Kento.”

That gets his attention. His thumb pauses over the screen, his gaze flicking toward you. “Yeah?”

“It’s set in Paris, France.” you continue, shifting slightly to face him. “It’s called Lovers by the Seine.”

There’s something unreadable in his expression—fleeting, gone before you can place it. “What’s it about?”

You swallow. “A couple that gets divorced who moved away from each other… but after their kid dies in Paris, they move in together again to try and figure out everything.”

Toji exhales through his nose, tilting his head back against the couch. “Heavy topics, huh.”

“Yeah, it is.” you murmur.

He exhales slowly, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, as if weighing everything. Still he doesn’t say much after that, only nods, as if he understands something you don’t. As if he already knows what’s coming next.

You hesitate before asking, “Do you want to come with me?”

He hears the question for what it is. An invitation. A chance. For a moment, he wonders if he should say yes. If he should drop everything and follow you to Paris, walk down cobbled streets with you, drink coffee in quiet cafés, pretend like you always do, and perhaps even for the better, even for just a little while—that things are still the way they used to be.

But he knows better.

He doesn’t belong there.

And he doesn’t know if he wants to be there.

So instead of answering, he reaches for his phone once again. You watch as he swipes through his calendar, and hands it to you. His schedule is just as packed as yours. A different city, a different set, a different life. But it was normal, you knew that much. It was the life of actors.

“I’ve got a film in Australia, it’s the wild west one.” he says finally. His voice is even, unreadable. “Starts around the same time.”

You purse your lips into a flat line before nodding, your gaze flickering over the screen as you scan through his schedule.

Your tender fingers ghost over the dates, the neatly blocked-off time slots, the press conferences, the travel plans. It’s packed. Busy. It was just like yours. It was just right. It’s always like this, the life of actors. It was to be expected.

You carefully hand the phone back to him, the weight of it heavier than it should be. Fushiguro Toji takes it without a word, his thumb swiping idly across the glass screen, but he doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t have to.

Because you already know what he won’t say. You know why he won’t move anything around, why he won’t even consider making the time. It’s not because he can’t. It’s because he won’t. Because this is safer. Because distance is the unspoken thing you both cling to, the thing that keeps you from tearing each other apart.

You know this too well. Too intimately. After all, you were two people caught in the same orbit, always passing, never landing in the same place. Maybe you never would. You offered your husband a small smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. 

“Guess we’ll both be busy.”

Toji nods back at you, his throat dry. “Yeah.”

Silence settles between you. Not uncomfortable, but heavy. It stretches across the space like an old wound, one that has scarred over but never really healed. You shift slightly, resting your head against his shoulder. 

It’s an instinctual movement, one that once would have felt effortless, natural. But now, there’s hesitation, a fleeting moment where you wonder if you should even do it at all. Still, Toji doesn’t move away. He doesn’t let himself pull back. So you let yourself lean into him, just for a moment.

“Paris is nice this time of year, don’t you think?” you murmur, your voice soft, almost wistful.

Toji hums in response. It was low, noncommittal. A sound that neither agrees or disagrees, that sits somewhere in between. You don’t know what you expected from your husband. It  was hard to expect anything, when he doesn’t want to encroach on the life you’ve built outside your gilded cage. 

Maybe a question. Maybe a Yeah, I bet it is. Maybe even something playful, like Guess I’ll never know or You can bring me back something nice. But you get nothing back from him. Just that quiet, indifferent hum.

You swallow, feeling something curl tight in your chest. 

The space between you has never felt wider.

And you don’t know how you’ll repair it back again.

Toji looks at you for a moment when you look away. But he moved away immediately. He doesn’t know what to say. What should be said in a situation like this? He doesn't know anymore. It’s been so long. 

Your husband couldn’t help but shift slightly, carefully adjusting his grip on his phone, blue–green eyes still fixed on the screen as if the conversation doesn't weigh on him the way it does on you.

Then, after a beat, he asks, “What do you want from Australia?”

His voice is steady, unreadable, like he’s asking you something as simple as whether you need anything from the store. Like it’s just another trip, another job, another stretch of time apart that neither of you are willing to acknowledge for what it truly is.

You blink, caught off guard by the question. What do you want from him? You could say something easy, something lighthearted. Bring me back a souvenir. A keychain. A postcard. Something small.

Or you could say the truth.

Bring me back something I can’t name. 

Bring me back a version of us that doesn’t feel like this. 

Bring me back something that tells me you still want to come home to me.

But you don’t.

Instead, you force a small smile, one that he couldn’t read well. “I don’t know. Surprise me.”

Toji exhales softly, finally setting his phone down on the table beside him. He turns his head slightly, just enough to glance at you, searching your expression for something—anything. If he finds it, he doesn’t say.

“Alright, babe.” he murmurs, leaning back again. “I’ll bring you something.”

And just like that, the conversation is over.

Paris. Australia. Two different places, two different lives, two different people who used to be something more. You close your eyes, letting yourself lean into him just a little longer, just until you have to let go. And he just lets you.  At least for a little while, you can pretend. You could pretend that life was beautiful, like it used to be.

══════════════════

IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE YOU’VE BEEN IN THE CITY OF LOVE. And it was as interesting and vibrant as you remembered it to be. Paris greets you with crisp autumn air and the scent of rain-soaked cobblestones. The city hums with life, life that you had long forgotten. You found yourself enjoying the soft chatter in cafés, the occasional honk of a car, the distant sound of street musicians playing something slow and mournful.

It should feel exciting. It should feel new.

But all you feel is exhaustion.

From the long haul flight, from the weight in your chest you can’t quite shake, from the way your life feels like it’s split between two places, two versions of yourself. One left behind in Tokyo, sitting in silence beside a man who no longer chases after you.

And the other, standing here now, waiting for something unknown.

Your leading man to be exact.

Nanami Kento is already at the hotel when you arrive, standing in the lobby with a cup of coffee in hand, posture effortlessly composed. He spots you before you spot him, offering a nod of acknowledgment as you approach. But you  supposed he was just good at that. He smiled at you, so dashingly.

“Welcome to Paris!” he says back.

Nanami Kento had a voice made for the stage, for the screen, for commanding the attention of a room without ever needing to raise it. It was smooth, even—polished in a way that made everything he said feel measured, deliberate. But beneath that, there was something else, something warmer. Something real.

It wasn’t the refined, distant cadence he used in interviews or the practiced charm he carried on set. No, this was different. This was the version of him that wasn’t performing, that wasn’t reading lines off a page or curating an image. This was the voice he used when the cameras were gone, when the lights dimmed, when he was just Kento and not Nanami Kento, the leading man.

And good god, you were starting to understand why everyone in the industry spoke about him the way they did. Why directors fought to cast him, why crew members always praised how easy he was to work with, why fellow actors swore up and down that he was the best scene partner they’d ever had.

Because it wasn’t just talent. It wasn’t just the way he delivered his lines or the way he carried himself with quiet confidence. It was this. The way he made you feel like he was listening. Really listening.

The way he spoke to you like you were the only person in the room. And the way, somehow, even in the middle of all this mess, when you were drowning in guilt, when the weight of your choices threatened to suffocate you. In a way, he made you feel safe. He just made you feel good. 

You exhale, shoulders easing just slightly. “Thanks. I still feel like I’m moving from the plane.”

He lets out a small chuckle, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Jet lag is merciless.”

There’s something easy about this, about him. He’s not overly familiar, not intrusive. Just a present. Just there. It strikes you, this immediate sense of comfort. Like slipping into a conversation already halfway through. Like there’s no need for pretense, no need to figure out the right words, the right way to exist.

Nanami gestures toward the café inside the hotel. “Do you want to sit for a while? Or do you need to head up and rest?”

You hesitate for half a second, then shake your head. “No. I could use some coffee.”

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, some company. 

Nanami Kento softly nods back at you, already moving toward a table. He doesn’t rush, doesn’t press. No, he just lets you settle into the moment at your own pace. You appreciated that from him. You needed that swift release from that fast paced life you had long lived.

And as you sit across from him, as the quiet hum of the city moves around you, you realize almost all too suddenly—this might be the first time in a long time that you don’t feel like you’re bracing for something to go wrong. 

“What sort of coffee do you want?” He asks you, turning to the menu.

“Well, something strong.” You whispered in response to him. You smiled. “Surprise me.”

He raises his brow, intrigued. He smiles. “Alright.”

The coffee is rich, slightly bitter, but warm in a way that settles into your bones. You wrap your hands around the cup, letting the heat seep into your fingers as you take a slow sip. Across from you, Nanami Kento sits with that quiet presence of his. It was all too steady, unhurried. Vibrant and cool.

There’s no need for filler conversation, no forced small talk. Just the sound of the world moving around you, in the most tender pace. You could hear the clink of porcelain, the murmur of French drifting from nearby tables, the distant hum of a city that never really stops.

“You don’t look like you’ve rested.” Nanami observes after a moment, his gaze flicking over you with quiet assessment. “You okay?”

You huff a small, tired laugh, setting your cup down. “I haven’t.”

“Because of the flight?”

Because of the flight. 

Because of what you left behind. 

Because of what you didn’t leave behind.

You don’t answer immediately, instead running a thumb along the rim of your cup. “Something like that.”

Nanami doesn’t push. He only nods, taking a slow sip of his own coffee. “Well, we don’t start filming until Thursday. You’ll get some rest. Maybe sight see.”

You laugh. “Well, thank goodness for that. I need the rest.”

“Well, I can see that.” He giggles with you.

There’s something about him that reminds you of an old book, the kind with worn edges and a heavy spine, the kind that you pick up expecting one thing but end up finding something entirely different. Something more. It’s nice, this quiet understanding.

“You auditioned for this role a long time ago, didn’t you?” he asks after a beat. “Before the project was put on hold.”

You nod. “Feels like forever ago.”

“Do you still want it?”

The question catches you off guard. Not because it’s surprising, but because it’s direct in a way most people don’t dare to be. This was the other thing people talked about when Nanami Kento is in the conversation. He was the sort of man who was blunt. He doesn’t beat around the bush. And that struck you. Struck you too hard.

Do you still want it?

Do you still want to be here, telling this story, standing in the middle of Paris for the next few months, living in someone else’s skin while your own life continues unraveling somewhere else? You could lie. You were good at it. You get paid to do it for a living.

But you somehow, you don’t.

You couldn’t do it.

Not when he was looking at you that way.

Like he was comforting you, if you wanted to be honest.

“I think so.” you admit, leaning back in your chair. “I think… I need it.”

Nanami considers your words for a moment, then nods. “Good.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Good?”

He shrugs slightly. “If we’re going to be playing two people who loved each other once, it helps to have something real to pull from.”

You exhale a soft laugh, shaking your head. “That’s a depressing way of looking at it, don’t you think?”

“Realistic.” he corrects. Then, with the faintest ghost of a smirk. “And besides, I think you’ll do fine. You seem like someone who knows how to carry weight. You wouldn’t win your awards if you weren’t.”

The words sit strangely in your chest. Not unwelcome, just… seen.

You look at him, really look at him, and you realize, you’re not the only one who came to Paris carrying something heavy. And maybe, just maybe, this is the kind of comfort you need. Not someone who tells you it will be okay. But someone who understands that it won’t.

Nanami Kento holds your gaze for a moment longer before looking down at his coffee, fingers curling around the cup. He doesn’t ask, doesn’t pry, but there’s an understanding in the silence that lingers between you. It was one that doesn’t demand to be spoken aloud.

You take another sip, the warmth grounding you, then exhale slowly. “What about you?”

He glances up.  “What about me?”

You gesture vaguely toward him. “You don’t strike me as someone who takes on romance dramas lightly. What made you say yes to this one?”

A beat of quiet. Then, without looking at you, he answers. “I thought it was a good story.”

It’s a simple response, one that was all too eager to be measured. But there’s something beneath it, one you couldn’t comprehend. As though it was something needing care for, as if something needed to be withheld. It was to be expected from such a seasoned veteran like him. He was a damn good actor too. 

You tilt your head slightly. “And?”

Nanami exhales through his nose, something resembling amusement flashing across his face. “And…..” he admits softly. “I think I needed to get away.”

You don’t push for more. You don’t need to. Because you understand. Paris isn’t just a job for either of you. It’s an escape, a temporary reprieve, a city to get lost in while the rest of your life stays suspended in the distance.

You tap your fingers against your cup, then nod. “Then I guess we’re in the right place.”

A small smirk tugs at the corner of Nanami’s mouth. “Maybe.”

It’s a strange kind of relief, sitting here with him. Not in the way that fills the empty spaces inside you, but in the way that makes them easier to carry. For the first time since you arrived, you think that maybe—just maybe—Paris won’t be so lonely after all.

══════════════════

EVERYTHING WAS GOING WELL. Almost too well. Filming begins a few days later and each day that passes doing this project, everything just feels like a dream. A dream you hadn’t expected. A dream you didn’t want to wake up from. It was a forbidden dream. And yet it was one well enjoyed. Paris starts to feel like something out of a fantasy long lived. 

It was almost too dreamy, even when it gets hard. Long days spent on set, late nights running lines and yet the city continues to shimmer brightly, humming softly beneath it all. The weight of the script settles into your bones, its grief and longing bleeding into your own. And yet it was still something incredible.

And then there’s Nanami Kento.

Incredibly steady, unwavering acting veteran Nanami Kento, who meets your eyes with his own warm gaze across the room like he sees everything. Nanami Kento who listens when you speak to him, not missing anything. Nanami Kento who doesn’t ask for more than you can give. You work well together. More than well. 

There’s something seamless about it, something unspoken. The way he holds you when the cameras roll, the way his touch lingers just long enough to make it real, the way he watches you like you’re something fragile, something he doesn’t want to break.

You tell yourself it’s just the script. 

You tell yourself that it’s just the way it’s written.

You tell yourself that this is just a job.

But then the cameras stop rolling, and his hand still lingers at the small of your back. He still looks at you with something unreadable in his gaze. And you feel it. This slow, creeping infatuation, curling into your chest, seeping into the spaces you thought were closed off.

Yet, the guilt follows close behind, consuming you whole. Because even here, in Paris, even with Nanami Kento’s steady presence beside you, your mind still drifts elsewhere. And you hated it, as much as you thought it was just right. 

Back to Japan.

To your home.

To Fushiguro Toji.

You think of him when you lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling of your hotel room. You think of the way his voice sounds in the dark, the way his hands used to feel when they reached for you like you were his.

And it eats you alive.

Because you know the truth.

You are falling for Nanami Kento.

It happens slowly at first—small moments that build into something inevitable. Nanami Kento  is steady, constant in a way that feels like gravity, pulling you toward him without force. Something you weren’t used to. Someone you had thought you had long wanted in your life.

You don’t even realize how close you’ve gotten. How could you, when you had been thinking of Toji?

But there was that one night, where you find yourself drowning in the relaxation of the drink. It was that night when the breath of alcohol echoed on your tongue, when you’re sitting in his hotel room, bottle after bottle of wine between you, exhaustion settling in your bones.

You pause, your fingers tightening slightly around the stem of your wine glass as you register his words. There's something in the way he says it. It was almost too soft but it was surely ever so pointed, as if he's looking right through you.

Your lips quirk upward, though there’s no real amusement behind it. “You’re saying I’ve been method acting this whole time?” you tease, taking a slow sip of your drink.

His caramel gaze remains steady, unreadable in the dim light of the hotel suite. He doesn’t answer right away, just watches you with that quiet intensity of his, like he’s weighing his next words carefully.

Finally, he exhales, swirling the wine in his own glass. “I’m saying that you wouldn’t play this role so well if you didn’t already understand it.”

Something tightens in your chest. You should brush it off, make another joke, but instead, you meet his gaze head-on.

“Is that your way of saying I look like a woman mourning a lost love?” you ask, tilting your head slightly, playful, but there’s something vulnerable beneath the surface.

Nanami’s lips twitch, but it’s not quite a smile. “I think, my good girl…..” he says, voice smooth, careful. “That you look like a woman who carries too much.” He takes a slow sip of his wine before adding, “And I think you’re very good at pretending you don’t.”

Your breath catches, because shit.

That was a little too close. A little too honest.

So you do what you do best.

You do all you can to deflect. You lean forward, resting your chin against your palm as you regard him with a slow, teasing smile. “Careful, now mister Nanami Kento. My dearest senpai—” you murmur, voice light but laced with something else, something more dangerous. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

Nanami huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “You’d know if I were flirting with you.”

You raise a brow, intrigued now. “Oh? And what would that look like?”

He sets his glass down and leans in just slightly, just enough to make your pulse jump. “It wouldn’t be subtle.” he says smoothly, voice dipping lower, rich and warm like the wine between you. “And you wouldn’t have to ask.”

Your stomach flips, your fingers tightening slightly around your glass. For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air between you shifts, crackling with something neither of your names. Then, because you’re a little drunk. Just as much, you’re exhausted. And most of all, you like the way he’s looking at you, you let yourself smile, slow and knowing.

“Good to know.”

Nanami Kento couldn’t help but smirk. You notice it almost immediately. It was barely there, before he lifted his glass again, his eyes never leaving yours as he took another sip. And you realize, with a slow, creeping certainty….You’re in trouble.

Your breath catches, fingers tightening around your glass. You know what he means. Because grief isn’t foreign to you. Because you are playing a character who loved once, and lost, and somehow found themselves tangled in old feelings all over again. Just like you. You look at him, at the way the dim light catches on his face, at the way he looks at you like he already knows the thoughts in your head. 

“You’re easy to be around.” you say instead, voice quieter than before. It’s not a confession, not entirely, but it’s close.

Nanami exhales a quiet laugh. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

You shake your head. “It’s not.”

It should be, shouldn’t it?

It should be a problem.

You were married.

He reaches across the table, slow, giving you the chance to pull away. Not when his fingers brush against yours, warm and deliberate. And you don’t pull away. You let him touch you. Let his palm press against yours, let his fingers curl gently around your hand.  You let yourself give in.

Because at this moment, just for tonight, you want to stop thinking. 

You want to let go of the guilt clawing at your chest, the ghost of a man who still lingers in your mind. 

You just want to feel something that you hadn’t for a long time.

So when Nanami Kento stands, when he steps closer, when his fingers trail up your arm and settle at your jaw. You couldn’t help it. You just let him. And when he leans in, when his lips brush against yours, you let yourself kiss him back.

Nanami kisses you like he’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than either of you would dare to admit. And you let him. You let yourself sink into it, let yourself need it.

His hands are firm where they cup your jaw, tilting your head just so, deepening the kiss until all you can taste is him. It was that good bitter taste of wine and tender warmth and something steady, something safe. Something that felt like freedom. But there’s hunger there, too, beneath the restraint, beneath the careful control he always carries.

And then, like something inside of him finally snaps, he presses closer, his grip tightening, his body crowding against yours until the chair scrapes against the floor as he pulls you up. Your hands find his shoulders, his chest, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to the moment. 

He moves with purpose, walking you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the edge of the bed. You gasp against his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t give you the space to think, doesn’t give you room for hesitation.

He just takes and takes, tilting his head and kissing you deeper, hungrier, until your knees give out and you’re falling onto the mattress with him following right after. His weight presses down against you, firm but not overwhelming, and you feel it.

You could feel how much he wants this, how much he’s holding back. You tug at his shirt, your fingers slipping beneath the fabric, running over the warmth of his skin. He exhales sharply at the touch.

You could feel his grip on your waist tightening as he presses against you, his mouth trailing from your lips to your jaw, down to your neck. And god, it feels good. It feels like drowning in something that isn’t grief for once. His teeth graze the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and you shudder, fingers curling into his hair.

“Nanami—” You couldn't help but moan.

He groans against your skin, hands sliding beneath your shirt, thumbs brushing over bare skin, setting fire to every nerve he touches. “Tell me to stop.”

“I….I—”

He murmurs something against your throat, voice rough, ragged with restraint. His eyes hit against your own, full of want and need. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

You should tell him to stop.

You should stop it right here.

It’s the right thing to do.

Instead, you pull him back to your lips and kiss him harder, chasing the feeling, chasing the warmth, chasing the relief he offers. Because right now, in this moment, you don’t want to stop. Nanami Kento doesn’t hesitate this time. And he wouldn’t again.

The moment your lips crash into his again, any remaining restraint shatters between you. His hands roam, mapping out your body like he’s desperate to memorize every inch of you. His touch isn’t frantic, but deliberate, it was all too precise, like he’s savoring you, like he’s taking his time claiming you.

Your back arches as his fingers slip beneath your shirt, palms warm against your bare skin. He tugs at the fabric, wordlessly asking, and you let him pull it over your head, tossing it somewhere neither of you care about. His breath stutters as he takes you in, his eyes darkening with something that sends a shiver down your spine. 

“Beautiful.” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper, but it’s reverent, like he’s seeing you for the first time. “You’re so beautiful.”

Heat pools low in your stomach at the way he looks at you, at the way his hands grip your waist like he doesn’t want to let go. You reach for him, fingers curling into his shirt, and he gets the message, stripping it off without a second thought.

And then he’s on you again, lips trailing down your throat, along your collarbone, lower. His kisses are open-mouthed, hot against your skin, each one leaving a mark that makes your breath hitch. He’s careful but unrelenting, pressing into you, pressing against you.

Not until you feel every inch of him, solid and wanting. Your legs part for him without thinking, and he settles between them like he belongs there. His hips press into yours, a slow, teasing grind that has you gasping against his lips. It’s too much, and yet not enough.

“Nanami, please.” you breathe, nails digging into his back as he rolls his hips against you again, harder this time, letting you feel just how badly he wants you.

He groans heavily at the way you say his name, his strong forehead dropping against yours. His breath is heavy, uneven, and his long fingers tighten on your waist, like he’s holding onto the last thread of his control. 

“Tell me this isn’t a mistake.” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your own. “Tell me that you want me too.”

You should hesitate now, you should have common sense, once again. You should think about Toji, about what this means, about what you’re doing. But right now, with his own  body pressed against yours, with his lips teasing yours, with your body begging for more. You don’t care. You hadn’t cared for a long time.

Your husband knew why this happened.

You knew why you were like this.

And you didn’t want to look back.

He would understand. You tell yourself. This was how we loved each other.

You pull him down, capturing his mouth with yours in a kiss that’s more desperate than anything else. And when you whisper against his lips, your voice is breathless, all too certain. All too eager about wanting to drink the cup of sin once more. 

“It’s not a mistake.” You whispered back at him, ever so hotly. “I want you.”

You could feel his eyes darkened with unadulterated lust as he felt the heat of your body beneath him, his hands roaming over your skin like a man possessed. He doesn’t think he can barely think straight, lost in the intoxicating scent and taste of you.

The kiss could only deepen, his eager tongue tangling with yours in a dance as old as time. He continued on and on until it got to the point of no return. The point you dread and want all at once. You were just lost in it all, this crazy pandemonium of pleasure.

His fingers find the waistband of your pants, tugging at them impatiently. You lift up to help him strip you bare, leaving only silk stockings and lacy underwear between you. Nanami Kento rips those away too, tossing them carelessly aside.

Now fully exposed to his hungry gaze, you know that you’ve been rendered speechless by the raw desire etched on his face. His cock throbs against your thigh through his jeans, all too hard and eager, all too ready to consume you.

You could feel his brown caramel eyes burn with a primal hunger as he takes in your naked form, his gaze roaming over every curve and dip of your body. The intensity of his desire sends shivers down your spine, igniting a fire deep within you.

You can feel the heat of his arousal against your thigh, the hard length of him pressing insistently against you. Without a word, Nanami Kento leans in to capture your bruised lips in a searing kiss, his hands roaming over your skin possessively. 

He breaks the kiss only to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, his breath warm against your skin. Sweat slowly permeates through the glow of pleasure. The sensation sends a thrill of anticipation through you, making you ache for more of him.

With a low growl, your lover finally sheds his own clothes, his body taut and muscled as he hovers over you. The anticipation is almost unbearable as he positions himself between your parted thighs, he hovers over you, his breath uneven, his body tense with restraint. 

His massive hands, normally so steady, tremble slightly as they trace along your skin, memorizing, worshipping every inch of your body as though it was everything that he ever wanted. Your eyes lock, and something unspoken passes between you. 

There was something raw and aching, something that neither of you dares to name. You didn’t need to. You could feel it. You could feel it so strongly that you found yourself longing for something that was forbidden. Longing for him. His hand cradles your cheek, his thumb tracing slow, reverent circles against your skin.

"Are you sure?" he murmurs, voice rough, his forehead nearly pressed against yours.

You could stop this. You could pull away, pretend this never happened, pretend that your heart isn’t twisting with guilt even as your body burns with want. But the truth is, you need this. You need to be seen. To be held. To be wanted, in the ways that wouldn’t make you miserable. In ways that wouldn’t want you in a gilded cage.

So you answer him the only way you know how—by pulling him down into a brutish kiss that is desperate and consuming, a kiss that drowns out everything else. Nanami Kento groans against your lips, his now naked body pressing against yours, solid and warm. 

His touch is both reverent and possessive, fingers tracing the curves of your body with something close to devotion. It’s all too overwhelming, the way he takes his time, the way he doesn’t just want you. He adores you. And you know it.

He treats you like you are something fragile yet precious, something that deserves to be cherished, even as his need threatens to unravel him. And when he finally moves closer to you, when the last bit of space between you disappears, you both shudder. Because this isn’t just desire, it isn’t just need. It’s something deeper. 

It was something that terrifies you.

Because for the first time in a long time, you feel wanted. 

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself be loved.

And as he finally enters you, filling you completely with his hardness, a gasp escapes your lips, mingling with his groan of pleasure. The feeling of him moving inside you, the friction and heat, is almost too much to bear. His fingers dig into your hips, holding you steady as he savors the exquisite sensation of your warm, tight pussy enveloping him. 

"Fuck, you feel amazing." he groans, his voice husky with desire. “All too good.”

He starts to move brutishly over and over, eagerly establishing a primal rhythm that has you both gasping with pleasure. His hips snap forward, driving his cock deeper with each thrust. The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin mingle with your moans and cries of ecstasy.

"That's it, take all of me." He growls, increasing his pace. “You’re doing so well, aren’t you? You’re such a good girl.”

His hands roam your body, caressing and squeezing as he pounds into you relentlessly. Drool started to fall through your mouth as you groaned over and over, whispering words you didn’t even understand as you were holding ever so tightly against him, trying to keep yourself high on the pleasure.

You can feel every inch of him sliding in and out, the delicious friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. His beautiful face is flushed, his warm caramel eyes burning dark with lust as he watches where your bodies join. Your nails dig deeply into his back as you wrap your legs around him, pulling him even deeper.

"Harder!" you pant, your voice barely recognizable. Tears started to fall from your cheeks. "Fuck me harder, please—oh my god!"

He obliges with a snarl, his hips pistoning furiously, harder than ever before. The hotel bed creaks and shakes beneath you, threatening to collapse under the force of his deep sultry thrusts. You're both lost in a haze of primal passion, driven by the need for release.

Suddenly, your lover pulls out, flipping you onto your stomach. He grabs your hips and lifts them, exposing your glistening folds. "Gonna fill this tight little pussy, so good, hm." he grunts, slamming back into you from behind. “You’re gonna let me, won’t you?”

You couldn’t answer anymore. It just felt too good, you couldn’t focus on anything else, but the pleasure that overwhelms you. It was this new angle, it was just all too consuming. It allows him to reach even deeper, his thick cock hitting that sweet spot inside you with every thrust. Your screams of pleasure fill the room as he fucks you mercilessly, chasing his climax.

"Come for me, good girl." He whispers hotly against your ear. “Do it, come on.”

Your body trembles with anticipation, the pressure building inside you reaching a fever pitch. His words, whispered so commandingly, send you spiraling over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave, your inner walls clamping down around his throbbing shaft as you scream his name. 

He continues to pound into you, drawing out your climax until you're a quivering, oversensitive mess. With a final, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep and finds his own release, filling you with his hot seed as he groans loudly. 

You collapse onto the bed, completely spent and satisfied, his weight pressing you into the mattress as he catches his breath.The room is filled with the sounds of your labored breathing and the occasional spasm of pleasure that still rocks through you.  He rolls off of you, pulling you close and kissing you deeply, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin.

"That was incredible, good girl." he murmurs, his voice husky with satisfaction. “You did well.”

A shiver runs down your spine at his words, at the way his voice dips into something rich and languid, like warm honey. His fingers trace slow, absentminded circles on your skin, grounding you in the aftermath, in the heat still lingering between you.

You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the comfort of his touch, the warmth of his body against yours. It feels good. He feels good. You could feel it in the way his pleasure flows down from your crevices, so dirtily, so roughly. You want to stay in this moment a little longer, wrapped in the quiet intimacy of it. You wanted to stay in this high forever.

But then, reality creeps in.

It always does.

Guilt is a slow, creeping thing. It curls around the edges of your mind, whispering things you don’t want to hear. It reminds you of him. Of home. Of the promises you’ve broken. You swallow against the lump forming in your throat.

You could feel your fingers twitching slightly where they rested against Nanami’s chest. You don’t move away, you dared not to, not yet. Because God, you don’t want to. You don’t want to leave this warmth, this fleeting moment of happiness. And that’s the worst part.

That you’re happy. That for the first time in what feels like forever, you feel wanted. You feel light. And it terrifies you. You were terrified, because you loved your husband too. As horrible as it all had become, how messy it has become. You loved your husband too, you loved Toji. 

And yet you were happy here, in the arms of this man.

This happily married man is right beside you.

He already knew how this game is played.

This game of guilt and pleasure, better than you.

That’s why he didn’t seem to care about it. 

Nanami must feel the shift in you because his hand stills on your skin, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re thinking too much, aren’t you?” he murmurs, voice soft but knowing.

A dry laugh escapes you, brittle at the edges. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to an actress.”

His chest rumbles with quiet amusement, but he doesn’t press, doesn’t ask the question you know is lingering on his tongue. Instead, he pulls you in closer, his arms a firm band around you, as if he can anchor you here. As if he can keep you from spiraling.

“Stay for the night.” he murmurs against your skin, and it’s not a command, not even a request, it was just a quiet offering. “It’s already too late to go out.”

And God help you, you want to.

You want to stay in this moment, in this bed, in this sliver of happiness you’ve stolen for yourself. But the thing about stolen moments is that they don’t last. So instead of answering, you press a soft kiss to his collarbone, breathing him in, memorizing the way he feels against you.

And for tonight, you let yourself pretend.

══════════════════

IT WAS ROUGH, DEALING WITH ALL OF THIS. But what could he do, when he was here in Australia? What could he even do to make it all stop, when he knows it won’t? That was just how it was. This is the madness he had started. He started his own nightmare.

Fushiguro Toji presses his fingers against his temple, his head pounding with something that isn’t quite anger but isn’t far from it either. The glossy magazine pages crinkle under his grip, the tabloid splayed open on the cheap hotel table, mocking him with its bolded words.

"Sparks Fly on Set— Y/N L/N and Nanami Kento, the upcoming hottest on screen couple!"

"Electric Chemistry Between Y/N L/N and Nanami Kento—More Than Just Acting?"

“Lovers By The Seine Or Lovers Behind the Scenes? Nanami Kento Looks In Love!”

Bullshit, all of it was bullshit.

Toji could feel his jaw flexing as he stared at all the pictures—all the ones of you laughing, your hand lingering just slightly on Nanami Kento’s arm, your body angled toward him like he’s the only person in the damn room. And maybe he is.

He couldn’t help but exhale sharply, running a hand through his hair before rubbing at his weary face, as if that would somehow scrub away the irritation curling in his gut. He tells himself it shouldn’t bother him, that he shouldn’t care. But his body betrays him, his hands tightening into fists at his sides before he forces himself to relax.

He has no right to be mad.

Not one bit of him deserved to be mad.

Not when he was the one who fucked up.

Not when he was the one who had someone else in his bed before. When he was the one who broke the trust, shattered what you had, left you to pick up the pieces. And yet, seeing this, so vibrant and alive. Seeing you smiling like that, looking at Nanami Kento like that, it makes him feel like something inside him is unraveling.

He scoffs to himself, leaning back against the creaky hotel chair. “Tch. Too well, huh?” he mutters, eyes flicking back to the headline.

Because, yeah. You were moving on. Maybe you already had. And really, what did he expect? That you’d sit around, waiting for him? That you’d let him back in just because he regretted it?

He exhales through his nose, tilting his head back against the wall. He should be happy for you. He should be happy for you. You were finding happiness in something else, while living the nightmare he had inflicted on you, a nightmare you will have to live with for the rest of your life. 

But all he feels is miserable, all too miserable in this grief.

All he can think about is how it should’ve been him.

How it used to be only him.

And how, for the first time, he’s starting to wonder if it ever will be again.

All the sudden, he found himself removed from his thoughts by the sound echoing on the glass table. The vibration of his phone on the table snaps him out of his thoughts. Fushiguro Toji’s blue–green eyes flick toward the screen, and for a second, he just stares. He couldn’t help it.

It was your name.

His chest tightens. 

He swallows, jaw working, before finally reaching for it.

“Yeah?” His voice is rougher than he intends, but he doesn’t bother softening it.

There’s a pause on the other end. Then, a quiet inhale. "Hey."

It’s already too late in Paris. He knows because he’s been counting the damn time zones, because he’s been thinking about where you are and who you’re with even when he doesn’t want to. And right now, you’re probably still in his bed.

Toji clenches his teeth, fingers pressing into his thigh. 

He tells himself he won’t ask, like he always does. 

He promised himself he wouldn't go there. 

He promised himself that he won’t make it worse.

“Are you busy, babe?” you ask, voice light, like this is normal.

Like things aren’t crumbling between you. He almost laughs. Busy? Yeah. He’s real fucking busy, sitting in some half–rate hotel in the desert land of Australia, reading about his wife possibly falling in love with another man. But he held it all in. He didn’t let it all come out. You didn’t deserve to hear it. He didn’t have the right to let you hear it. 

“Nah, babe. I’m fine. Just….” he says instead, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m just…. Tired. Long day today.”

“I see.” Another pause. “Me too.”

Toji closes his eyes at that, because of course you are. You’ve been filming all day. You’ve been with him all day. And now, for whatever reason, you’re calling him. A bitter smile tugs at his lips. “Long day for you too, huh?”

You hum softly, the sound a ghost of something familiar. Something from before. “Yeah… just a lot. The shoot was intense today.”

He doesn’t want to ask. 

He shouldn’t ask.

Control yourself. He thinks to himself. Don’t lose it. 

But the words slip out anyway. “Are you still on set?”

Another pause. Too long. Then, too carefully. "No."

Fushiguro Toji’s grip tightens around the phone.

Don’t ask.

Don’t fucking ask.

“Where are you?”

Silence. His throat works. He almost wants to take it back, almost wants to pretend he doesn’t already know. But then you answer, soft, barely audible, like you know there’s no good way to say it. But he doesn’t reproach you. There’s no way he could say it well, without losing himself in bitterness and grief and pain and guilt. Because he knew you would too.

“My hotel.”

And just like that, it’s real. Toji exhales, long and slow, pressing his thumb to the bridge of his nose. He should hang up. He should. Because if he stays on this call any longer, he’ll say something he’ll regret. But then you speak again, quieter this time.

“Toji.”

And fuck, the way you say his name with that amount of feeling. It was the first time in a long time that he’d heard it said that way. It was almost like you miss him, like there’s still something left. All it does is make his chest ache. He forces out a chuckle, low and rough. 

“Why’d you call, babe?”

You don’t answer right away. When you do, your voice is soft. Almost fragile. “I don’t know.”

That’s the worst part.

Because he does.

Fushiguro Toji drags in a slow breath, trying to steady himself, but it doesn’t help. Nothing about this helps. He should hang up. He should tell you to go back to him, to whatever the hell you’ve started with Nanami Kento, because he has no claim over you anymore. 

But he doesn’t. Instead, he stays on the line, listening to the sound of your breathing on the other end. Listening to the silence that no one would have ever done. This silence was the only thing that remains pure between you. And it’s one he held dear.

He pictures you in that hotel room, the one they put you up in for the duration of filming. He wonders what you’re wearing, if your skin is still warm from someone else’s touch. If Nanami’s scent still lingers on you. The thought makes something sharp coil in his chest.

He shouldn’t ask. 

He really shouldn’t ask.

But he does anyway.

“You alone?”

Silence bellows on the other line. Long. Dragging. And that tells him everything he needs to know. His fingers tighten around the phone. He chuckles, but it’s humorless, bitter. He could tell your breath hitches, almost all too painfully.

“You don’t have to lie, you know.”

“I’m not—” you stop yourself, exhaling. “Toji….At least believe me in this.” 

His name again, soft and pleading. He lets his head drop back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling like that’ll stop the way his stomach twists. He wonders if Nanami is still there, if he’s sleeping just a few feet away, if he’s listening. The thought makes Toji’s jaw clench.

He exhales sharply through his nose. “You should get some sleep. It’s late over there.”

Another pause. This time, he hears you shift, like you’re curling up, like you’re trying to disappear into yourself. “I just…” You hesitate. “I don’t know why I called.”

Yeah, well. He does. Because even if you were lying in someone else’s bed, even if you were tangled up in another man’s sheets, you still reached for him. You still wanted him. Your foolish, disgusting husband. And for some sick, selfish reason, that’s enough to keep him from hanging up. 

So instead of that, he swallows down everything else, all the anger, all the jealousy, all the ache that’s settled deep in his ribs and instead, your husband lets out a slow, tired sigh. He nodded against the phone.

“Yeah, I know.” he mutters, voice low. 

The silence between you stretches, thick and suffocating. 

Toji hears you inhale shakily on the other end, and something in his chest tightens.

Then, in a voice so small it nearly breaks him, you say to him. “I think I’m pregnant.”

Toji goes completely still. His fingers go slack around the phone, his breath caught somewhere in his throat. For a second, his mind blanks, his body going cold before heat rushes in all at once. It was all panic, disbelief, something sharp and deep twisting in his gut.

“What?” It comes out rough, barely above a whisper.

“I… I don’t know what…” you say quickly, but your voice is trembling. “But I think—I mean, O just….And I—” You stop, exhaling shakily. “I don’t know, Toji.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, pressing his fingers against them like that’ll somehow stop the way they burn. He feels like the air’s been stolen from his lungs, like the ground beneath him has disappeared entirely.

Pregnant.

He swallows thickly. When he speaks again, his voice is strained, raw. “When did you……”

You hesitate. 

Your breath hitches.

He could tell you were unwell.

“I don’t know what to do.” Your voice cracks, just slightly. “I don’t know, Toji.”

That’s what it does. That fragile, helpless waver. A sharp exhale escapes him, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He grips the phone so tightly his knuckles go white, his other hand rubbing over his face. He feels like he’s coming apart, unraveling at the seams.

“I’m gonna be a father, huh?” His voice is hoarse, so quiet he barely recognizes it.

And then, he hears it. 

The soft, broken sound of you crying. 

His stomach drops all too suddenly.

“Yeah.” you whisper.

Fuck. He thinks to himself. 

He has to press his palm against his mouth to keep himself from making a sound, from letting you hear the way his own breath hitches even more. Fushiguro Toji has never been the kind of man who cries. Not when he lost everything before. Not when he ruined what he had with you.

Toji’s breath is ragged, his chest rising and falling too quickly. His grip on the phone is tight, his knuckles paling from the pressure. He feels like his world is tilting, like something irreversible has already happened, something he can’t take back, can’t fight against.

And he doesn’t know how to fucking handle it.

His voice is rough when he asks, “Did you take a test?”

The silence that follows is unbearable.

Then, finally, you spoke.  “I did.”

It’s soft. Barely above a whisper. He hears the way your voice wavers, the way you sound like you don’t want to admit it, like saying it out loud makes it more real. And Fushiguro Toji is gripping onto fraying edges, trying to stop himself from completely unraveling.

Silence stretches between you, suffocating and thick. His mind spins. If you took a test, then that means….this isn’t just some passing worry. This was a permanent thing. This isn’t just something you’re afraid might be happening. 

This is real. This is happening. He exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. The logical part of him, the rational part, tells him to ask. To demand an answer. Is it his? Or is it Nanami’s? Or god knows someone else’s child.

The thought alone makes his stomach twist, makes jealousy burn hot and ugly inside his chest. He wants to know, he needs to know. But then he hears you sniffle even more. And fuck, he doesn’t care about anything else. 

Toji presses his fingers to his temple, screwing his eyes shut. He doesn’t know how to deal with this. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s supposed to do. But he knows one thing—he can’t just sit here.

“I’m coming to Paris.”

The moment the words leave his lips, he hears it. The way your breath hitches, the quiet, choked sob that slips past your lips once again. And fuck, it guts him. He hated it when you were miserable. He hated it when you cried. He hated it even more when you were alone feeling like this, even when he was the cause, even when he wasn’t.

“Toji—”

“I don’t care what I have to move around.” he says, voice low but firm. “I’ll be there.”

Your breath stutters on the other end of the line, a quiet, broken sound that claws at his chest. He can hear you trying to hold it together, trying to suppress the sobs that threaten to spill over, but it’s useless.

“Toji…”

His fingers tighten around the phone, his jaw clenched so hard it aches. He’s never been good at this, at soft words and reassurances, at knowing how to soothe someone else's pain when he can barely handle his own. You’ve always known that. But hearing you like this—he feels it.

He exhales, slow and shaky. “I’ll be there, don’t worry.” he repeats, softer this time. “I’ll go now, okay?”

You inhale sharply, like you’re trying to steady yourself.

But it’s useless, because a second later, a quiet, strangled sob slips out once more.

“I—I don’t know what….” you whisper, voice trembling. “I just, this is overwhelming.”

Toji closes his eyes. Fuck, fuck. He scrubs a hand over his face, trying to swallow down the unbearable weight pressing against his ribs. “Have you seen a doctor yet?” he asks, voice rough.

“No.” you admit, and the guilt in your voice is obvious. “I—Toji, I don’t even know if I—” 

You cut yourself off, like you can’t bring yourself to finish that thought. But he knows what you were going to say. I don’t even know if I can do this.

He exhales sharply. He should be mad. He should be furious. He should be doing something else. Hell, he should demand to know if the baby is his. But all he can focus on is the fact that you’re scared. He doesn’t think about anything else. He wanted you to be okay. And for the first time in a long time, you needed him. You truly did need him.

“Listen to me, babe.” he says, voice low but steady. “You’re not doing this alone, you hear me? I’m going to be by your side, throughout all this, okay?”

You let out another shaky breath, and he knows you’re crying again.

He grips the phone tighter. “I’m going to be there.”

There’s silence, and then. “Okay.” you whisper.

And just like that, the decision is made.

Fushiguro Toji doesn’t know what the hell he’s walking into. Doesn’t know if he’s going to find you in his arms when he gets there, doesn’t know if the baby growing inside you is even his to claim. But none of that matters right now. Right now, you need him.

The line stays open. Neither of you say anything, but neither of you hang up.

Toji listens to your breathing. It was shaky, uneven, but slowing. He imagines you curled up somewhere in your hotel room, probably still tangled in the sheets of a bed that doesn’t belong to him. The thought makes his stomach turn, makes something bitter claw its way up his throat, but he swallows it down.

Not now.

Instead, he grabs his keys with a shaking hand, slipping into his car, his breathing uneven. The weight of everything of you, of this child, of everything he lost and everything he might never get back—it’s crushing him. Still, he forces himself to talk, voice thick with emotion.

“Do you…” His throat feels tight, but he pushes through. “Do you want a boy or a girl?”

You’re quiet for a moment, like you’re caught off guard. Then, barely above a whisper.  “A boy, babe.” you murmur. “A boy that looks like you.”

Something inside Fushiguro Toji breaks. His grip tightens around the steering wheel, his vision blurring with unshed tears. A strangled, sorrowfully choked sound escapes his throat before he can stop it, his chest heaving.

“Shit, shit.” he mutters, pressing his forehead against the wheel, his other hand scrubbing at his face. “Fuck.”

You heard it loud and clear.

He knows you do.

There’s silence for a few moments before you ask, voice soft, fragile. “What about you?”

Toji swallows, blinking hard against the tears that refuse to stop. “I’d rather a girl, babe.” he admits, his voice hoarse. “One that looks like you.”

A breathless little laugh tumbles from your lips, but it’s wet, choked with tears. “What would you name her?” you ask, like this is normal, like you’re two people who haven’t spent the last few years unraveling at the seams.

Toji exhales, his grip on the wheel loosening slightly. “Tsumiki.”

There’s a sharp inhale on the other end of the line. Then, you break. The sob that slips past your lips is quiet but raw, and Toji feels it like a blade straight through his ribs. He didn’t know what to do. 

“Tsumiki, huh.” you repeat, voice trembling. “That’s a good name.”

Toji closes his eyes, lets the sound of your quiet crying fill the space between you. 

And for the first time in a long time, he lets himself cry with you.

The quiet between you is thick, heavy with everything unsaid. Toji keeps the line open as he starts the car, one hand gripping the wheel, the other rubbing at his face, trying to steady himself. But the tears don’t stop.

He doesn’t even remember the last time he cried like this.

Maybe when he lost everything the first time. Maybe when he realized too late what he had destroyed with his own hands.

But this—this is different.

“Toji.” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “Are you driving?”

“Yeah,” he mutters, sniffing. His voice is wrecked, raw. “Heading to the airport.”

You go silent for a second. Then—

“You really meant it, huh?”

He exhales sharply. “I already told you. I don’t care what I have to move around. I’ll be there.”

Another silence stretches between you, but it feels different now. Not as hopeless.

“Are you mad at me?” you ask suddenly, hesitantly.

Toji grips the wheel a little tighter. 

He knows what you’re really asking.

Are you mad that I’m with someone else?

Are you mad that this baby might not be yours?

Are you mad at what I’ve done?

He should be.

But he’s not.

“I don’t have the right to be mad.” he says finally. It’s the truth. He knows that. He knows this mess started with him. “It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

You don’t say anything. But he hears you exhale, slow and shaky, like the weight of his words settles in your chest just as heavily as it does in his. He swallows, staring out at the rain-slicked streets as he drives. 

“Do you—” His throat tightens, and he hates how fucking fragile he sounds. “Do you actually want me there? Or do you just…”

The seconds stretch between you, the weight of everything unspoken hanging in the air. Fushiguro Toji grips the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, his heartbeat pounding so loudly in his ears that he almost doesn’t hear it when you finally speak.

"Yes." It’s so soft, so fragile, like you’re afraid of what it means. "You’re my husband, after all."

Toji’s breath stutters, his vision blurring again. He shouldn’t feel relief. He shouldn’t. Not after everything. Not after the late nights you spent alone while he was wrapped up in someone else, not after the way he let you slip through his fingers, not after he forced you to find comfort in another man’s arms.

But he does. He presses his foot down harder on the gas, blinking rapidly as his surroundings blur past him. He has to get there. He has to get to you.

“…You still see me that way?” he asks, his voice rough, hesitant.

You let out a shaky breath. “Toji—”

“No, just—” He exhales sharply, gripping the wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to the ground. “You still think of me as your husband?”

Another pause. “I never stopped.”

A quiet confession. One that sinks into his chest like a knife, twisting so deep it’s almost unbearable. Toji squeezes his eyes shut for just a second. He shouldn’t feel hopeful. He shouldn’t. But he does.

He exhales, trying to steady himself. “I’ll be there soon.”

And this time, you don’t cry.

You just whisper. “Okay.”

[eyelessfaces]

apology

miguel o'hara x reader

summary: miguel hasn’t come home in weeks. he tries to make it up to you.

warnings: smut, porn with minimal plot, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, a bit of angst, we're a bit mean to miguel because we're mad at him

tags: f!reader, sub!miguel (hell yeah), we make miguel suffer (sorry bb)

word count: 1k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

Miguel hadn’t come home in weeks, and it was with a guilty pinched smile and a bouquet of flowers that he reappeared at your doorstep. 

When you first saw him, you wanted to take the flowers from his hands and slam the door right in front of his face, but you knew that he certainly had a good reason and excuse to have done what he had done. 

He didn’t tell you much about it; you figured it was more about his spiderman activities than about his work, because he rarely told you about the spider stuff, wanting to keep you as far away from it as possible. You were sometimes mad that he wouldn’t tell you anything about it, but he kept on insisting that it was for your own good, that you shouldn’t get too close to it. He had already paid the price.

He apologized, apologized and apologized about not coming back for so long. You told him that it was fine, but he knew it wasn’t, he knew that you were hurt, he saw how you wouldn’t look him in the eyes.

He didn’t need this; he didn’t need you to hate him, it might be even worse and scarier than every universe collapsing.

He owed you an apology, a real one. He didn’t know if what he had in mind could work, but he could try.

Which was why he found himself with your thighs caging his face, your hand tightly gripping his hair. He sometimes got carried away, kissing and biting at your thighs while he repeated that he was sorry, over and over again, before you tugged his hair into diving back into eating you out like it was the last time he did it.

If you repressed your moans to let him know that you were still mad, he was doing all the contrary. He deeply enjoyed this, and he wanted you to know it. If he could spend the whole night between your thighs he would, and even though his crotch ached for some friction, all that mattered to him at that moment was you and your pleasure.

He mouthed at your pussy as if he was making out with it; licking long, slow and languid stripes through your folds, gathering your slick over his tongue as if it was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted. 

He pulled away to kiss the inside of your thighs, and just as you were about to scold him for it, he left a kiss at your clit before gently curling the tip of his tongue around it, making a strangled moan leave your mouth. 

He smugly smiled at your reaction but quickly got back to work; he actually thought of something better, and pulled away, making you groan at the loss.

He laid down on the bed and pulled you on top of him so you could straddle his chest, and you huffed out a laugh when he started to beg you to sit on his face, pulling your hips higher up his body so you could use him as you wished.

“Use me baby, I deserve to be used”

And it was a good idea, you had to admit. You could control it all now, grinding onto his face as if he was just an object. His nails were digging into the meat of your thighs, marking crescents into your skin as he hummed against you, his broad hands then shifting to your ass so he could knead the tender flesh, pushing you even lower onto his face. You even wondered how he could breathe, but your concern quickly flew out the window when his nose rubbed against your clit. 

Your hand had unconsciously fisted onto his hair to hold him in place as you rocked yourself harder against his tongue, fucking it until you lost your mind; you pulled away and straddled his chest just as you were about to come, leaving him confused and wondering as he caught his breath, the lower half of his face drenched in your juices. 

He licked his lips clean, looking up at you with half lidded eyes, so fucking pussy drunk. He sounded so gone when he asked you why you pulled away, but he looked even more gone as you got rid of his pants and explained that you wanted to come on his cock but that he wouldn’t get to come.

He let out a small whimper when you lowered yourself onto him, his hands finding and gripping your hips in a bruising hold. 

You bounced on him at an unforgiving pace; his head was thrown back into the pillows as he let out small moans, trying to contain himself.

You leaned onto him and kissed his neck, softly biting at the warm skin before repositioning and putting your hands over his chest, his muscles softly twitching under your touch, your soft moans driving him even crazier.

You were close, you knew it, and so did he. He watched down to where you were connected and bit on his bottom lip as he guided your hips up and down, your rocking more languid as you tried to reach your peak. You felt him twitch inside of you and reminded him not to come, and he responded with a small wail as he nodded, still biting hard on his bottom lip, the poor skin almost bleeding.

You came with a silent cry, his hips snapping up into you and burying himself even deeper as he worked you through your orgasm, focusing on every muscle of his body to try not to come as you rode out your high on his lap, his own about to tip over the edge. 

He whined as you climbed off of him, his orgasm stolen away from him, just as you had promised. 

You watched with awe and a sly smirk as his body stiffened, his cock twitching desperately in front of you, his hands pawing at the bedsheets in frustration. 

You smirked proudly, putting a hand at his cheek before kissing his lips then his forehead, his eyes shutting tight.

"Look at you baby" you cooed, looking down at your hand softly stroking his thigh to tease him even more, so damn close to where he needed you. “Maybe I'm a bit less mad at you.”

—

please give me feedback if you liked this, I appreciate every single comment and they motivate me to keep going!!

masterlist | taglist | ao3

spiderman 2099 taglist: @bubuslutty @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @spider-starry @jakecockley @midnight-the-shadow-wolf @cocodiem @pedropascalsidechick @spxctorsslxt @roxannarichie @vicolangelo @amb3rrz @inluvvwithme @friedwings @chaotic-neon-sign @foxglove-grove @ilovemiguelohara @pandq707 @gobblegluckgluckgod @weasleybuns @midgardian-witch @daemontqrg

[missmeinyourbones]

we NEED "i'm just too soft for all of it." IWHT MEGUMI PLS IM BEGGING

I'M JUST TOO SOFT FOR ALL OF IT (m. fushiguro)

a/n: me making up medical shit LMFAO, repressed and emotionally constipated megumi, deadbeat dad t*ji, slight mentions and undertones of toxic masculinity

L’s MIDNIGHTS EVENT!

Since he was four years old and still growing into his long-sleeved sweaters, Megumi has learned to heal his own wounds or almost die trying.

A routine that he now knows like the back of his hand, he'd returned from his latest mission with weeping cuts and exhaustion clear beneath his eyes, making a point to stop at the medical closet before returning to his dorm. With Shoko's workday over, he makes a mental note to visit her first thing in the morning when he wakes. 

He can make it through the night, he always does. Because Megumi is a thinker. He plans until he can't and covers all bases for when they're stolen. He gets by. 

What he didn't take into account was potentially running into you, of all people. Dormitory halls barren and almost eerie, he nearly curses himself for brushing shoulders as you turn the corner on the way back to your own room. 

Your timing has always been wrong, or maybe it's right and Megumi can't differentiate between the two. 

And now he's here, on the creaky wooden floor of the medicinal closet, with you kneeling beside him and prodding at his injuries with tender wrists. 

Never one to be good with idle hands, Megumi fidgets and tries to brush at the dried blood on his shoulder. The action has both of you hissing—him in a jolt of pain and you in reaction to his hurt. 

"Don't touch it," your voice falters to be stern, still coming out so gently. Megumi thinks about the irony of that—of how you can't even be sharp if you tried. You're too gentle, too soft to even sound hard momentarily. 

Humiliated at the mere idea of doing nothing, at needing help, he shakily exhales and returns his attention to the floor. 

When the damp cotton pad in your hand touches a bit too deep in one of his cuts, Megumi does his best to save face but can't help the grunt of breath that gets sucked into his lungs. 

Immediately, he feels you retract from his skin and coo your apologies. Carefully returning your attention to the burning wound, you do your best to soothe him. 

"Sorry, it's deeper than it looks. Almost over."

Megumi's response is quick and curt, like a cut of its own, "It's fine."

You nod hesitantly before grabbing the bottle of antiseptic and another clean cotton round. The cleaning of his wounds continues in silence, though your thoughts are louder than anything. 

His injuries vary in size. Some deeper, fresher, than others. Some looking like one-hit victims and others a repeated attack. You do your best to take note of where he's sensitive, where he's hurting the most. 

When you reach a certain scratch on his bicep, you're able to catch a glimpse of his face. Sweat beading on his forehead and damp hair sticking to his skin, Megumi bites the collar of his uniform to suppress any kind of noise (weakness) from you. 

When he slips up and lets out a guttural muffled groan, you think you might audibly whimper yourself. 

"You can yell if you want to," you try to help him in any way you can, "or squeeze my hand or—"

"I'm fine," Megumi attempts to bark again, but this time is different. It's not cold or sharp like it was last time. You can hear how it shakes against the echos of the closet, how it sounds like the burn of tears building in a sore throat.

And between the pain everywhere he still has feeling and the intimacy of you carefully caressing him, Megumi finds himself tearing up. 

"Hey," he feels you whisper, attempting to caress his jaw and prompt him to look at you, "hey, you okay?"

He can't find it in himself to answer nor lift his head, so he sniffles like a kicked child and crinkles his nose in disgust at his own pathetic actions.

Megumi is tough, one of the toughest people you know. You've seen him more beat up than this and barely break a sweat. Your head feels light at the realization that something's wrong. He shouldn't be in this much pain from the familiar burning of antiseptic he's felt a dozen times over. Maybe it's from a cursed weapon, or a technique where—

A stifled sob cuts you off.  

Like a glass cracking beneath pressure, you feel something inside you break. No longer caring about cleaning his cuts or avoiding sensitive areas, you can't stop yourself from wrapping around his hunched frame. 

Megumi's breath hitches as you hold him, feels your hair tickling his neck when you rub his back and whisper.

"I'm sorry, I know, but you're doing so good, okay? And I'm almost done—"

"Don't do that," he bites. 

Assuming he's referring to prodding at a specific wound, you flinch and loosen your grip, "Do what?"

"Talk to me like that," he snarls with a crack, "in that—voice."

He feels your head remove its weight from his shoulder slowly, "Why?"

"Because I can't—" Megumi's voice almost breaks before he whines, gritting his teeth when he whimpers, "I can't handle it."

And just like that, Megumi is four years old again. He's scraping his knee on the concrete of his front lawn, and a blurry father-shaped figure with dark hair and legs far too tall tells him to be a man. Not being old enough to use the stove without supervision, but still knowing enough to save his cries for his pillow when Tsumiki is snoring and can't overthink his tears. He thinks of Gojo—of the first time he broke down in front of him and was met with whispers of good intent and love that registered in his brain as pity. Humiliation.

He doesn't realize he's crying until he feels your fingertips on his wet cheeks, replacing the stinging of antiseptic with a fluttering and velvety touch. 

Between sniffled strings of apologies and a few hiccups of words that don't quite make sense, you piece together that Megumi isn't crying because he's in pain. He's crying because he can, because you're helping him in a way he never asked for, let alone known. 

"I've never...been allowed to, like, feel—"

"Hey," you're soft again, as if you ever weren't. "I know," fingers delicately brush his sticky eyelashes when you remind him, "but you are now."

"Are what?"

"Allowed," you whisper against his cheek, "to feel however you want when you're around me."

And Megumi doesn't know how you do it. How you remain a light in a world that's constantly doing all it can to kick you while you're down. Maybe you're just naive, so stupidly optimistic that it'll eventually be your own demise. Maybe.

But, Megumi can't find himself to care, because he knows that for as long as he's on this earth, he'll be damned if he lets anything happen to that light of yours. 

Back to reality and rubbing at his stinging eyes, Megumi softly scoffs. "Y'know, sometimes you look at me with those stupid eyes and I don't know what happens, but I almost feel sick."

Your laughter tastes like water, "I know what you mean. But in a good way though, right?"

"Yeah," he nods, "in a good way."

When Megumi's back finally hits his mattress at an ungodly hour of the morning—something he's been dreaming of since he'd left it hours ago—he's sickeningly sore and his eyes burn with hypersensitivity. He lets himself close his eyes thinking of your hands, the ones that soaked his now scabbing wounds and wiped his watery eyes. 

Megumi plans, sure, but he never could have prepared for you. 

[writtenbymoonflower]

hi you gorgeous gorgeous ray of sunshine i hope your day is majestic and awesome <3

I come bearing a request hehe

So can i please get a poly!marauders x fem reader where she has alot of work or something to get done lately and its just sucking the absolute lights out of her (uni is beating me up help) and she os sort of just dimmed and out of it and one of them asks her if she is okay and she just breaks down and they comfort her like the sweet loving boys they are (just cuddles and fluff to save my day pls) THANK YOUU

sorry this is so late gorgeous! i hope things are better now!

cw: anxiety attack fluff, stress

924 words

Despite your best efforts, you knew that you weren’t any fun right now. It felt like you were a black hole, sucking all of the joy out of the room with no end in sight. It made you feel horrible, especially since you were surrounded with copious amounts of love and affection. Way more than you could ever hope to ask for, and for some reason, you couldn’t allow yourself to fully appreciate it. You were trying your best, but every attempt at levity didn’t feel quite right. You could see it in your boyfriends faces too, and though they were gracious enough not to comment on it, you knew they desperately wanted to. You even noticed James placating Sirius earlier when he recounted a funny story and your laugh came out awkwardly pitched. 

You were now attempting to relax, but your muscles refused to un-tense. You were laid on the couch, curled tightly into a ball with your head on Sirius’ lap and your legs pressed against Remus’ thigh, James’ laughter ringing in your ears. You resisted the urge to shift around in discomfort, hoping that the more content you appeared the less distraught you would feel. It wasn’t working very well, if the burning sensation welling in your eyes was any sign of that. You squeezed them shut in hopes it would help. You flinched as cold fingers brushed over your face unexpectedly. 

“You okay, babydoll?” Sirius’ voice was hushed and terribly gentle in the way it was when he’s feeling particularly tender. You nodded a little too aggressively to be believable. He cupped your cheek with his hand, the cool feeling of his palm over your heated face being a little too comforting. A crease appeared between your eyebrows and he made a worried cooing sound. 

“What’s going on?” James turned the TV down. You were being watched and inspected and you hated it. You covered your face as the first sob escaped before you could repress it. 

“Shit, baby.” Sirius stiffened. Remus’ large hands pulled yours away from your face. You held your breath to refrain from sobbing, your shoulders shaking. 

“What’s wrong, lovie? Are you hurt?” James sounded panicked. You hated that you were doing this to him. You shook your head. “What’s happened?” 

“I- I don’t know.” You hiccupped. Your lungs were expanding and contracting rapidly. 

“It’s okay, lovely. Can you breathe for me?” Remus pulled you off of Sirius and onto himself. Usually you would hear a slew of protests from the raven-haired boy, but he was panicked enough to stay silent. You landed face down in Remus’ lap as he rubbed between your shoulder blades. You tried to breathe deeper but when you did you just cried harder. 

“I’m fine. J- just give me a second.” You weren’t sure if you were convincing yourself or the boys. 

“It's okay, baby dove. Just let it out.” Remus said softly. You felt James rubbing your head. All the tenderness was too much and you cried harder. You knew you were wetting Remus’ pajama bottoms with tears and snot, but you were too distraught to care. Slowly, your sobs slowed into quiet sniffles and hiccups, and you wiped your wet face, much too harshly for James’ preference. 

“How’re we doing, sweet girl?” Sirius rubbed your calf tentatively. 

“Better.” You said, still choked. “Sorry about that. I don’t know why that happened.”

“Don’t apologize, dovey.” Remus helped you to sit up. “Just take a minute.” You nodded, feeling lightheaded. James passed you a glass of water with a kiss on your damp cheek. You drank it fast, handing the empty cup back. 

“Do you need anything else?” Sirius turned your face to wipe your cheeks again. 

“No, I’m okay. Thank you.” You said, feeling awkward. 

“You don’t have to thank us, baby.” James reached over Remus to grab your hand. “We just want to help, if you’ll let us.”

“I don’t know if you can.” You sighed. 

“Try us.” Sirius said, bordering on challenging. Remus reached his long arm along the back of the couch to squeeze his shoulder in a way that said ‘settle down.’

“I think we can find a way." Remus took a more gentle approach. "You can start by telling us what’s going through that head of yours.” He pressed a kiss to your temple. 

“I think that would help.” James said, not giving you time to respond. “We don’t want to force you, but it’s only going to hurt you to keep things inside, lovie.” His eyes were soft and open behind his glasses. It made you feel like you could cry again. 

“There’s nothing huge to talk about, though.” You shrugged. “I think it’s just a bunch of little things, you know?” 

“Well then maybe,” Sirius stage-whispered as if he was spreading classified information. “You can tell us the little things when they come up, before it gets this bad. You couldn’t argue with that. 

“That might help.” You looked down at your hands. “But don’t complain when I start whining over miniscule things.” Remus raised his eyebrows at you. 

“Have you been dating the same Sirius I have?” He grinned and Sirius squawked. You giggled. 

“You’re lucky that I’m more happy about her laughing than I’m mad at that comment.” He crossed his arms and pouted. You laid back down in his lap and smiled up at him. 

“I don’t mind your complaining.” You reached up to touch his face comfortingly. He still scowled.

“At least I’ll have a bitching buddy.” He huffed. 

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

All I Want For Christmas is You

Warnings: non/dubcon, titty fucking, nipple clamps, butt plug, allusions to abuse, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You're a good girl for Christmas.

Character: Ransom Drysdale

Day Two of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - you have to behave if you want your present.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The pinch makes you hiss as you repress the squeak in your throat. The metal bites into your breast, latched onto your tender bud. Ransom opens the other and clamps it into place and you blow out another willowy breath. 

"Now, you gonna be a good girl for me?" He steps back and puts his hands on his hips, tilting his head as he takes in your naked figure. 

"Yes, sir." You murmur as you twiddle your finger, itching to tear off the nipple clamps. 

"Hmm, just to be safe," he turns and goes to the night stand. "Bend over for me, baby, let me see the peach." 

You suppress the ripple of humiliation and turn your back to him. You put your head down and stare at your pedicure. You bend and extend your fingertips to the floor to balance yourself. 

He approaches you and slaps your ass. You expect that, he can never keep his hands to himself, yet the sting makes you gasp. He digs his nails in and growls. 

"Goddamn, almost wanna skip dinner and stay home and eat dessert," he purrs and carresses your hot flesh. He gets close to your crack and tuts, "mm, good job, baby." 

You close your eyes as another tide of shame crests. The day before you spent making sure you were perfect. From head to toe. No hair, no blemishes, nothing. Masks, wax, tweezers, lotions, balms... it's all too much yet for the Thrombey heir, there's never enough. 

The cap of the bottle clicks and a coolness dribbles down your crack. He follows the trickle with his thick finger and smears it around your puckered hole. You contract against his touch and he chuckles. 

He backs away and returns to the drawer. You listen to his footsteps, so familiar with the noise of his movement that you know exactly where he is without looking. He comes back to you, another strike across your ass. You tighten again. 

He hums and slips something hard and smooth between your cheeks. He wiggles the tip along your ring and you suck in a chestful of air. You brace yourself for the intrusion. 

"You don't loosen up, and you're going to be crying at the table," he chortles and pushes the tip into you. 

You try to ease your muscles but it only makes you tense. The clamps, the plug, the thought of sitting through the family dinner, it's all a bit much. He dip the silicon into you until you're stretched to your limit. The lube slightly soothes even as the hot pain pulses. 

You close around the stem and let out a thigh. He rubs the bejeweled end of the plug and wiggles it until you whine. He lets his fingers wander down and tickles your lips, delving between to feel the wet betrayal of your body. 

"You have to behave if you want your present," he prods your entrance, "you get me, baby girl?" 

"Yes, sir," you answer. 

He pushes as if he might go further then thinks better of it. He pulls away and drones. He turns and struts away as you open your eyes and watch his lazy steps around your legs. 

"Stand up, get dressed," he commands as he spins and flops on the bed. "My mom will kill me if I'm late again." 

🎁

"Your grandfather says your imprint is looking for new writers. Still," Linda interrogates Ransom as he curls his fingers into your hip. He keeps you close, almost like a shield as he navigates the room of his relatives. He's as tense as if they were strangers, as they are to you. "How much time have you been spending with this... girlfriend?" She eyes you up and down. "You should be focused on work." 

He digs his nails into you, through the red satin of the dress he chose for you. 

"Imprints making a profit, even if we do need some authors," Ransom argues. "You can ask grandfather about our last budget report. You know he goes on about numbers, but he's always so hung up on the names." 

"Well, you wouldn't have much to publish without writers," Linda reprimands. 

He pinches the fabric as his frustration locks up his grip. He tugs at the satin and it brushes against your chest, the clamps you try not to think of even as they bite into you. You're certain everyone's noticed the pertness made obvious by your braless states. Anther of Ransom's demands. No bra, no panties. It's like he wants you to take the attention away from him. You almost can't blame him despite your embarrassment. 

“If grandfather thinks I’m not doing my job, we both know he’ll get rid of me,” Ransom huffs. “Merry Christmas to you too, mom.” 

“I’m not trying to be mean, just realistic.” She shoots you another sharp look. “You can’t be wasting your time on woman you mean to do nothing with.” 

You bristle. You’re not one for confrontation, you think that might be why Ransom keeps you around, but you’re irked to be spoken of as if you are some lifeless doll without an ounce of free will. Maybe that is what you are. Maybe that’s what he’s made you. 

“You know nothing about my intentions,” Ransom sneers. “I’m going to find my dad.” 

“Good luck,” she scoffs. “Oh, and sweetie,” she steps closer and pulls your dress strap across your shoulder before it can fall, “it’s much too cold for satin.” 

Ransom unhooks his arm from around you and takes your hand instead. He grumbles and tugs you away from his mother as she puts her lips to her crystal glass of mulled cider. You’re all too happy to get away from her. 

“Fuck it,” he growls under his breath. 

You expect him to guide you towards the cluster of figures awash in the rustic glow of the fireplace. Instead, he sidles you through the archway to your left and past the wide-mouthed staircase. He snakes around the banister and ushers you into a door just behind. 

He lets you go with another sigh. He shuts the door and leans against it. You stand patiently, shifting your weight on the pencil thin heels. He tilts his head back as he closes his eyes. 

You know better than to break the silence. He takes a deep breath as his nostrils flare and he lets it out slowly. He sets his head straight and flicks his lashes open. His eyes creep up and down your body. He smirks. 

“Baby, you’ve been so good to me, haven’t you?” He drawls. “Look at you, so sweet for me.” 

“Yes, sir,” you push your hands behind you and clasp them tight. 

“God, you’re such a slut,” he pushes away from the door and comes close. “Look at you,” he covers your tits with his hands and kneads, causing the clamps to pinch harder. You whimper and teeter on your toes. “Walking around like this. Everyone can see you, you know? They see what’s mine and they know better than to touch it.” 

He tweaks the clamps and you whine. You pout as you look down as he trails his touch down your stomach. He steps flush to you and loops his arm around you. He pushes against the satin and forces it between your cheeks until he touches the hard jewel of the plug. 

“Fuck,” he grits as the plug twitches as you clench. “You are so fucking dirty.” 

You bring your hands to his biceps, resting them lightly on his bulging sleeves, and force a purr from your throat. You don’t like it but he does. He loves to talk to you like that even though he’s the only one. The first one. 

“Do you want your present now, baby?” He asks. 

You bat your lashes and nod. You won’t deny him anything. Just the thought inspires the vision of spit flying and eyes blazing, the angry roar of his displeasure, the fiery lash of his palm. 

“Alright, baby, you gotta get on your knees,” he says. “And beg me for it.” 

You hesitate, for a split second, and pray it isn’t long enough for him to notice. You drag your hands down his arms as you lower yourself to one knee then angle the other under you. You drop your hands to your thighs and look up at him. 

“Please, sir, may I have my present now?” You ask politely. 

“Hm, why should you get that?” He challenges. 

“Because sir, I’ve been a good girl for you,” you say. 

He grins and grips his hips, poking his tongue out devilishly. “And how have you been a good girl?” 

“Sir, my hole is plugged just like you want it and my nipples are swollen and tender for you.” 

He snickers and hums. “Fuck, but you’re a bad girl, aren’t you? You got me hard and hurting.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you say. 

“Baby, you know what else makes you a bad girl?” You shake your head as he watches you with a menacing gleam. “You’re not naked for me.” 

You swiftly grab the straps of your dress and pull them down your shoulders and arms. You free your wrists and shimmy the satin down past your waist until it pools around your knees. You stare up at him, completely exposed. 

“Fuck, I love those tits,” he slither. “Baby, you can have your present,” he looks down and pushes his pelvis out. His pants tent around his arousal. “Go ahead and unwrap it.” 

You obey. You unbuckle his belt and daintily unbutton his fly. He squirms and groans as you brush the front of his pants with your hands and as you undo his zipper, he shudders. 

You roll his pants down his thighs, then his boxers. You angle his tip past the elastic and he stands rigid above, bobbing just slightly. You look at it, almost crossed-eyed. 

You don’t weight for his command. You grab onto him and pump him. He groans but leans away from you. He tisks. 

“No, no,” he says. “Push your tits together.” 

You gently cup your tits and swallow a moan at the tenderness pinpointed in your nipples. You crush them together so they bulge as he moves around. He drags a chair around and sits in front of you. He grabs your head and urges you closer. 

He beckons you with his other hand, flicking two fingers. You walk on your knees until you’re between him. He pushes his tip down then aims it up between your cleavage until he pops up above the swell of your chest. 

His swollen head hits your chin and he laughs again. He clutches your hair in his fist and forces you to bend your neck. As he thrusts again, he taps your lips. You know what he wants without him saying it.  

You open your lips and take him in. He groans and he shoves you down his length, halfway until you meet the top of your tits. He pulls you back so you pop off then rams you down again. He does it again and again. Pushing you onto his dick then drag you off just as quickly. 

As your lips part, saliva drips out and strings between your mouth and his glistening head. You puff out shallow breaths as he uses you like a toy. He curves his hand under your chin and slides to the edge of the chair. 

“Look at me, baby,” he demands. 

Your eyes flick up as he invades your mouth again. He smirks as he shoves you down then lifts you up again. The noise of your mouth sucking then popping off fills the space beneath his sultry groans. 

“Merry Christmas, baby,” he rasps and holds you down on him. “I’m about to fill you all up with your present, you ready?” 

He keeps your head still, pumping his hips instead. The friction between your tits and the wetness of your mouth riles him. You taste the saltiness mingling with your spit. You know, even before he grunts that he’s there. 

He spills into you, fucking through his climax as he whines in relief. You gulp him down and purr in faux delight. You don’t have to be happy, you just have to pretend enough to keep him nice. 

[redfoxwritesstuff]

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart (Chapter 24) Human Alastor x Reader

CW: Angst, sexual repression, time period appropriate purity culture and laws, and a little bit of murder Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

You stood in your kitchen, at the window watching Alastor’s back as he walked through the dark backyard. The bright moonlight shone off his hair. It lit his smile as he turned and waved a final goodbye to you, taking your heart and every single good thing in your life with him. 

The night had been a dream. The memories alone left your mind reeling. Your body felt like it was still buzzing with the ghost of his hands and lips on bare skin. When you closed your eyes, you could pretend you were still there with him. 

As he disappeared into the forest behind your house, you took a deep breath and lit a lantern before extinguishing the gaslights in the kitchen. You had expected the darkness to steal away the energy running through your veins, but it did nothing of the sort. The house was silent as you took your time, checking that the doors were locked before making your way up the stairs. 

It felt like electricity was running through your body, buzzing with every step you took. You paused in the doorway of your bedroom, looking long and hard at the bed you had spent nearly every night in since the day you had wed before turning away.

Not yet. Not this soon after being with him. 

Numb legs carried you to the bathroom, where you started a bath. Being in this house again, it was slowly leaching all the light and life from you. Had it always done that? You didn’t know. 

What you knew was that Laurence wasn’t here to yell at you for staying up into the night, so there was no reason not to take a bath. The water seemed to roar as it filled the basin, drowning out your thoughts as you selected a nightgown. Feelings and thoughts swam in your head, battling for your attention as you did everything you could to avoid catching sight of your wedding ring. 

At first you grabbed the same boring slip style sleeping gown you would usually wear, but your hand lingered, hesitating over the shoulder of the dress. Laurence wasn’t here… but if you wore something pretty, maybe you could pretend Alastor was. 

Alastor. 

He never left your thoughts as you let your homely dress fall down your body. As long as you remembered him, thought of him, you could almost reach out and touch the warmth he brought with him. 

He haunted your thoughts, bright smile and soft eyes looking back at you from inside your mind as you slipped into the water. He had been true to his word; he hadn’t hurt you. Yet, the loneliness you felt now plagued you. The absence of him now stabbed you, hurt you. 

The warm water swirled around you as you san into it, soothing the still tender muscles and aches from the hands of your husband. That wasn’t enough to distract you from the way it had felt to lie against Alastor’s chest, his lips and hands on you as you reclined against the side of the tub. 

Your hand snaked down your body, under the water, as you tentatively felt yourself in a way that you never had before. Alarm bells and shame sounded through your mind, deafening everything as your fingers caressed the soft skin that until now you had largely left unexplored. 

No, it was wrong. It was wrong to touch yourself, and it was wrong to let another man touch you. Pressure built in your chest, crushing your lungs as your eyes burned. Water sloshed as you lunged forward, sitting up. Hairs yanked from your scalp as you thrust your fingers through your hair, cradling your head as you gasped for air. 

You had betrayed your marriage. You were in love with another man. If anyone had found out, you would be a divorcee, shunned by society and your own family at best, at worst... 

There was no way Laurence would look the other way, even if he had his own mistress on the side. 

Would your family take you in after you disgraced your husband, yourself, and them? Or would Laurence see to it that you were prosecuted and thrown in jail for your crimes? What would come of Alastor if anyone found out?

Usually it was women who were thrown to the wolves in the case of affairs. Society saw things clearly, assigned blame unforgivingly. It was their fault their husbands strayed from the marriage bed and it was their fault they stepped out of their marriage. 

In cases with a man such as Alastor… his delicate reputation would be in tatters. He had worked so hard to get where he was, to make himself into the man he was against all the odds. He had done everything he could to make the late mother he loved so much proud of him. You had seen firsthand how proud he was of what he had accomplished. 

Bitter tears slipped down your cheeks as you dunked under the water. Fighting the urge for air, you stayed below the surface until your lungs burned and ached as much as your heart. It didn’t feel like enough punishment for the crimes you had done. It didn’t feel like enough for what risk you had caused Alastor to take. 

You surfaced with a broken heart and a decision made, though that did nothing to stop the tears raining down into your bathwater. 

You would write Alastor a note tonight and slip it into the tree. You owed him that much, but then you wouldn’t see him again. There would be no more clandestine meetings. There would be no more sweet kisses that left you gasping. There would be no more longing in the moments of peace. 

You needed to end things. It had to stop before it drove you to insanity, before wanting him drove you insane. 

You would be loyal to your husband, regardless of if he was to you. You would see to it that your housework was done. Meals would be cooked, you’d smile and do his laundry. If you could fall in love with a stranger, surely you could learn to love your husband if you made the choice to.

Right?

Alastor stood, tucked just behind the tree, as he watched you through your kitchen window. Anger burned in him as he clinched the note in his fist, lost as to where he had gone wrong. Inside, you handed the disgusting pig you called a husband a mug of coffee. 

It should have been him. It was him you should hand coffee to, smiling so sweetly. Laurence didn’t appreciate the way you cared for the home or for him. Laurence hardly looked up at you as you put a plate of food in front of him. 

Laurence took you for granted. 

What had gone wrong? Why did you no longer want him? Where was his mistake? Where had he stepped wrong?

The muscle in Alastor’s jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth. Inside, you leaned in and kissed your husband on the cheek.

What had he done wrong? 

Susan hadn’t seen you but Alastor had. He saw you take your ripped dresses to a different tailor. The shop was subpar, not nearly able to produce the quality of work Susan did. He saw you take a bus to a market further away to do your shopping. 

You were avoiding him. 

His notes went unread, stacking up in the little hole under the tree as a week passed and the summer heat pushed out the warmth of spring. Not seeing you bothered him more than an itch he could not reach to scratch. 

Too many nights he had spent in the canopy of the apple tree, watching as you tried and failed to please your husband. Alastor would sit, watching, while he cleaned the blood from his knife. 

He needed to slow down. He had taken two lives in the last week alone. If he wasn’t careful, he would get sloppy, and it was your fault. You were driving him to this. 

He needed answers and though he didn’t want to admit it; he knew where he needed to start. 

“What’s on your mind, handsome?” Mimzy passed Alastor a glass half full of amber liquid as she took a seat next to him. She watched as the muscle in his jaw jumped, telling her all she needed to know about his feelings, about the way Laurence laughed on the other end of the bar. 

“Feelings.” He spat out, downing the drink in a smoothe, quick gulp.

“Oh?” she said carefully. “What kinda feelings?” 

“You know,” Alastor’s eyes flicked to Laurence, giving a look that Mimzy was almost expecting to stop the other man’s heart in his chest before they returned to her, softer. “The little Dear I’ve been running around with?” 

“Aye, your bit of entertainment. What about her?” Mimzy knew this was a conversation she needed to play carefully, holding her cards close. Whatever this was about, if she stepped wrong, it would likely break the foundation of their friendship. “She catch feelings for you? I can’t say I blame the girl.” 

“Worse,” Alastor said, as the bartender poured him another drink. “I did.” 

“Oh, that is worse.” Mimzy watched as the second drink disappeared into his mouth in one smoothe motion. “What’s your plan?” 

“I was going to sweep her away. I’d thought she felt the same but,” 

“But what?” Mimzy rested her hand on his arm, a scandalous action on its own, but she needed him to know she was there for him. It wasn’t like the pair hadn’t been the talk of the town more than once. Everyone knew Mimzi and Alastor didn’t hold onto social norms and the gossip got old. 

He shifted, pulling out a small folded piece of paper, and handed it to her. It was clear it had been folded and unfolded a fair bit, creases growing fuzzy from the wear. Brown dots marked the surface where coffee had splashed onto it. Unfolding it, she read:

“Dearest A,” the letter started in a neat, practiced hand. “With a heavy heart, I must put this thing we’re doing to rest. I cannot continue to see you. You have my thanks for all of your kindness, for the dinners, lunches, and dances, but it cannot continue. It’s too risky and neither of us could weather such a storm as we would face if discovered. I hope that you find someone new and that she loves you as you deserve and you love her just as well.” 

“Oh my,” Mimzy wasn’t sure what to say. It was a standard breakup letter, all things considered. 

“I don’t understand.” Alastor ran his hand through his hair, ruffling the carefully brushed straight strands. They both knew the oil from his hands would tempt the hairs to curl, but he did it anyway. 

“What don’t you understand, hun?” 

“It was going so well. We’d been getting closer. I took her to mom. I even told her I loved her. I kissed her goodnight. Later that same night, she had this note waiting for me.” 

“Alastor, hon, what did you think was going to happen? Did you think you’d sweep her off her feet and you could just take her as yours in anything resembling a proper way?” 

“Why not?” Alastor snapped. 

“It’s not that easy.” Mimsy wished there had been something she could have done to save her friend from this. It wasn’t fair, and for a lad like him, it was even less fair. “Al, why do you think I’ve never got married?”

“No man can capture your heart,” Alastor parroted back the line Mimzy had said often enough. “What does that have to do with-”

“No, Alastor.” He turned to face her fully at the sound of his name. “It would be dumb of me to reject the security of marriage, even if I didn’t love the fella. But I’ve loved fellas before. Al, I don’t marry because I like running around with men too much.” 

“Then have both. Being married dosen’t stop half the men you’re running around with.” Alastor chuckled, trying to ignore the knot in his stomach that hunting had done nothing to untie. Mimzy wasn’t doing anything for it either. 

“I can’t, Al. That’s the damn point. Men can have both and the world looks the other way. If I have both, if your little dame has both, and we get caught? Our reputations are gone. The world’ll see us as trash. Hell, the world hardly sees us as more than things, anyway. You and her get caught and that pig over there? He can divorce her and have her rotting in prison with the real pigs before the end of the week. Probably have you in the slammer, too.” 

“You’re being dramatic,” The way Alastor’s jaw muscle jumped under his charming smile told Mimzy he was hearing her words more than he wanted to. 

“Al, she’s a woman. Ain’t no way the world takes mercy on her. She don’t come from money, not enough at least to buy her out of a scandal. And you’re…” 

“I know.” Alastor said, sparing Mimzy from having to say it.

“It wouldn’t smoothe over for you like it will for Laurence, if anyone decided to care about what he’s doing with that little slink on his arm. The world looks the other way for men like that. It don’t look the other way for men like you or women.”

“Mimzy.” 

“You just don’t see it because you’re a fuckin man. She’s putting what she wants aside to protect herself and your ass, too. I’m happy you’ve found someone, I am. Never thought it’d happen, but Al, you can’t have her. As long as Laurence is her husband, she’s right- better for you to move on.” 

“And if he wasn’t?” 

“That won’t happen,” Mimzy’s heart broke for her friend. “Unless a car hits him tomorrow and makes her a widow, they’re married. Till death do we part and all that shit.” 

“For her to be mine, Laurence has to die?” Alastor motioned for another drink and was quickly served. 

“Yeah. And though shit, it’s not like the Shadow Butcher is going to gut the fuck just cuz you want his wife. Look, I wish I could sit back and say ‘go get your girl’, I really wish I could, but she’s right. You need to let her go.”

“And if I don’t? If she changes her mind?” 

“I won’t judge you, if that’s what you’re asking. But if you’re really willing to put her at so much risk, is that love?” 

“Mimzy, are not all those love songs I play most nights nothing more than promises that love is worth risking it all?”

Alastor walked through the dark streets. His fingers itched and his mind floated on a cushion of rye. He had drank a bit more than he would typically on a hunting night, but the man he trailed practically landed in his lap. It would be a bloody crime to pass up this chance. 

Alastor had seen him, tall and blond, as he stepped out of the whorehouse across from Mimzy’s seedy little speakeasy. Disgusting pig of a man. His wife would be better off without him. 

Thoughts swirled in his head as he closed the distance between him and the man. The street was deserted, everyone having tucked themselves in for the night. There was no movement in curtains. Not a car moved in sight. It was silent but the man’s footfalls and Alastor’s. 

“Excuse me, Sir?” Alastor called out as he drew closer, holding out a cigarette, a look of regret and shame on his face. “Could I trouble you for a light? I seem to have misplaced my lighter and a night like this is perfect for a smoke, wouldn’t you say?” 

The man was clearly annoyed, rolling his eyes. They were blue, Alastor knew, though with the darkness of the night he couldn’t see the color at that moment. It didn’t matter. The man reached into his pocket, distracted, to pull his lighter out. 

Alastor took that moment to ram his shoulder into the man’s sternum, knocking the air from his lungs as he fell into the alleyway. Alastor followed, staying atop the man as he drove him further back, hands wrapping around his pale neck. 

“Let me go,” the man croaked out, throat straining under clenching hands. He wrapped his hands around Alastor’s, clawing at his sleeves. With a blow to the inside of Alastor’s elbow, the man broke free. 

“I’ll kill you, Laurence.” Alastor growled out, voice once again naked of any false accent as he grabbed the man’s arm, throwing him headfirst into the stone wall. He bounced off, blood spilling from the gash on his forehead, staining his blond hair red. 

“You got the wrong guy!” The man cowered and whimpered as he crawled backward, ass dragging against the ground as he tried to put distance between him and the monster attacking him. 

The man couldn’t make out the features of his attacker. As the tall, lean monster of the night advanced on him, he could only see the streetlight in the distance reflecting off a pair of glasses and a wide, manic grin full of teeth. 

Alastor leaned down, grabbing a fistful of the man’s shirt and hauled him up to his feet. He slammed his victim hard enough against the wall that his teeth clamped down on his tongue, red blood spilling down his chin. He pulled the smaller man back off the wall only to slam him against it again, enjoying the sound of his skull hitting stone. 

“Let me go.” The man pleaded, “I’m not him. Wrong guy! Not Laurence. Don’t know a Laurence! Please, I’m not-” 

Alastor’s hand wrapped around the lower half of the man’s blood slicked face. He had to squeeze to get a grip strong enough to silence the man’s sniveling, begging. Muffled screams reverberated through Alastor’s hand and panic danced in the pathetic man’s eyes. 

“You’ll never hurt her again.” Alastor seethed, plunging the knife he didn’t remember grabbing into the pathetic man’s guts. Panic had the man’s eyes wide as Alastor wrenched the knife up, ripping through muscle and organs until it hit against bone. “You’ve lost her. Lost the game. She’s mine. She will always be mine.” 

Alastor Plunged his blade into the man’s chest, blood drenched hands glittering in what little light there was in the alley. The light in the man’s eyes faded slowly as the as Alastor thrust the blade into his limp body a third time, then a fourth time. Alastor panted, adrenalin and exertion mixing to steal his breath as he let the man slide to the ground in a heap, legs folded. 

Stepping back, Alastor looked up and down the alley, finding it as deserted as he had hoped. He quickly walked to the opening of the alley, wiping bloody hands on his black pants. Glancing back, the man looked like any homeless drunk sleeping off the night. 

Alastor walked calmly down the street, hat pulled down over his head, shielding his face in the shadows. He needed to hurry back to his car and get away from here. Running his hand down his face, he tried to calm the smile on his face. 

He knew it wasn’t Laurence. He knew the prick still lived to hurt you another day. He knew that. But for a few minutes, mind afloat in a sea of rye and rage, it was Laurence. 

By god, did it feel good to gut the man like a fish, to feel his blood and innards spill over his hands. Laurence was the one thing keeping you from the man you were made to be with. Laurence was the one thing keeping you from the man you truly loved. 

He kept Alastor from the first woman he had loved since the death of his Ma. 

That alone was a crime worthy of death. 

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

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[transbrucewayne]

F1 but it’s ultra specific ship dynamics that I need in order to enjoy the ship:

Versainz: baby’s first situationship (literally pentaltyboxbox’s art is my versainz thesis. “Ay, Max, no. I am not gay and neither are you” 🤨) teammates who weren’t supposed to like each other reluctantly becoming friends and then being intricately connected for the rest of their careers. But totally not in a gay way. Of course.

Chestappen: repressed catholic and some guy who needs dilf pussy so bad he wants to kill himself (this is deeply important to me)

Strollonso: Brat princess Lance. Heros and anti-heroes. I’m on the dark side. Tell Lance not to worry I just want to build a gap with the cars behind. You’re my fucking hero.

Carlando: Baby’s first situationship pt.2?? Lando with a massive crush, first real boyfriend Carlos….i need there to be angst. Lando fell first AND harder, etc.

Britcedes/Gewis: George fumbling all over himself trying to impress Lewis, Lewis just thinking he’s cute no matter what. It’s the coolest man alive/weird little freak he’s obsessed with pairing of my dreams. George: this is my boyfriend he’s cooler than me and also he’s cooler than all of you.

Maxiel: first love married divorced remarried pining missing something that maybe was never there will they won’t they one big game of gay chicken healing from baby’s first situationship etc etc etc (I adore them)

Dando: trying to find solace in another, longing for someone you can’t get back, subversion of expected dynamics (controversial: I fully believe Lando tops in this one). But also. They need to have one brain cell. Lando blabbing on about god knows what. Daniel sweating and popping a vein bc of how much he needs to kiss him.

Twinklaren/Landoscar: third time’s the charm, oh you’re the one I’ve been waiting for, tender glances, young love, first teammate crush syndrome

Danterri: we had something weird in the past. “Find another weed guy I can’t fuck with you…uhhhmm nothing personal I can’t fall in love right now and youre Everything I love so if I ever see you again I’ll never let go of your hand sooo yeah” (we’ve all seen that one web weaving.) Are you dating the female version of me?

Lecciardo: WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED IN VEGAS. Charles needs dick from a guy with unstoppable charisma soooooo bad. Fueling each other’s impulsive sides, etc etc

Sebchal: baby’s first situationship (Charles’ version) (from the vault) I miss you so much I’m going to listen to breakup songs all night long. I still think of you every day. I named you twice in a list of drivers. You may even kiss. If it was the omegaverse Seb is so obviously an alpha.

Brocedes: if it doesn’t make me physically sick to my stomach with anguish I do not want it. I hope you die I hope we both die. Hand in unlovable hand. I still consider him my best friend in my heart. We’re not friends. Are they lovers? Worse.

Chewis (Charles/Lewis. I recognise this is also the name for Checo/Lewis. What is the Charles/Lewis name?) me and the bad bitch I pulled by being in violation of that one article section. You know the post. They suffer together. Kinship in joint pain. You’ve got a long future ahead of you. Praise kink.

Let me know if you want a part 2, if so, send ships you want!