#considering how his life played out he handled it pretty well

[canisalbus]

When did Machete realize he was gay? Was it only when he met Vasco, or was it earlier and he just repressed it?

If you asked him, he might admit that in retrospect he must've had a vague inkling earlier (thinking of all the times he let his gaze linger on a painting of some handsome nobleman a little longer. Which almost makes it like... a 16th century equivalent of having a secret fictional crush). But I think it probably would've been more of a detached, aesthetic attraction than anything he recognized as distinctly gay, bad and worth of repressing. It's not a sin to quietly appreciate art and the beauty of the human form.

I'd say Vasco, his best friend at the time, was most likely the first real person he had actual feelings for. The realization was so distressing he stayed in denial about the whole thing for a good while.

[sincerelyneo]

golden hour | l.mk

“i’ve got a really big problem…”

💿now playing: golden hour by mark

❯ summary: Mark’s got a really big problem; you. The pretty neighbour that shares a bedroom wall with him. You’re a night owl and you’re so loud and are you…listening to his music whilst masturbating…? Fuck now he’s hard. Guess he’s got two really big problems.

❯ pairings: mark x fem!reader

❯ genre: neighbours, smut

❯ words: 2.3k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, masturbation, mark’s a loser for the plot, very explicit details of sexual fantasies, reader uses she/her pronouns and female gendered terms, literally just mark being horny whilst reader gets off to his song.

Mark needs to move out. He doesn’t know how much longer he can take the old run-down building his apartment is located in having no working elevator. If you’d have told him two years ago when he signed his dream music contract with a real record label that he’d be climbing six flights of stairs after a long week of work he’d have called you a liar. But that’s what happens when people aren’t listening to your music. 

Maybe he's overreacting; the building isn’t that terrible. It has its perks—like the pretty view. And it’s usually quiet—well, it was until his lively new neighbor moved in. Mark might have thought of you as a perk when he first saw you, considering you’re exactly his type, so fucking beautiful. But you’re also so fucking loud.

You always seem to have something going on—plans, hobbies, parties, meetings, friends. Mark knows because the walls between you and him are thin, and you’re never quiet, never still. At first, he thought it was kind of cute, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realises he’s been so distracted by how attracted he is to you, he’s been letting your noisy lifestyle slide.

It’s not like he wants to knock on your door and ask you to keep it down; he’s too worried you’d think he’s some kind of loser. Even at twenty-five, he still craves female validation like he’s a high schooler—so he’s been putting up with the sleepless nights. Another reason why he needs to move asap. 

The lack of sleep, combined with the endless stairs, has left Mark drained this past month. He can practically hear his sofa calling his name, can taste the cold bottles of beer that sit in his fridge as he reaches the top step. He may be a tad out of breath and a little sweaty but he’s got the weekend off and that’s all he can think about. But unlike you, Mark’s life is boring. The most exciting thing about his weekend is the idea of not having to climb his complex’s stairs until Monday. 

Meh. He could dwell on the mundane schedule of his life for hours but he gets distracted. Distracted by his pretty little nightmare neighbour. 

You're all dressed up in a tight gold dress that clings to every inch of your body. Your hair falls down your back as you lock your door, tucking the keys into the tiny clutch hanging from your shoulder.

That’s when you notice him too.

“Oh, hey,” you greet him softly, offering a bright and friendly smile. 

Mark returns it, his chest swelling. There's no denying you’re a beautiful girl. And although he’s overheard your phone calls about parties through the thin walls, and the hum of your hair dryer as you get ready for nights out, he’s never actually seen you in anything other than jeans and a t-shirt. He’s never been given the opportunity to see you so dolled up, to notice the little love handles he can all of a sudden imagine himself gripping. He clears his throat and smiles wider.

“Hi Y/N…you look nice!” He compliments kindly, fingers fiddling with his own keys. 

Nice? 

The word replays in his mind. He’s spent endless nights thinking about how beautiful you are and now he’s finally got to feed his craving of seeing you in tight clothes but the only word he can muster up is nice? Oh he hates himself. 

But then he sees you blush at the comment, and he loves the way you purse your lips, trying to hide a shy smile. A part of him is annoyed that you’re blushing over something so simple—he thinks every man should be showering you with compliments, and you should expect more than nice. Still, there’s something about the way you squirm from his words that has his cock throbbing.

He wonders if it’s because you’re attracted to him too. It’s not completely out of the question. You know who he is, of course you do. You see each other in passing a lot but you’ve also spoken on the day you moved in. Mark remembers it like it was yesterday. 

He could hear you panting and cursing in the hall, hauling boxes up and down the stairs before he came out to help. You didn’t recognise him at first, not until he was in your apartment setting boxes down.

That’s when you turned to him with wide eyes and a breathy, “oh wow, aren’t you the dude that sang ‘Golden Hour’?”

Mark started blinking at you like a deer in the headlights. He’d never encountered a fan in person before, he had a small community online, but his music hadn’t exactly been taking off like he planned. So you can imagine his surprise when his new (extremely attractive) neighbour knew one of his songs. 

“Thank you,” your soft voice breaks him from his memory, and moves his focus. “Just a night out with the girls, been a long week,” you sigh. 

He wants to hear all about your long week, wants to be the one to make it better—maybe convince you to skip the girls’ night and spend it with him instead. But he doesn’t. He doesn't even let the thought linger for more than a moment before he’s nervously tapping his key against his thumb.

“Well have fun, and be safe,” he settles on tenderly. 

You nod with a small smile, giving a gentle wave before turning to leave. He watches you until you’ve rounded the corner, only then unlocking his door and kicking off his shoes with a sigh.

Mark grabs a bottle of beer from the kitchen, kicking the fridge door closed behind him. His entire apartment is dark and it reminds him of the loneliness he’s been feeling for the last six months. Mark never really thought about love and relationships before he met you. Sure, he likes to fool around as much as the next person, but he’s always been fine with being on his own. But you remind him of the lonely. 

He’s never longed for love and friendships but a secret part of him craves a woman by his side… craves the woman next door.

He wonders what it’d be like for you to be cuddled into his side as you watch a movie. Wonders if you’d laugh at certain parts and crane your neck up to pepper tender kisses to his soft lips. Mark squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head, tries to rid the thoughts of you from his mind.

But it’s proven a little more difficult when he moves from the couch to take a shower and the water is running down his tense and naked body. He struggles to not think about you on your knees, touching his thick cock and kissing up his thighs.

He has to swallow back the lump in his throat and blinks away the urge to touch himself to the thought of you. He refuses to be that kind of guy. He’s not that kind of guy. So he gets out the shower and does the only thing he likes doing — music. 

Mark tries out new melodies on his guitar, humming broken lyrics and soft tunes he’ll be sure to show his producer on Monday. After a while he catches sight of the clock on the wall and it’s already a little past midnight. After locking his doors he’s crawling into bed and ready to sleep; but then he hears something. 

A soft giggle muffled from the wall behind his head. 

Mark’s fully aware the two of you share the same wall for your beds, rooms mirroring each other, but he’s never heard this kind of sweet giggle fall from your lips so late at night. He tries not to let the sound affect him, but there’s only one reason why a girl like you could be giggling at this hour after a night out. 

You’ve brought someone home? But Mark can’t hear a man’s voice, not even the slightest grunt or groan of male muttering. He can only hear soft giggling slipping from his favourite pair of lips.

And then he hears a robotic voice announcing that the Bluetooth is successfully connected and he knows he’s about to hear your fuck playlist. The thought sends a thrill through his body and he knows he’s unlikely going to get any sleep tonight.

He’s about to get up, to move to the sofa in the living room, to not be disrespectful and a perv by listening to you getting off, but he hears a familiar hammering of drums and a guitar muffled through the paper-thin walls and his eyes are bulging.

“Give me my A course, ice is so big like a glacier” 

You’re giggling again and he can hear your body fall against the sheets of the bed – the bed that’s very clearly pushed up against the same wall his is. It creaks under your weight, and Mark feels the wall tremble slightly as your bed frame knocks against his wall.

He’s tried so hard not to be that guy, but his hand finds its way in his boxers before he can fully comprehend what he’s doing. He’s rock fucking hard, red and veiny and he takes off his boxers, leaving him sprawled on his back, completely bare.

He hears your soft whimpers, can hear you hum in appreciation even over the buzzing of your vibrator and the thumping of his song. He doesn’t know what’s turning him on more; the fact that he can hear you getting off and moaning out, or that you’re listening to him while trying to cum. 

Either way, his hand is wrapped tight around his thick length, thumbing over his oozing tip. He thinks of how you must be, how you’d look completely whilst naked and sprawled out on the bed for him. Mark imagines himself on top of you, kissing your perky tits he loves to think about and wrapping his lips around your swollen nipples. His mind feels like it can taste you on his tongue, can feel your dainty fingers tugging at his hair as he laps you.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp loud enough for him to hear.  

It makes him imagine your eyes rolling back when he finally fucks himself inside your tight little cunt, he visions the look of ecstasy on your face when your jaw would become completely slack and your body quivers for him. He knows you’d feel him deep in your stomach. He knows he’d be so big for you. 

“Fuck,” he slips out in a desperate pant.

He’s completely breathless, tugging at his dick, spitting down on it to get it all wet for you. He knows you’re so much wetter on the other side of the damn wall, and that he’d rather be sinking into your wet pussy but his spit would have to do. 

He throws his head back in his pillow, eyes shut tight, allowing his mind to work over time. 

“Fuck, Mark… I need it.”

Everything feels surreal, like he’s in his own personal heaven with a touch of hell. You’re crying out for more, for him, begging for it deeper, harder, and he finds himself fucking into his fist just as desperately. Like his soft palm is your silky pussy.

Mark can’t focus on anything other than your sweet fucking cries that sound otherwordly against his song. It makes him think about how much he’d love to record your moans, use them in his next song. But then he’d never be able to release it — because they’re his to hear. 

It’s when the bridge starts that you really let yourself go, filthy fucking moans, the speed of the vibrator increasing, and God he wishes he could watch you right now. See you trembling and begging as the instrumental plays out loud and hard. 

He can’t handle it.

Gruff moans are slipping past his lips and he does nothing to try and conceal them. The muscles in his arm are burning but he fucks his cock harder, imaging what it’d be like to feel his balls slap against your ass as he pounds into you.

He can feel the coil tightening in his stomach, the way his cock starts to twitch. His imagination grows wild and filthy, every single fantasy he’s tried locking away to not be that guy now flooding his mind because you’re that girl. 

That girl that’s using his music to cum. That girl that wants to hear his voice as she gets off. That girl who’s doing it with no shame, no guilt. That girl that’s using him. 

The thought takes Mark’s mind to sinful places. “Take it,” he can hear himself seeth through gritted teeth. He imagines you begging for his cum, taking it like the good fucking girl you are.

“Ugh, fuuckk I’m cumming!” Mark cries out gruffly through strangled moans and he hears your screams follow.

Your bed is creaking louder than before and he knows your thighs have got to be trembling as you cum around your vibrator. Mark’s hand and thighs are covered in thick ribbons of white arousal and when his eyes flutter open, through his blotched vision, he imagines seeing you kneeling between his thighs and licking it up.

He’s completely fucked as he hears his song mellow out and you aren’t moaning anymore. Instead, he can hear  breathless little pants. He stays where he is for a second, eager to see what else he can hear. But there’s nothing — only complete and utter silence.

Mark doesn’t sleep the entire night. He can’t. He’s kept awake with the guilt of listening to his pretty neighbour. Or is it with the thrill of knowing it was his voice that got you off that's making him so restless? 

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hiiii I was looking to see if your request is open but couldn’t find it so I’ll just drop it here and feel free to write it :) I love your writings! 🌸

May I ask for batboys reacting to shy reader who wants them to lie down on her lap after their long day. She wants to praise them, play with their hair and shower them with kisses :0 thank you!

Dick:

Would rest his head on your lap regardless of whether you asked him to do not, your lap was the perfect pillow for him and he will not have it any other way.

‘Hi baby.’ He greets as he beams up at you from the comfort of your lap.

‘Hi honey, long day?’ You greeted back, your hands already finding their way into his hair and began to comb through it slowly as he hums, burrowing himself closer to you as a means to feel more of you against him.

‘Yeah but it’s nothing I can’t handle.’ Dick replied and smiled wide when you kissed his cheek before kissing his nose, and felt his heart melt upon giggling you giggling when he scrunched up his face.

‘Is there nothing that my handsome man can’t do?’ You asked sarcastically as you pressed a kiss to his other cheek. ‘Or is he just the most perfect man in existence?’

Dick made a face at this. ‘Have you maybe considered that this handsome man of yours has an amazing, wonderful and beautifully cute spouse waiting at home for him as inspiration?’ He looks at you with a raised brow.

‘I’m the one who’s meant to be praising you tonight, not you praising me.’ You chuckled as you peppered his face in small, quick kisses that had Dick reaching a hand to the back of your head, holding you close so he could give you a plethora of kisses of his own.

‘Well what if we could just both praise the other tonight.’ Dick said against your lips.

‘I can deal with that.’ You replied as you spent the rest of the night whispering sweet nothings to one another and trading kisses.

Jason:

Your lap was his save haven after a long and tiresome day from having to listen to Bruce critique his way of ridding crime out of Gotham. So he wasn’t going to refuse your affection, not when you shyly patted your lap as an invite to rest his head and looking cute whilst doing so.

God had his permission to smite him to his second death should he actually refuses your requests to coddle him and shower him in all your love and adoration.

If anything the days where you offered up your lap to him were the best days of his entire life as he got to spend it looking up at an absolute angel that he was lucky enough to call his own.

‘How’s my gorgeous jay birdie feeling today?’ You asked as you kissed his along his jaw and stopping when you got to his chin.

‘I’m feeling fantastic now that I’m with you sweetheart. How about you.’ He replied back as he looked up at you with his pretty eyes that he knew made you weak. Jason only wanted to give you back the love and support that you give him on a daily basis tenfold, for it’s what you truly deserved in his eyes.

He loved you too much to allow you to settle for mediocrity.

‘I’m feeling much better now my strong, brave boy has come home to me safe and one less bruise to ice.’ You responded with a lighthearted chuckle as you lifted up one of his large hands and pressed a kiss to the back of it, before resting your cheek against it to commemorate his warmth and callouses to memory.

‘Don’t come at me with that sweetheart, I know you love icing my bruises, especially when they’re on my abdomen.’ Jason cheeked as he winked at you, taking pure enjoyment out of seeing your flustered face. It was a much needed breath of fresh air coming home to sweet, caring you from the cold, unforgiving outside and he cherished every bit of it for as long as he could.

‘Meanie.’ You murmur, booping him on the nose.

‘Meanie? How am I being mean chipmunk, I know how much you love my abs and my thighs.’ Jason chuckled as he booped your nose in retaliation. ‘Why do you think I never skip leg day?’

‘You’re more than perfect the way you are Jason,’ you countered, ‘perfect body or not you’re still my jay birdie. Forever and always.’ You whispered the last part as you pressed a sweet tender kiss to his lips as he smiled in response.

Tim:

He always finds himself perpetually tired from working himself to the bone, so when you offered up your lap for him to rest, the poor man practically sighed in relief, almost as if he were a man dying of thirst in the desert; finally having found the oasis he had been wandering aimlessly for.

‘You don’t know how much I needed this.’ Tim groans as he made himself comfortable in your lap, trying his hardest to not to close his eyes right then and there from the prepping of light kisses you were scattering across his forehead and under his eyes.

Gosh he hates how weak he gets from your little kisses but would die a little on the inside if you didn’t.

‘I’m sure I can take a guess.’ You said sweetly as you ran your hand through his hair. ‘You’ve been overworking yourself so much lately that I rarely see you as much,’ Tim’s stomach dropped upon hearing this but let you finish speaking, ‘but when I do see you it always makes me happy knowing that you’re okay.’ You then pressed a kiss to his cheek.

‘I’m sorry for-‘ you cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips, muttering a soft ‘don’t. Don’t blame yourself for things you can’t control.’

‘But I can control it!’ Tim exclaimed. ‘It’s not fair on you to exhaust yourself on me every night after patrol and still find it within yourself to take care of me…I don’t deserve any of it as it feels as though I’m taking advantage of you somehow.’ Tim trailed off as he looked away for you as guilt are away at him.

‘Tim,’ you called, ‘my sweet Tim as long as I know your okay and come home to me every night, then I don’t care how long I have to stay up just catch a glimpse of your handsome face.’ You reassured him as you kissed his jawline softly, and Tim felt himself weaken under your words and affection as he looked back up at you.

‘You really mean that?’ He asked almost quietly.

‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it with all my heart my sweet, smart boy.’ You said while pressing a singular kiss to his forehead.

[chronically-ghosted]

iron and charcoal

rating: explicit 18+ pairing: pero tovar x f!reader word count: 6.9K summary: Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –  Her. He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.  OR Pero falls hard for a princess and doesn’t know what to do with himself on your wedding night. warnings: angst, brief classism/xenophobia two very stubborn people, pero experiences one Human Emotion and cannot fully process it, arranged marriage, yearning, smut LIKE WOW, soft!pero that i broke my own heart with a/n: Thank you so much to @perotovar for this request: "congrats on your milestone, my love! so happy for you <33 i'm sending a little astrology 💫 + pero & #6 on the fluffy list OR #1 on the smutty list (whichever is speaking to you), because i wanna see your take on him 👀” – of course I chose the slutty one, just for you 😉 I’m actually pretty proud of this one - please consider reblogging if you like it too!

*the image in the header is for aesthetic purposes only and does not reflect the appearance of the reader*

🤍Masterlist 🤍Pero Tovar Masterlist

💜come see what else we've done to celebrate 1K followers

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sometimes before battle, the clatter inside Pero’s head goes silent. It listens. It waits. 

Other times, it roars. Memories of family, of dead amigos, of mujeres he fucked – they all buck and scratch for a chance to blaze across his mind like a dust storm kicked up by an unbroken mustang. 

He doesn’t know which one he prefers or which one will win out. They both have their uses, necessary states of mind to survive whatever is barreling towards him – an ax, a monster out of legend, some other drunken mercenary he intentionally pissed off. It’s an unconscious decision, yet one that has served him well so far. He wouldn’t be alive today if some deep, primal part of him knew what he needed to live through another battle. 

And yet, his own trunk knocking against his hips as he climbed the sickly ostentatious stone steps to the top of the parapet, the handles starting to pinch his fingers, the barest – nearly invisible – tremor in his knees, he cannot fathom, for the life of him, why that singular phrase from his abuela played in his head like water swirling around and around a cenote. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

His inner voice, taking on a myriad of forms, of sounds and voices, never quite standing still, the one companion he could always rely on. 

Maybe it was warning him. Dust yourself off, boy, you know exactly how this was going to end. 

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. 

But there would be no tomorrow. No future, no light of dawn – not without –

Her.

He’d never heal because tomorrow would never come.

He feels sweat escape from the nape of curls at his neck, his cheeks warm and chest hot. Two more flights, he can manage two more flights. 

His abuela also liked to tell him something else: if hell doesn’t get him, his pride certainly will. 

It’s certainly what got him into this ridiculous farce in the first place. Because he can’t alchemize whatever is in his gut into vocalized syllables, he instead has to climb a truly incalculable amount of stairs, while carrying a ragged, torn trunk that weighs as much as his armor. 

Because he can’t form the right words, any words, about what he carries lodged beneath his breastbone for her. What draws him up and up and up and up because it’s lighter than hope, makes him lighter than air, and yet it clogs him up, chokes him out all the same. His pride, his vanity, cuts through it, through her – enough to keep him tongueless and dry but not enough to offer this lightness in his chest to her, for her. He can’t take the light out of him or else he fears what he will truly become.

So, he walks, he goes around and around on unforgiving stone steps until finally there is a door. He thinks about waiting, to catch his breath, but he knows he will just as easily turn around and go back the way he came, trunk still heavy and knocking against his hips, and that pride will be the death of him. So he keeps going, opens the handle, and makes abrupt eye contact with the two guards outside her door. They seem uninterested and unamused in his sweaty, stilted breathing, but by his less-than-royal attire, they easily clock him as one of their own; a man who fights to make his way in the world. The one on the left nods jerkily at him. 

What they see him as, what he will always be, is nearly the reason he kicks that fucking trunk all the way back down. Instead, he nods back, shoulders rounded, eyes down. 

“The princesa - the princess - is requesting the last of her things, to be b-brought up from the stables –,” he clears his throat, “drop this off for her and –,”

“Can’t let you in. King’s orders.” The one on the right sees him as something else – a foreigner first and foremost, their similar stations in life irrelevant. His bright blue eyes rove over Pero’s dark skin, dark hair, jagged scar, distaste and disgust smearing his already ugly features. But he had been dealing with men like these all his life.

“Bueno, you can explain to the King himself why his daughter’s belongings were lost and disregarded. I hear she’s very fond of the Italian prints at the bottom of this . . .”

The guards glance at each other, calculating way above their paygrade. Pero jostles the trunk as if to show he is not above throwing it out the window. 

“Fine.” The second one snaps. “Drop it inside and come back immediately.”

He drops his head, a good little foreign boy. “Gracias, señor.” 

The heavy wooden door opens beneath the iron lock and the instant he is through, he bolts it behind him. Waits to see if the guards notice. They don’t. Perfectamente – all the time in the world. 

All in the time in the world – for what? 

To fail? Again?

He stows the trunk in front of the door, extra time, a few seconds maybe – as if she wouldn’t just tell him to get out the instant she laid eyes on him. Only time will tell. 

Out of the atrium, another door, this one set deep into the wall. A last line of defense. He knocks, once, then twice, then waits. El orgullo chokes him again but fuck it, he’s come this far. He knocks again, knocks something in his chest free and, with it, spill the words:

“Princesa? It’s me. I –,” it throttles him, “princesa, can you open the door?” 

Silence. His heart sits, buried in that trunk. Then –

“It’s unlocked, Pero.” 

His heart in his throat, he opens the door to presumably what will be your marriage bed. And yet, by the state of things, you could have been moving out of it. Trunks and bags stack high against the far wall – those fucking trunks he made such a scene over because the unnecessary weight would slow them all down remain untouched, arranged as they had been when they had been first brought in. He didn’t quite know what to make of that, his thumb absently pressing into the callus of his other hand as he glanced around. It is a beautiful room – tall windows, etched in scarlet drapes, to match the scarlet curtains around the bed. With gold thread and impossibly detailed paintings of the countryside, it is fit for a princess, a some-day queen. This is where someone with royal blood deserved to be, not in the back of a hot carriage for weeks on end, surrounded by dirty, loud, rough men. 

And yet, with your hair down, expansive gown from the ball tonight replaced with a simple cotton dress, you could not have been more out of place. Pero’s heart lurches briefly, moisture seeping from his mouth, as he realizes this is the same dress he bought you when the two of you had been accidentally separated by the caravan and your previous dress had been ruined in the mud. He had no idea you still kept it, much less wore it ever again. 

But if anyone asked him, you look more beautiful in this than any silk or velvet. 

Instead of unpacking, settling into your new home and eventual role as wife, you sit hunched over at the intricately carved mahogany desk, eagle feather quill scratching against parchment. You finish with a flourish and look over your shoulder at him, your eyes annoyingly unreadable. 

“Yes?”

A stupid brute some may call him, but he wasn’t entirely without awareness. Observation of your customs and what you considered inappropriate only encouraged him: if you really didn’t want him here, you would never have let him see you in this state.

But it’s hard to remember that under your icy stare. 

“Y-your things, Princesa. The last from the caravan.”

Your eyes slide over him, to the trunk in the shadows of the atrium. He can tell from a single glance that you know as well as he that trunk is not yours, that no one told him to come here with it, and yet he did it all the same. Something flashes over your eyes but it’s gone by the time you meet his gaze again. 

“Thank you. I am, as always, indebted to you.” 

He hates your words, but warmth spreads in his gut at the way you say it. That’s how it’s always been between you and him – saying one thing but meaning another. He’d never appreciated a sharp mind like yours until he realized you wield it as he wields a sharp sword. 

There are many things he’d never even dreamed of before he met you.

“Then, this means you’re leaving, I suppose.” You draw your sword against him. The metal flashes in your eyes as you stand, one hand against the curved tip of your chair. A bronze halo rims your outline, the fire behind you burning bright and hot. He knows if he touched your shoulder, your neck, your skin would be wonderfully warm. 

He wets his lips. “Si. Our contract with your father is done.” 

You drop his gaze, your lips tightening for a minute, your fingers running through the carvings of wood on the chair. “Even with William in his state? Would it not be better for him to stay and recover? The journey home is –,” you pause, as though someone had thrown a hand over your mouth, “– the journey back east is long.” 

All the longer without you.

“William, he is not an idle man. Two days of bedrest is often all he can take.” 

You grin, in spite of this thing circling you both. “Unless he finds the nun attending to him beautiful.

“He finds them all beautiful.” 

Your smile expands wide across your bright face when you find him smiling at you too. 

This – if this is to be his last memory of you (his heart wrenches at the thought) – this is the you he wants imprinted on his soul: smiling and glowing by firelight. 

But as quickly as it came, that grin that warms him down to his bones, fades. In an instant, your eyes grow soft, your mouth twisted, jaw tight.

“Where will you go?” you ask, in the quietest voice you’d ever addressed him with. 

It pains him, physically aches within him, to hear the distress in your voice. He hasn’t even thought about the next contract, the next royal cabrón who intends to yank him all across God’s green earth to perform a task he can’t be fucked to take on himself. How can he possibly answer you? Nowhere, without you. To rot in a dark hole in the ground? Off a cliff? What answer would provide you or him any sort of satisfaction?

“Wherever the coin goes,” he says and the words scrape his tongue like bile. That ache in his chest spiraling rapidly, deep into his gut – like a poisoned limb he cannot amputate – he does the same thing he always does when he’s hurt: he makes others hurt until they leave him alone. “You do not have to worry, princesa, your new husband will keep you in such comfort you will never wonder where the coin comes from.”

He must be a truly sick man, for the knife-sharp glare you throw at him only knots arousal around the base of his spine. It tugs on something attached directly to his groin which, in turn, yanks the next words out of his mouth.

“He looked especially happy with you in his arms on the dance floor tonight.”

The icy shards in your eyes go brittle and crack. His heart races; he’s overplayed his hand. 

“You watched me dance?”

“All guardsmen were required to –,”

You shake your head, eyes bright and searing through him. “No. It was only the King’s Knights there in attendance.” 

Your hand trailing off the edge of the chair, you take a step forward and he feels his weight shift back onto his heels. But he remains firm. 

Sana, sana.

“Pero, why did you come here tonight?”

“To return the last of your things, princesa. What else is there?”

You flinch, as if he had raised his voice to you. What else is there indeed?

“Not even to . . .  say goodbye? Sixteen weeks on the road is an awfully long time to be around someone, only for them to . . . leave so soon.”

He locks his knees to keep them from shaking. “Do you wish for me to tell you goodbye, princesa?” 

There’s something painfully sad about the way you smile at him. “I wish for whatever would make you happiest.” 

Anger roars within him, hungry and hot, like a burn from a white flame. Why can’t you just admit it? Why do you avoid it time and time again? He knows he hasn’t misread anything you’ve sent his way, so why? Why are you so vested in torturing him this way? 

“Coin makes me happy and, now that I have it, there’s nothing to keep me here.”

There, that hurts you too, just as he meant it.

“Then leave.” They could make ice fortresses out of the strength of your bone-cold stare. “If you have nothing else to say, then take your goddamn trunk and get out of my sight.” 

The flame scorches him, ripping him apart and in his anger, making him cruel.

He bows to you.

“I imagine you will be very happy with your new husband, ranita.”

The term slips from his lips before he can stop it, but his throat and cheeks blister so badly, he physically can’t open his mouth to correct his mistake. Instead, he turns and strides towards the door.

He thinks he hears a gasp from behind him, a sharp sound like breaking glass – small, tinkling, tragic. It spears him through his chest, pierces his heart. 

He gets to the door and pauses.

If you have nothing else to say . . .

Of course he has something to say – words in English and Spanish and broken dialects gathered like poisonous lichen all churning in the boiling cauldron of his mind, but nothing will suffice – nothing reflects or compares to the grief he is already feeling, the despair, the anguish that has settled into all the fleshy joints in his body. Not his pride, but this, saying goodbye to you, this is what actually will kill him.

Every word imaginable crawls up his throat and rages in his mouth, presses up against his teeth, begging for something, anything to be let out, to be free, to tell you that he cannot fucking live without you–

Nothing comes through, but one single word.

“Don’t.” 

The fire crackles in the silence, a wicked god pleased at the display of carnage.

“What did you say?”

A dull thud echoes from where he drops his forehead against the wood of the door, all anger flooding out of his system. Do you have any idea the power you hold over him? One request, one tremor in your voice and his knees all but buckle at your altar. 

Fuck it. 

He always thought he’d go out in a blaze of bloody glory, but he’d never expected to be so exposed, so flayed like this.

“Don’t,” he repeats, his throat as dry as sand. “Do not . . . marry him. Please.” 

The vision of your great warrior slumped against the door frame, his neck bent, shoulders curled up to his ears has your already pounding heart leaping forward into a gallop. He is defeated, laid low. You watch his guts all but pool out on your hearth. 

He looks about as hopeless and anguished as you feel. 

Your soldier, your man of iron and charcoal, goes blurry in your eyes.

“And what would you have me do, Pero?” Your plea is damp, malleable at the edges. You press your hand flat against your chest, near your throat, as if you could pull the grief lodged there with your fingers. “I have been engaged to this man before I was even born. How can I stop this?” 

“Fight.” The word snarls against his bare teeth. He turns, his eyes liquid ink, and suddenly he has you by the shoulders. His thumbs nervously skitter around the curve of your shoulder, gaze just as unsteady and unfocused as it wavers between your hands, your earlobe, your neck. "Where is my brave girl who fights for what she wants, hm? Fight – for me, please.”

Fight, he asks – but in spite of him or because of him?

You lay your hands on the silver shine of his breastplate, watch as they rise and fall with his steady flow of breath. How many nights had you woken up against that shine, in the crook of his arm for warmth, or protection? You didn’t cherish it at the time because you never knew when it would be your last. 

“Why won’t you fight, princesa?” His voice is low, strained, the groan of a wagon wheel before it breaks. You meet his gaze and the exposed look on his face, softening every line on his mouth and around his eyes, nearly sends you into hysterics. You swallow the tears, swallow the hook in your throat as your fingers curl around the clasps of his cape. 

"Because if I don't fight then I can't lose.” His fingers slip from your shoulders, to your elbows, to your waist. You inhale and the scents of warm leather, oil, and ash flood your mouth. The tip of your nose is inches from the scruff of beard against his cheek, the ruddy brown of his sun-drenched skin. He has curled you into him and this, you do not fight either. His massive palms map your back, against your skin, but without any urgency or control. “If I can’t lose, that means I don’t lose you. You'll just be . . . gone."

That last word is a lie. It hangs in the air like a sweltering humid rain and you both know you’re lying. He has you wrapped up in his arms, you didn’t stop him even for a second, and you are all too aware that it would take some great, insidious alchemy to ever truly tear him out of you. 

You stare at his silver collar, defiant against the waves you had managed to shackle down until this very moment: a wave of hopeless crashes into you, a wave of heartbreak, a wave of helpless that fills your eyes to the point of spilling with that very same salt water.

He touches your cheek delicately, fingers rough with callouses, and the floodgates break open with a sob. 

“Preciosa,” he rumbles softly against your hairline, “hush. You break my heart with your tears.” 

“Do not mock me, Tovar. Not now.” you sniff, trying to turn your face but his wide hands catch you around the cheeks.

“You are beyond mocking. I’d show you my heavy heart but I do not wish that weight on anyone.” The snag of his rough thumbs against your cheek draws your watery gaze to him. His mouth is a flat line, barred against whatever climbs his throat, but his eyes move like mercury across your nose, your eyelashes, the arch of your cheek. Your fingers wrap themselves around his wrists, a grounding agent against the waves that threaten to pull you under. 

“Pero, I –,”

“I have fought you, tooth and nail, for days without end. Every favor, every breath, you have forced them from me. I fight my own mind when I sleep at night. Sueños, always of the same woman.” He smears away the tears with his thumbs, gently, sweetly, before pressing his lips to your wet flesh by his knuckle. He inhales deeply, eyes closed, mouth hovering stationary above the skin of your cheek. “You fight me every step of the way . . . and I am so tired of fighting.” 

For all your struggling, for all your tearing and clawing and snarling against the blooming in your chest, nothing is as easy as it is to turn your head and press your lips to his. 

The brush of his bristled mustache against your upper lip. His warm, rough palms holding you steady. His lips soft and hot. You are overwhelmed by the scent of him.

There is nothing like, and nothing will ever be like, finally kissing Pero Tovar. 

All it takes is the movement of his hands from your cheeks to your lower back, the light trace of his tongue against your lips, and the yearning you’d been smothering for weeks now roars to life. His hands squeeze your hips and you can suddenly barely breathe. 

“Pero–,” the noise in the shape of his name that escapes you is near a whine, begging. He nips at your lips, hand firmly at the cup of your jaw, mouth now rough and insistent, and your fingers claw up his neck, wrapping themselves in his dark curls. You tug, nails scratching his scalp, and he groans into your mouth as if you’d just kneed him in the gut.

A thread-bare gasp of your name from his lips splits you from him, then his hand on your hip and the back of your neck pushing you backwards gives you enough air to breathe – to think.

"Your husband will know you're not a virgin,” Pero warns, breathing hard and fast, his eyes like black flints, “if we go on." 

You curl your fingers around his neck, dragging your mouth near his jaw, the soft skin at the edge of his ear.

"Then he will also know my heart is not his either.” You ask everything of him with this. His armor blocks his warm body from you – you want to sink inside his hard shell. “If you’ll have it.”

He is not himself, half-human with an inhuman want, with the snarl that leaves him. 

“Don’t make such promises, dulzura –,” A threat, a dog forced to expose its underbelly, fear radiating like the pain from a broken bone. Your fingers dig into the buckles of his cape, steadying you against a sudden terrible awareness that bloomed, purple-bruised. 

“Unless you don’t want –,” 

The desk rattles when your hips break against it, the force of his kiss enough to topple over your inkwell, spill rolls of parchment to the floor. The wood groans under your weight when he gathers the thick swell of your thighs in his hands, heaves you onto the flat surface, and spreads your knees around his waist. He is as hard as the iron on his chest. 

“Can you feel how much I want you?”

A frantic sigh of relief, a groan shared between two pairs of lips, seeking skin and warmth and other hungry places. 

He drags you onto his chest, your skirt bunched up around your hips, the rings of his armor digging into the soft flesh of your thighs, his mouth covering yours in wet pulls, and he stands up right, as though you weighed less than his sword. 

A stumble, and he spreads you out on the velvet covers of your marriage bed, his hands imprinting on your hips, your knees, the supple meat of your calves. The touch of him on your bare skin feels like the licks of flames, the smoke of arousal blurring your awareness and dragging your eyelids half-closed. On his heels at the edge of the bed, the flint shards of his eyes drift over the bones of your ankles, the bend of your knee, your heaving chest, hair in snarls around your neck and caught behind your back, and finally to your cunt, hidden by the folds of your dress. 

Velvet hums as you slide your ankles to the curve of your ass, widening your legs, parting your knees. His lips part open, dark want etching every line of his face. You feel the wet linen of your dress cling to your achy cunt. He swallows, unbuckling his cape one latch at a time, his eyes nowhere else. The metal clatters as it falls to the floor.

Piece by piece, the chinks in his armor fall away. Piece by piece, he is revealed to you. Your hands rise up, up your thighs to your knees, your thumbs rubbing soft circles. He watches, never tears his gaze away from your sticky hole, his nimble fingers working away the buckles and knots with practiced precision. You can see it in his eyes – memories of bedrolls by firelight, of such a deep painful, yearning ache, separated only by thin tarp, they are a physical weight beside you in this marriage bed. 

You see them because they’re there for you too. You see them because you've been here a dozen times, on your back, legs spread wide, your hands circling but never dipping, waiting. Wanting. For him. 

His bare chest is warm, the wings of his ribs expanding around short, half-drawn breaths, as he crawls up into your pliant mouth. The kisses are slow, like before, with a crackle of heat just beyond them, his hips slipping into the cradle of your thighs, the wet warmth of you separated by the thin linen of your dress. He sucks the tendon below your ear, a whine slipping out of your mouth, fingers spreading over the harsh planes of his back, and his cock bobs against your thigh. 

Pero is bare and warm and entirely yours. All man beneath the sweltering armor. 

“Amorcita,” he drips into your ear, kisses smeared against your collarbone, your mouth, your earlobe, “amorcita, amorcita . . . ranita, let me take you.” 

He starts to use teeth, a harder nip behind his kisses, when he dips down to your chest. A wide palm with stocky fingers grasps at your breast and it’s a startling sensation for you both. 

“Soft,” he moans before licking up under the supple curve of your breast, mouthing at what his tongue missed. He slips your erect nipple into his mouth and twists it between his teeth. “Sweet,” he murmurs with your nipple firmly between his lips. 

This is unlike anything you’ve felt before. You deliriously thank the gods that he hadn’t touched you like this on the road; you would have kept him, your own wild animal, in bed without rest for days on end.

Pero plucks just as aggressively at your other breast, the spit-wet nipple that preoccupied his mouth verging on purple and aching. He cups you from the outside this time, squeezing and massaging, ringing your nipple with his tongue until your back bows and you let out a whine that has his eyes flickering up to you, the scent of wounded prey filling his nostrils. 

That whine of pleasure elongates into a whimper: “please.”

“Tranquila, ranita.” His touch is softer around your bruised tits, but he keeps one hand bagging the weight of your breast while the other slips beneath your skirt.

The pads of his fingers brush your creamy cunt and with a yelp, you grab him by the wrist, your eyes open with a familiar emotion he draws out of you: rage.

“Pero Tovar, if you value your life you will take me under the covers and put your —,”

He chuckles, his cheek against yours, nose rimming the velvet hairs on the ridges of your ear. The vibrations liquify the tension in your bones, loosening your grip. Your eyes flutter, slick obviously running down his fingers. “Ranita, I don’t think you know how you want to end that sentence..”

His words roll like honey over the heat of your skin. It makes your skin tremble. Your grip tightens on his wrist and you roll your hips, your swollen clit finally relieved by the pressure of his palm. 

“Oh, oh, Pero—,” 

With a grunt, he shuffled closer, elbow by your shoulder and he cups your entire wet cunt in his hand, pushing the heel of his palm flatter against you. You cry out, a sparkling kind of pleasure radiating out from where his hand rests. You buck your hips faster, complete release flickering through your outstretched hand. 

“Can you come like this?” You nod, eyes squeezed shut as you barrel towards escape, and you feel him shudder next to you. You are intimately aware that he’s rubbing his cock on the crease of your hip bone but that only drags you faster towards the light. “Then come, ranita, come and I’ll fuck you.” 

The wet, curling heat growing between your legs descends, then in a bright snap, explodes across your body. 

“Fuck!” You tear open your eyes to find them damp, Pero’s massive hand cupping your cheek towards him, his stallion eyes dark as his fingers drag on the soaked material of your dress, your hips slowing. 

“Amorcita, breathe.” The words are torn from his chest, all cock-suredness gone from his frantic gaze. You gulp in air, the weight of his body over yours grounding and smothering you all at once. He pulls his hand away from you, rides it up your thigh to your waist, looking for something to hold onto. He strokes his thumb once against your overheated skin and you’re wriggling up out of your dress. 

“Help,” you hiss and his fingers nearly tear the fabric off you.

With a few undone buttons, you shiver out of your dress, the slick-drenched spots catching on your warm skin. He flings it behind him, near the fireplace. 

He takes you barely beneath the thick covers before you welcome him back to the heat of your open legs. 

But instead of reeling back and plunging his aching cock into you, he takes the time to kiss you. To praise you in all the ways he fears his mouth will end up short. He kisses you, grateful, reverent – wonderful to be swallowed by but also a distraction.

When he lifts your knees by his waist, your hips automatically tilt towards him and for the first time, you feel his red, sore cock between your tacky lips. The dual sensation nearly drags you over the rack of delectably delicious pleasure, as does his worn, broken groan in your ear. 

“More, please, don’t stop.” You cry against the bristles of his beard, his hand dropping between your sweat-slick bodies, finding yours already there to guide him. The press of him spreads you open, filling you one sinking notch at a time. The sensation of your pink, dripping walls moving to take more of him in has you arching up into his chest, nails dragging into his back. His dry lips stifle the moans escaping from your mouth. 

Pero takes both of your hands in his, dragging them above your head, his fingers locking your palms together as his hips roll forward. “Cálmate, amorcita, cálmate,” he murmurs between distracted presses of his mouth against your chin, your cheek, his breathing heavy and stunted. You writhe, pinned open by his hips and his hands, his cock filling you all too slowly and not fast enough. 

With the last few inches, you take him completely, your cunt throbbing, heart pounding, intoxicated by the sensation of being so maddeningly full. Pero drapes over you, his head tucked into your neck, forearms straining with the tension of gripping your hands tightly. 

“Santa madre . . .” He is not a warrior right now. He is but a man, cunt-drunk and heaving. 

His name is pushed out of the bottom of your lungs with the first swing of his hips. You cling to him, knees at his ribs, unwilling to let even an inch of space between your bodies. But this becomes increasingly difficult as his thrusts gain speed. His flushed lips stain a sticky line against your jaw, down to your throat, and he releases your hands, the oak of the bed creaking beneath the force of him drilling down into you, he props himself up on his palms, his shoulders bent and curled over you, biceps straining, hairline damp, eyelids fluttering. The scar on his cheek is flushed pink.

“Look, amorcita, look how well you take me.”

His words tear you from your nebulous high, the grit of them forcing your head down to the obscene squelch beneath the sheets. The thatch of rough curls over his groin is drenched in slick, his thick cock soaked to the point of shine as it drives into you again and again. The heavy draft of breath the sight steals from him, the tap of his cock against a place so deep you didn’t know your body possessed, draws the spooling bliss as tight as a wire. 

Your trembling thighs squeeze him tighter, that hot pressure rendering you speechless, except for the most pathetic whine. Please, Pero, please, you think, you mutter, you whisper, your body rocking damp against the sheets. 

With a sudden snarl, he takes the chunk of your hair at the base of your head flat in his fists and tugs. A shoot of bright pain sparks bliss down to your tight and bruised nipples, and you cry out again. 

“Stop fighting, puedo sentir cuanto la quieres. Let me have it.” It is the following word that splits you open like lighting carving apart a tree. “Please.”

The wail that you release is the rush of gooseflesh over your skin alchemized into audible sound. Heat radiates through you, sucking the air from your lungs, your vision going blurry, then black as you clamp your eyes shut against the rush, the final release, that curls you into his arms. His warm, flushed arms, shaking with strain. A final wobbly thrust or two and his elbows are buckling, sweat-drenched chest pressing into your own.

Distantly, you are aware of the warm, slick drip down your thighs, his cock pulsing the last drops into your cum-flecked cunt, and the dangers this sort of intimacy poses. You can’t gather enough breath, enough sense to settle the spinning room, to worry or even care. 

Your his, and he is yours. That is all that will ever matter. 

The crackle of wood burning is the only other sound than your ragged breaths, the silent roll of sweat from sticky hot skins into the bedsheets. The stone walls of the castle’s room entomb you together for a brief stretch of infinity.

Pero moves and you think he’s going to back out of you, but instead, he merely adjusts, his head fully on your chest, thick fingers clutching your bruised waist, the shift of his cock pushing more of his release out of your oversensitive cunt. But you’ll take overstimulation over his absence every time. You run your fingers through his damp curls and he hums. 

“I’m sorry,” he huffs into your humid skin. “I’m sorry I let my pride keep us apart for so long.” 

You grin lazily to the ceiling, your breath settling as affection takes its place in your chest. 

“You were not the only one blinded by vanity.” 

“But I’m not blind. Not anymore.” He lifts his head, eyes as dark as your spilled inkwell. “I am never letting you go.” 

You smile at him, fingers soft against the back of his neck. “I don’t plan on wandering away.” 

His oil-black gaze drops to your lips and he leans forward to take your mouth against his. Gentle, but with the promise of more. 

“Mi ranita,” he purrs to break the kiss. 

“You call me that all the time, Pero. What does it mean?”

At that, a nearly shy expression crosses his face. He shakes his head, shifting onto his elbows to lift off you. “I can’t tell you. It will ruin your good mood.” 

You gasp, offended, and you grab him by the ear and twist. He chuckles through a grimace. “You will tell me what that means, Pero Tovar, if you value your appendages.” 

“Órale, princesa, retract your claws and I will tell you.” 

You release your grip and settle against your pillow. Grinning bashfully, he kisses your neck briefly.

“Remember that I love you after I tell you this.” 

Your heart nearly stops, the absence of a steady beat nearly drawing tears to your eyes but you hold firm. You breathe deeply against the fluttering in your stomach and pin him with your glare. Of course, this is how he would profess his love to you – when he’s trying to get out of trouble. 

“Tell me, Tovar!”

He chuckles again and preemptively picks up your hands. He kisses the inside of your palms, settling himself between your thighs. 

“It means little frog.” Your mouth falls open in a gasp and you struggle to yank your hands back from him, hissing like a tea kettle, but he uses his weight to press down on you. He nips at your nose. “I call you that because when you’re upset with me, much like you are now, you puff up like a bullfrog, your cheeks like this–,”

He rounds his cheeks full of air, crossing his eyes, and you simply cannot take the slight anymore. You push roughly against his gut, the breath trapped in his mouth escaping in a hot puff, and you twist him onto his back. He lets you, of course, his bold, full laughter rendering him defenseless. His body shakes beneath you, his beautiful eyes squeezed shut, his mouth open wide as he laughs and laughs and laughs. You take him by the wrists and push his limp hands over his head, pinning him as he had you. You pinch his chin with your teeth, your messy cunt over his stomach, as his laughter subsides. 

“Have you had your fun yet?” 

“Barely,” he chuckles, turning his big nose against your cheek and inhaling. He hums.

“Is that all I am to you? A joke?”

Pero opens his eyes, sober as death rattle. He takes you in, not in a hungry, all-consuming way, but in a look that speaks of awe and rapture.

“You are everything to me.”

You sigh, releasing his hands and curling into his chest. He kisses the top of your head, your eyes on the roaring fire. His thumbs rub your shoulder blades, trace the lines of your spine.

“You’re so very lucky I love you too.” 

His wandering against the expanse of your back stills, just for a moment, before his fingers slide into your hair, around the nape of your neck, holding you to him with the intention of keeping you there forever.

“I know, ranita, I know.” 

He watches you sleep as the sky lightens beyond the tall windows on the opposite side of the bedroom. The dying fire traces your edges in gold, settling heat in the curve of your lips. 

His heart lurches with the wanting of you.

There’s more terrible things to come, he knows that. The plan the two of you concocted in the early morning hours will be dangerous, deadly even. But dying together instead of living apart would be much more tolerable, you told him earlier that night, your hand on his chest. 

He would kill if you asked. He would kill, even if you didn’t, to keep you safe and by his side. You’ve proven yourself capable of living a life away from this spectacular opulence, but it pains him to know he will never be able to give you anything nearly as lovely as the velvet dresses in the closet, the gold jewelry in your trunks. 

Instead, all he has to offer is himself. His strength, his hands, his heart. It’s his own fear that tells him that’s not enough, because you remind him again and again that’s more than you ever wanted. 

He traces the curve of your cheek with the hovering pad of his finger, brushing your hair away from your face. How he ended up so lucky with your love, he’ll never know, but he will spend the rest of his days proving that he’s earned it. 

You stir in your sleep, sensing him above you, and he hates to steal even a few minutes of blissful sleep from you, knowing the endless nights that are coming. When he steals you away from all that you’ve ever known. 

The sleepy grumble in your throat resembles his name as he curls around you, but your eyes remain gently closed. He pulls you against him, the air that leaves your mouth and sits between your chest and his something he covets with his whole heart. 

I love you and I’m disgustingly lucky and I love you. 

He is a man made of dust, serving men made of silver. He is a man of dust, loving a woman made of gold.

El orgullo? No, Abuela, his ranita will get him first, last, and every time.

+

Translations:

Sana sana culito de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. - This rhyme is typically said to children when they have just hurt themselves. The parent (or grandparent) usually rubs the part that is sore and sings this little tune. Literally translates to: "heal, heal, little frog’s tail. If you don’t heal today, you will heal tomorrow."

el orgullo - pride

dulzura - sweetness, romantic connotation

amorcita - little love, romantic connotation

Tranquila - quiet, as in "be quiet" or "relax"

Cálmate - take it easy, or take it slow

puedo sentir cuanto la quieres - I can feel how much you want it/love it

Órale - okay, or an exclamation expressing approval or encouragement.

ranita - little frog, but you knew that already ;)

the rest are cognates (or familiar words) which you can probably guess the meaning of, but feel free to message me if you don't know!

[irndad]

in every other life- s.r.

a/n: my soul is in this mf fic. there's a lil sexual tension lol! this is a behemoth of pining. so much fucking pining. this guy needs you like air wtf!! ALSO the poem is from a book, the lover's dictionary by david levithan. summary: the love of spencer's life is also his best friend, and she goes on a few dates. he does not handle it well, internally. ft. metaphysics by our dear genius boy. wc: 3.3k (holy shit)

While he recognizes that no direct injustice has actually been done to him, he can’t help but feel that it’s so unfair. 

Because Spencer had never actually wanted much of anyone, actually. He was too much of a child through his entire education, and he’d found anyone that he’d even consider had almost instantly had dismissed him. He’d grown used to a life where companionship wasn’t a desire that crossed his mind. 

But he wanted her. 

His lovely friend, his coworker, who was the kind of lovely that it feels unfair you’d ever have to take your eyes off of. She’s the best person he’s ever met, the sort of wonderful you read about but never convince yourself you’ll ever see. He knows the shape of her, has her form memorized from watching, waiting for her to step into the office every day.  

It was only a matter of time until he wasn’t the only one with his eye on her. 

She’s actually absurdly easy to want. There’s nights where they watch something, often what he picked, Doctor Who or some other science fiction which would be great if he could focus on anything but her. Her warm disposition ruminating his too-small apartment with a kind of light that follows his every movement. He’d adore her even if she wasn’t, but it’s impossible to ignore how beautiful she is- the kind of pretty that you hardly expect to see in real life. 

“Hey you,” her so-sweet voice is what breaks him out of his daydreaming, and he looks up at her lovely face smiling down at him. Fondness seeps through her tone, and it’s everything he can do not to preen that her first thought at seeing him is one of pleasure. 

“Hey back,” he says, greeting her with a warm grin of his own. “How was your weekend?”

It’s a calculated question. 

She had canceled their weekly movie night. He’d tried not to look too disappointed, like the idea of her next to him on his couch, of her nimble fingers raking through his unkempt hair while something nice, but far less wonderful than his company played in the background wasn’t all that was keeping him going. These days, and he knows it’s likely delusion, that she sometimes seems to gaze back at him with a similar sort of desperation, hooded eyes and tenderness. 

It’s a liminal space, those nights. How can people be two things at once? You cannot be both in love and not. In the low-light of his place, under his blanket- it’s like Schrodinger’s experiment. She can’t love him like a friend and more at the same time- it resists the laws of physics. She is his best friend, a fact he knows as sure as gravity and the elements, and believing anymore than that- it’s asserting an impossibility. 

When they’re alone together, though. It seems like the impossible exists. 

But she’d canceled it, something she hadn’t done for the months they’d been engaging in their little tradition. So there had to be a reason. She sits next to him, her desk next to his. 

She looks a little disheveled, only in an adorable way- but a little like she’s been busy, like her flow is disrupted.

“It was good! I finally went out with that guy Penelope’s been begging me to let her set me up with.”

It’s all that he can do not to freeze up. 

Penelope has been trying to get her to go out with her friend Ben, which Spencer thinks is a stupid name, by the way, and secretly he’d been so, so pleased when she had brushed off the invite. It’s a dangerous thing, hope. He tries not to have too much of it, tries to savor the thought of her, of more for moments of particular vulnerability. It’s treacherous, to want her the way he does. He knows he can’t let himself feel it all the way. 

And logistically- romance is not a reason for a valid reason for him to be panicking the way he is, but all he can think about is the physics. Two opposite things cannot be true at the same time. 

“You know, studies suggest that even now, the majority of couples are meeting in person or through friends over any other medium.” 

It hurts to say. She’s part of a couple, one half a whole that he doesn’t complete. 

“Seriously? I’d have thought it’d changed by now. I guess it’s safer to date someone you know.”

She’d date someone she knew? Is that what she prefers? 

“How did it go?” He hears Emily ask, and this conversation is already the bane of his existence.

“Guys, it really wasn’t a big deal! We got dinner, it was just a little thing.”

Spencer isn’t experienced in dating, but he does know that dinner is a serious date. Coffee is a smaller thing, but dinner-

Dinner means she got pretty for him. Probably picked out a dress for the evening, spent time on a carefully manicured look. Spent hours of her precious, rare, time on him. 

It’s not fair how much he fucking hates this guy. 

“Dinner is not nothing!” Penelope squeals, and he would love to share in her excitement, except it kind of feels like a piece of his heart is being shredded. 

“Dinner means coming up to my place, have coffee, oh look who doesn’t have her hair done-“

Please kill me, he thinks. Please. 

“Oh, that definitely did not happen.”

Thank god. 

Except he can’t miss her flush, how her expression shifts- and he has the sickening feeling he’d be hearing that guy’s name again. 

When they all settle around the table, her doe eyes focused on gruesome images that were the exact antithesis of her spirit, he couldn’t help but feel that even if it hurt, there was finality. 

The cat was out of the box. Two things cannot be true at once, and so only one is- she does not love him, at least not the way he does. 

Ben, is not in fact, going away. 

If he had more willpower or self-preservation, Spencer would keep his distance from her, but the truth of it is that as much as he wants to be the person she turns to, her smile is most of why he can stand his job anymore. 

It’s a Tuesday, and everyone is grumbling about being pulled in early in the morning, but he’s just happy to have a reason to leave the house.

“Spence!” He hears her excited voice carry, the pretty sound picking his ears up at once. “I got you coffee. It’s hazelnut, and it’s like, 90% sugar. You’re gonna love it.”

She beams at him, and he takes it in his hands. Their hands brush, and he tries so hard not to notice how soft her hands are. Her name is on the cup, and an unconsenting fantasy of her name meaning that he’s hers creeps into his mind before he can bat it away.  

But her cup says Ben. 

“Thanks,” he says her name, tries to sound measured and friendly. “Coffee date?”

She preens, and god, if this guy doesn’t get how lucky he is it might be thing thing that actually sends him over the edge after all these years.

“Just a quick thing, we were just in the same place and he bought me a coffee, I’d already gotten yours.”

If there’s two roles he can fill and he doesn’t get to pick, if he’s stuck with friends, he’s gonna be great at it, and he’s gonna be grateful. Because knowing her is a grace in itself, the kind of thing you should could yourself so lucky to have. 

“He sounds like a great guy,” he hears himself say, “I’m glad you’re doing this.”

It’s the right thing to say. He’s sure of it. The thing he’s not sure of is why the smile she offers him doesn’t reach her eyes. 

The next time he notices the cracks in their relationship, it’s when they’re out. She’d suggested this bookstore-cafe kind of thing, and he’d jumped at the thought, all of his favorite things in one afternoon. He’d felt foolish spending so much time picking out his outfit out, wearing the blazer she’d once complimented-he’d actually stuttered so hard in thanks that Morgan laughed for a full minute when she left the room- but she always looked beautiful, and he knows he sometimes pales in comparison. 

“Oh, I love this one!” She thumbs over the spine of a thin book of poetry. She’s wearing a forest green sweater that hugs her frame, and a bracelet hangs on her delicate wrist. He loves looking at her, though he tries to conceal it. His goal of being a supportive friend includes trying not to make it that known how gone for her he is. 

“I don’t read too much poetry,” he admits, “But I’m sure you have excellent taste.” 

Her keen eyes skim through the pages intently, clearly seeking out a specific passage before stopping, gaze alight with recognition. 

Her tone is molasses-sweet when she begins reading, and his heart skips a beat.

“When I say be my lover,” her voice hitches, reverent of the quote and he is reverent of her, “ I don’t mean ‘let’s have an affair. I don’t mean Sleep with me. I don’t mean Be my secret. I want us to go back to that root. I want you to be the one who loves me. I want to be the one who loves you.”

It feels impossible to look away from her, doe eyes practically sparkling in the low light of the shop, and there it is. His heart’s in his throat. Of all the things you could have told Spencer he’d experience, hearing her lovely voice wrap around the words be my lover in hushed tone, in sacred sweetness, would never ever be one he’d guess. 

He’s not sure how he feels about the multiverse theory, but right now, he can feel all the versions of himself pressing right up against him. Can see into lives he doesn’t get to live, lifetimes where his love isn’t a buried, worn-out tattered thing to keep his ever-frigid chest warm. Versions of himself that in this very moment can smile back at her, warm and open and kind, and kiss her perfect smile. 

Because he would be her lover. He would come home to her, spend the rest of his life building a home that she could fit  into. It’d be easy, actually. She’s easy to imagine- nights of laughing in a shared kitchen, evenings where her company is a fine wine, sipped at leisure with the comfort of knowing it’s never going to slip from your grasp. 

“I like that,” he says, voice too vulnerable for his own good, eyes unable to tear from the eye contact. “I really like that.” 

In the root of it, he already is her lover. He is the one who loves her. She’s just not his. 

It comes to a head on a Friday. It’s a few weeks from he book shop, and the air feels heavier between them now. The last handful of Fridays he’s sat with the ghost of what used to be their plans, empty time lingering where in its’ place used to be her company. 

He doesn’t know if she’s been with Ben. He tries not to think about it. 

The sound of her voice lingers in his mind, sweet and bitter in his mind like old lemon candy, the kind his mother would save for special occasions. He’d spend any amount of money he had to hear her lovely voice say those words to him out of the context of a poem. 

At work, they seem almost normal. Like one of them wasn’t desperately in love with the other; like a genius and his lovely, incredibly empathetic, kind best friend. In the field, their actions flow together seamlessly. She is always the first to listen and to understand (and god, isn’t it intoxicating to have someone meet you in understanding) and there is nothing to suspect is off.

But there’s still a cloud lingering. The poem- the soft melody of her voice curling around the words, the request of it all, the way she had sounded so wanting- and then, there’s Ben. 

She doesn’t mention Ben to him, of course, but Penelope does. Penelope, all bows and bright colors and cheeriness keeps bringing the absolute worst news to Spencer with a smile on her face. 

He’s taking her out for drinks! Oh, he’s reading her favorite book, do you know what it is?

This anger isn’t an emotion that he’s familiar with. A roar of possessiveness, the bite of it not tempered at all by rationality. Has he touched her?

It seems almost a tradition at this point when she shakes him out of his jealous storm of thought.

“Spence?” she muses, “You alright?” They’re alone at his desk, everyone having fled for their own evening and weekend plans. This was one of the Fridays that she had agreed to spend with him, and he wonders if he’ll be able to handle the scent of her shampoo so close after such a lapse of the sensation. Will all of his judgement go where he can’t follow?

“Yeah,” he says, tucking his papers into his bag, “I’m excited for tonight.”

His place is actually a short walk from the office. He’d been embarrassed to show her the place at first. It’s all function over fashion, and a bit cramped, but she’d looked at as though it was made of something more, something good. She didn’t even tease him. It had actually been her idea, to start these movie nights. 

Ironic, really. 

The walk was pleasant, the weather a little frigid but still nice, and she looks beautiful under the setting sun. It’s incredible to him, how her lashes catch the light and make her irises look like polished stained glass. His favorite color. Through the looking glass of another life, he sees a version of himself that gathers her up in his arms. In this daydream, she grants him one of her smiles that seems to carry its’ own light, and leans into his body like it’s the only thing that keeps her steady. It’s so clear. On the other side of the veil, he kisses her reddening nose, and keeps her warm himself. 

In the here and now, Her coat is long, and hangs low by her ankles. It’s an elegant thing, like the woman who wears it, and Spencer would be grateful for a lifetime of just looking.They stop in front of his door, some invisible force stopping him from entering. 

She sheds the coat inside his home. It smells like the candle she got him for his birthday, a reminder of her grace. He’s saved a bottle of wine for them, a sweet thing for the sweetest thing he’s known. 

“I’m sorry,” she speaks the warmth of the beverage on her tongue, and it should feel abrupt but it doesn’t.

“What for?” He can’t imagine what she would have to apologize for. 

“I know things have been…off between us,” she says carefully, considering the phrasing of each word. He watches her with a reverence, his hazel eye brimming with affection with nowhere to go. “You’ve been so great through it.”

Her legs are thrown across his own, and she’s dangerously close to sitting in his lap, but not exactly. He’s missed having her this close, the last time she’d been in his orbit was before she’d had reason to be gone. She smells floral. He fights With limited filtering through his already treacherous mind he thinks, He can’t take this from me. I still get her like this. 

“I’m not entirely sure what it is.” 

She slowly shuts her eyes, go for a moment to somewhere he can’t follow. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold. 

“This whole Ben thing.”

“Oh.”

Logically, it always had to come back to this. Someone else had the good fortune to know her like this, to be the person she reads poetry to in deep meaning to. 

He’s been stealing moments from someone who’s not his to take them from. 

“I don’t even know how I wanted you to react.” she murmurs, staring at the rim of her glass. 

“I just want you to be happy” His voice is something low, grit in the sound of it. His hand rests on her thigh. There’s warmth blanketing the room and he wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her all the time. 

She laughs, but it’s not her normal laugh. It’s tinny and a little bitter. He pushes his luck, and reaches out to brush the side of her face, moving the hair but still holding her face. Her breath smells like strawberry wine and temptation. 

It feels different tonight. Low light and tension that could be sliced with wire. Every part of her is in reach, and something in the air makes all of this talk of relativity, of physics, moot. 

Like maybe he’s not in the only world they don’t end up together. 

Her face is warm and soft under his touch and he loves the sight of her. He’s never touched her like this. Every point of contact feels electric, addicting. 

“What is it? The Ben thing?” He doesn’t know what he’s expecting to hear. What he wants, is for her to tell him that it doesn’t matter anymore, that she picks him-

“I only went out with him the once.”

“What?”

“I told Penelope I was still going because it made her happy and she said I couldn’t keep going to your apartment and reading you poetry and call that romance.”

Romance? 

Wasn’t it romance, though? 

Her eyes widen in something akin to horror. 

“Shit, Spence- I’m sorry, that is so fucked of me to say-“

“You,” he tries to say calmly, “aren’t going out with Ben.”

She blinks. 

“No?”

He has spent so much time living in other lives, existing in the minds of versions of himself he wasn’t lucky enough to be. Drinking coffee imagine a life colored in her presence, falling asleep yearning for the presence of something lighter than what he has to carry. 

He can’t exist in two places. That was the entire basis of the experiment. 

He moves his other hand to hold hers, and somehow she’s shifted to being on top of him, and he looks up at her with unwavering desire. 

Spencer isn’t good at wanting people, but it comes naturally with her. Less of an action and more an urge, a course of motion to which he is at the mercy of. This is what leads him to close the gap between them, and kiss her. It’s 

Her delicate fingers run through his hair, and she can’t be close enough, please, and he could spend the rest of his life kissing her, actually. He probably will spend the rest of his life thinking about the soft sigh he pulls out of her. 

“I want it to be me,” he manages to say through shallow breath, still so close that his lips brush hers every other word, “I want to be the one you pick. I want it to be me.” His hazel eyes seem to shift in the moment, swirling with emotion. 

She brushes a lock of his overgrown hair out of his face. He normally shaves when he sees her, but he’d been so busy that he’d forgotten, and felt embarrassed of it now. That is, until she runs her index finger along the edge of his jawline.

It’s then she leans down and kisses him again, pliant and good, his hands around her waist. He breathes a prayer into her mouth, one that hopes that she never ever comes to her senses about him. 

“Spence,” she says, her voice golden silk, a kindness.  “There was never anyone else to pick.” 

[jackoshadows]

I think we don't talk enough about how Jon Snow secretly had a sword made for Arya at Winterfell - without anyone knowing! And that this was something he was planning on for a while, with the intention to teach Arya some fundamental sword skills - without anyone knowing!!

It reminds me about how much Arya must have poured out her heart and soul to Jon Snow about EVERYTHING, considering how much Jon knows about her. The very best of confidantes who guarded their secrets with each other and are the most loyal of siblings.

It was to Jon Snow that Arya goes, after being bullied for her looks, worried that she too was a bastard and Jon who consoled her (ignoring his own pain at being one). It's Jon who praises her as pretty and clever and understands that deep curiosity and ambition in her.

It's Jon who understands that Arya is interested in something different and that this is also deserving of attention. The ONLY person in the whole of Winterfell - not her parents, her other siblings, her teacher. Only Jon Snow.

I can imagine Jon and Arya just hanging out in a quiet corner of the Godswood, under the weirwood, with Arya pouring out her frustrations and chatting about playing with the serving girls and Jon talking about his day practicing the sword. They know each other so well, that they are famous for finishing each other's thoughts. They share such a singular bond that he even got her sword name right!!

Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together: "Needle!" The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north. - Jon, AGoT

Making Needle wouldn't have been easy considering it had to be done secretly. Clearly Jon thought that both his father and Catelyn wouldn't have been happy if they knew that the bastard was having swords made for their daughter.

"Give it to me." Reluctantly Arya surrendered her sword, wondering if she would ever hold it again. Her father turned it in the light, examining both sides of the blade. He tested the point with his thumb. "A bravo's blade," he said. "Yet it seems to me that I know this maker's mark. This is Mikken's work." Lord Eddard Stark sighed. "My nine-year-old daughter is being armed from my own forge, and I know nothing of it. The Hand of the King is expected to rule the Seven Kingdoms, yet it seems I cannot even rule my own household. How is it that you come to own a sword, Arya? Where did you get this?" - Arya, AGoT

Jon Snow took the time to research swords that Arya could hold and handle. He must have been up in Maester Luwin's turret looking through books for the design and asked questions of the Winterfell master-at-arms Rodrik Cassel about Braavosi swords.

She giggled at him. "It's so skinny." "So are you," Jon told her. "I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won't hack a man's head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you're fast enough." - Jon, AGoT

He'd had Mikken make a sword for Arya once, a bravo's blade, made small to fit her hand. Needle. He wondered if she still had it. Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her, but if she tried to stick the Bastard, it could mean her life. - Jon, ADwD

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon, ADwD

After getting the idea of what kind of sword works for Arya's small hands, Jon then goes to Mikken, requesting that he make a small Bravo's blade. I feel certain that Mikken had no idea that he was secretly having a sword made for the Lord of Winterfell's daughter. I wonder what Mikken's thoughts were on Jon Snow wanting that specific blade made. He clearly did not think it important to mention to Ned. And no one knew - not Robb or Theon or even the Winterfell master-at-arms!

Given how sudden the whole deal was with Ned leaving for King's Landing, IMO, it's clear that Jon was planning on secret rendezvous with Arya where he could show her the basics of using a sword. Jon is certainly no Syrio Forel and Arya certainly learned more from an actual Bravo master fencer than from Jon Snow.

And yet just knowing that Jon had Needle secretly made and was planning on secret lessons for Arya because he knew just how desperate she was to learn something different, something unacceptable for Winterfell's daughter and that he did so at the great risk of displeasing a father he looked up to and the Lady Catelyn Stark who already wanted him gone.

He truly is Lyanna's son in every way that mattered.

[messiahzzz]

i’d briefly like to talk about the “it was fine” dialogue option that happens the morning after gale’s Last Night Alive scene in act ii and about the fandom's general reaction to it.

gale is a character who evidently enjoys the occasional teasing. taking the piss out of your partner every once in a while can certainly be a way of showing affection. however, it is important to consider the context of the situation: what is at stake for him and his current emotional state, as well as what exactly had transpired between the two of them prior to said conversation.

gale: forgive me. these were already trying times before elminster delivered his missive. now, for me at least, they are potentially end times.

after he and tav had spent the night together and confessed their love to each other, gale is once again showing himself utterly vulnerable and is carefully asking them for reassurance.

gale: [..] i hope that night meant as much to you as it did to me.

gale: but you - you led me away from the edge.

gale: without your words, your touch... i fear i would have sought purpose and solace in that void. you reminded me what living can feel like.

he wants to check in with them, after both of them have shared something tender and very intimate, something he might even consider life-altering.

gale: we didn't just make love. we bonded, body and soul. i got lost in you.

it’s not even about gale “not being able to read social cues” and “not recognizing the fact that it was meant in jest.” in fact, i’d argue it is a rather tone-deaf, inconsiderate response and just genuinely a REALLY BAD TIME to joke at your partner's expense when they are actively baring their feelings to you and are asking you for reassurance.

i have seen people write off his reaction as “unwarranted” or “overtly dramatic” but in my humble opinion, it is pretty understandable given the nature of their conversation and what he is asking of them. it's also sad how there seems to be a general pattern of gale's emotions and boundaries getting played off as a joke, while other companions get shown the courtesy of thorough analysis/understanding. he is proud of his skill as a lover and the fact that he was able to bring them pleasure, yet his inquiry is less about him wanting tav to stroke his ego and more about him, once again, asking if you indeed share the same feelings for each other… after the emotional high has now passed.

gale has an ever-present need for clarity in his relationships, very likely due to the fact that this was something he couldn’t request of mystra. he might appear more sensitive in that regard compared to the other companions. he doesn’t want to take himself too seriously, but this still often clashes with his general feeling of inadequacy. where he is able to take criticism as long as it isn’t related to his performance, overall prowess and usefulness.

yes, his response is passive-aggressive and yes, he IS obviously hurt by what tav said. yet merely repeating “it was fine” in response to a heartfelt, genuine question could’ve as well been interpreted in that manner. if tav does clarify that they have only been joking, he apologizes to them instead. otherwise his dialogue remains the same, albeit said in a more embarrassed & awkward tone.

gale is a character who is dealing with deep-rooted self-worth issues and yet that doesn’t mean that he wants to be handled with kid gloves, far from it. he craves a relationship in which his emotional needs are recognized, respected and cared for, where he can be unabashedly open and vulnerable without facing ridicule nor pity for it. and he is more than willing to give the same in return.

also y’know — there is a time and a place.

[delusionalwriterr]

See Her Smile

Pairing: College Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: With Bucky being new to relationships, he’s still trying to learn how to handle things. But how does he handle things when you’re going through something you don’t even know how to handle yourself? 

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: signs of depression, angst, fluff

A/N: GUESS WHO’S BACK FROM THE DEAD Y’ALL. i missed writing so much, but life keeps giving me reasons not to T_T this fic is based off of See Her Smile from Tick, Tick... Boom! it's been stuck in my head all week, and i couldn't help but write something about it.

Masterlist | Prompt List

–––––

You hear Nat cheer beside you as you watch Steve catch the ball that was thrown to him. “That’s my man!” she exclaims as you take a swig of water, watching the football team as they prepare for an upcoming game. 

This wasn’t your normal scene. If you’d ask your freshman self if she’d be willing to sit in the sweltering heat to watch sweaty men push each other around, she would laugh it off and turn back to binge watching her favorite show on Netflix. It wasn’t until you started dating one of the university’s linebackers, Bucky Barnes, did you even begin to consider watching football matches and turning up to their practices all together. 

“Come on, lighten up! Your man’s over there too,” Nat pipes up, briefly looking over at you before turning back to watch the team. You chuckle as your eyes land on his figure. You couldn’t exactly see his face, but you were able to spot him in the field considering you’ve been dating for about 4 months now. You let out a cheer as you watch him tackle another player to the ground. His head snaps towards the direction of your voice as he stands up.  You can’t see it, but you knew he was smiling. He puts his hand on his chest before pointing at you, his way of saying, “That one’s for you!”

You grin, cheeks heating up at his gesture as you feel your chest swell. Nat turns to you, a sly smirk on her face as she sips her iced coffee. “I take it that things with you two are going well?” she asks, making you tear your attention away from the field. You grin even wider before answering, “Yeah, things are great.”

You have to admit, you’d never think you would end up dating a football player– and when Bucky approached you one night at a random party to ask you out, you halfheartedly said yes, expecting that he would just take you to a random sports bar and try to hook up with you the same night. Fortunately, the date went better than expected with him bringing you to his favorite taco truck downtown and driving you to one of those retro drive-in movie theaters. However, he failed to check what movie they were playing that night and had the both of you watch a random Scandinavian film with no subtitles. In the end, the two of you decided on staying in the car and get to know each other more with the movie long discarded in the background. 

Eventually, you ended up going on a few more dates after that and got to know how sweet he really was. Sure, he was still a jock and was still getting a hang of being in a committed relationship, but you could see him actively put the effort in it so you were more than happy. 

You hear their coach blow his whistle, signaling the end of their practice which prompts you and Nat to jump from your seats and head down to the field to meet Bucky and Steve. Nat gets there first, crashing into Steve’s embrace, almost knocking him over. You laugh at the interaction before your eyes land on Bucky’s. With his helmet off, you have the opportunity to finally see his face. His hair was flat from his helmet with a few strands clinging to his forehead, the eye black on his cheeks smudged due to the sweat, and his mouth stretched into that boyish grin you grew to love. 

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asks playfully as you approach him. He puts his helmet down to wipe the beads of sweat on his face. “Just looking for some hot jocks to kiss,” you tease, earning a laugh from him before he wraps his arms around your waist. “Find anyone you like?” he plays along. You smile, snaking your arms to the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah, I got one right here,” you giggle as you pull him into a kiss. It was soft and slow, and you could taste the saltiness of the sweat on his upper lip, but you didn’t care. 

“Hello to you too, dollface,” you hear him mumble between your lips before pulling away.  “I’m taking Steve to that new pizza place that just opened near campus, come with us?” he asks, shaking his head which elicited droplets of sweat to fly towards you much to your disgust. “You’re such a boy for doing that,” you grumbled. “But yeah, count me in.”

He smiles, but before he could get another word in, Nat interjects, “Count me in, too!” 

Bucky shakes his head, “Nuh uh, you’re not invited. Steve told me how sick he was of you and how loud you snore when you sleep.” Nat gasps before playfully hitting Steve in the chest, earning an “ow” from him. “You told Bucky?!” she shrieks, but before she could protest even more, Steve pulls her into a kiss, muttering a quick “I love you”, then runs towards the shower room. Bucky turns back to you, giving you a swift kiss. “Pick you, guys, up in 20.” 

As he was leaving, he looks back over at Nat and lets out a few loud snores, prompting her to throw a handful of dirt towards him. “Screw you, Buchanan!”  

–––––

A few days later, Bucky walks out of the field, his bag hanging from his shoulder, a cold breeze brushing through him as he begins to walk back to campus. “Hey, Buck, solid practice today,” Sam Wilson, one of the tackles, pipes up from behind him. “Yeah, man, good job today,” Bucky replies, giving his teammate a fist bump. “Me and Parker are gonna grab a few drinks, you coming?” 

Bucky laughs, the thought of Parker getting tipsy over a few pints entering his mind. He shakes his head, “I’ll pass tonight, man. Might go see my girl.” 

Sam smirks before clasping a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Alright, see you around.” 

“Hey, take care of Parker, alright? Don’t want his aunt to find out he got wasted over a few cocktails!” Bucky calls out, earning a cackle from his teammate as he walks away. 

He checks the time to find out practice ended a few minutes early so he sends you a quick message, knowing you’re probably still in class. 

hey doll practice finished early

want me to walk you to your dorm? i should be able to swing by to pick you up from class

He waits for a few minutes before hearing a ping from his phone, gaze immediately falling to the screen. 

no need. didn’t go to class today wasn’t feeling well. 

oh? you want me to bring you some soup?

no its ok. thank u tho

anything for you, baby

do you want me to come over tho? 

maybe next time, bucky. sorry

Bucky frowns, taking notice of the difference in the way you typed. You were colder than usual and you’d usually want to see him even when you weren’t feeling the best. He’s a bit disappointed too, wanting to take care of you until you get better, but knows to respect your wishes. So he brushes it off. 

He shoots you a quick text saying he hopes you feel better soon before messaging Sam to say he’ll catch up with him and Parker in a few. 

Looks like he’ll take up Sam’s offer after all. 

–––––

Bucky cranes his neck over to the bleachers, but frowns when his eyes land on Nat sitting alone. You didn’t come to his practice today. Bucky would’ve been fine about it, but he knows you didn’t have any conflicting classes at this time and you would’ve messaged him beforehand if you weren’t able to come for whatever reason. 

“Maybe she’s still feeling under the weather,” Steve reasons, following his best friend’s gaze towards the seats.  

Bucky nods absentmindedly in response, “Yeah, I guess so.”

He was trying so hard to hide the fact that he was getting increasingly worried. He also doesn’t want to seem too clingy considering you’ve only been seeing each other for a short time. He’s only been in a handful of serious relationships before, and most of them happened when he was still a clueless teenager in highschool. You were the first person he was willing to be fully committed to after a few months of fooling around in college so he definitely does not want to screw things up.

After practice, he asks Nat if she knew where you were only to find out that Nat was just as clueless as he was. With a huff, Bucky fishes his phone out of his pocket. 

missed you at practice today. still feeling sick? 

“Hey,” Steve calls from behind him, Nat trailing closely behind. “Nat and I are gonna go study at the library, see you there?” 

Bucky snorts. “By study at the library you mean get frisky by the shelves at the back? Yeah, I think I’ll pass.” 

Steve laughs as Nat drags him away from the field, patting Bucky’s back comfortingly before fully parting ways. This action goes unnoticed as Bucky’s eyes remain glued to his phone, waiting for your reply. 

A few minutes pass and he grows antsy. He hesitantly types another message. 

baby? 

This time, you read the message, but still don’t reply. Bucky runs his hand through his hair, a sign that he was growing anxious. He looks around the field, desperately trying to find someone to talk to so he could take his mind off of you. To his dismay, the rest of the team either left or were still in the showers. 

Bucky thinks about his next move. 

i’m coming over. 

He quickly stuffs his phone in his pocket and practically sprints over to your dorm, a million things racing in his mind. His chest tightens at the thought of you being in trouble, not really knowing what to expect when he sees you. If he sees you. 

Bucky shakes his head to get rid of the image of him turning up at your dorm only to find it empty– he wouldn’t know where to begin looking for you considering you won’t reply to his messages. This is the first time you acted like this towards him, and Bucky tries to recall everything he’s said to you lately, attempting to think of anything that could have upset you. His pace slows down as he begins to question if he was overthinking things, his mind tricking him into thinking that he was being too clingy and it might turn you off. But with the absence of your replies and the assurance that you’re okay, Bucky’s strides become bigger and he picks up speed towards your dorm. 

A head of brown hair meets his gaze as the door to your apartment swings open upon his knock. “Hey, Wanda,” Bucky greets your roommate, chest heaving and beads of sweat adorning his forehead. “I’m sorry for barging in all of a sudden. Is she..?”

Before he could finish his sentence, Wanda nods, opening the door wider for him to come in. Bucky nods his head as he enters. “She’s in her room,” Wanda mumbles before closing the door behind him. 

Bucky mutters a “thank you” before walking towards your door, about to turn the handle, but hesitates for a second. Slowly taking his hand off the brass knob, he raises a hand and places two soft knocks on the door. “Doll,” he calls, loud enough that he’s sure you hear him, but gentle enough to not startle you. When he doesn’t hear a reply, he continues, “Can I come in?” 

A few seconds later, a soft click from the other side fills his ears. Bucky takes this as a signal to slowly turn the knob and peak inside. He barely caught a glimpse of you walking back to your bed before he sees you pull the covers back to climb in, reassuming the position he figured you were in before you unlocked the door. 

Bucky steps inside and if it wasn’t for him shutting the door behind him, separating the two of you from the noises outside your bedroom, he wouldn’t have heard the sniffles that were coming out of your mouth. Your back was facing him, but he can clearly tell that you were hugging your knees to your chest as you tried to control your breathing, desperately attempting to conceal your cries. 

“Baby…” he breathes, approaching you cautiously and planting himself by your feet. Only then does he catch a glimpse of your face, your eyes puffy and cheeks tinted pink, presumably from crying for an extended period of time. Bucky frowns upon seeing you in this state. He’s seen you cry before, but it was usually from a sad movie or being stressed with homework. He doesn’t know why you are crying now, but he’s determined to find out. He places a hand on one of your calves and begins to rub soothing circles on it. “Did something happen?” 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice as you begin to wipe the tears that were still trickling down your cheeks. “Wanna tell me why you’re crying?” Bucky persists, eyes still fixed on you. You shrug and the room falls silent as you close your eyes.   

Bucky hears you take a deep breath before finally piping up. “Just feeling a little down,” you mumble, voice hoarse and barely loud enough for Bucky to catch. He moves his hand from your calf to one of your feet, giving it a soft squeeze before beginning to slowly press on its sole, easing the tense muscles and giving you a brief moment of peace. 

Bucky tries to think of what to say, but is interrupted by the sound of his phone going off. Clicking his tongue, he grabs his phone to find a text from Pietro.

hey wya? im at the study hall 

Cursing to himself, he suddenly remembers that he and Pietro agreed to meet tonight to work on a project they were partners in. Typing a quick reply to say that he’s on his way, he turns back to you before leaning over to press a kiss on your temple. “We all get blue sometimes, doll. We just gotta hang on, you know?” he attempts to comfort you, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I gotta run, promised Pietro we’d do that project tonight. But I hope you feel better soon, baby. If you need anything, just text me, okay?” 

–––––

You don’t text him at all that night. 

In fact, if it wasn’t for the good morning text Bucky sent the next day, Bucky thinks you wouldn’t have texted him at all. Your replies grew colder and you became more distant, and Bucky was suffering. 

“Dude, what’s up? If you’re not busy being a total grump, you’re staring at your phone like you’re expecting something to pop out of it,” Steve points out as he, Bucky, and Nat sit in the cafeteria to have lunch. Bucky grumbles before slamming his phone face down on the table and sliding it away from him. “It’s (Y/N),” he starts, “she’s been acting off for days now.”

Steve and Nat share a look before Nat pipes up, “Have you tried asking her why?” Bucky scoffs. “Well, duh!” Bucky exclaims, running his hands through his hair. “I went over to her’s last night, but she just told me she was just feeling a little down.”

“And what did you say?” Steve asks. Bucky’s eyes meet his friend’s as he sighs. “I told her everyone gets sad and that we should just hang on. I left after that because I had to do that history project with Maximoff.”

The table falls silent and Bucky begins to zone out, thinking that the conversation would end there, but is quickly brought back to reality when something hits him dead center in the face. “Ow!” Bucky shouts as his hand flies up to cradle his nose. His eyes land on the table, a bread roll laying in front of him, causing his gaze to shoot up at the red head sitting across him. “Did you just throw a bread roll at me?” Bucky asks, his eyes wide with disbelief and confusion. 

“Well, duh!” Nat mocks, rolling her eyes at the brunette. “I always thought football players were dumb because of how much trauma their heads go through every game, but you’re on a whole ‘nother level, Buchanan.”

Bucky blinks. “Care to elaborate?”

Nat lets out an exasperated sigh before Steve butts in, “She’s obviously going through something, Buck. You can’t just tell her to suck it up.”

“Hellooooo!” Nat interjects, waving her hand in front of Bucky’s face as if what they were pointing out was the most obvious thing in the world. “She isn’t some jock going through a losing streak or something, actually be there for her, you know?” 

“Would you cut me some slack? It’s the first serious relationship I’ve been in since highschool, I’m still getting a hang of things again,” Bucky glares. He eyes the bread roll in front of him before giving in and grabbing it to take a bite. Nat watches him, a look of disgust adorning her face. 

The three of them sit in silence as Bucky contemplates on what to do. He picks up his phone to see no new messages from you, but his eyes catch the time. He knows you don’t have classes right now, and he figures you would just be in your dorm. He doesn’t want to ruin things with you, so he jolts up from his seat, catching the attention of the couple in front of him. “I’m gonna fix this,” he mumbles to himself before storming out of the cafeteria to head over to you.

“Atta boy!” Steve calls after him.

Bucky can feel his heart in his throat as he shakily knocks on your front door. To his surprise, you answer the door this time. His mouth starts to form a smile, but quickly turns into a frown when he takes in your form. At first, his heart skipped a beat when he noticed that you were wearing one of his shirts which was too big for you, the hem of it ending just by your thighs, and the bottom of one of his boxers peeking through it. 

But once he caught the way your shoulders were slumped and the dark circles around your eyes, he knew better than to celebrate. “Hey,” he exhales, flashing a sad smile, “can I come in?” 

You nod wordlessly before leaving the door ajar and making your way towards the couch. Bucky steps inside, shutting the door behind him before following suit. He sighs when he sees you on the couch, knees tucked closely to your chest and you watch whatever show is playing on the TV, eyes in an absent daze. 

He takes a seat beside you, draping an arm across the back of the couch only for you to launch yourself towards him like it’s a reflex. You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face into his chest as he instinctively encases you in an embrace. Bucky’s heart breaks as he hears you rack out a sob, his thumb beginning to rub circles on your shoulder. 

He gently places a kiss on your forehead as he feels his shirt become damp with your tears. “I’m sorry for leaving so soon the last time I was here,” he mumbles, lips still pressed to your temple. 

You don’t answer back right away and Bucky is forced to listen to you cry, his heart shattering after every noise that comes out of your mouth. 

“It’s just a drag,” you say between sniffles, “the world’s so mean.” 

Bucky furrows his eyebrows, not really understanding what you mean, but tries to think of something to say. His conversation with Steve and Nat replay in his mind as he desperately thinks of a reply, determined not to mess things up like last time.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks, testing out the waters. He takes note of your silence and whispers, “Something’s breaking my baby’s heart and I wanna know what.” 

You let out a soft huff. “That’s the problem. I don’t know why I feel so down.”

The room falls silent. Bucky could hear his heartbeat in his ears, he felt his hands grow sweaty, his throat became dry, and his eyes began to prickle as tears started to form. He prays to whoever was listening before he asks. 

“Is it me?” 

“No, god no,” you shoot up, detaching yourself from him much to his dismay. Your eyes wide as he stares back at you with the same expression. Bucky looks down and begins to fiddle with his hands, another nervous tick of his, and you realize why he’s been so persistent about finding out what was making you upset. 

Bucky was afraid that he was the reason you’re in pain. 

You attempt to pacify his thoughts by placing your hands on both sides of his face. Bucky lets out a shaky breath as he leans into one of your hands, peppering it with feather-like kisses. You give him a teary smile. “It’s just that life’s so hard sometimes, you know?” 

Bucky gives you a smile in return, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he stares at you, trying to dig through the deepest parts of his brain to come up with something, anything, that could possibly make you feel better.

But before he could, you remove your hands from his cheeks and place them on your own as you wipe tears that you didn’t even know were flowing down your face. You stand up, causing Bucky to look at you in confusion. “You should go.”

“What? No,” he protests, standing up following you as you begin to walk towards the front door. Bucky’s mind is racing. 

Come on, dumbass, say something. Anything!

He opens his mouth, “Baby–”

“I just need to rest, Buck,” you interrupt, opening the door. “It’s not you, I promise.”

You press a kiss on his cheek as he looks down at you with sad eyes. 

You let out a small smile, “I’ll text you, okay?”

–––––

But you don’t.

You don’t text him even the day after that. 

Bucky’s mind was spinning. He felt absolutely helpless, and if it wasn’t for the harsh sound of a whistle filling his ears, he wouldn’t have snapped out of his daze. 

“Barnes!” the voice of his coach was enough for him to remember that he was in fact in the middle of the football field in the middle of practice. “I don’t know what’s wrong with you lately, but if you can’t pull yourself together then you’re benched for the next game. You hear me?” the coach shouts from across the field. 

Bucky nods absentmindedly before shouting back, “Sorry, coach!” 

He shakes his head, trying to retain focus and deciding to pay you one more visit later. Bucky didn’t know what to do nor say, but he sure isn’t leaving your dorm without mending things. 

He sets those thoughts aside for now, and turns his attention back to his team. 

Bucky figured he had totally zoned out during practice because it was only when Steve sat beside him did he realize that practice was over. “(Y/N) still not feeling okay?” Steve asks, sympathy dripping from his every word as he looks at Bucky whose eyes were going through all of the unanswered texts he sent you today. 

good morning, doll

hope you’re feeling at least a little better today :) 

–

don’t forget to eat

<33 

–

just finished my trigonometry exam lol pretty sure i flunked it 

–

call me if you need anything, okay?

– 

found out parker has a gf lmaooo

i kept denying it til he introduced her to the whole team 

you’d like her :) she’s smart like you 

–

i miss you

please text me back 

–

heading to practice 

i miss you so much, doll 

Bucky drops his head in his hands, tears threatening to spill. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Stevie,” he croaks. “I just wanna see her smile again.” 

–––––

He’s met with Wanda again as the door to your dorm swings open. “Is she here?” Bucky stutters, not even bothering to apologize for showing up unannounced. Wanda shakes her head, “No, she’s been gone since last night.”

Bucky’s eyes widen as he swears he almost felt his heart stop at Wanda’s words. His breathing quickens and his chest grows tight as Wanda ushers him into the apartment. “What do you mean she’s been gone since last night? Has she talked to you today?” Wanda shakes her head again, “I’ve been texting her since this morning, but she hasn’t replied to any of it.” 

Bucky runs his hands through his hair as he begins to think about what could’ve happened to you. He starts to make a list of who to call, frantically trying to think of ways to locate you. This was it, he thought. This was how he lost you forever. If he just knew what to say at the right time, if he had just been a good boyfriend to you, this wouldn’t have happened and you wouldn’t be gone. 

He can’t breathe, his mind begins to scramble and his vision turns foggy. Bucky clutches a hand to his chest to try and ground himself, forcing himself to think. 

Think, Barnes, think! 

Just as he was about to dial 911, they hear the sound of keys rattling from the other side of the door causing both his and Wanda’s heads to snap towards its direction. Bucky holds his breath, uttering a dozen prayers in his head, hoping that it was you. 

It’s only when he sees you walk through the door did the tears finally start to flow. He bounds over to you and instantly throws his arms around you, pushing your head towards his chest. Bucky silently thanks whoever granted his prayers as one of his hands fly to rest behind your head before placing a bruising kiss on your forehead. After this, he rests his chin on top of your head and looks up, desperately trying to keep any more tears at bay. 

“I’ve been worried sick, doll, where were you?” he asks, trying to hide the fact that he’s been crying, but the crack in his voice gives it away. “Hmpff mff humff,” he hears you mumble against his chest, drawing a teary chuckle from him as he pulls away. “Sorry, come again?” 

“I went over to my parents to try and cheer myself up, I’m sorry I should’ve told you where I was going, I had my phone off the whole day and—”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky laughs breathlessly, pulling you back into him. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He sees Wanda slowly retreat back into her room to give you space. The two of you stand there in silence, holding each other as you relish in the feeling of being in each other’s arms. 

“I don’t know if I’m okay, honestly,” you say, quietly. 

“And that’s perfectly fine, too,” Bucky replies, cradling your face in his hands. “Listen I know I haven’t been dealing with this as best as I could but—”

“No, Bucky–”

“Let me finish, doll. I know I'm still trying to find my footing with all of this, but I want you to know that I'll be here no matter what, okay? When you’re happy, when you’re sad, or even when you don’t know what you’re feeling.”

You smile at him gratefully, resting your hands on top of his. “I don’t know what’s been going on with me recently. I think college is just getting to me or something. It feels like I always wanna find the rain even on a sunny day, you know?” 

Bucky continues to stare into your eyes, sadness glazing over them. You shake your head and begin to pull away, “Forget it, it sounds stupid–”

“Woah hey, no,” Bucky interjects, placing his hands on your hips. “It doesn’t sound stupid. I may not fully understand what you’re feeling, but I’m here, aren’t I?” 

You shake your head. “I really don’t wanna drag you into this, you have so many things on your plate–”

You’re interrupted by Bucky placing his lips on yours, engulfing you in a kiss so passionate, it takes your breath away. 

“But I’m in it for the long run with you,” he mutters against your lips. 

You stumble because for the months you’ve been together, the future never really fell into conversation between the two of you. With your schedules being so hectic, you and Bucky wordlessly settled with just going with the flow, and you were fine with that. But upon hearing the words leave Bucky’s lips, you began to think what this meant. 

Bucky tenderly places his hands back on your cheeks, rubbing them softly in order to soothe you. “If it feels like life is dragging you down, then hang on ‘cause I'll be your bodyguard,” he starts, earning a soft chuckle from you which urges him to continue.  “If you feel like the whole world is a red flag, then I'll be with you to look for the green, and hell, if you wanna find rain on a sunny day then I’ll be there to dance all through the pain with you, doll.” 

Tears start to flow down your face, once again, as you smile. You smile in a way that Bucky hasn’t seen from you for the past few days. He smiles back. 

“But you gotta try to talk to me, okay?” he pipes up, wiping your tears with his thumbs before pressing another kiss on the top of your head. “I know I’m a meathead, but I promise I wanna try to understand what you’re feeling so I can help.” 

You nod against his lips as Bucky lets out a breath. You stay that way for a while, and Bucky was already satisfied with how the conversation turned out, vowing himself not to push you further into talking things out. It isn’t until he hears you mumble the words he’s been longing to tell you for so long that he feels his world come to a halt. 

“I love you.” 

This is the first time these words were uttered between the two of you, and Bucky feels his chest tighten again, but this time, it was due to an overwhelming sense of joy. He pulls you tighter against him before breathing out, “I love you too. So much.”

It was then Bucky realized that he didn’t need to mend things when you’re feeling this way. As much as he’d like to take away the pain, he knew that reminding you that he’ll always be there despite it is, and always will be, enough.  

–––––

A/N: hope you guys liked this one! highly recommend listening to the song itself, cuz it brings me so much comfort and i hope it brings you comfort too! <33

[soapssuds]

Infinity

Yandere ! Gojo Satoru x Female ! Reader

Part 17 | then what is special

Summary | And I'd choose you; in a hundred lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you.

Infinity Masterlist

"Thank you so much!"

Y/n was as giddy as ever as she held the necklace in her hands before turning to Sukuna with the brightest eyes she could muster, "help me put it on?!"

"If you will stop squirming," he grumbled.

It was her birthday. Anyone who fell under Sukuna's domain knows that, and as such, it will be considered a holiday worth celebrating.

"It's so pretty!!!"

She kept admiring the jewelry in the mirror when Sukuna finally clasped the necklace around her neck.

She kept looking at Sukuna for his approval. And he could only smirk in return. He was the one who picked it out, after all.

"Thank you so much, Sukuna!"

For y/n, she never imagined that she would be thankful to the king of curses, but apparently she was in her past life. She desperately wants to talk to someone about it. But she could never bring up her worries to anyone. Not even to the strongest. Though, she was thankful that he was walking with her now...

The night breeze felt good against his face as he walked next to you, but, truth be told, he couldn’t focus on the how peaceful the walk was or on anything else for that matter. All he could think about was you. Usually he would still be at the school, or he would be on a mission, his time seemingly dedicated to the jujutsu world as a whole. And yet, he couldn’t help but to carve out a piece (a large chunk) of his time for you.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

She was smiling up at him as she easily kept in stride (though, he was purposefully walking slower for her).

“For inviting me out, of course! That office was getting way too stuffy for me.”

She couldn’t deny the way her cheeks started to warm, how her heart felt incredibly full and the way it started to beat just a tad bit faster.

“I- I’m glad.”

“Really?”

She nodded, “you’re the strongest…everyone relies on you. And… I guess…I… I wanted you to rely on me too,, so you wouldn’t feel like you had to do everything on your own,” she spoke slow as she tried to find the right words. Her mouth moving on its own as she couldn’t stop herself from saying what she truly felt, “I mean, I’m not saying you couldn’t handle it, I just- well, you know, I wanted you to know that someone cares and that-,” she started to babble. Her words picking up in pace. And, god, she knew she was rambling, but she wanted to get her point across without him misunderstanding anything.

“Y/n.”

“Yes?”

“You’re so cute.”

When she had looked up at him, her eyes widened when he had clasped both of her cheeks in his hands, his fingers lightly squeezing them together as she brought her hands up ro grip at his wrists, “Gsojsho.”

He laughed when she tried to say his name between her smushed lips. His eyes shining at the thought when he had done this to her in one of their past lives together. She whined out his name again and even tried to hit him in the stomach, but her weak hits didn’t even phase him when he finally let go of her cheeks, “alright, alright. I’ll leave you alone. So let’s get to your place, ok? It’s already late.”

She rubbed her cheeks, they were already starting to feel sore with how roughly he was pulling at them. (He actually wasn’t pulling all that hard, she’s just sensitive.) And soon enough, the walk to her apartment was short lived, but at least it wasn’t awkward. Gojo was good at keeping up small talk and she was surprised at how easy it was to talk to him. She was glad.

“You want to come in, right? And maybe have a drink?”

And that was how her night was spent. Gojo was sitting on her couch and she was sitting next to him as the TV played some random movie and the two of them talked endlessly about anything and everything. Until the past lives topic came up.

“So, do you really believe this past life business?”

Gojo asked the question so simply as he looked at her, and she shrugged, “a little. It would explain so much but I am also a little scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“Well, just how many lives did I live? Was I always alone?”

“You said that you thought I was there.”

“Yeah, I think it was you, I also think we were together…”

“How many lives do you think you lived?”

“Too many to count. Though, sometimes I feel like it's just one continuous life with multiple endings."

“Do you think we were together in all of them,” Gojo asked, his tone was a bit hopeful.

He could see how she reddened at his words before she calmed herself down. Her fingers lightly playing with the hm of her shirt, her eyes not being able to meet his own (he had taken off his blindfold when he sat down on her couch).

“No…”

He tilted his head to the side. He was acting curious, nonchalant even, but his heart was running rampant. His mind was a mess. He couldn’t deny how jittery he was. Did she not want to be with him in every single life she had?

“No, because then what would make this life special?”

infinity taglist | some say "no blogs found"

@whore-for-hawks @esthelily @huicitawrites @flaming-vulpix @zeniiis @rin1802 @mrowwww @kenstarsworld @bubera974 @littleplantofdeath @fangirl-332 @thaliadoesthings @hellsingalucard18 @tamaki-simp @obsessedwithfanfiction @babygivertyrant @carvelcakes @itzmeme @nervouschocolatecat @aspiring-bookworm @babyorphanstastegood @lilacskyly @ilovethegold @mythicalsongbird

[coolprettyleo]

my soul has changed? - will smith au

wc: 1.4k

tw: depression, suggestion of an ED, awkwardness? mean girl.

will smith x oc celebrini sister!

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

lola celebrini was in a point of her life where everything felt still. she was pretty sure she was suffering from depression and it was a cycle she didn't know how to get out of.

she would wake up, go to school, go to work, and then sleep. she was lucky if she fitted a meal in between that meant she had lost tons of weight.

she had been a pretty healthy teen, she played hockey up until high school alongside her brothers; but when the time came to play college hockey, she got no offers. contributing to her depression.

it was a sport she held so much love and dedication, she couldn't understand why she hadn't been good enough? I mean her brothers were good enough, they got college offers. macklin was even projected to go first overall, so why couldn't she?

those were thoughts that were constantly haunting her mind. if she found something to forget them they would flood back in, like if they wanted her to be a lifeless doll she had been feeling like.

her family had been really worried for her. she had finally seen her brothers after a year, at the NCCAA playoffs and it only caused them to worry more.

flashbacks

lola knew that macklin and aiden were gonna bombard her with questions as soon as they were alone. they could hardly recognize her. growing up she was always a smiling person with a big personality and now she was about forty pounds lighter and was a ghost of the person she used to be.

"april what's going on" macklin said shutting the door behind him.

"what do you mean"

"cut the bullshit. I know your not okay, you barley answer my text anymore, what's wrong"

"it's nothing mack-"

"no it's not nothing, maybe I can fix it-

"you cant 'fix' it"

"and why not-"

"because I don't know what wrong with me!"

that had been about two weeks ago. she just didn't know what to tell her family. she really didn't understand why she had been feeling that way.

she was currently at work where she was a barista in a cute coffee shop. she honestly loved working there, she had got the job when she was in high school and had kept it till college. seeing as she didn’t move far away for college, choosing to stay close to her parents.

she often wondered if she might be happier if she moved away just like everyone else did, just like her brothers did. but it would always end in her telling herself; that it's not worth dwelling on.

it was currently six am and at this time of day there weren’t many customers. the cafe was always busy mid day when people were looking to find somewhere to study.

so she was surprised when she turned the open side around, to find a boy waiting outside to come in. a boy who looked a lot like will smith.

lola wasn’t an idiot to hockey, she kept up with it a fairly good amount, so she would have to be living under a rock to not know the guy who dominated the ice at her brothers rivalry school.

that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to act like she didn’t know him.

he reached for the handle and took a look at her before turning as red as a tomato and blushing,

“hey, are you guys open?” he asked nervously, mentally slapping himself because he just saw her turn the sign around, to ‘open’

“uhm yeah I’ll be with you in a sec” she told him.

will couldn’t help but think her voice was cute. she had a rasp to it that made him want to give her everything she’s ever wanted.

lola finished up, putting the coffee too brew and turned to the counter.

“okay! order when your ready”

“uhm. i actually never been here before… any recs?” he asked after a moment nervously scratching his neck.

“well I get a dirty chai, but considering my brothers hate it, you might hate it too… I guess you might like a frap?” she told him, a little too monotone.

“yeah okay” he told her again nervously. he found her to be breathtakingly beautiful.

he paid and stood back as she got to making the drink.

“you from here?” will asked hoping to make small talk.

“uhm kinda. I was born in Vancouver but moved here when my dad got a job”

will panicked. oh god was she still in highschool

lola must of saw the worry on his face because she added,

“that was a couple years ago, im eighteen now” she said smiling at his face. something she didn’t do often anymore.

“oh, i’m eighteen too”

“oh yeah, what brings you to san jose, school?” she said innocently knowing very well he was drafted here and was most likely here to work on development.

“no. I”m came to meet with some people here. I go to boston college” he answered. lola starting to not feel so bad because she saw he didn’t want to right away say he was a hockey player.

“far from home huh”

“yeah, i’m literally across the country from everything and everybody i’ve ever known” he told her wanting to slap himself. did she need to know that!?!

“i’m sorry. it’ll get easier” she said remembering her brother had been homesick too but utimatly started feeling better after some time-- as she handing him his drinks and gave him a sympathetic face.

“yeah i hope so, i should be moving here soon, if everything goes right” he said as he took a sip.

“hey this is good!” he said taking another sip as lola smiled. something that will thought looked amazing on her.

lola smiled at him remembering the fact her brothers liked that drink. boys were so typical

“i’m glad… and hey— if you ever need a friend in town my names lola” she told him as she held her hand out to him to shake.

will starred at it for a moment before he quickly met her hand.

“will” he told the girl with a smile.

they were cut out of there moment when two customers walked in.

“I should get back to work. i’ll see you around will” she told him as he smiled a nodded and walked right out.

say something! ask for my number! do anything!

lola felt really dumb after she basically just presented herself in a silver platter to the boy and he didn’t finish his part in asking for her number. he had definitely rejected her in the nicest way someone possibly could.

meanwhile will got into the Uber with a gitty feeling. she seemed really cool and having someone to hang out with other than his teammates was going to be so nice.

he was midway into the meeting with some general managers when he realized he didn’t even ask for her number.

“oh my god” he mumbled as he came to the realization

"i'm sorry?" one of the GM's said confused.

“uhh— I said I was excited to join the franchise!” he covered up, feeling like an idiot.

hopefully she was still there after the meeting.

the meeting had gone a little to long for his liking and as he raced down to the coffee shop he hoped she was working a long shift.

he opened the door to see a blonde girl who looked old but yet looked young, and a taller boy with curly hair working behind the counter.

“hi. is lola working today?” he said breathlessly

the blonde eyed him for a moment before smirking,

“I don't recall a lola ever working here...my name samantha though” she said with a face that will knew was a face of someone who was lying.

“yes there is, she helped me earlier-"

“if your here to file a complaint against her, I can totally help you then,” she said

“no she was great— wait, you said you didn’t know an lola-“

“your looking for lola?” the other barista cut in

“yeah she was here earlier, i was hoping she was still here”

“she got off like two hours ago but i can give you her number!” the curly haired boy told will. he was one of lola's friends and he wasn’t going to ruin this opportunity for her.

“you totally can’t do that!” the blonde girl said in a nasally voice.

“shutup samantha. go take candy from a baby or something” he sassily told her.

she rolled her eyes before walking away to wipe a table down.

“sorry about her, here’s her number— good luck!”

“thankyou so much” he told him as he thought about what exactly to text the pretty girl.

both lola and will not knowing the epic love story they were about embark on.

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

hi guys! i hope this is kinda good, dont feel shy to send in ask and au thoughts… i like never get any but im so open to it!!

[ccscocoapuffs]

Negan NSFW Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex) Negan loves to pull you into his chest after sex, he loves to just softly play in your hair while he whispers in your ear how good you did for him. His go to line is "Baby....you took it so well...such a good fucking girl"

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Negan likes his eyes the most, despite being a hard ass 24/7 deep down his a big softie and the reason he loves his eyes is because they let him see you everyday, though he would never in a million years tell you that. Negan loves your thighs the most whether he gets to watch you sway your hips and those fine ass thighs prancing off with you or if he simply has his face buried between them, wither way negan loves them.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically) Negan adores a good cream pie, he loves watching drip out of you while he teases you about it. " aww poor baby, cant handle all daddy's cum?". He also loves cumming all over your face and taking polaroid's of it to keep in his jacket pocket.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) Negan wants softer sex, he's just believe it or not a little shy about it. He want's to keep the tough guy act up at all times but sometimes he just wants to lay you down and thrust into you deeply and slowly while he kisses down your neck and tells you he loves you.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?) Negan is very well experienced to say the least. Anything you wanna try 99.9% chance he has already tried it and will show you the ropes.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying) Negan ADORES doggy style, it gives him access to reach around and rub your clit, pull your hair, and even smack your ass if he wanted to. Though his close second would be missionary but with your knees up to your chest, he loves seeing how much you whine when he goes so much deeper that way.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.) Negan tends to be very serious but he sometimes can make you giggle or atleast crack a smile. He will kiss on the inside of your thighs noticing how you jump when his beard tickles you which makes him only begin to do it more just to hear that little laugh he adores.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.) Negan is trimmed down to the stubble mark. He likes to keep it trimmed so the only thing you ever choke on is his cock and his cock alone.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect) Negan can be very intimate if he has the time. The truth is he is a very busy man and usually only has time for long sensual sex after everyone else has done slept and he gets a break for the day. Though if he gets the day off expect to have the most sensual hot sex of your life.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon) To be completely honest, Negan has zero need to masturbate, he loves you and he loves that pussy, so why use his hand? He has masturbated on one or two occasions though when he was away from you but he didn't find it all that pleasing.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks) Negan is one inky fuck to say the least. Breeding, BDSM, daddy, choking, spit, sadism, you name it Negan is probably down. He has very few things he would ever not consider.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do) Negan likes a little bit of a thrill and enjoys public sex quit often. He loves to sit you on a bench somewhere in the sanctuary at night while he eats you out, another favorite of his is simply his bedroom. It's positioned perfectly to where if you scream hi name everyone is gonna hear it and he will never let you live it down.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going) Negan loves high heels for starters, something about them just turn him on so much. He loves to fuck you in nothing but your lingerie and high heels. Another turn on is when you get jealous over him, say another girl rubs his chest and suddenly you wrap your arm around Negan's waist while telling the other girl "He's already claimed" Negan will be ready to bend you over right then and there.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) Share you with another man, Negan is a simple guy when it comes to a No. He will not ever share you with another man, you are his and his alone. However if you want him to fuck you feral, flirt with one of the other saviors, especially Dwight or Simon. The thought of one of them getting to touch you pisses him the fuck off and he will fuck to make sure you remember who you belong too.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.) Negan loves to give, though he uses it as a reward for good behavior. If you've been a good girl for him, he will set up on his desk and eat you out or lay you down on the edge of the bed before pulling your legs apart and eating like a starved man. In terms of receiving he would never say no to you, but he will always make you choke around him. It gives him such an ego boost to hear you choke on his cock.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.) Negan is always fast and rough, though if he trusts you enough to let you see the softer side of him then you will see that more slow and sensual side of him, one thing is for sure though he ALWAYS has to be in charge regardless of the pace.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.) Negan loves a good quickie especially one where you could get caught, his favorite place for one is inside one of the hallways on the sanctuary, where anyone can walk down and see you too right there with him buried deep inside you.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.) As stated above, negan likes it risky, he is always down for risk and the idea of it. He loves to add thrill to your endeavors it makes things a little more scandalous to him.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?) Let's ne honest here as much as I'd like to sit here and say he can go all night long, at the end of the day he is getting a little bit older. His average with you is still 2 rounds though. He always makes sure you cum till your legs are shaking despite how much he himself may cum. He is a kinky fuck but he is for sure a giving lover in the bedroom.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?) Negan loves toys, He doesn't have any for himself other than a simple cock ring. He enjoys using them on his partner more, he has a very large collection of toys he keeps hidden in his room. His favorites though are the remote control vibrator, the clit sucker, and of course his collection of belts just for making that ass red.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) Two words. It's negan. World's biggest tease, he finds it arousing to get you going, he wants to make you a begging whining, soaking wet mess before he gives you want you want. He has to make sure you are dying to have it before he will give it.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.) Believe it or not Negan can be a little loud, mostly with his dirty talk and when he cums. When Negan finishes he lets out deep loud groans as he throws his head back, not giving a fuck who hears because no one would dare say anything to him anyway out of fear.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character) Negan adores the idea of you in a super girly lingerie set or super girly clothes while you do your daily duties within the sanctuary. Wear a little baby pink skirt for him while you bend over to pick up something, or adjust your boobs in a very very tight top and he may just die right there.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes) Negan is blessed to say the least. He is about 7 inches in length but he is girthy as fuck. He gives an amazing fucking stretch and he takes pride in that. He also has a slightly upwards curve towards the tip that makes it perfect for hitting your g-spot.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?) Negan has a very high sex drive and he isn't ashamed to admit to it either. He just loves the idea of both gaining pleasure and giving it. He also loves the dominance it gives outside of the sexual aspect of the relationship, for example if he calls for you and you answer him with a " yes daddy?" or "Yes sir" it only strokes his ego even more and makes him feel like a fucking god.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) He would never admit to it but kinda quickly afterwards. He likes to clean you up first before pulling you into his chest for some cuddles and praise while he slowly starts to drift off.

[hellsslibrary]

✧･ﾟ:*NSFW Alphabet with Riddle Rosehearts*:･ﾟ✧

DNI : minors.

!!Warnings : switch(mostly sub)!bottom!Riddle, kink for size difference, oral, praise kink, soft sex, teasing, roleplay(King and Queen of Hearts), pet play, male reader.

Trey <————«« Riddle »»————> Jack

Heartslabyul. Riddle Rosehearts.

A = Aftercare (What are they like after sex?)

He is very tired after sex, no matter what the pace was, no matter who dominated, no matter how many rounds and how intense the sex was. He is always tired. He also has a weak throat, I think, so he's always thirsty. So take care of the cute, red-haired boy, okay?

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

Well... I guess his favorite body part in you is your eyes. He loves the way they shrink, looking down at him as he lies helpless underneath you, writhing in pleasure. He loves the way you close them when he pleases you. And he just loves your loving, sensual look when you talk about loving him.

His favorite body part in him is probably all parts of his body anyway. He's been very prepared for your first time by reading everything there is to know about two men having sex and... He's probably been doing some practice so somehow he loves everything about him and won't pick out anything about him.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Considering his overly balanced and proper diet, his sperm is probably one of the most perfect. Like the truth, this is the most ordinary sperm, and it is released in a measured, normal amount, absolutely nothing unusual.

As for you, he'd rather you cum outside of him. He just doesn't want to give you the hassle of washing it out of him and himself too. Although he doesn't mind if you want to cum inside, yes.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Mmm, since the beginning of the relationship, he may have had the idea of role-playing the King and Queen of Hearts (Well, she's literally his prototype, so yeah). And, given that the king is much more loyal and kind (albeit still as infantile as his wifey), you would take a more submissive position, and he would, on the contrary, be more dominant and then you would violate one of the rules of the queen and on you would have hung a collar, though very unpleasant and heavy :( .Well, I leave everything else to your taste, imps~.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

He's... a total virgin. His mother is clearly "one partner for life", at least for her ideal son, so yes, he is definitely a virgin. Although his mother probably taught how to handle the female body and certain parts of it, apparently confident that her son would not be able to fall in love with a guy.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)

Mmm, doggy style? He doesn't really like it when you see his face, although he loves when you play with his body however you want, but in the end he definitely gives up and puts his head on the pillows, exposing half of his face to you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

He is definitely serious. Although if you have the most ordinary relaxed, sensual sex where you just enjoy each other, then he can lower his walls a little and joke here and there, but not much.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Definitely very clean, the hair is just completely shaved off. Like really, how can Riddle of all people not be clean there? Although the color matches, the same strawberry red.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

Of course very strongly! For him, sex is primarily a moment of your privacy, a moment where you can enjoy each other without unnecessary factors. He is incredibly romantic, even if sometimes he can be shy about it.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

He hardly has time for that, anyway. But I guess he doesn't do it often anyway, he'd rather have sex with you than his hand or anything.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Kink for praise, obviously! I won't even explain it, it's just Riddle. I think pet play. Like why not? He will gladly put himself under your command, knowing that you do not want to harm him. Or he will take command. Depends on your tastes. And I have one thought that maybe he has a kink for tenderness(?). I don't know how to explain it better, but I think it's the caring and gentle handling of him that turns him on during sex.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Within those places where ABSOLUTELY NO ONE can see or hear you. But probably the bed, he's simple enough in his looks.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

I think it fires up surprisingly fast or not at all. Although given his temperament, this should not be surprising. It's just the truth... One moment he'll have a hard-on from a few words whispered in his ear from you, and the next time he won't have a hard-on even after you teasingly rub his cock through his pants.

N = NO (Something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Sex in public or semi-public places. Too much use of pain. And probably humiliation (albeit in a playful or, uh, romantic way maybe), but if you tease him like that... You better not do it.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

He loves to give. After all, he read a lot of books before your first time, like I said before, so he definitely knows what he's doing... Only in his head, of course.

Although he still loves to receive, of course! Blowjob, rimming, eating out, whatever! He likes everything as long as you do it. (Although for some reason it seems to me that he preferred rimming/eating out).

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Slower and gentler tempo. He does not like to rush, he wants everything to be beautiful, cute and romantic. So he definitely prefers this pace.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

He... Not a fan of that. Absolutely not a fan of this. One orgasm is probably not enough for him to satisfy himself. But if you or he really wants to fuck, but you don't have too much time, then of course he will agree.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

He won't take risks, nope. Experiments of course. But he will not risk your reputation, health, or anything else. But to satisfy your perverted fantasies or offer his own, he is happy to.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

Well, it lasts quite an average amount of about 5-10 I guess. Although somewhere around 12, he is already starting to get overstimulated.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

He didn't have them. He considered it too dirty and unpleasant. Like who needs toys if there are hands, genitals and stuff? He... Began to treat them neutrally after starting a relationship with you. At least he doesn't mind them, and he'll keep something if you give it to him, but he's unlikely to buy it himself.

U = Unfair (How much do they like to tease)

Riddle will not tease you if you are dominant. He wants to be completely obedient and a good boy for you, although he may tease you a little if it pleases you, but he will immediately finish with any disapproval from you. But he loves to tease you when he dominates. He just finds something sexy in your pleading or in your facial expression when he teases you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He thought he would be quiet like 1/10. But finished somewhere at 7-8/10. It's loud enough, yes. He doesn't scream though. But it's still very loud and that changes that fact. It's too easy for him to feel pleasure when it all starts, so he just can't handle it.

W = Wild Card (Get a random head canon for the character of your choice)

He definitely has a kink to the size difference, it's true, you can't deny it. He's just tiny, and he's tiny there too. I'm just heading the headcanon for the fact that he has a small dick and has always been shy about it, even at the beginning of a relationship with you (well, I mean you're a guy biologically, if not, grow your dick). But after all, why does he need a big dick if he's the bottom, right? :)

X = X-Ray (Let's see what's going on in those pants, picture or words)

Very slim. Maybe a little muscle, but it seems to me that there are not so many of them. Well, his penis is small in both size and girth, as I said earlier. 3-4 inches / 7-10 cm.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It is very low. I doubt he ever wanted to have too much sex, other than his puberty, of course. But on his own, he doesn't want to fuck very often, so in almost all situations you need to offer it.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fell asleep afterwards)

He... I think he generally has a hard time falling asleep, worrying about something or remembering. But I think next to you and even more so, given that he is tired, I think he will fall asleep quickly enough.

[genericpuff]

So, I want to confess something. I believe I speak for everyone when I say that the SA in LO is not only poorly written but very mishandled and was unnecessary. I want to point out I am not a SA victim, so I can not say with experience how well the deception was. Though I do know people in real life that were victims, I also don’t want to disclose their stories either. But, here’s the thing. I personally don’t mind SA in the media, if it is handled with care and they portray it as a serious issue!

The problem I have with most media is that shows and stories will either use SA as A. A plot device for romance development. B. Shock value or C. A joke. So many media I’ve watched use SA as any of the three categories (13 Reasons Why and content from Vivziepop being a few that I can think of off the top of my head). The only show I can think of that actually portrays SA seriously and shows real life impact is Tuca and Bride. I also think it’s pretty hypocritical that the media will use SA as long as they fall into any of the three categories, but when you want to show the negative effects of it like in Moral Orel, suddenly you get canceled! Again, Hypocrites! I also don’t think first time writers should write this kind of stuff, and Rachel is no exception. You can tell she didn’t know what she was doing, based on how little importance the SA has on the plot or how it falls into said categories as well. (and the rumors that she didn’t even know it was SA doesn’t help).

Now, that being said I don’t think a SA plot line was a bad idea for this kind of story. Again, the original myth was “The abduction of Persephone” and in some versions, Hades did force himself onto Persephone. And considering Ancient Greece was rife with many stories of such heavy topics, I can see why they would include that. My personal issue with LO’s SA plotline… is Apollo! First of all, while Apollo may have had some questionable relationships in his myths, he never really forced himself on anyone. In fact, the most famous story of him chasing Daphne was only because he was under the influence of Eros, meaning Apollo had no agency in loving Daphne. Second, Apollo had nothing to do with Persephone. They never interacted in any myths. Sure, there was one myth where Apollo asked Demeter for her daughter’s hand and Demeter rejected, but that’s it. The two never had any relationship. So it makes the plot line even more convoluted because of their lack of historical and mythical connection. Though, I do admit I kind of like Apollo and Persephone as a couple (In Rekindled not Lore Olympus), but I know they don’t get together.

Honestly, if Rachel really wanted to do a SA story that would prop up Hades without demonizing anyone, she could have done that! By making Persephone’s assaulter be Zeus instead of Apollo! Hear me out, in some stories, Zeus actually disguised himself as Hades and slept with Persephone, thus it resulted in Zagerus. So, it is canon in a sense that Zeus did SA Persephone. Not only that, but given he had a role to play in the “Abduction of Persephone” where he sold his daughter off to Hades, this makes him even more impactful to the story. He could be the villain instead of Demeter, who wants to use Persephone. And considering Zeus’s love affairs and his god complex (no pun intended) he would believe he was entitled to Persephone and would want to have her as a secret concubine.

Maybe Zeus would be able to learn more about Persephone through Hera and he would decide to set his sights on her. He could try and get closer to her as she is naive and never met the King of Gods, and would use her trust to pounce on her (Because in SA cases, your attacker is more likely to be someone close to you rather than a stranger.) And maybe Zeus would blackmail Persephone so she would have to keep seeing him or else get kicked out of school and be a disgrace to her mother. Then, you could have Hades find out and he would rage against Zeus. Maybe Hades would get Demeter involved and they would team up to punish the King all for the sake of protecting Persephone. Hades would suggest making Persephone his queen for protection, and Demeter would make the world grow cold unless Zeus complies, thus explaining Winter. Zeus would agree to give Persephone to Hades, and she will be under Hades’s protection. But Persephone would still want to be with her mother, so Demeter and Hades make custody arrangements.

Bam! A SA plot line that A. Actually adds to the story and raises stakes. B. Makes a terrifying but complex villain for the story that we all can hate without assassinating his character. C. Have Hades and Demeter come out on top. D. Be historical and mythologically accurate. (I’m also not saying that I wanted SA in LO or LR, nor do I think this version would have made it better, but I personally believe this plot line makes way more sense than: Apollo meeting Persephone in one day and SA her in her sleep.)

I agree with a lot of this, thank you for sharing!! (sorry this is a late response, I didn't want this big analysis to go to waste fdjasklfdsajlk)

But yeah, in essence / on paper the SA plotline in LO would have been fine, especially considering SA is present in just about every Greek myth story, but I don't think Rachel was really cut out to tackle that subject yet, mostly as a writer as all of her writing is very baseless and doesn't have the necessary planning, research, and direction required to depict a subject like that. It takes a lot of sensitivity, self-awareness, and self control, none of which LO has as a narrative or Rachel as a writer.

IMO Apollo being the god of the sun made for a great springboard for him to be like, this self-centered god who was so delusional in his own ego that he couldn't believe Persephone wouldn't want him, that alone was enough to make him out to be a great villain - even with the use of SA, where he couldn't take no for an answer - but then we had to get into the whole "Apollo is gonna use Persephone to overthrow Zeus" crap and it all fell apart from there. Not to mention the story could never decide if Apollo was some nefarious puppet master or just a delusional dumbass, so all the flip-flopping on his motivations led to him becoming a very weak villain.

That said, I will cut her some slack for not having Zeus assault her. Because while it's more accurate to the myths (and character accurate) the story could barely handle Apollo and he's the canon Good Boytm in the myths, imagine it trying to handle an actual serial assaulter?

But that's not me saying it's necessarily a bad idea. I just don't think LO would be able to handle it with Rachel at the helm lol

[g1rld1ary]

love's light wings - neil perry x fem!reader

wc: 967

cw: smoking, you meet neil at a party and he recites shakespeare to you

The air was cold and fresh on your face as you leant against the first floor balcony, a welcome change from the overwhelming heat from the party inside. Donna by Ritchie Valens was playing inside, muffled behind the closed door. You hummed along to yourself, unafraid of being heard. It seemed like your whole school was crammed inside the house, or at least was during the peak of the party. Through the course of your smoke break you’d watched people start to dissipate, couples leaving giggly and hand in hand, unaware of you watching from above. You frowned, taking another drag from the cigarette. You were stuck at the party until your friend’s dumb boyfriend decided he was ready to drive you both home. Maybe you did want a boyfriend, if only for the perks.

Neil wasn’t typically one for a party. He hadn’t been to a real one at all until he’d been brought along by Knox, who’d gotten a plus one from Chris. He’d enjoyed it, mostly, but he’d never learnt how to handle his liquor which was why he was out in the snow alone, throwing up into a bush. Youth was on his side and he recovered quickly, still feeling some of the effects of too many drinks. Then he saw you. You, leaning up against the balcony like an angel, backlighting from the house creating a halo effect around your body. Neil wondered if you were even real. Smoking peacefully, Neil thought you were undoubtedly the most beautiful girl he’d seen in his entire life.

“But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks?

It is the east, and Juliet is the sun,

Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,

Who is already sick and pale with grief,

That thou, her maid, art far more fair than she.” The lines tumble from his lips before he could even consider it might be a bad idea. If he was sober he would have been mortified, both at the utter reveal of his soul, and that he’d spoken to a pretty girl, just like that.

You’d never had Shakespeare recited to you before. You’d studied Romeo and Juliet in school, of course, but it only properly clicked when a boy was reciting it to you as if it had come from his own heart.

“And you’re Romeo in this scenario?” You called down to him, amused by his dazed expression. He nodded eagerly.

“See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand.

O, that I were a glove upon the hand,

That I might touch that cheek!” You giggle at that, glancing at your glove-covered hand.

“Do you have a name, Romeo?”

“Neil!” He yelled, waving adorably. You returned it with great amusement. “Neil Perry.”

“Why haven’t I seen you around before, Neil Perry?” There weren’t that many schools in the area, and you were sure you’d found all the cute boys already.

“I go to Welton,” He replied, “I only see the sun once a year.” You laughed loudly at that, tipping your head back joyfully. Neil watched in adoration.

“You should come by more often, Romeo. This is more interesting than anything the airheads in there can provide.” You nod your head back to the house where people you didn’t like where doing things you didn’t enjoy. You’d only come for your friend anyway, and what had that gotten you? Well, it had brought you to this, so maybe it wasn’t all bad.

You opened your mouth to say something else, introduce yourself maybe, when the balcony door flung open and your friend’s boyfriend was yelling something about needing you for a drinking game — not enough people to make even teams. You sighed, rolling your eyes with all the strength of your annoyance and glanced back down to Neil. He didn’t look angry, just genuinely upset to have to stop your conversation.

You hesitated in returning back inside, leaving Neil with a taste of his own medicine.

“So Romeo would — were he not Romeo called —

Retain that dear perfection which he owes

Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,

And for that name, which is no part of thee,

Take all myself.”

You hardly had time to witness Neil’s shocked, euphoric expression, but kept it in your mind as you participated in whatever dull, alcohol-infused game you’d been forced into.

It was over an hour later when you next saw Neil, surrounded by a small huddle of strange boys you assumed were also from Welton. He actually lit up when he caught sight of you, literally creating his own light source. You reddened under his gaze, unused to the attention.

Neil liked you even more up close. The soft yellow lamp cast your face in the most ethereal light and your red swing dress was endlessly flattering. Your smile sent arrows straight through his heart, making it hard to pretend he was listening to a word Charlie was saying.

“Juliet!” He approached you eagerly, ignoring the teasing from his friends. You didn’t think you were into being called by another girl’s name, but it was strangely okay when it was Neil doing it. You introduced yourself properly anyway, charmed by the way Neil tried out your name softly, smiling as he did.

“Don’t leave me waiting,” Was all you said as you pressed a slip of paper in his hand, the contents being your name and phone number. With a quick peck up to his cheek you left, following your friend out to her boyfriend’s car and the cold winter air.

The next morning the phone rang minutes after you’d woken.

[dearly-somber]

Haircut | j.jk

-> pairing. wolf shifter!jungkook x human!reader (f)

-> genre. slow burn, fluff, f2l (friends-to-lovers), humor, found family, angst, drama, eventual romance, eventual smut, high school!au

-> w/c. 1982

-> rating. 13+

-> a/n. This ended so silly so goofy smdhjaheb

-> warnings. None!!

-> collection. mini-series

-> started. Aug. 14th, 2022 @ 19:49

-> fin. Thurs., Nov. 20th, 2023 @ 04:43

-> edited. Fri., Dec. 1st, 2023 @ 12:55

-> divider credit. @mmadeinheavenn

“You’re kidding right?”

Jungkook pouts, looking down at his hands with a furrow in his brow. “No…”

Y/N laughs, rocking forward to smack his knee familiarly. “You seriously got detention because your hair was too long? That’s ridiculous!”

“I know,” he whines, running a hand through said hair and sighing deeply as he lays back with his legs crossed, splaying his arms over the bed.

Y/N giggles as she stands, sympathetically patting his shoulder. “Is there really no way out of it?”

“Not unless I can book an appointment before school tomorrow.” Y/N cringes. “Yeah,” he sighs.

It’s so dumb. He didn’t get in trouble the entire week! Not one teacher mentioned it, and then during his last period on a Thursday evening, bam! Detention slip. And, obviously, it was from his least favorite teacher, Ms Kang, who he was pretty sure hated his guts for no other reason than she couldn’t fuck him. He’s honestly surprised that she hasn’t been reported for sexual harassment yet, but he swears if she touches his shoulder in class one more time…

Jungkook’s brought back to the present at the sound of drawers opening and closing, his attention piqued. The thing that spurs him into motion is the realization that Y/N is rummaging through his drawers and she might accidentally happen upon his underwear.

“What’re you looking for?” he asks, pushing up off the bed to sit with his feet hanging off the side.

“A comb.” She closes his sock drawer with a sigh. “Do you have one?”

His eyes flit to the hand she has wrapped around the dreaded underwear drawer handle. “In my bathroom. Why?”

She mutters to herself, “‘Course it’s in the bathroom, why didn’t I think of that?” Then, louder, “Wanna comb your hair first.”

“‘First’?” Jungkook repeats quizzically.

“Mm,” she hums, turning to him with a smile. “Gonna cut it for you.”

His eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Sure!” She pulls him into the bathroom by his wrist, crouching to dig through his sink cupboard and turning back to him with a smile on her face and a comb in her hand.

“Uh…” Jungkook isn’t sure what to think. Does he like it when she plays with his hair? Yes. Does he trust her with his life? More than yes.

But his hair?

“I think I’d rather just go to detention…”

She punches his arm with a shake of her head. “My dad’s a barber, dickhead. I’m gonna get the water ready so long—can you change into swim shorts?”

“I…” Jungkook wants to say no and drag her back to bed so they could watch their silly little dramas and forget about how their plans to go to the movies tomorrow would be canceled because of some stupid detention slip, but Y/N’s eyes are sparkling and her voice is light, so he groans instead.

She smiles knowingly, turning her back to him as she starts fiddling with the handles in the bath, the water running as he goes to change, closing the bathroom door behind him.

He pulls his pants down and briefly considers changing out of his boxers before ultimately deciding to keep it on under the plain black swimming trunk he pulls out of his bottommost drawer.

He’s a little nervous for whatever Y/N has planned, but more than that, he’s excited. Whatever this is, he can feel deep in his stomach it’s going to be domestic and likely set his wolf off in the most pleasant way.

As he enters the bathroom, his eyes fall on Y/N. She’s standing inside the bath with her pants rolled up just under her knees, her shirt sleeves rolled up above her elbow, a comb and a bottle of shampoo in her hands.

“Well?” She beckons him closer. “What’re you waiting for?” Jungkook lets out a baffled laugh. She leads him inside the bathtub before gently pressing down on his shoulders so he’s facing the wall with his back to her, his legs crossed in front of him.

He feels Y/N slot her feet next to him, feels how her legs cocoon his arms. The water is pleasantly warm around his lap as she begins brushing through his unruly strands of hair.

She giggles softly. “I can’t believe you didn’t cut your hair,” she says, running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“I didn’t think it was long enough to get me in trouble,” he grumbles with his eyes closed. “We grow our hair out all the time, so no one thought it would be an issue.”

Truthfully, Jungkook didn’t want to cut it because he knew Y/N liked it long, and wanted an excuse to keep it that way.

She tsks playfully, dragging the comb from the very top of his head (literally an inch short of his forehead) all the way down to the shorter strands of hair at his nape. “Guess it gives me an excuse to play with your hair, huh?”

“Guess so,” he mumbles, his chest warm and bubbly. “I didn’t know your dad was a barber,” he says.

“I guess it’s never really come up in conversation,” she replies, setting the comb aside and reaching for the detachable shower-head. She tests the temperature on her palm, water dripping onto the side of Jungkook’s arm before she interrupts with a little gasp, “Shit! I forgot about your shirt.”

“It’s fine.” Jungkook waves her off. “I’ll change into a different one when you’re done.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook imagines Y/N skeptically biting her lip. “Alright. Lemme know if the water’s too hot, yeah?”

Jungkook grunts as a reply, a soft noise leaving his lips without him meaning to at the feel of the water on his scalp.

She runs her fingers over his head, cupping her hands over his eyes to stop the water from going into his face.

“Did…did your dad teach you how to do all this stuff?” Jungkook asks, his brows furrowing as his wolf croons at the way Y/N lathers shampoo into his hair.

“Yeah, kinda,” she replies focused-sounding. “He took me to work sometimes, so I watched him a lot. Picked up on most of it that way, if I wasn’t asking questions.”

“That sounds really nice,” he mumbles distractedly, smiling softly at the image of baby-Y/N being taught how to wash one of those Barbie head’s hair properly.

“It was.” She makes sure to get the shampoo in the hair behind his ears as well. Jungkook can’t help but sigh contentedly, unable to find it in himself to care when Y/N giggles teasingly.

“You good?” she asks, a smile in her voice.

“Feels really nice,” Jungkook replies softly, his heart probably beating slow enough to make a cardiologist worry for his health.

After Y/N lathers the shampoo on, she rinses his hair out, applies conditioner, rinses that out, and then gently taps his shoulder. “C’mon Wolfy, let’s go downstairs.”

“Wolfy?”

“What?”

Jungkook smiles wide at her offended pout, throwing the towel she hands him over his shoulders. “Nothing, nothing.”

“Whatever,” she humphs. “Go down to the kitchen when you’re done changing so we can cut your hair.”

Jungkook salutes. “On it!”

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

“Okay, you ready?” Y/N asks, excitedly snipping the scissors next to his ear.

Even though Jungkook feels his stomach drop, he puts on a brave face. “Let’s go!”

Y/N grins, running the comb through his hair one last time before pulling the longer strands of hair at the nape of his neck between her forefinger and middle finger, waiting a second before quickly snipping off the hair.

“Your hair’s gotten so long…”

“Should you be talking right now? Shouldn’t you focus on not cutting off too much?”

“Yah!” Y/N laughs in disbelief as she smacks his shoulder with the fist she has closed around the comb, tsking disappointedly as she continues snipping at his hair. She moves strategically around the back of his head, eventually maneuvering around to the front to cut his bangs.

“Seriously though, your hair’s grown a lot. I didn’t think you’d ever let it get this long.” She brushes through his hair again.

“Why?” he asks with closed eyes, both to keep the conversation going and also out of genuine curiosity.

She shrugs. “I dunno. You just never seemed like a long-hair kinda guy? It looks good on you, though. The long hair, I mean.”

“What else would you mea—stop hitting me!” Jungkook pouts as he brings a hand up to rub at his bicep, scowling under his bangs.

“Just…shut up. Stop nitpicking everything I say.”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Don’t be mad, eh?” He reaches out to tug at her shirt, smiling satisfied when she huffs defeatedly and pats his hand before she starts cutting bangs.

“All hairstyles look good on you, though. It’s kind of unfair, actually.”

Jungkook scoffs, letting his eyes drift closed as Y/N grabs the blow-dryer (which he assumes she brought down from one of the bathrooms) and plugs it into a socket on the wall. She starts it up, then immediately stops.

He turns his head to the side to look at her. “What?”

“I’ve never thought to ask, but does the sound not hurt your ears?”

Jungkook frowns for a second, then lights up in understanding the next. “Oh! No, not really. It’s loud, sure, but you’d have to have really sensitive ears for it to hurt.”

“Ah, okay.” Y/N nods as she puts one hand on his shoulder, standing behind him. “Just wanted to make sure I wouldn’t hurt you.”

As the blow dryer turns on and drowns out any attempt at conversation, Jungkook can’t help but smile to himself.

She doesn’t want to hurt him. That’s a relief. Hopefully, she won’t have to. Soon, right? At the very least, Jungkook knows any hurt isn’t intentional…

🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕

“Alright! We’re done!”

You set the dryer to the side as you pull the plug out of the socket, walking around to look at the finished product of your hard work, only to find him asleep.

You smile softly at the way Jungkook’s chin rests against his chest, lips slightly parted in sleep. His hair is not only shorter now (even though you kept some of the length, because you couldn’t find it in yourself to cut it all off), but it’s clean and fluffy and it makes you want to run your fingers through it.

Which you do—you reach out and card your fingers through his bangs and over his scalp, just kind of fondly staring at him while he sleeps, before realizing that that might be a bit weird.

“Jungkook?” Your voice is softer than you meant it to be, but you don’t mind. He’s so innocent when he’s asleep, it’s kind of awe-inducing. “Kookie?”

“Mngf?” Jungkook’s eyes open blearily, confusedly sitting straighter in his chair as he takes in his surroundings.

“I’m done, Koo. Go lay down on the couch if you’re feeling tired, you’ll hurt your neck.”

He grumbles something under his voice as he gets up from the chair, towering over you (damn his long legs).

Your eyes widen in surprise when Jungkook sleepily stumbles toward you, nuzzling into your neck as his arms wrap weakly around your middle. “Thanks, Bunny.”

You’re beyond happy that Jungkook can’t read minds, because in that moment you find yourself—for the split of a second—thinking about Jungkook in a not-so-best-friend way. “Sure, Kook.”

He drags himself to the couch, unceremoniously climbing over the back and flopping onto his stomach with a loud oof.

You press the back of your hands to your cheeks in order to cool them down, shaking yourself free of the stupid butterflies in your stomach as you grab a broom and sweep your best friend’s auburn hair out to the backyard.

Stupid haircut…

<- prev | next ->

[yunhofications]

rock with you - j.yh

pairings: dom!yunho x switch!fem reader

chapters: 1/2

synopsis: yunho’s a rockstar and doesn’t care about anyone but himself, at all. he loves the attention he recieves, but the only attention that really matters to him is from the girl who can’t seem to stand him at all. well, thats what she tells herself anyway.

warnings/tags: yunho’s kind of a dick, but not really, size kink, dumbification, choking, man handling, biting/marking, praise. hes quite a mean n rough dom, fingering, cheating implied (not by yunho), pet names, drinking. no actual sex in this part

word count: 3.7k

authors note: hi! this is my first ever suggestive fic, i originally was only going to do one part but im going to do two now, if this chapter does well :] i hope you all like it, im new at writing these things!

it was a Sunday night, 9:54 pm to be exact. The bar wasn’t crazy busy considering most people had work the next day and normal individuals wouldn’t spend their free night before work drinking their sorrows away in a lousy run down bar. Not that it phased you in the slightest, you brushed off the judgmental stares and glares from the bartender since you were probably on your 20th shot and you had the tiniest little body. Who the fuck is fitting in that much alcohol without getting drunk? Well, you were pretty tipsy and your eyes were slowly giving out, as well as your entire body, about to hit your head against the wooden bar counter before a hand slips in and stops you from getting a concussion.

You don’t give it much thought, perhaps it was just the bartender, or some random stranger who was afraid you’d die or something from slamming your head down. But it wasn’t. Oh how you wished you were dreaming, and that your mind was playing a little trick on you from all the emotions and all the god damn alcohol that was running through your veins. Then the voice spoke. It felt like nails on a chalkboard, you hated it. “Y/N.” You could hear how smug the voice was, you could hear the smirk on their lips. Fuck.

“Go to hell Yunho.” Your words being just a big fat mumble, moving his hand away and allowing your head to rest against the hard wood counter. Yunho, Jeong Yunho. Many people adored the man, which you never understood why. He was a dick with a terrible attitude and didn’t give a shit about anyone but himself, the nerve of him even coming near you made you wanna snap. Though, you had no energy to do that. You could still feel him next to you, his perfume was strong, and you’d only ever recognised that scent on him, no one else.

“Are you ever gonna stop being a little bitch Y/N? I just saved you from getting a concussion. You should be thanking me.” A scoff left his mouth. It was true though, Yunho didn’t care about anyone else but himself, he adored the attention from others, women. It was all he got, he was a rockstar afterall, who wouldn’t love the attention? Afterall, thousands of women screaming his name as his fingers played away at his guitar, what a life to live. However, as much as he adored all those women, one woman in particular was all he truly desired, to hear her scream his name, only for him to hear, for her to be a mess on his cock, a mixture of his and her cum dripping from her bare cunt. That woman was Y/N, and she couldn’t stand the sight of him.

“I didn’t ask you to, now go away. I don’t need you ro add to my problems right now.” You managed to lift your head and turn to face the dark haired man sitting beside you. It bothered you that he was attractive and that perhaps in another life you’d given him a chance, and maybe if he didn’t have a stick up his own ass and acted like the world revolved around him.

“Problems? Like what? Your only problem is you being an annoying little dog.” Okay, to an extent Yunho could see why you didn’t like him at all, considering all he did was rip into you and just make matters worse rather than at least try and be there for you. All your hatred and dislike for Yunho began just as he started to gain attention, because from the slightest attention his ego grew massive and it bothered you. The two of you had a little history, meeting one another through acquaintances and he was actually really cute, and you were attracted to him in more than one way. That was no longer the case. Now five years have passed and his attitude and ego was unbearable.

“Do you ever fucking shut up? Fuck off, Yunho. Seriously.”

“No.”

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t want to.”

All you could do was give him the biggest eye roll, you barely had any energy left to argue with this idiot in front of you, whining at how frustrated you were with him. “My boyfriend— ex, boyfriend. Cheated on me, so I beg you to leave me alone and let me drink in peace.” You had no intention on telling him that, but you prayed that he’d leave you alone and go home or fuck a girl or do whatever it is that he did. Instead he remained right there, pulling something out of his pocket. A ticket, a ticket to his upcoming show. He was absolutely unbelievable.

“You’re kidding me, right? Do you just carry those with you everywhere? I'm not going, I don’t like your music.” Which was a lie. You listened to his songs whilst getting ready, in the car, when laying in bed.

“Just come will you? And fuck your ex, hes a fucking idiot to let someone like you go, the prettiest woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on.” Yunho meant his words, and he definitely wanted you to attend his show, simply because you’ve never been to one before, and he desperately wanted to show himself off to you in another light. He had to hide the little smile which appeared on his face when you mentioned your ex cheated, he was out of the picture now which meant Yunho had a chance to win you over, and he was determined to.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said your heart didn’t flutter a little when Yunho complimented you. It didn’t mean anything to you, well, you thought it didn’t. You chewed your bottom lip as you snatched the ticket and shoved it in your purse, perhaps it would be good to go, what else were you doing? Moping around that you got cheated on? Ridiculous.

“Whatever.. I’m going now.” Oh but getting up by yourself was a terrible idea, you slid off the barstool and stumbled as soon as you hit the ground, squinting as if it were to make a difference to your vision, but it didn’t. Suddenly you feel some long arms wrap around you tightly to hold you in place, you knew exactly who it belonged to as two large hands gripped the side of your arms. You were in no position to argue or say no, since you were pretty sure you’d black out soon enough, which you did.

The next thing you knew, it was the next morning, your head was ringing and you were in bed, at home.

Huh.

A week had passed since your drunken incident, you barely remembered it and still couldn’t put your finger on how you ended up at home in bed, surrounded by your pastel walls. Well, no point dwelling on it now. You were currently sitting upon your white little wooden vanity, gripping onto a curling iron and letting your hair fall as you let go. It was the day of Yunho’s show and you decided to go, why? Who knows. You didn’t even remember how you got around to getting the ticket, and why it happened to be in your purse. it was such a blur to you. A white lace dress with little pink bows at the shoulders was upon your body, the same dress you wore the night you two met for the first time. It wasn’t intentional, not by any means and that memory had slipped your mind. You thought it looked rejected sitting in the back of your closet, so why not wear it? You’d never wear anything to purposefully grab his attention anyway.

“Shit.” It was 5:30, which meant you were running a little later than originally planned— why does it matter though? He probably won’t even notice that you're there.

Dashing around your apartment you grabbed your ink coloured clutch bag which contained the ticket and a few other essentials of yours before grabbing your keys and checking yourself in the mirror by your door before going out to your car. Your phone automatically connected to the bluetooth system in your car and at that moment your phone began to ring, it was Wooyoung. The two of you had been friends since you were in diapers, literally. It was because of Wooyoung, that you met Yunho, unfortunately. What an idiot.Foot on the gas pedal and you were off, pressing the answer button upon the steering wheel.

“Hey Woo, I'm driving right now. What's up?”

“Where are you going? I wanna go out for food, meet me?”

“Ah.. about that, I’m actually going to Yunho’s show..” You’d wondered if he even heard you, because it went silent and you spoke quietly when saying that sentence. But he did hear you, loud and clear.

“YUNHO? I thought you hated him! Why are you going?! Tell me!” The male's voice was extremely loud, almost bursting your eardrums. You hated cutting him off— not true. But right now you didn’t have time to explain, you were practically speeding your way to the venue.

“I’ll tell you later, okay? I promise you. I gotta go.” Just like that, the line disconnected with the click of a button.

Arriving at the venue, you were faced with the largest queue you'd seen by far, sprawling out into the parking lot. The sight was a complete eyesore, however you were certain Yunho absolutely loved the sight.

Lucky for you, Yunho was kind enough to give you priority access tickets, so you could skip the queue. A good thing of course, being around all those fan girl’s would possibly lead you to have an aneurysm. And thankfully, they were seated tickets as you hated standing up and being surrounded by sweaty people, especially sweaty teenage girls and possibly grown women who’d just be screaming for Yunho. Your seat happened to be a balcony seat, and you were the only one there.

Yunho knew what he was doing, he would be able to see you perfectly from there, that's if you actually decided to come. He was nervous, so nervous in fact to go on stage and then be faced with the disappointment of you not being there. The man was infatuated by you and sometimes he really hated it, why you? Why did it have to be you? Either way, time was ticking and it was time to head to the stage. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Ever since he took you home last week, you were the only thing in his mind, day and night you flooded his brain, thoughts of you being fucked, the thoughts of you simply belonging to him. It was driving him insane.

The lights dimmed within the venue, and colors of red and white flashed on the stage, indicating that he was about to come out. For some reason that caused you to feel sick, a pit in your stomach. Why am I even here? I don’t even like him. Yet here you were, in a seat assigned especially for you. Not that you knew that, you had no idea how this ticket got into your possession in the first place.

A loud bang made the floor shake beneath you, startling you for sure. White and red confetti filled the room as Yunho was now on stage, seems as though he was standing on a lifting stage. You began to chew on your bottom lip anxiously, the crowd went wild as began with his first song. Whatever, he’s still an asshole.

Yunho’s ego was always boosted immensely as soon as he appeared on stage, hundreds of people screaming his name, posters and banners just for him. Absolutely perfect. But what was even more incredible, was the girl who appeared to hate him so much, was standing in the balcony he left just for you. The smirk which was painted on his lips was very evident as he pretty much groped the mic whilst his gaze met yours, he didn’t maintain it for long, but long enough to irritate her for sure. Honestly he didn’t expect you to come, especially because you were pretty drunk the night he gave you that ticket. Nevertheless, he was absolutely smitten. He’d watch how you’d rip your eyes from him every time your eyes met, he was absolutely loving this.

The cold breeze brushed against your face as you exited the venue, you were surprised with how you were able to stay the entire time, though there were many instances you wanted to storm out everytime you noticed the smug look on his face. You seriously couldn’t stand the man, but why was your heart fluttering if you hated him? Maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you thought you did.

You watched as fans walked out of the venue, some with tears running down their faces and sobbing about how much they loved Yunho, which could only get an eye roll and scoff out of you, how ridiculous. You took some time before deciding to walk back to your car, enjoying the breeze and feeling of the night. You happened to park quite far, and the area was deserted pretty much. You were about to enter your car, when you froze.

“Y/n.” A voice called out to you, the same voice you had been hearing for the last three hours. Jeong Yunho. Did he follow you?

“Hi jackass.” You turned around to face him, his body a lot closer to yours than you expected it to be. Crossing your arms across your chest, you tilted your head at him.

“Thanks for coming, didn’t expect you to.” The man was going to attempt to have a decent and human conversation with you, however In that moment, Yunho realized what you were wearing, the expression upon his face was different from his usual smug look. It was desire, absolute filthy desire. Yunho became enamored by you that day you two met, and here you were, wearing the cute little dress which made him obsessed with you forever. Did you know? You did this on purpose, surely.

“Are you trying to just make me fucking crazy? you know what you're doing don’t you?” His body was inching closer to yours, making you press your back against your car door.

“What on earth are you talking about?” You were clueless, but you could feel your cheeks heat up as he got closer, gripping onto the bottom of your dress tightly. If you hated him so much, why the fuck were your panties getting soaked?

“That dress.. fuck y/n are you really that fucking dumb?”

“What d— oh crap.” How didn’t you realize? You were dumb, so fucking dumb. “So what? It doesn’t mean anything.” Your heart was fucking racing, it definitely did mean something. How did you forget? He didn’t. He never forgot anything.

“It does to me, ever since I saw you in this dress that showed just enough for me to imagine you under me, I haven’t stopped thinking about you. Did you know that? You didn’t, because you’re a dumb little bitch.” Yunho didn’t intend on insulting you, but he knew she wasn’t bothered by that, a smirk painted his lips as he noticed your change in demeanor, your cheeks flushed pink, legs squeezing together.

“Yunho fuck y—“ But before you could continue, his large hand came to cup your jaw from underneath, whimpering under his touch. Who knew this asshole could turn you into a dumb slut just like that? Leaning into your ear, his hot breath made your body shudder.

“Shut up, shut the fuck up.” A growl from him before his lips crashed against yours ever so harshly, his tongue swiping your bottom lip, muffling the moans which threatened to escape your lips. Usually your first instinct would be to push him away but this time you couldn’t. His hands moved to grip onto your hips tightly as he pressed himself against you. You could feel how hard he already was just against you, making you soak your panties within just a couple minutes. You were out in the open, no one was around but the rush of knowing anyone could see you any second only made you more heated, your arms finally deciding to move and wrap around Yunho’s neck.

Yunho pulled away, dragging your bottom lip with him, biting on it as one of his hands slipped, letting it slide to your white lace panties, your cheeks turning scarlet red as you realized how soaked they really were, whimpering as he pushed them to the side. Fuck, a little touch was enough to send you to the sky.

“You always act like you hate me yet look at you, wet as shit like a dumb slut. My little baby.” He hissed, his tone a little mocking as two of his slender fingers entered your wet, sloppy, cunt. causing you to throw your head back against your car. He hadn’t even started yet. His fingers sliding in easily due to your arousal, pumping them in and out of you, abusing your tiny little cunt just as he always wanted. Your core was practically burning from the sensation of his fingers, they were pistoning inside you.

“Y-Yun..” You moaned out stupidly, he was only fucking you with his fingers and you could barely talk coherently. How pathetic? Yunho loved it though, he was waiting for this day for so long, to have your head so cloudy to the point you could only mumble his name, to be a mess on his fingers. A dream. Oh how beautiful you looked, your eyes rolling back, pressed against your car under the moonlight. Yunho’s brow cocked, tilting his head slightly and sinking his lips onto your neck, sucking and nibbling against your delicate porcelain skin, painting your skin purple, his tongue swiping his artwork once he was finished.

Yunho decided to insert another finger, watching you squirm was a delight to his eyes. The tent in his pants threatened to push past the fabric, perhaps even some precum already at the tip. He was desperate to fuck you, but he wanted to do it properly, and prep you of course before he took you home and absolutely destroyed you. Besides, the thrill of someone spotting him finger you senseless in the parking lot was a rush, especially to his hardening cock.

The sloppy and wet sounds coming from his fingers in your cunt was beautiful, filling the air. However as soon as he felt you tighten around his fingers he pulled them out, stuffing his fingers in his mouth to suck them clean, taking in your sweet taste. “You taste incredible whore. Though.. you think I'm gonna let you cum? The only time you get to do that is on my cock.” Once again, his mocking tone irritated you and you were beyond pissed that you were denied your orgasm. The man was edging you and you hated it, squeezing your thighs together.

“Fuck you Yunho.” You spat, huffing and crossing your arms across your chest. Yunho simply laughed in amusement at your reaction. “So are you gonna fuck me or what?” The sheer annoyance in your voice only made his cock twitch, he absolutely was infatuated by you, he loved your bitchyness.

“Im not done with you just yet, get in the backseat.” Happily you obliged, thinking he was going to slide his cock into you, you hobbled around into the back and laid down, he came in after you, closing the door and pressing himself down. Yunho teasingly grinded his hips against you so you could feel him, and fuck was he hard, you whined under him, groaning when he moved to slide your dress up and slide down your panties completely, shoving them in his pocket. Gotta keep a souvenir right? “Let me get another taste of you.”

You couldn't help but grumble, he was having so much fun and all you wanted was to be fucked into next week. But of course with Yunho that wasn't possible whatsoever. The man shuffled back and sunk his head down to meet your cunt, the sweet smell of your arousal allowed a soft moan to escape his lips before his tongue swept along your soaked folds, his hands gripping onto her skin, as his lips wrapped around her clit and sucked away, looking up to see her face scrunched up, her back ever so slightly arched. Yunho couldn’t get enough of her taste.

Your fingers ran through his hair, tugging on it as he sucked your clit softly, the moans parting from your mouth getting increasingly louder as he continued to swipe his tongue. You were well aware he’d deny another orgasam of yours, it wasn’t fair. The sensation was so different to what you'd experienced before from other partners. Yunho was definitely skilled. It only made you more eager to see how well he’d fuck you. The situation was quite bizarre. A week ago, you wouldnt of thought that you’d be lying in the backseat of your car having Yunho eat out your pussy.

Just like you predicted though, Yunho stopped as soon as you were close once again, being denied your second orgasm. “I fucking hate you.” You groaned, kicking his chest with your foot slightly as he scoffed.

“If you hated me so much, I wouldn’t be tasting you.”

“Fuck you.”

“You will sweetheart, just patience. Now, lets go home okay? I'm sure youre dying to cum.”

Yunho laughed as he left the back of the car and entered the front, he was in the drivers seat.

“Well? Come on. You can give me head as we drive.”

All you could do was roll your eyes as you shifted to the front seat, climbing your way forward and glared at him. “Im not doing it.”

“That's alright, my cock will be filling you up soon anyway.”

To be continued.