#how am I supposed to wait an entire week after that?

[readingiskeepingmegoing]

I am so happy to see these two nincompoops back.

“Lyd, I was just about to…” “What the hell did you do, Kat?” she interrupted.

Oh good, Lyd will talk some sense into her.

When I reached the open doorway to his dressing room, the sight I found stopped me in my tracks. He was smiling down at Anika as she leaned in and planted a kiss right on his mouth.

Shiiiiiiiiit!

Dieter: I was hoping we could talk today.

🥺

Things started off well enough, breezing through the details regarding our performance for this week. They had us doing the fucking Lambada.

Joe and Stacia are getting pretty blatant now.

Lana chuckled, “No. No guilt at all. I did Kat a favor. Alec is an asshole. She deserved better. Besides, you know how this show works. I’m only doing what I’ve been paid to do. That’s why I’m here alone. Stacia and Joe want an update on what I know. I’m happy to say that Alec Balaska will be nothing but an afterthought as soon as the season is over.”

I have never 108'd so quickly as I have gor Lana!

I vaguely registered Anika jumping slightly from my appearance, mumbling out an, “oh shit,” under her breath. My focus, however, was solely on Lana. She sat confidently with her legs crossed and a shit-eating grin on her face. She knew I was there the entire time.

I nodded, “Thank you. I mean it. I do need to ask you for one more favor though.” Her brows arched, “Name it.” I smirked, “Fuck him up good. Please?”

Can't wait to see what's gonna happen. He deserves everything that is coming to him.

He sighed, turning back to the camera. His brows pinched together as he spoke, “We miss you.” As if on cue, Zee turned to the camera and meowed loudly, like she was agreeing. Dieter chuckled quietly, giving her another scratch on the chin before reaching to shut off the stream.

Zee wants her mama home, now!

I hoisted myself up on top of the stone wall and threw my legs over, “Ugh, this seems a lot higher than I realized…”After a centering breath, I twisted to carefully lower myself down. Not that it did any good because I lost my grip and fell into the shrubbery below with a loud, “Ooof.”

I fully expected it to be Dieter going over the wall 🤣

No one has ever had this kind of hold on me. I am in love with you. I’ve never said those words to anyone, not even my parents. So, it does mean something when I say it. I wasn’t even sure I was capable of it until the second you bumped into me.”

He pulled away, cupping my cheeks as he peered up at me with tears in his eyes and a smile. “I’ll let you lead. I don’t plan to ever dance with anyone else. You’re it for me. If that’s what it takes, then you lead… and I’ll follow.”

😭😭

That song! Oh boy 😭

I couldn’t help chuckling as I shook my head at her, “How hard did you fall?” She shrugged, “Hard enough to regret it later I suppose.” “I can’t believe you did that. You’ve been around me too long. That’s some stupid shit I would’ve done.”

🤣🤣

I sighed, “Fuck. I forgot to feed the kid.” Kat snickered as I rolled out of the bed to open the door. Zee didn't’ waste any time, sprinting into the room and jumping on the bed to snuggle up to Kat - bumping her head against Kat’s chin while letting out low growls to show her displeasure of Kat’s absence. I chuckled, “I get it Zee, I had the urge to rub all up on her, too.”

Zee gets what she wants in the end.

Then I snuggled up with both my ladies and had the best night of sleep I had had in nearly two weeks. Everything was finally right in the world again.

Both his ladies! 🥹🥹

She arched her back toward me, our stomachs touching as she began moving her hips against me. Like, really grinding against me.I sucked in a sharp breath, getting hard instantly. I stepped away with a tight smile, “Oh. Fuck. Ooook. So, imma have to learn to control my boner. Got it.”

Every time she told me that she loved me, my heart danced a little in my chest. I never realized how much I needed to hear someone say that to me until her. And now, I crave it constantly.

Everything that they have both been through has been leading them to each other and they healing they both need.

I grinned, “Yeah, I mean we’re performing first, right? I say we let fucking be our hype song this week. It’s a good way to get the adrenaline pumping.”

They praised us for our comeback after last week, noting that we were only the fourth couple to have ever performed that dance and were the best. None of the other three couples had received a perfect score. We were the first and only ones to make it happen.

Are we shocked Lana is still on her redemption tour? I don't think we can hate her anymore, can we? Then of course we have Lydia and Evan doing their good deeds as well.

Lana is fully redeemed in my eyes.Lydia and Evan need to meet. I feel like that would be an unstoppable friendship.

Closed Position: Week 10 (Lambada)

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition, Dancing with the Stars, would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble. 

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on the show to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo. 

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

Chapter Word Count: 10.6k

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence (not from Dieter), past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

Chapter Quote: "Did you…climb over the fucking fence?”

Kat’s POV

I burst through the building exit, dragging fresh air into my lungs as I struggled to breathe. Standing on stage with Dieter and being placed in the bottom three had really messed me up. We could have been voted off after that abhorrently shitty performance without any reason to see each other beyond this night. It would have been the end of everything. The dancing. Us. Except, there was no us because I had royally fucked it all up. I knew that now. I also knew what I felt for him was real. I wouldn’t have had such a visceral reaction to the possibility of never seeing him again if it wasn’t. 

I leaned against the rough brick of the building, taking deep breaths and exhaling slowly to get my emotions under control as I thought through what to do next. I needed to fix this, but I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t know how to make him understand the crippling fear that had taken over every cell of my body, causing me to behave the way I had toward him. 

My phone vibrated in my hand, pulling me from my thoughts. It was my sister calling. I wasn’t shocked, figuring she had just watched the live show. With trembling hands, I swiped to answer. 

“Lyd, I was just about to…”

“What the hell did you do, Kat?” she interrupted. 

I sighed. She knew. Of course she knew. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Last time I talked to you, you were spazzing out about him and talking about putting on the breaks. So, what did you do?”

I rubbed at the throbbing pain between my brows, “I fucked up, Lyd. I really did. I’ve gotta fix it. I asked for a pause, just so I could untangle the thoughts in my head. He didn’t take it well at all. The day he had that outburst in the studio…I followed him outside. He told me he was in love with me, and I just stood there. I fucking stood there and didn’t say anything back even though I wanted to. I’ve broken him twice in the last two weeks…in the worst ways possible…and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

Lydia let out a controlled breath, “Oh, Kat. I don’t even know what to say. Why didn’t you call me? I could have talked you off the ledge.”

I shook my head, “I-I dunno. I was spiraling hard. I let it go too far. I’ve hurt him badly.”

She sighed, “You need to talk to him. Tell him everything you’re feeling. He may understand better than you think.”

I scoffed, “I’ve tried explaining it to him and all I managed to do was make things worse. I dunno how to do this.” 

“Well, you need to figure it out. Fast. You two won’t make it through another week like that. It was obvious something was wrong tonight.”

I groaned, “You’re right. I’m just…” I shook my head to clear it, “I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go in there and tell him that I’m in love with him too. I just need him to be patient with me. That’s it.” 

“It’s a start. Just…don’t hold back anymore. OK? He deserves everything because he’s giving you everything. Meet him where he’s at and it’ll all work out.” 

I puffed air out of my cheeks, “Yeah. You’re right. I’m gonna go talk to him now. I’ll call you later this week.” 

“Good. And Kat?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to breathe. I’m sure he’s just as nervous about this as you are. Remember that. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Lyd.”

I ended the call, taking one last calming breath before turning to go back inside the building. I walked with trepidation down the hallway, rehearsing in my head what I wanted to say but still fearing he wouldn’t want to speak to me. When I reached the open doorway to his dressing room, the sight I found stopped me in my tracks. He was smiling down at Anika as she leaned in and planted a kiss right on his mouth. 

A mixture of hurt and rage fizzled in my chest as I turned on my heel and made a beeline for my dressing room, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it. I sank to the floor, sobbing into the tops of my knees. How could I have been so stupid? Of course he hadn’t changed. He was already moving on and back to his playboy ways. At least I saw it with my own eyes before giving myself over to him completely.

The following morning, I awoke with my stomach in knots. I wasn’t sure if I could face him. Not after seeing him with Anika and definitely not with Stacia and Joe in the room. I was trying to think about anything but Dieter as I gathered my things to leave. My phone pinged in my hand, just as I grabbed my keys on the way toward the car. 

Dieter: I’m not gonna make it to the production meeting. My therapist is threatening to call in a wellness check if I don’t come see her first thing this morning. Sorry to leave you to deal with Stacia and Joe alone.

I sighed, half in relief and half in disgust. The reprieve was nice, but I couldn’t help questioning if he was being honest in his reasoning. For all I knew, he was shacked up somewhere with Anika giving her the best sex of her life. The thought caused me to cringe as I pulled the door shut behind me and got in the car. Once I was buckled in, I inhaled deeply and replied.

Me: It’s fine. That’s more important. Maybe we should just take the day to regroup anyway? Start fresh tomorrow?

Now it seemed the roles were reversed. The thought of seeing him after last night hurt too much. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it. Truth be told, the thought of dropping out crossed my mind a couple of times as I tossed and turned in bed this morning. 

I watched the little bubbles bounce, then stop. That happened several times before his reply finally came through. 

Dieter: I was hoping we could talk today. 

I scoffed, “OH. Now you wanna talk?” 

Did he know that I saw him with Anika? Is that why he wanted to talk? Or maybe he wanted to tell me before I found out from someone else. My mind was racing, a million thoughts in a matter of seconds. I didn’t know how to handle this. The betrayal felt much worse than anything Alec ever did to me. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, typing.

Me: We can talk tomorrow. I need a day. 

Dieter: Ok. Tomorrow then. Please. 

I huffed in frustration. Please. He definitely wanted to talk to me about Anika. That one little word seemed to be pissing me off more than I already was. I didn’t really have any right to be mad at him though. Technically, we weren’t together. But fucking Anika? Of all people? It made me sick. 

It took every ounce of strength I had to compose myself for the meeting with Stacia and Joe. Luckily, Lenny called ahead to let them know Dieter had an appointment that he couldn’t miss, so it took some of the heat off. Things started off well enough, breezing through the details regarding our performance for this week. They had us doing the fucking Lambada. If they thought the Jazz performance was bad, then the Lambada was going to be nothing short of a train wreck. I had to work double time to control my facial reaction to that news. 

I had hoped that would be the end of it, but they couldn’t help interrogating me about the obvious tension this past week. “Can you fill us in on what was going on with Dieter? Why did he have an outburst like that?” Stacia asked. 

I shrugged, “Like I said, we’re old. We’re tired. Everyone has good and bad days when we rehearse this much. You should know that above anyone.” 

“You’re sure there’s nothing going on with you two? Because that seemed like more than just being tired. If there is, we need to nip it now. Another performance like that and you two are out.” 

I sighed, “And so what if we are? Why are you so worried about it? Aren’t you supposed to be unbiased about the contestants?”

Stacia’s nostrils flared, “We are. However, we do have to take ratings and promotion into consideration, as well. You two are a major draw. Especially when it comes to social media attention.” 

I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “Well, if they like us so fucking much, maybe they’ll have pity and vote to keep us around. Are we done here?” 

Joe rubbed at his temples, “Kat, we’re actually on your side here. We’re not the bad guys. We do wanna help.” 

My jaw clenched, “There’s nothing to help. We had an off week. That’s it. Now, I’d appreciate it if you would stop prying and meddling.”

He pursed his lips before nodding. Surrendering, for now. I stood, giving them a forced smile as I turned to exit the conference room, feeling hot from the adrenaline brought on by the experience. When I entered the lobby, I stepped into the small alcove where the vending machines were tucked away, in search of something to drink. I found myself suddenly missing my usual morning cup of Dieter provided coffee, causing my heart to clench in my chest. Everything reminded me of him now. 

I stood, taking in the selection when the sound of hushed voices carried through the wall of ferns separating the seating area from the alcove. 

“So, I heard Dieter blew you off last night?” one voice asked. 

A scoff, “How the hell did you find out about that?” It was Anika. 

An amused reply, “A little birdy told me.” I couldn’t make out who this voice belonged to, but it sounded familiar. 

“Fucking hell. Nobody can keep their mouths shut around here.”

A chuckle, “So. What happened?”

“Ugh, fine. I’d rather you know the truth than hear whatever people are saying. So, after the show was over, I noticed Dieter’s dressing room door was open. After that performance, it was obvious he and Kat were on the outs, so I thought I’d take advantage of the situation. Anyway, I went in and asked him out. He said he was waiting for Kat. I had seen Kat leave, so I told him that. He looked…I dunno, like, annoyed about it? So, I offered to…let him come back to my place. I really thought he was considering it. He seemed receptive, so I kissed him. He turned into the biggest asshole after that. Basically, told me to fuck off and said he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t nice about it. It was very hurtful the way he said it. Like I was the asshole or something.”

A sense of relief washed over me. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It was all her. 

The other voice snorted out a laugh, “You know Dieter isn’t the same person anymore, right? He’s changed. He’s not into partying and one-night stands. He’s in love with Kat.”

Ankia scoffed, “Dieter Bravo doesn’t fall in love. He’s Hollywood’s biggest fuck boy.” 

“He used to be. He’s sober now. That’s not his life anymore and the fact that you can’t see or respect that does make you the asshole. You need to lay off him. It's disrespectful to Kat.”

Anika gasped, taken aback by that statement. “Why are you so worried about Kat all of a sudden? You feeling guilty for fucking her fiancé now?”

My mouth dropped open in shock. The other voice was Lana. This whole conversation had my heart racing out of my chest. A nervous sweat was now dripping down my back as I stood staring at the vending machine, unmoving. 

Lana chuckled, “No. No guilt at all. I did Kat a favor. Alec is an asshole. She deserved better. Besides, you know how this show works. I’m only doing what I’ve been paid to do. That’s why I’m here alone. Stacia and Joe want an update on what I know. I’m happy to say that Alec Balaska will be nothing but an afterthought as soon as the season is over.” 

It took everything in me to hold in the maniacal laughter that was bubbling in my chest. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Lana fucking Thompson, of all people, had just made my day and saved my relationship with Dieter. 

Before I even registered what I was doing, my feet carried me around the wall of ferns. I paused, staring at Lana with wide eyes, mouth still agape from the news. I vaguely registered Anika jumping slightly from my appearance, mumbling out an, “oh shit,” under her breath. My focus, however, was solely on Lana. She sat confidently with her legs crossed and a shit-eating grin on her face. She knew I was there the entire time. 

She stood, approaching me with a friendly smile. “I need you to know that everything I just said was true…and I’m sorry. Even if my intentions were good, I know it was still hard on you. I’ve known guys like Alec my entire life and I know the kind of power they can have over you. I needed you to see who he really was. Regardless of what happens with Dieter, you needed to be freed from Alec.”

I could feel tears prickling behind my eyes. She wasn’t wrong. It was going to take something major to wake me up to who he really was. She gave me that.

I nodded, “Thank you. I mean it. I do need to ask you for one more favor though.”

Her brows arched, “Name it.” 

I smirked, “Fuck him up good. Please?” 

She gave me a toothy grin, “Already planned on it.” 

My smile matched hers as she pulled me in for a tight hug. She held it for a beat, then pulled away. 

“Now, go get your man. I can’t handle you two fighting anymore.” 

I chuckled, “I’ll try.” 

I went home after that. I needed to clear my head and process the events of the day. I also needed to figure out what I was going to do about Dieter. The fear was still there scratching at the door that I was frantically trying to shut in that part of my brain. I wanted to believe that what he felt was real. Everyone else seemed to think it was. They could all see it, so why couldn’t I? 

I took a page out of Dieter’s book, moving through the house to tend to my plants in the way he had taught me. Pruning. Dusting. Misting. I could see why he enjoyed it. There was a certain mindless numbness that went along with the process. It was a good mental reset. Almost like meditation. Hours passed before I realized it. As I finished up, I considered what Lydia said about watching our videos on YouTube. I had just settled on the idea of doing it when my phone started blowing up with notifications. They were from Lydia. I didn’t even get a chance to read the text because she started calling. Concerned, I answered immediately.

“Lyd? Everything OK?”

She was breathless with excitement, “Please tell me your fucking watching this?”

I huffed out a nervous laugh, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Instagram live! Dieter! I swear to God Kat, if you don’t marry that man, I will.” 

I snorted, “And how does your husband feel about that?”

“He’d probably officiate it... HOLY. SHIT. Kat! He has…you just need to watch it. He just ended it. Fuck. You need to see it. I might cry.” 

I didn’t know how to respond. She sounded like she was having a meltdown on the other end of the line. 

I sighed, “What the hell are you going on about?”

She let out the most ridiculous squeal, prompting me to pull the phone away from my ear. 

“It’s on his story. GO WATCH IT. NOW. Call me when you’re done.”

I sighed, “Ok. Ok. Just stop screeching. Please.” 

“Ok. Bye.” 

The line went dead. 

I looked at my phone, “What the actual fuck?”

Butterflies formed in the pit of my stomach. I could not comprehend what he could’ve done to have her acting like this. It actually freaked me out a little. When I opened Instagram, I had hundreds of notifications from where I had been tagged in the comments of his video. 

I groaned, “Oh god. Dieter what did you do?”  

I was hesitant to click on his story, inhaling a deep breath before taking the plunge. When the video began to play, Dieter was fiddling with the camera angle. He finally settled it where he wanted, then picked up his acoustic guitar. His sad eyes scanned the screen as he nervously chewed on his lip. Once the viewer numbers began to rise, he smiled and welcomed them. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. It hurt to see him like that. 

As he tuned the guitar, I took in the rest of him. He looked tired. His hair was a mess of fluffy curls, hanging down over his forehead. I ached to run my fingers through them. He was wearing one of his favorite threadbare t-shirts, covering tense shoulders. I wanted to hug the tension away. When he looked back up at the camera, his bottom lip appeared swollen from his teeth. I wanted to kiss away his pain. Fuck. I missed him. 

Once he had the guitar tuned to his liking, he smiled into the camera. “I promised you all I’d do more of these, so here we are. I feel like I need it today. I’ve got some things that I…I dunno…wanna get off my chest. I guess.” 

He plucked a few chords, finding his rhythm. As he did this, my eyes were drawn to several new paintings leaning against the wall in the background. I couldn’t make out what they were since they partially covered each other, but the colors were different. Brighter. It wasn’t his usual style.

He paused, staring into my soul through the screen before taking a centering breath. Then he began to play, strumming a sad melody that I wasn’t familiar with. His eyes were distant, almost melancholy as his mind drifted to another place. He began to sing the lyrics in his low raspy voice, making my skin break out in goosebumps almost immediately. 

🎶Listen HERE.

Hey, can you show me how to make it back cause I’m still tryin to find my way home Hey, can you take my hand keep me on track make sure I never ever ever let it go I would let the stars fade to nothing, nothing If I knew that I’d always have your lovin, lovin You're my gravity, you're holding me down You're the reason that my life’s turned around And in the moments that I’m hopeless I’m just hoping I can hold on to you, hold onto you

I gasped quietly, eyes prickling with tears as I took in the meaning of the words he was putting out for the world to hear. I knew Dieter. He always chose songs with intention. He was holding nothing back, laying his soul bare to get through to me. I could see it in his eyes; he meant every syllable of what he was saying. Seeing him like this, putting every emotion into his words was melting the thin protective barrier that had formed around my heart. 

The voice in my head my thoughts before bed You’re the reason that my heart beat slows To keep pace with my mind and the rhythm of time that never seems to grow old I would let the stars fade to nothing, nothing If I knew that I’d always have your lovin, lovin You're my gravity, you're holding me down You're the reason that my life’s turned around And in the moments that I’m hopeless I’m just hoping I can hold on to you, hold on

The tears streamed down my face. There was no holding them back as his voice wrapped my body in heat, warming me to my core. I had never seen or heard anything so beautiful in my life, and he was mine. If I opened myself up the way he was for me. I could feel my resolve crumbling. 

His voice rose in volume for the next verse, emphasizing the emotion behind the words. It was gravelly and rough, sending shivers down my spine and making me want him more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. 

Oh I’d break my heart a million times just so I could spend my nights with you No need for us to rush I’d find every reason to make it through

He paused the strumming of his guitar, voice quieting to a velvety tone to finish it out. 

Cause you're my gravity, you're holding me down You’re the reason that my life’s turned around And in the moments that I’m hopeless I’m just hoping I can hold on to you, hold on to you. 

He played the last few notes, allowing them to quietly fade. His voice was gone, but the warmth in my body continued as a fire smoldered inside my heart. It was burning with everything that had been holding me back. He had finally broken through, and it was quickly turning into a blaze. 

His eyes were glassy as he looked into the camera, biting the inside of his cheek. Then Zee appeared, jumping up onto his shoulder in that way she does - curling her body around him as she bumped her head against his. He turned, giving her a sad smile and scratched under her chin as he mumbled, “Hey, babygirl.” 

He sighed, turning back to the camera. His brows pinched together as he spoke, “We miss you.” 

As if on cue, Zee turned to the camera and meowed loudly, like she was agreeing. Dieter chuckled quietly, giving her another scratch on the chin before reaching to shut off the stream. As he did so, the camera tilted upward. It was only the briefest glimpse before it disconnected, but it was long enough for me to pause it to see a new painting hanging on the wall. 

The painting showed the bare backside of a woman from the waist up. Her hands sat on her head, holding her dark hair in a pile and exposing her neck. The background was mostly bright red, with swirls of black, white, and a deep green color. Her spine curved slightly, posed mid movement. Defined contours of muscles showed in the shadows. My breath caught in my throat when my attention was drawn to the obvious DB scrawled in the bottom corner. It was his painting. Is that a painting of…me?

My tears quickly turned to sobs. This man had somehow managed to make me feel every emotion imaginable in the last twenty-four hours and I couldn’t even be mad about it. If anything, I wanted more. I wanted him. And I wanted him to have all of me. I was ready to take the risk. To fall for him completely. I trusted him with my fragile heart because this was real. For both of us. I knew that now.

A text came through from my sister, interrupting my emotional breakdown. 

Lydia: Did you watch it yet?

I chuckled, then typed out my response with trembling fingers.

Me: Yes. I’ve been so stupid.

Lydia: No. You just needed time. Go to him. Tell him. Or else I’m gonna come kick your ass. 

I snorted, sending her a thumbs up. I took a moment to gather myself, then opened his story again. This time, watching the comments fly by.

“This is for @dancerkatstamos, right?” “OMG, is Kat watching? @dancerkatstamos look!” “This has to be for @dancerkatstamos. I won’t accept any other explanation!” “He’s breaking my heart! @dancerkatstamos give him another chance!”

And on and on it went. Everyone seemed to know the truth before I did. It made me feel ridiculous that I had been so up my ass about this whole thing and that I had hurt Dieter so terribly in the process. I wouldn’t blame him if he refused to forgive me. 

It took me a few minutes to pull myself together. Then, I got in the car and drove to Dieter’s house. I had mixed emotions the whole way, alternating between being so nervous I felt sick and giddy at the thought of reconciling. I wanted this to be over ASAP.

When I got there, I marched up to the door and knocked. The lights were on, but I saw no movement inside. I tried the handle, but it was locked. I sighed, pulling out my phone to call. It went to voicemail. Three times. I was feeling beyond impatient to get this over with before I lost my nerve.

I groaned, “Damnit Dieter. Figures you would be unreachable right now…”

I moved to peek through the side window, allowing me to look through the kitchen into the backyard where the firepit was burning. Assuming he was there, I made my way around to the gate only to find that it too was locked. The sound of muffled classical music drifted over from the other side of the privacy fence. I puffed air out of my cheeks, now feeling frustrated. And determined. I looked around, finding the trash can sitting next to the house. 

“Ah, fuck it.” 

I knew it was a bad idea as soon as I thought of it, but that didn’t stop me from dragging the full trash can over and climbing on top of it. It allowed me to see over the top of the fence. I spotted Dieter immediately, lying in a lounger toward the far end of the yard. He was facing the ocean, watching the sunset. I tried yelling for him, but he didn’t hear me. 

I hoisted myself up on top of the stone wall and threw my legs over, “Ugh, this seems a lot higher than I realized…”

After a centering breath, I twisted to carefully lower myself down. Not that it did any good because I lost my grip and fell into the shrubbery below with a loud, “Ooof.”

I couldn’t help snorting out a laugh as I stood, pulling leaves from my hair and brushing dirt from my clothes. I glanced up, Dieter hadn’t moved. He obviously couldn’t hear anything over the music. I stumbled toward him, still brushing dirt away. I must have startled him, because he jumped as I walked around to stand in front of him. He sat up straighter, taking his sunglasses off before reaching to turn down the Bluetooth speaker next to him. 

“What the fuck, Kat?” 

He turned toward me, eyes scanning from head to toe. “How did you…Why do you have leaves in your hair?” He looked toward the house, then back to me. “Did you…climb over the fucking fence?”

I grimaced, “Yes. I tried calling. I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait. We need to talk.”

He snorted, “I do have a doorbell, ya know? I can hear it out here on the speaker.”

My face heated, “Uhhh, I didn’t think about that.”

His face softened, “Are you OK? Did you fall?”

I nodded, feeling embarrassed. “The only thing injured is my dignity.”

He chuckled, letting it trail off to a few seconds of silence. His face shifted, his brows furrowing as his body tensed. “I thought you wanted to wait until tomorrow? What changed?”

I chewed on my lip, searching for the right words. “I can’t let another day go by like this. We need to talk.”

He nodded, “Look, about last night. It’s not what you think. I didn’t…”

I held up my hand to stop him, “I know. I know it was Anika. I’m not mad about that.”

His shoulders relaxed, “How do you know?”

I huffed out a laugh, “The craziest thing happened after the production meeting this morning. I overheard Lana asking Anika about it. Anika admitted that she pursued you and you blew her off.”

A wide grin spread across Dieter’s face, “I think I need to send Lana a fruit basket or something. She’s two for two.” 

My brows pinched together, “What does that mean?”

He relaxed in the lounger, “She talked some sense into me last night, helped me understand things from your point of view. It seems she's been working behind the scenes to do Stacia and Joe’s bidding, but she’s also a closet Dieterina supporter.” 

I was shocked to hear they had talked, but I couldn’t be upset about it. She had brought us together. Twice. I smiled, “So, you must be the little birdy that told her about Anika?”

He nodded, “Yeah, we discussed it.” 

I closed the distance between us, sitting on the edge of his seat - angling my body so I could look at him. The mood shifted to something more serious as the air thickened around us.

“I saw your Instagram Live.”

He stared out toward the water with a pensive look on his face, “I meant every word I said.”

He paused, finally turning to meet my gaze.

“I’m afraid too, ya know. I’m afraid that you’re finally gonna wake up and realize I’m not worthy of you. Afraid of fucking up because that’s all I know how to do. And…I’m afraid of how strong my feelings are for you. You’re entangled in my soul now. No one has ever had this kind of hold on me. I am in love with you. I’ve never said those words to anyone, not even my parents. So, it does mean something when I say it. I wasn’t even sure I was capable of it until the second you bumped into me.”

He reached for my hand, squeezing it gently before continuing. 

“All of that scares the hell out of me, but I’m willing to push through it. You’re my world now, Kat. And I swear I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy. I may have some fuck ups, but I can guarantee my past problems are in the past. I’m done with all that. Whatever was broken inside of me…you’ve fixed it. I’m a better person because of you.” 

I was crying again, holding back a sob as I nodded. “I believe you.”

He held his arms open, motioning for me to come to him. I didn’t hesitate, shifting to straddle his hips so I could hug him tightly against me. I buried my nose in his hair, deeply inhaling his scent. It was like a balm on my soul, slowly washing away all my fear and doubt. 

I sighed into his curls, “I’m sorry I hurt you. It wasn’t my intention. I should’ve talked to you instead of getting in my head about it. I’m willing to try. I want you to have all of me. I promise I won’t hold back anymore. I trust you and…I feel safe with you. All I ask is that you be patient with me. I’m there with you, OK? Know that.” 

He pulled away, cupping my cheeks as he peered up at me with tears in his eyes and a smile. “I’ll let you lead. I don’t plan to ever dance with anyone else. You’re it for me. If that’s what it takes, then you lead… and I’ll follow.” 

I smiled, getting emotional all over again. More tears spilled out, but these were happy tears. Relief flooded my system after he closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine. It was tentative and soft as he hugged me closer to him. I had missed this, missed him so much. 

We broke apart, our eyes roaming each other’s faces and taking in the moment. He spoke first. “Can we never fight like this again? Please? It was torture.”

I smirked, “I agree, I don't like it either. However, there may be one positive thing to come from it…”

He reached to pull a leaf from my hair, flicking it away with a small smile. Then his brows furrowed, “Like what?” 

My lips curled upward, running my hands up his chest then around to rest at the back of his neck. “Like make up sex…”

His eyes widened, “Oh…” 

I felt him harden under me almost instantly. He snorted out a laugh against my neck as he pulled me against him.

“Well, that definitely escalated quickly. It seems little Dieter has missed you too.” 

I giggled against the top of his head, “Don’t worry, he’ll get taken care of. But…there is something I wanna do first. Can we go inside?” 

He pulled away, giving me an uneasy smile. “Should I be concerned?” 

I laughed, shaking my head. “No. Definitely not.” 

I led him inside, up the stairs to his Sanctuary. He stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame to watch me. I picked up the acoustic guitar he had been playing earlier and took a seat in his leather chair, making a point not to look at his new painting. Because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep it together for this. 

He walked into the room, grabbed a throw pillow, and threw it on the floor. He sat down on the cushion, pulling his knees to his chest as he peered up at me with questioning eyes. 

“Since you did a song for me earlier, it’s only fair. I think this might help you understand what sent me on a spiral…because it’s really what started it all.” 

Dieter’s POV

I sat on the floor, watching Kat intently - intrigued as to what this was about. All the while my heart pounded out of my chest from the excitement of having her back home. For once, everything was working out in my favor, and I couldn’t have been happier about it. It was taking everything in me to sit still so Kat could have the moment she needed. 

Kat nervously chewed on her bottom lip, adjusting the strings to her liking. Or possibly stalling, I couldn’t tell which. Either way, I sat patiently waiting. She rolled her lips together, inhaling deeply as she glanced at me one last time before her fingers began to pluck the chords. Her eyes shifted, focusing on something in the distance just over my shoulder. 

The notes sounded familiar. However, I couldn’t place the song right away. But then she began to sing in a breathy raspy lower register that I had never heard from her before, making my skin tingle from head to toe. I knew the song instantly. It was the same song we had danced the Viennese Waltz to, right before everything fell apart. I stared at her in awe as she performed her version of the song, pouring emotion into every word.  🎶Listen HERE.

Sweet love, sweet love trapped in your love I've opened up, unsure I can trust My heart and I were buried in dust Free me, free us You're all I need when I'm holding you tight If you walk away, I will suffer tonight I found a man I can trust And boy, I believe in us I am terrified to love for the first time Can't you see that I'm bound in chains? I've finally found my way I am bound to you I am bound to you 

I knew I had to look like a fool, sitting there with my mouth gaping open, but I couldn’t help it. She was literally taking my breath away. I hugged my knees closer to my chest, resting my chin on them as I watched her. At some point, my eyes began to overflow with tears without me realizing it. There was a fluttering feeling in my chest unlike anything I had ever felt. She was connecting with me in a way she never had. After a brief instrumental bit, her eyes locked with mine as she went into the second verse. 

So much, so young, I've faced on my own Walls I built up became my home  I'm strong, and I'm sure there's a fire in us Sweet love, so pure  I catch my breath with just one beating heart And I brace myself, please don't tear this apart 

If I hadn't been sitting down already, I would’ve needed to. The expressiveness in her voice and eyes were making me lightheaded. I could feel every word as they left her lips. Every perfect word that she was willingly giving to me to show me how she really felt.

Suddenly the moment's here I embrace my fears All that I have been carrying all these years Do I risk it all? Come this far just to fall? Fall I can trust and boy, I believe in us I am terrified to love for the first time Can't you see that I'm bound in chains? And finally found my way I am bound to you I am, ooh, I am, I’m bound to you

By the time she hit the last verse, tears began to stream down her face. Her volume rose as the raw emotion poured out of her. Then her voice faded, finishing the song with a heavy sigh and sniffle. She huffed out a nervous laugh, wiping her cheeks. The only response I could muster was to crawl over to her, taking the guitar to lay on the floor before standing up on my knees and hugging her tightly against me. 

She sobbed quietly against my shoulder, releasing whatever hurt it was she had been holding onto. My breathing was heavy as I worked to control my own emotions, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop my tears as I soothed her. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you before, but I’m sure now. I’m sure,” she mumbled through a stuttered breath. 

I sighed, “You don’t have to apologize. It’s OK. We’re OK now, and I’m still here. I always will be.” 

She pulled back, her glossy red eyes dancing over my face for a beat before cupping my cheeks and pulling me in for a gentle kiss, pausing to murmur against my lips.

“I love you.” Another kiss. Then another, “I love you.” 

I smiled, returning the kiss and the sentiment before shifting to stand. I pulled her upright with me, bending to wrap my arms around her waist. I lifted her, walking toward the bedroom while continuing to kiss her deeply as I went.

There wasn’t a second that our bodies were not touching as we undressed each other. We broke apart only briefly so that she could settle into the center of the bed. I trailed closely behind her, worshiping any bit of skin I could reach. She pulled me to hover above her, framing my hips with her thighs as we took each other in. Her amber colored eyes looked like honey flecked with melted gold in the warm glow of the setting sun coming in through the open windows. I wanted to drown in them. Her fingers scratched at the patchy stubble on my cheek before her thumb brushed across my lower lip. I dipped my chin slightly, gently kissing her palm. 

She smiled, closing the distance between us. I lined myself up with her entrance, sinking in slowly. A low whimper bubbled up from my chest as her heat surrounded me. She gasped against my mouth as I filled her. Any remaining tension that lingered between us vanished as we found home in each other’s embrace. 

We took it slowly, getting reacquainted. This time felt different. We were connecting on a much deeper level. Every touch. Every caress. Now expressing a new emotion that we openly shared with one another. I could feel it in the way she kissed me. I could see it in her eyes. There were no walls between us now. It was the most amazing feeling that I couldn’t begin to describe. 

We moved as one, in a slow rhythm that was damn near maddening as we got lost in each other. It felt like time ceased to exist as the rest of the world faded away to nothing. All I could see and feel was her. It was transcendent, almost seeming too perfect to be real as we fell over the edge together - both of us professing our love in quiet whispers against the other's lips as we let the emotions swallow us whole. Our salty tears mingled as our lips continued to move against each other, riding out our high as long as we could. 

When we finally broke apart, I pressed my forehead against hers as we tried to catch our breath. My body was trembling, making it hard for me to continue to hold myself up. I reluctantly pulled away with a grunt, moving to lay beside her. I gathered her in my arms as she wrapped herself around me. 

I sighed, “I feel like I’m dreaming. I wasn’t expecting my day to end like this.”

She chuckled, “Yeah, me either to be honest. I’m not complaining though.” 

She kissed me again, deeply. Her leg hooked around my hip as my hand drifted down her side, moving to gently squeeze her ass. She groaned, but it wasn’t a pleasurable sound. My brows furrowed as I sat up to look at her backside, finding a bruise the size of my palm on her cheek. 

I couldn’t help chuckling as I shook my head at her, “How hard did you fall?”

She shrugged, “Hard enough to regret it later I suppose.”

“I can’t believe you did that. You’ve been around me too long. That’s some stupid shit I would’ve done.” 

She smiled, “What can I say, I learned from the best.” 

“I’m gonna go get you an ice pack. Don’t move.” 

She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together. I arched a brow as she smiled mischievously. 

“You’re insatiable, ya know that? Don’t worry Kitten, the night’s still young. I’m not done with you yet.”

That evening, we took turns making each other fall apart until neither of us could go any longer. After a soak in the tub, we collapsed in a heap on the bed. We were on the verge of nodding off when Zee started her loud caterwauling wail outside the bedroom door. 

I sighed, “Fuck. I forgot to feed the kid.” 

Kat snickered as I rolled out of the bed to open the door. Zee didn't’ waste any time, sprinting into the room and jumping on the bed to snuggle up to Kat - bumping her head against Kat’s chin while letting out low growls to show her displeasure of Kat’s absence. 

I chuckled, “I get it Zee, I had the urge to rub all up on her, too.” 

Kat snorted out a laugh into Zee’s fur. 

“I’m gonna go make her dinner. I’ll be back.” 

Just as I sat Zee’s plate down on her mat, Kat appeared in the kitchen. She gave Zee one last nuzzle before sitting her down next to her bowl. 

“I couldn’t get her to leave. I was thirsty anyway.”

I chuckled, “I think she missed you almost as much as I did.”

I moved to the fridge, “You want water? Or something else?”

“Water’s fine.” 

After handing her a cold bottle, I leaned against the counter watching her. She stood there in nothing but a T-shirt. My T-shirt. Guzzling the water down like she had just run a marathon. When she finished, she offered me the bottle but I shook my head, getting lost in my thoughts. I wanted to tell her more about my meeting with Lana.

“I should probably tell you where I ran into Lana last night…I don’t want you to think I’m keeping anything from you.” 

Her brows furrowed, her jaw flexing as she nodded for me to continue. 

“I was…at a bar.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. 

I inhaled a centering breath, “I was alone. I didn’t order any alcohol, but I thought about it. I had just talked myself out of it when Lana sat down next to me. She came over to talk me out of a bad decision.” 

Kat nodded, “Thank you for telling me…” She sat the bottle of water down, coming to stand at my side. “What made you wanna go?”

I pursed my lips, considering my answer. “I think…it was the thing with Anika. I felt like I fucked up. Badly. I saw you walking away after she kissed me. I knew it hurt you to see that. So, I let my self-hatred and negative thinking run away with me for a minute, but I pulled back. I didn’t wanna ruin everything that I’ve worked toward. And not just with you, but my career…and my life. I can never go back to what I was before, no matter what happens. No matter how bad things get…I just can’t.”   

She surprised me with a small smile. “I’m proud of you for telling me and admitting that you had a weak moment. I know it takes a certain amount of growth to be able to do that. I mean, it’s part of recovery. Weak moments are gonna happen.”

I huffed out a sigh of relief as she grabbed my arm and pulled me into a tight embrace. 

“I was worried you would be upset over it.” 

She pulled back, “I’m sad you felt the urge for it, but I know it happens. That’s why it’s important for you to have support and to feel like you can reach out when you need to. You need people you feel safe with during those vulnerable moments, and you have them now. And you’re being completely open and honest about it all. That’s why I know I don’t need to worry. You’re doing everything right. And we’re gonna do this together. Never be afraid to tell me if you’re struggling. I can only fault you if you lie about it.”

I felt like bursting into tears, “I really don’t deserve you.”

She scoffed, “Yes you do. You deserve to be happy just like everyone else.”

I smiled, cupping her cheeks and giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

“Let’s go get some rest. We’re gonna have a busy day tomorrow.” 

I took her hand and led her upstairs. Halfway up, Zee ran past us, beating us to bed. 

Then I snuggled up with both my ladies and had the best night of sleep I had had in nearly two weeks. Everything was finally right in the world again.

The next morning, Kat and I were at the dance studio before the doors were unlocked. Having already lost a day of rehearsal, we were worried but determined to be back in the top scores. The competition was down to five couples this week. If we wanted to win, we had zero room for error from this point on. 

As we went through our stretching routine, Kat got me up to speed on this week’s performance.

“I’ll be honest, I’m nervous about this one. The Lambada is not one that I have a lot of experience with. It’s not been done on the show since 2009 and there’s only been three couples to do it.”

My brows furrowed, “Why?”

She shrugged, “I have no idea. Something about the format of the show. I’m not sure the judges were huge fans either. This dance though…we're either gonna knock it out of the park with your loose hips or we’re going down with an epic failure.” 

I cringed, “That sounds encouraging.”

She stood, then pulled me up with her. “We may have an advantage though.” 

I huffed out a laugh, “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

She smiled mischievously, “We don’t have a problem getting up close and personal with each other. We also already have a lot of practice with the hip thrusting.” 

I couldn’t help it. I cackled. 

She laughed, “I’m just calling it as I see it.” 

I moved to stand in front of her, awaiting instruction.

“We also have a very strong connection, which is to our benefit too. This is a Latin dance with a lot of movement. It has elements of the Salsa, Samba, and Merengue. You did well with the Salsa, so I think you can handle it. The steps are slow, quick, quick, slow while our entire bodies are undulating.”

I smirked, “Sounds like a piece of cake.”

She held up her finger to silence me, “The Lambada is often called the forbidden dance. It’s meant to be sensual and erotic with close embraces and two bodies moving as one. And not in the same way as the Rumba or the Tango. This is faster, more upbeat.”

I chuckled, “I still see no problem here.”

She rolled her eyes, “The problem is we’re old and it’s gonna wear us out. And well…”

She moved in closer, wrapping my arms around her middle and threw hers around my neck. There were only a few inches between us. 

“You know the beginning of Dirty Dancing when it shows all the staff dancing? Grinding up on each other?” 

I raised a brow and nodded, “Yeah, why?”

She arched her back toward me, our stomachs touching as she began moving her hips against me. Like, really grinding against me.

I sucked in a sharp breath, getting hard instantly. I stepped away with a tight smile, “Oh. Fuck. Ooook. So, imma have to learn to control my boner. Got it.” 

She snickered, “Yeah, that.” 

I sighed, “Well, the safest bet would be to have sex right before we go on stage. That should keep him down through the performance at least.”

Kat burst into giggles, “Thank God we talked yesterday, or this would have ended so badly…or not. Who knows?”

“Ugh, I don’t even wanna think about it. That would have been terrible.” 

She cleared her throat, “Ok, let’s get serious. How erotic do you wanna get?”

I shrugged, “Don’t hold back. You know me, if they want a show…Imma give em one.” 

And with that, we began building our routine. We worked it out quickly, damn near reading each other’s mind in the process. We were back and more in sync than we’d ever been. We may have lost a day of rehearsal, but we more than made up for it. By the end of the session, we had a solid plan. It only needed practicing and tweaking. 

By the time behind the scenes filming rolled around on Thursday, we had the routine down. With both of us being in a significantly better mood this week and on the same page with everything, we took the opportunity to relax and have fun. We were full of jokes, teasing each other and breaking into giggling fits over the tiniest things. The camera crew seemed surprised, most likely expecting more angry outbursts and bickering given how things had been going. Overall, it was a good day. The best part was that the day ended with Kat at home with me and Zee. 

The rest of the week went by in a blur of rehearsals, self-care to make sure our bodies didn’t give out on us, and just being together. Our bond felt stronger than ever. Kat seemed happy, completely at ease. Whatever had been plaguing her thoughts was now long gone. She no longer held back, sharing her thoughts and feelings whenever it struck her to do so. Every time she told me that she loved me, my heart danced a little in my chest. I never realized how much I needed to hear someone say that to me until her. And now, I crave it constantly. 

It was show day before we knew it. Kat and I were there bright and early, the first to go through camera blocking as always. We performed flawlessly each time, both of us all smiles. Things felt different on and off the dance floor this time. Kat was more relaxed in her interactions with me, not hesitating to touch me in any way. There was a flirtiness to her that others were definitely picking up on. The whispers and stares did not go unnoticed by us. None of it seemed to bother or deter her. Given that we only had two weeks left, I figured she was ready to throw caution to the wind. 

Since I had missed the production meeting, I had no idea what our costumes looked like. I was surprised to find the color of the week was much brighter than normal. They had Kat in a bright yellow fringe dress that left very little to the imagination. It emphasized her thighs and hips in a way that had me absolutely salivating. I knew it would be a miracle if I made it through the performance without little Bravo making a special guest appearance. I made sure to take a moment to snap a few pictures for social media, and a few other sexier ones for myself.

They had me in a matching yellow shirt with navy trousers. The look was topped off with a navy blazer with light blue and yellow stripes. I didn’t hate it. It was something fun and different, but I doubted the blazer was going to stay. I was sweating bullets before I even put it on. Between nerves and Kat looking fucking amazing, my blood was boiling. 

Kat and I were back to our usual antics during hair and makeup, causing a scene of boisterous laughter with our favorite crew as they worked to beautify us. They ended up going with the normal slicked back hair for me. They left Kat’s hair down, styling it into soft bouncy waves that I was dying to run my fingers through. It really was going to be a battle of willpower to behave myself today. 

We had dress rehearsal after that. We sailed through without issue, aside from the semi I was sporting from Kat rubbing up on me with all her exposed skin. It had her giggling against my neck as I pulled her in for a hug when the routine concluded. We stayed like that for what was probably too long before pulling apart as I tried to think about anything but her up against me. 

We were given leave to entertain ourselves until the show started. So, we went back to my dressing room. Evan was kind enough to drop off some lunch for us because whatever it was catering had wasn’t it. He didn’t stick around for long, giving us a sly smile and a wink as he slinked out the door while being sure to lock it behind him. He must have been picking up on the vibe. 

Kat chuckled, “I don’t know why he feels the need to lock the door. Like we’re gonna be getting up to mischief or something.”

I arched a brow at her, “Aren’t we? I was only half joking about the sex before performing thing the other day…”

She smirked, “Oh really?”

I grinned, “Yeah, I mean we’re performing first, right? I say we let fucking be our hype song this week. It’s a good way to get the adrenaline pumping.”

She snorted out a laugh, standing from where she was perched on the vanity. 

“All right Bravo, you win.” 

She turned her back to me, undoing the skinny strap across her back and the one around her neck. The barely there fabric in the front slipped downward to where she caught it just before it revealed anything. 

“How do you want me?” she asked with a seductive tone. 

My mouth fell open, “Umm, one moment.”

I stood from my seat, stripping out of my costume - having enough sense to put it on a hanger rather than wadding it up on the floor for once. Kat waited, unmoving, as she watched me in the mirror. I approached her, pulling her hair to the side to kiss down her neck and back as I slid her costume down her thighs. I laid it across one of the empty chairs before taking my usual seat. 

I motioned for her to come to me. Once she was standing between my open thighs, I turned her to face away from me. I left a wet path of kisses along her side, working my way down to give her a little nip on her ass cheek, eliciting a giggle that she tried to muffle with her hand. I gently rubbed at the bruise on the other side, shaking my head at her ridiculous behavior. 

Then my hand traveled lower, rubbing between her already soaking wet folds. I worked to open her up and get her ready for me. Just when her body began to tremble, I stopped. My leg wedged between her knees as my hands found her hips, pulling her to sit right where I wanted her. She let out a throaty groan, taking me in deep. I guided her movements, keeping it slow and teasing. She tucked her chin against her chest, biting back her breathy moans as she tried to keep it together. I leaned back in the chair, pulling her to lay against my chest - making sure to gather her hair to the side and drape it over my shoulder. 

As I wrapped my arms around her torso, she spread her legs wide, allowing me the space to move. I buried my face in the curve of her neck, thrusting slowly. Her hand moved to reach for my hair, but I grabbed it mid-way and tutted at her as I continued to hold on to it. I knew there would be no time to fix that mess if I let her get hold of it. 

Within minutes she was on the edge again, all it took was for me to reach down to the apex of her thighs and rub tight circles in just the right spot. She worked to free one of her hands from my grip, biting into the plushy spot just under her thumb to hold back the moans as she trembled on top of me. I moved faster, in almost a relentless pace following behind her soon after. I had to resist the urge to bite onto her shoulder to muffle the sounds of my own pleasure just as one of the production assistants gave the twenty-minute warning outside my door. Kat leaned her head against mine, both of us holding in a laugh as I shifted to sit us upright in the seat. 

I chuckled against her shoulder, giving it one last kiss. “That was perfect timing. Guess we better get dressed. Hop up, I’ve got some towels in my bag.”

She huffed out a laugh as she stood, “Came prepared, did ya?”

I pulled said towels from the bag and shrugged, “I gotta be with you around. But also, it was either this or my hand. Something had to happen.” 

I gave her one of the towels, both of us smiling like a couple of fools as we wiped away the sweat and wetness. I helped Kat with her costume, fastening the straps and making sure everything was secure. She hadn’t even bothered to go to her dressing room this morning, leaving her bag in mine instead. That turned out to be a good thing so she could touch up her makeup and hair while I got dressed. 

By the time we made it to the staging area, we had seven minutes to spare before performing. It was just enough time for the hair and makeup crew to give us one last look over before we were taking our spots on the dance floor. The burst of adrenaline and everything else pumping through my body made the moment seem hazy. It was almost dreamlike as we eyed each other in the dim lighting. 

The spotlights dropped down on us as the opening trumpet sounds of 🎶Ain’t it Funny began to play from the band. Kat was in her zone, her eyes blazing with that fire I loved so much. Our energy was off the charts. We were perfectly synchronized as we did our twists and spins, managing to keep our frame compact with full control of our movements. Our bodies rolled in tandem, transitioning to dips and sensual hip action that had the audience going insane. 

While we’d had some steamy performances in the past, this one took it to a whole new level. There was a different vibe. It was sexy in a teasing sort of way. We held nothing back, showcasing the connection between us as we moved through the intricate step combos. We could feel it before the dance was over, we knew it was one of our best performances to date. 

We tried to play it cool while we waited for our scores, but the glances passing between the two of us said it all. We knew we were not going home tonight, and we were right. Kat and I held on to each other as each score of ten was read off by the judges. They praised us for our comeback after last week, noting that we were only the fourth couple to have ever performed that dance and were the best. None of the other three couples had received a perfect score. We were the first and only ones to make it happen. 

Kat and I were on cloud nine for the rest of the evening, both of us giving toothy grins every time the cast or crew complimented us. Marc and Stefanie were still our biggest cheerleaders, acting just as excited about our performance as we were. We returned the favor of course, even if they did score one point lower than us. 

The scowls from Alec were obvious. He made no attempt to hide his disdain for us. That did nothing to dampen our mood, especially when we caught a glimpse of Lana shooting a small smile our way when Alec had his back turned. If anything, it only made the entire situation more entertaining. 

Once the show was over, we joined Marc and Stefanie at a nearby burger joint to celebrate making it to the final four. It was nice to spend time with new friends and discuss our feelings about the show. We also tried to strategize and make guesses about what they were going to have us do for the finale. In a way, it gave me a better idea of what to expect and helped calm some of the nerves that were brewing in the pit of my stomach.

As of tonight, it was down to us, Marc and Stefanie, Alec and Lana, and Anika and her partner. The finale was shaping up to be full of tension and intense competition. Our main goal was to keep Alec and Anika from winning, but deep-down Kat and I really wanted that fucking trophy. She deserved to end her time on the show with a bang, and I wanted to prove everyone who doubted me wrong. There was no stopping us now.

Next: Week 11

✨FUN FACT: What Kat said about no one doing the Lambada on the show since 2009 is true! There have only been 3 couples out of 33 seasons (so far) to have performed this dance. None of which received perfect scores. I have linked them below if you're interested. Video 1 Video 2 Video 3

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Fucking finally! Right? Our babies are back together! And look at Dieter being all sappy and soft. I love him. Are we shocked Lana is still on her redemption tour? I don't think we can hate her anymore, can we? Then of course we have Lydia and Evan doing their good deeds as well. How about that Instagram Live? Doesn't that song just tear your heart out? And Zee getting in on the action? I think I'd climb over a fence after that too. And what about Kat pouring her little heart out as well? That girl is laying it all out there now. So, we have 2 chapters and the epilogue left after this. Can you believe it? The next chapter is going to be drama filled. All of this dancing is finally going to take it's toll on Kat. Dieter is going to be in a tizzy, taking care of his lady. On top of that, it's Samba week. Yay for more Latin dancing...or not? Alec will be up to his shady shit (yeah, he's not done yet). I will say, the last two chapters will probably be much shorter since things are wrapping up. I mean, I say that, but I may shock myself. You never know with me.

And finally, some housekeeping. I'm sure you've noticed by now that I have struck the "Moonstruck" part of my name. There was a reason for that (aside form it being too fucking long). Expansion! As you can see, I am posting this chapter from a new sideblog. This blog will be solely dedicated to my writing. No nonsense posts. I will eventually be migrating everything over here. Why you ask? I did a poll a while back about this. While most preferred to be tagged, a decent number would rather follow and subscribe to notifications. So, you now have the option to do that without all the clutter. I will still be tagging folks though.

I also added something else new, the Chaos Corner! It will be dedicated to all things Dieter (fics, media, memes, fan art, etc). Fics will be linked by categories and tropes. So go have a look and find some new content. I welcome you to send me some goods to share with the chaos crew. Our trashy friends need all the Dieter content. Lastly, I want to do a quick shutout to my first loves, Dieter and Talia. It is the two year anniversary of Destiny & Deliverance this week. If I can get my shit together, I'm going to try to do a little something for them.

That's it. That's all I've got. Until next time, 💜Mysty

CP Taglist:

@titlee78 @legendary-pink-dot  @survivingandenduring @wannab-urs  @harriedandharassed

@hisandsnakes  @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing  @runningmom94  @sin-djarin

@cakipy-blog  @missladym1981  @guelyury  @weho2kcmo  @alokaerza  

@girlofchaos  @trulybetty  @bitchwitch1981  @madnessofadaydreamer

@darkheartgatita  @jazzloveslatte  @timpletance  @musings-of-a-rose  @samiamproductions

@myloveistoolittle  @for-a-longlongtime   @copperhalfcent  @auteurdelabre @itsdrewharrison

@burntheedges  @stevie75  @bunniboo0015  @quicax3  @jackie923

@sherala007  @pastelnap  @angelofsmalldeath-codeine  @jessthebaker  @rebel-held

@gwendibleywrites  @senorabond  @annalovesflorida  @sandaltoesocks  @katw474

@txlady37 @inkmonster21 @sunnytuliptime @jeewrites @fifitheragertot

[adribelladonna]

Hey there, SAFT gang, how we feeling after this week's clusterfuck? Personally, I'm

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[orcelito]

Tally's just a liiiiittle bit fed up with my clinginess today

Can't help it tho. She's my baby.

[aleksatia]

Imagine the six days scenario with the boys, but it turns out the mission was supposed to be done in one day, and the reader went through he'll to get out and is met with this reaction? Imagine when she finally tells the reason she was away, would they regret their actions? How would they react? Don't know if if you take requests, if you do, consider this one.

If not, I am glad I got to read this masterpiece, thank you ❤️

Thank you so much for the request — I absolutely do take them, and I really appreciate this one! ❤️

I tried so hard to keep it short, since the “Six Days” theme has already been thoroughly explored... but, well, I failed spectacularly 😅 So here’s another deep-dive into a what-if/imagine scenario — one that can be read as either an alternate branch of the original storyline or... something else entirely. I’ll let you decide 😉

I’d love to hear your thoughts if you read it — truly means the world to me!

I’ve received so many requests for continuations — especially for Xavier — and yes, his already has a full-length, dramatic follow-up (because how could I not?). This one here is more of a request-based scenario, but it can absolutely be read as its own kind of continuation. Think of it as an alternate path the story could have taken. (One day I’ll write full versions for all the boys… but for now, consider this a little taste.) Hope you enjoy — and as always, I’d love to hear what you think! 💬💔 Here are the links to the previous parts in the series, in case you want to revisit or catch up:

Original Post | Xavier's Story

CW/TW: Psychological trauma, PTSD themes, Forced isolation, Violence / combat injuries, Mentions of starvation, Emotional manipulation, Past emotional abuse, Mental breakdowns, Intense guilt / self-blame, Brief implications of suicidal ideation (in self-sacrificing context), Adult intimacy (emotionally driven, not graphic)

The Truth — What Really Happened

It was supposed to be one day.

A clean, strategic infiltration. In and out. No complications. No room for error.

But no one accounted for the Wanderer.

No one predicted that the target—some nameless, faceless shade masquerading as a rogue—would be more than just dangerous. That he'd found a way to twist Protocore into something ancient and volatile. That he would trigger a fracture in time itself.

In a single blink, the world split. You fell into it. And the loop began.

Six days for them. Six weeks for you.

You lived, died, and bled your way through the same endless day.

Again. And again. And again.

Locked in a cycle of violence, decay, and despair—while everyone else moved on without you.

You clawed your way back—half-starved, half-mad, barely remembering your name. And when you finally escaped the loop, stepped back into their world, broken and still breathing—

They were waiting.

Angry. Unforgiving. And utterly, terrifyingly unaware.

Until now. Until you tell them.

💛 Xavier

It only felt right to write Xavier’s piece after the continuation I posted earlier. The original scene stood strong on its own, but this one—this is what came next. The moment after the storm. The truth laid bare. A quiet, alternate branch of the story, or perhaps a natural consequence of the one that already unfolded. Either way—I’m glad it found its voice.

You don’t ease into it. You sit across from him in the quiet of the morning, sunlight creeping up the walls like it’s unsure of its welcome, and you tell him.

Not six days.

Six weeks.

A loop. A fracture in time. An engineered nightmare that left you bleeding against the same hours, over and over, clawing through shadow just to return to him. Alone. Lost. Dying.

Xavier doesn’t speak. Doesn’t even blink.

But something in him breaks.

Not loudly. Not violently. It’s quieter than breath. Slower than thought. His fingers slip from the edge of the cup in his hand, and it falls. Shatters against the floor with a sound so sharp it startles the silence—ceramic shards skittering like teeth across stone.

Still, he doesn’t look at you.

He stands, but not with purpose. With instinct. His body moves before his mind can catch it. He turns, walks toward the far wall like he’s searching for air, like the room is suddenly too small to hold what’s happening inside his chest.

You rise—hesitant, aching—but he lifts a hand to stop you. Not cruelly. Gently. Like he’s afraid that if you touch him, he’ll fall apart in a way he can’t recover from.

He presses his palm to the wall. Just one. The other curls into a fist at his side.

“I thought you abandoned me,” he says at last, voice raw in a way you’ve never heard from him. “And I punished you for it.”

He turns back.

And there’s nothing left of the man who told you to ask again in six days. Nothing of the controlled strategist, the ever-collected ghost of war. His jaw is clenched too tight. His eyes are glassed over with fury—but not at you.

At himself.

“I accused you. I mocked you. I dismissed what little strength you had left and threw my pain in your face like it was the only thing that mattered.”

He crosses the room again, slower now. Purposeful. His hands don’t tremble, but his voice does.

“I let you stand there, in front of me, broken... and I thought I was the one who’d suffered.”

He kneels.

Not dramatically. Not for effect.

He lowers himself before you like a man who no longer believes he has the right to stand. His gaze stays down. One hand reaches inside his coat, and when it returns, you see it:

A blade.

Polished. Ritual-cut. Ceremonial. One of the old ones—etched with language you don’t recognize. But you understand that these words mean oath, atonement, belonging.

He offers it to you in silence. Flat in his palm.

“Where I’m from,” he says, quietly, “a wound like this is paid in blood. A betrayal like mine is not survived—it is surrendered to.”

Your hands don’t move. Your breath barely does.

“If you want justice,” he whispers, “take it.”

You stare at him. The weight of the blade between you. The weight of everything.

And then—slowly, gently—you take it from his hand.

Only to let it fall.

The sound is soft this time. Barely a whisper of steel on floorboards.

Then you fall with it.

You drop to your knees in front of him, wrap your arms around his shoulders, and let your tears fall freely.

“I don’t want justice,” you breathe into the curve of his neck. “I want you.”

He doesn’t pull away. Doesn’t speak. Just holds you, arms banding around your waist, face pressed into your shoulder like he’s trying to memorize what survival feels like.

When he finally speaks, it’s not confession. It’s surrender.

“After what you endured… after what I made you endure alone… I don’t know what anything means anymore. Not the mission. Not the cause. Not the point.”

You pull back, just enough to see him.

His eyes are hollow with grief. But deeper still—something flickers.

“I thought I understood devotion,” he says, voice barely above a breath. “But I was wrong. What I gave you wasn’t loyalty. It wasn’t love. It was pride. Control. Fear, dressed in logic. And I used it to wound you when you were already bleeding.”

His jaw tightens. His gaze falls.

“I was cruel.”

It’s not said for effect. There’s no tremble in his voice, no self-indulgent break.

It’s simply true.

“And I’m sorry.”

The silence that follows is soft. Dense. Not empty.

You brush your fingers across his cheek, tilt his face toward yours.

“I forgive you,” you say. Steady. Clear. “Because not everything in this world is black and white. And I understand why you did what you did. I know the shape of your fear.”

Your thumb brushes beneath his eye. His breath catches.

“I didn’t tell you to hurt you. Or to punish you. I told you because…” You pause. Your voice thickens with truth. “Because you’re the only one I trust with all of it. The only one who would understand. Who wouldn’t fall apart under the weight of what I’ve lived through.”

You lean forward.

Kiss him. Gently. Not desperate. Not demanding.

Just there. Warm. Real. Home.

Your hands slide up to his temples, fingers massaging slow circles at his hairline, coaxing the tightness from his brow. You feel it—inch by inch—how he softens beneath your touch.

“Let it go,” you whisper. “Don’t carry this weight. Not for me.”

He exhales, shaky. Silent.

You hold him tighter.

“You are my light, Xavier. You illuminate the path. You anchor me when everything else turns to ash. And in that place—those six weeks—do you know what kept me alive?”

Your voice breaks, but you keep going.

“I couldn’t bear the thought of you mourning me. That’s what kept me breathing.”

He says nothing for a moment.

Just rests his forehead against yours. One hand moves to your chest, flattening over your heart like he’s grounding himself with your pulse.

Then—softly, firmly, as if carving the words into stone:

“You will never carry pain alone again. Not while I draw breath.”

No grand vow. No poetry.

Just fact.

And somehow—that’s what makes it a promise.

💗 Rafayel

The morning sun slips in like melted gold, tracing the edge of the sheets, catching the soft arch of your cheekbone. You lie half-curled beneath the covers, his T-shirt clinging to your body like second skin.

And in that sacred hush before the world stirs—you speak.

Not because he demands it. Not because you owe it.

But because somewhere between the echo of his heartbeat and the way his arms wrapped around you like the only anchor you had left—you remembered how to breathe.

You tell him.

About the mission. The Wanderer. The fracture in time.

About the loop.

How six days for him were six weeks for you.

How you woke up every day inside the same nightmare. How you died. How you clawed your way back. Alone. Over and over.

And when you fall silent, your voice scraped raw from remembering—he still doesn’t speak.

He just looks at you.

Like the sun never rose until he saw your face again.

His hand brushes your cheek, feather-light. His voice—when it comes—is almost a whisper.

“Are you ready to share the rest?”

You blink. “The rest?”

“The weight of it,” he says. “Not the facts. Not the fight. The dark. The ache. The part that still won’t let you sleep.”

His voice is gentle. Too gentle for a man like him. It trembles with caution, as if even asking is a violation.

You hesitate. The memories flicker like shadows across your mind—distorted, aching, sharp.

“No,” you answer truthfully. “Maybe not ever.”

His gaze doesn’t falter.

He nods once. No protest. No press.

Then his voice, lighter this time—almost a whisper:

“Then I’ll just have to help you forget.”

And he does.

He lifts you carefully, as if your body might shatter beneath his hands. You expect the weight of a blanket, but instead—he wraps you in something else entirely.

A covering like seafoam. It feels like nothing you’ve ever touched—gossamer, weightless, but cool and smooth against your skin. A whisper of silk and tide.

“It's from home,” he murmurs, adjusting it carefully over your shoulders. “Woven from the ocean’s first breath. They say it keeps sorrow out.”

Then—he scoops you up like you weigh nothing. Carries you to the kitchen with quiet reverence, as if this moment is sacred.

He sets you down on the marble countertop and kisses your knee.

Then he starts making coffee.

He hums as he moves—something aimless and tuneless and purely him. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the scent of roasted beans and vanilla settle around you.

And then—

“So,” he says casually, not looking up, “a cat broke into the studio last night.”

You blink. “A cat?”

He nods solemnly. “Orange. Loud. Looked like he owned the place. Knocked over three canvases and nearly drank my turpentine.”

You raise a brow. “And naturally, you assumed this was my doing.”

“Who else would weaponize cuteness to such chaotic effect?”

You laugh—quiet but real. “I’m not that cruel.”

“No,” he agrees, turning to face you with a soft smile. “But I do suspect you’re still hoping I’ll change my mind about cats.”

You sip your coffee. “I might be.”

Later, the bath is warm, the water laced with something lavender and soft. He sits behind you, your back pressed to his chest, his arms a steady weight around your ribs.

His fingers move slowly—massaging your shoulders, your forearms, your palms, like he’s trying to erase every echo of pain from your body with touch alone.

You both talk, but nothing heavy. Just stories. Old memories. Little things. The shape of the moon that night. The smell of burnt sugar in his favorite gallery. How he once mistook a mannequin for a person and apologized to it for five minutes.

You laugh again, softer this time. And it makes something in him melt.

He wraps you in the softest robe he can find. Carries you again—this time to the bedroom. The ocean glows outside, waves catching the last of the sun like pearls tossed across the horizon.

But he doesn’t stop there.

“Come,” he says, offering a hand. “Tea. Sunset. Company far superior to mine.”

You smile. Follow.

And when you step onto the veranda—there it is.

A small white basket. A red ribbon.

And inside—

A snow-colored kitten, curled like a pearl in a nest, blinking up at you with impossibly blue eyes.

You freeze.

Turn to him, wide-eyed.

He shrugs, just slightly. Nervous. Like he’s bracing himself for mockery. For rejection.

You blink again. “You—Raf, you hate cats.”

He exhales through his nose. “I fear them. Different thing.”

Your eyes shimmer.

He moves toward you slowly, hands lifted in surrender.

“I wanted to make you smile,” he says simply. “That’s all. Just—smile. Like you used to. Before I—” He swallows.

He crouches down before you. One hand comes up to gently stroke the kitten. The other finds your knee.

His eyes lift to yours—and there’s no performance left in him now. Just Rafayel. Just the man beneath the glitter.

“I was so awful to you.”

You open your mouth, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t say it wasn’t that bad. I know what I am when I’m scared. I threw wine over grief and laughter over longing because I didn’t know what else to do. I ruined canvases with your name on my tongue and strangers in my house, and the whole time—I just wanted you to walk through that door.”

His fingers tighten on your leg.

“And when you did—when you came back—I was so full of rage at the idea you’d left me, that I didn’t even ask if you were okay.”

He breathes. One hand comes up, presses lightly to your ankle.

“I don’t know if I deserve this. Any of it. You. The right to hold your hand. To be the one who touches you when you’re tired. Who makes you laugh. Who paints your name into the ocean.”

You slide your fingers into his curls, threading gently through the soft waves.

And he stills. Like he’s afraid to move.

You whisper, “I never wanted perfect. I wanted you.”

He exhales.

“I swear,” he says, softly now, firmly, “on every color I’ve ever touched—never again. I’ll never put my pride above your heart. I’ll never leave you alone in the dark I made.”

Then—he leans forward. Presses his forehead to your knee.

The kitten meows softly, curling into the basket.

And finally—you smile.

Because this?

This is home.

💙 Zayne

You expected something.

A tremor. A breath. A word. Anything.

Instead, Zayne listened. Like a doctor reviewing a chart. Like a man auditing loss.

He didn’t speak when you finished. He simply nodded—once—and turned away, reaching for the drawer by the bedside as though the moment hadn’t cracked the very floor beneath his feet.

His hands, always precise, always godlike in their stillness, carried a faint tremble now. Just at the edges. So minor you might’ve doubted your own eyes, if you didn’t know how obsessively exact they always were.

“I asked,” he said, adjusting a monitor. His voice was quiet. Neutral. Not for you—for himself. “I asked if you’d caught a cold.”

He finished adjusting the drip, typed something into the tablet. Still no eye contact. Still no softness in his voice. But the line of his shoulders was off. A degree too low. A breath too far from centered.

Then—he turned back to you.

His gaze met yours at last. And though his voice didn’t change, the words did.

“I would like to conduct a full diagnostic. Neurological, cellular, metabolic.” A pause. Then softer, with exquisite restraint: “Please allow me.”

You hesitated—not because you doubted him, but because you recognized the plea underneath the logic. He wasn’t doing this for the data. Not really.

You nodded.

And he breathed again.

He worked in silence. Gentle. Thorough. Every sensor placed with hands that barely touched your skin. Each test executed with a reverence that spoke more than words ever could. He treated you like something sacred—something already broken that could not, must not, fracture further.

When sleep finally came, it swallowed you whole.

And when you opened your eyes again—the world was still. Dim. The sterile light of early morning filtered through the blinds.

Zayne sat in the chair beside your bed. Unmoved.

He hadn’t changed clothes.

The same shirt. The same faint stain near the cuff from yesterday’s blood draw. One elbow rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers curved over his mouth, gaze lost in some calculation too heavy for paper.

When he noticed you stir, his posture didn’t shift. But his eyes warmed—just barely. Just enough.

“I cancelled my procedures for the week,” he said simply. “Transferred patients to colleagues. For now, my only case is you.”

You blinked, silent. Then your gaze drifted down, to the low table by the bedside.

There, lined with the kind of hesitant care that comes from someone unused to gifts, sat a modest row of familiar things. A bouquet of white jasmine, fresh and fragrant. Two of your favorite candies in delicate wrappers. And—absurdly, heartbreakingly—three new plush toys, small and soft and so clearly chosen by someone who’d spent an agonizing amount of time in the gift shop second-guessing every decision.

Your heart folded inward.

“Am I dying?” you asked, quieter than you meant to.

He didn’t smile.

But his voice, when it came, was soft and absolute.

“I won’t allow that.”

A long silence passed.

Then you shifted—carefully, your muscles aching—and reached for him.

“Come here,” you murmured.

For a moment, he hesitated. Not because he didn’t want to, but because some part of him still didn’t believe he deserved the invitation. But he came. And when he lay beside you on the narrow couch, his body held a tension that didn’t ease until your head rested on his shoulder.

He stayed still. Let you move first. Let you curl against him the way you needed. His hand hovered over your back, uncertain, until you nudged it gently into place.

Only then did he hold you.

Not tightly.

Not desperately.

But with the kind of quiet conviction that said he would stay as long as it took.

You felt his breath in your hair before you heard his voice.

“I don’t pray,” he said, low, clinical as ever. “I believe in medicine. In numbers. In protocols.”

A pause. His fingers brushed your spine, feather-light.

“But if you hadn’t come back... I would’ve made an exception.”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because some things, even with Zayne, are understood in silence.

And in that silence, held against the rhythm of his heartbeat, you felt it clearly: you were no longer his patient.

You were his entire world.

❤️ Sylus

For a moment after you speak, the room holds its breath. So does he.

Sylus doesn’t ask questions. Doesn’t deny it. Doesn’t demand proof or press for detail. He simply stands there, stone-still, with your words unraveling him from the inside out. The way you say it—quiet, unshaking, without accusation—is somehow worse than if you’d screamed.

His gaze drifts over you then, and you feel the moment the veil lifts.

It’s in his eyes first—how they widen, flicker, and fixate. He takes in the shadows beneath yours, the pallor of your skin, the hollowness in your cheeks. His breath catches when he sees how your clothes hang looser than before. How your hands tremble faintly, barely perceptible unless one knows you too well.

And Sylus knows you.

His chest rises once, sharp and shallow. Then he moves.

Not fast. Not sudden.

But with purpose.

The next second, he’s in front of you, reaching—his fingers brush your jaw, feather-light, as if afraid that even the weight of his touch might bruise. He doesn’t speak as he leads you gently—gently, from a man whose hands have broken bones—into the nearest chair. One knee hits the ground beside you. He opens your jacket with slow precision, not to expose, but to check. To see. To know.

“You’ve lost weight,” he murmurs, voice rough and uneven, like gravel sliding beneath steel. His fingers glide down your arm, finding the sharp edges of bone where softness used to be. “Why didn’t I see it sooner?”

You try to speak, but he shakes his head, already rising.

He moves through the room like a storm with no wind—silent, but charged. Opens drawers. Pulls out clean clothes, a blanket, a glass of water. Then he’s back at your side, crouching again, one arm draped over your lap like a bridge between his fury and your exhaustion.

His hand wraps gently around your ankle, thumb pressing lightly against the bone there as he stares at it like it personally accuses him.

“I told them to take you.” His voice is lower now. Hoarse. “Told them to scare you. Make a point.”

He looks up at you. And for once, his face is completely unguarded.

“I hit you.”

It wasn’t hard. It wasn’t brutal. Not for someone like him.

But it was enough.

His voice falters, only slightly.

“And then I said I wouldn’t look for you.”

He exhales, and it’s not a breath—it’s a confession.

“That was the worst one, wasn’t it?” he asks. “Out of all of it. That’s the one that stayed.”

Your silence says enough.

And something in him breaks again—quietly, like a structure folding inward with no one left to hold it up. His forehead presses lightly to your knee, his arm tightening around your thigh. You feel him breathe you in, like scent alone might bring you back from the half-place you escaped.

“I should’ve known the second I touched you that something was wrong. I should’ve seen it on your face.” His voice cracks, just once. “But I was so angry. So fucking angry I couldn’t feel anything but the space where you weren’t.”

He pulls back. Looks at you again—slowly, steadily. And something inside him hardens, not with rage, but resolution.

“You’re not lifting a hand again. Not for food. Not for water. Not for anything. I don’t care how long it takes. I don’t care what it costs. You’re going to rest, and I’m going to fix this—you—with my own hands, piece by piece.”

And when he stands, it’s not the usual slow menace or calculated power.

It’s reverent.

He lifts you—not like someone injured. Like something sacred. And when he carries you out of the room, wrapped in warmth and silence, there is no doubt in your mind:

Sylus will not let go again.

Not even if time itself tries to take you.

💜 Caleb

You aren’t even halfway through when it hits him.

Not like a punch. Not like a wound.

Like an organ failing.

He blinks once. Twice. And then nothing. No movement. No breath. Just silence.

Then, quietly—almost absently—he mutters, “I’ll resign.”

You look up, startled, and the absurdity punches out of you in a short, cracked laugh.

It’s the wrong moment. Too sharp, too bitter. But it slices through the tension like a scalpel.

And still—he doesn't move.

His hands press against the table, white-knuckled. Not to steady himself—he isn’t swaying. He’s rigid. Locked. Like something in him has calcified to hold him upright.

“I’m not fit to lead,” he says, voice flat, low, scorched. “Not when I see betrayal in the only person I’ve ever trusted.”

Whatever breath of amusement you had left dissolves instantly.

“I didn’t just fail as someone who was supposed to protect you,” he adds. “I failed as your—” He stops. Chokes it down. His jaw clenches so hard you can hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “As your Caleb.”

And then—he moves.

Quick, purposeful. Gone in a flash. You hear the kettle filling, the sharp click of a drawer, the dull thud of something fragile hitting the counter too hard. The way he clutches at control would be laughable if it weren’t so violent.

Then the bathwater starts.

Hot. Too hot. He’s not measuring anything. Just pouring. He throws open the cabinet, snatches towels, drops one, curses.

When he returns—his phone is in hand. “I’ll call Dr. Navik. I want a full neurocardiac scan, and we need to rule out—”

He stops. Mid-sentence. Thumb poised over the screen.

You don’t say a word. You just watch as something slows in him. As if time, for once, is merciful.

He lowers the phone. Turns toward you.

His voice—when it comes—isn't clipped or cold or distant. It's frighteningly gentle.

“Pip-squeak.”

He kneels before you, as if he’s afraid standing over you might shatter what little is left between you.

When he reaches out, it’s so slow. So reverent. The back of his fingers graze your cheekbone, barely there. Not because he doubts you—but because he doubts himself.

“How do you actually feel?” he whispers. “Not what I can fix. Not what the scans will say. Just you.”

You breathe. Only once. It shakes.

“Like roadkill,” you murmur. Then softer, almost smiling: “A hot bath wouldn’t hurt. And sleep. Maybe a week of it.”

Your faint attempt at a smile breaks him.

Not loudly. Not outwardly. He doesn’t cry. But something in his face folds in on itself, like it’s suddenly too heavy to wear. He draws a slow, trembling breath.

“I accused you,” he says, and now his voice is wrong. Hoarse. Quiet. Dismantled. “I accused you of being with someone else. After you went through six weeks of hell.”

You try to speak. He doesn’t let you.

“I thought you left me,” he says, and this time his voice cracks—just barely, but it’s there. A faultline in steel. His eyes are on the floor now, unfocused, as if he’s speaking to ghosts.

“I believed you would.”

His breath falters, like the truth is costing him oxygen.

“That it made sense. That I wasn’t enough.”

A pause. His throat works hard around the next words.

“Or worse—too much.”

His hand curls into a fist against his thigh, knuckles white. Not from anger. From restraint. From the effort not to collapse under the weight of everything he’s never said.

“That you’d finally find someone who doesn’t smother you with love that borders on obsession.”

He shifts, like his own skin is too tight. His jaw clenches. His eyes squeeze shut for half a second before he forces them open again, forces himself to keep looking at you—even if it kills him.

“Someone who wouldn’t try to chain you close,” he whispers, “just because he’s too selfish to breathe without you.”

He looks at you now—really looks—and the devastation in his gaze is endless.

His voice breaks on the last word.

“Someone who wasn’t… me.”

And for a moment, he’s not a soldier. Not a leader. Not even a man.

He’s just Caleb. That boy who loved you before he had language for it. And who never stopped. Even when it ruined him.

His hands curl into fists against his knees.

“I interrogated you. Like a stranger. Like a traitor. And all the while you were trapped—alone, dying, fighting—and I was worried about your silence in my bed.”

A breath. And another. Like he’s drowning in air.

“I loved you before I even knew what that word meant,” he whispers. “I carried it for years, swallowed it, starved it. I told myself it was wrong. Forbidden. And the moment I finally had you—really had you—I destroyed it with my own hands.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not until your fingers find his.

Then he shudders. And looks up.

“You always forgave me,” he says, voice breaking now. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. But this time… if you don’t. If you can’t…”

His hand trembles in yours.

“…I’ll understand.”

You shake your head. Just once.

And in that second—he folds into you, arms curling around your waist, forehead pressed to your stomach like a prayer he doesn’t believe he deserves to say out loud.

When he finally carries you to the bath, it’s not in silence. He keeps murmuring things—small things, promises, broken confessions, names only he calls you. He doesn’t try to be strong. He only tries to be there.

And when you’re finally in bed again, drowsy and warm, you find him already beside you. Fully clothed, facing the ceiling, his hand resting on the sheets between you like a lifeline.

You whisper his name.

He turns his head, eyes dim in the dark.

You reach for him, and he comes to you instantly, without hesitation. He lies down beside you, and when you press your head to his chest, he exhales like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in years.

His hand strokes your hair once.

And then, quiet—so quiet it almost isn’t real—

“I’ll never be the same.”

You don’t respond.

Because you both know it’s true.

And because you both know he doesn’t want to be.

[wandaverse]

meet me in the pale moonlight.

vampire countess!wanda x human painter!reader

summary: In the early 1870s, the young and renowned Y/N arrives in the bustling New York City looking for a new start. Little does she know that a creature of the night lurks in the shadows and that there’s something sinister about the woman she’s become enamoured of, the elusive Countess Maximoff.

warnings/tags: dom!wanda, fem sub!reader, smut, oral, cunniIingus, fingering, mas0chism, blood klnk, hints of humiliation and praise klnk, thigh and foot riding, age gap if you squint, wanda calls r pet, 18+ / MINORS DNI

word count: 10,284

moodboard

Clipping your bag safely back onto your belt, you bid the kind dressmaker farewell and motion to leave her Madison Avenue boutique.

Several days ago and after a rather lengthy trip aboard a steamship across the Atlantic, you finally arrived in the hustling and bustling New York City, the city of dreams in the land of opportunity.

Over the years, you have developed quite a respectable reputation as a commissioned portrait artist for the wealthy with an admired talent that both boosts their egos as well as your own wealth. After a lifetime of travelling across the European continent, you decided to migrate to the Americas in search of a new opportunity, or rather a muse to reignite your inspiration and maybe for a little fun on the side too.

The dressmaker quickly assures you that she’ll have your clothes ready by the end of the week, a welcome relief since you’re still waiting for your remaining belongings to arrive by sea.

On your way out of the boutique, you thank her one last time, not paying attention to your surroundings and distractedly bumping into another woman with a fright.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry! Are you quite alright?” the esteemed lady apologises profusely.

You swiftly regain your bearings and brush her off. “It is no problem at all. I apologise as well for not watching where I was going,” you say guiltily.

The instant you both glance up though, she seemingly forgets about the entire ordeal. You recognise immediately the starstruck look on her face that can only mean that she somehow knows who you are, that word of your talents has already travelled across the seas through migrated aristocrats and the like.

“My word! You’re Y/N Y/L/N, aren’t you?” she asks breathlessly.

With a smirk that you try your best to mask as humble, you can’t deny the pride of being so quickly recognised in this new city.

“Indeed I am, a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms…?”

“Agatha Harkness, dear, but my friends call me Agnes. It’s lovely to meet you,” she introduces with a shake of your extended hand. “Say, I don’t believe I heard word that you were in our fine city. And I assure you, I would have if it were known. No news gets past me. If anything, I’m always the first to know.”

You bet she is, you nod overwhelmed, quietly taking in the words of someone who is clearly a gossip.

There’s an odd and rather manic intensity about her, you notice. You brush it off as the typical artificial friendliness of the elite and especially of the nouveau riche, which you suspect Agnes is.

And yet, it still feels like something is off about her, like she’s not quite herself, a peculiar strain in her smile and an emptiness behind her eyes. How odd.

“I only arrived a few days ago, is why. All my luggage hasn’t even arrived yet.”

“I see… if that’s the case, why I don’t suppose I could commission you then? Be the first American to have their very own Y/L/N painting?” she requests giddily.

Her excitement rubs off on you, no matter how eerie, and you can’t deny her. “Well, I don’t see why not. I’ll have my people be in contact with you to sort out the details soon.”

“My, I can’t believe my luck!” she celebrates. “Oh! You must attend my gala tonight. Please, be my guest of the evening. Let me have the honour of being the one to introduce you to our society here.”

Once again, you’re charmed by her fierce enthusiasm. “Of course, the honour shall be mine.”

Frankly, you don’t really think it’ll be any different from the circles you traversed in Europe, but who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone intriguing.

—

Later that evening, long after the sun has already set, you step out of your personal carriage at Harkness Hall, located in the newer district of the Upper East Side.

Politely being escorted through the manor, you finally arrive at the ballroom and when the grand doors open, all eyes instantly land on you as you are faced with similar expressions of recognition as Agnes’. Said woman speedily and yet somehow elegantly races up the steps, rushing to your side.

Delicately tapping a fork against the side of her champagne glass, she easily silences the commotion in the crowd below. “Might I have your attention, my friends, to introduce you to my esteemed guest of the evening, the wonderfully talented Miss Y/N Y/L/N.”

As soon as she finishes, a rush of wealthy men and women alike gasp and rush to the foot of the stairs. Agnes proudly links her arm around yours, as if you were childhood friends instead of mere acquaintances, and leads you down the stairs into the pit that awaits you. For a second, and only a second, a rush of anxiety ambushes you but you mask it with some well-practiced charm.

For the next while, Agnes personally introduces you to all the socialites interested in portraits of their own, showing off the fact that she is your first client.

You quickly tire of their suffocating attention and it’s only when you peer past the crowd that you notice that one lone woman hasn’t so much as flinched at your presence, instead remaining in the shadows along the walls and gracing you with only a mere glance.

As the night rages on, you curiously observe the intriguing woman from across the ballroom. With a keen eye, you take note of her every detail. Of her deep burgundy gown so dark it almost resembles blood when illuminated in the light, of her thin black birdcage veil that covers her eyes behind the intricate lace, and committing it all to memory.

She moves with a certain refined grace you’ve only seen few nobles possess and despite primarily keeping to herself, exudes an intimidating and rather domineering aura felt throughout the hall. Only a few dare to approach her, some men who don’t know any better and a few attendants who don’t have any other choice. Every so often, she catches your gaze and you almost feel the air leave your lungs.

When the crowd eventually disperses, you pull at the link between your and Agnes’ arms and inquire about your newest interest. “Agnes, might I ask, that woman over there standing alone by the fireplace, who is she?”

“Ahh, why that would be the elusive Countess Maximoff. Our Lady Wanda hails from a distant European kingdom, or so she says. Frankly, she could be anyone from anywhere in the world considering how little we all know about her,” she briefly explains.

Countess Wanda Maximoff, you recite in your mind. A fascinating yet beautiful name for an equally as alluring woman.

“She’s a well-known and respected socialite in this city. In fact, she might even be the richest of all of us, but no one knows for sure, just as no one knows exactly what she is a Countess of,” Agnes continues, unprompted. Internally, you thank her for being so nosy.

“I must apologise, unfortunately that is really all I know about her. She was already residing in New York when I arrived from Salem many months ago,” she admits. “I do know, however, that she has no husband or family of her own. The rumours are that she had a husband once and that he either died or simply disappeared. Either way, she isn’t a typical woman of our society.”

Lost in thought, you take in her words, all serving to only interest you more and more in the stunning yet seemingly solitary woman.

“Miss Y/N,” Agnes calls, breaking you out of your intense trance as you stare at the mysterious woman. “I must tell you, Lady Maximoff is actually currently staying as a guest at Harkness Hall. For a few days now actually, and for the next while when you complete my portrait.”

Oh?

Why doesn’t that make things all the more interesting…

“Y/N, it’s best that you stay away from her. Trust me, there’s something unusual about her that one must not associate themselves with,” Agnes warns you seriously, a stark contrast from the enthusiastic and bubbly person you’ve become familiar with today.

You turn to her and look in her eyes again. For the first time today, you detect a clarity in them, a genuineness that only confuses you more.

“Agnes, may I ask, why did you accept her as a guest if you dislike her so?” you question.

“No one says no to Wanda Maximoff,” Agnes replies ominously. “Every so often, she requests to stay with one of her ‘friends’ for a short while. It turns out that this time I drew the short straw. She always has some sort of excuse, she told me that her estate is undergoing works, but I’m certain she has other properties. All I know is you don’t disobey a woman like her.”

You give some thought to Agnes’ words, to her warnings and the seeping fear that comes through. And yet, the idea of such a strange woman, defiant to the strict norms of high society, who you don’t disobey, only intrigues you more and more.

You regard the woman in red and decide in the moment that no matter what, you’re going to solve the mystery of the elusive Wanda Maximoff, even if it kills you.

Dismissing Agnes’ warnings and brushing off her arm that attempts to pull you back, you waltz across the room and beeline toward Wanda. In the corner of your eye, you spot horrified looks from the other socialites around the room, but ignore them all the same and focus only on the woman in front of you watching you approach her with an amused yet impressed eye.

And you’re glad you do because up close, the Lady Maximoff is absolutely and entirely striking, breathtaking and enchanting and every other word you would use if you were a poet instead of an artist staring at her new muse.

Her milky skin is notably pale and perfectly contrasts against her chocolate brown hair, so soft you almost want to run your hands through the layered strands. Studying her bone structure, you note that it’s incredibly sharp and accentuated by the shadows, making her resemble a sculpture carved from marble come to life. Even under the lace veil, her eyes are enchanting, a clear sage green that complements her dark maroon dress.

For the first second or two, you find yourself rather speechless, the entire English language suddenly disappearing from your vocabulary as you take in her beauty.

In the same second, you notice offhandedly that she too rakes her eyes up and down your form. Feeling a shiver run down your spine under the weight of her gaze, you hope she appreciates the sight as much as you appreciate yours.

“Hello, Y/N Y/L/N, my lady,” you manage to say and extend your hand towards her.

“I know,” she replies with a smirk, seemingly entertained by your courage (or stupidity). “You’ve been quite popular tonight, among the ladies especially. The woman of the evening I hear.”

A part of you is secretly delighted. That means she’s noticed you just as much as you’ve noticed her. The other part is dazedly captivated by the deep lilt in her accent, hinting at whichever secretive European land she originates from, a part of the mystery you seek to soon unravel.

“And whose company do I have the pleasure of being graced with, might I ask?” you tease.

In response, she simply smirks at your charming attempts and finally accepts your hand. “Countess Wanda Maximoff,” she formally introduces, “but I’m sure you already knew that too.”

Delicately, you clasp her gloved hand in yours and place an innocent kiss below the back of her silk-covered knuckles. Proudly, you earn another smile from her at the endearing impropriety of a young girl pressing a gentlemanly kiss on the back of her hand.

“You’re awfully bold, aren’t you?” she remarks with a cock of her head.

“Artists love beautiful things,” you smirk. “It just so happens I’ve found the most beautiful of all.”

She scrunches her nose as she cringes at your flirtatious attempt. You don’t regret your words though when you mean it so sincerely.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Miss Y/L/N?” she asks, skipping the pretenses. “I’m sure you’ve already heard all the things they say about me.”

“I don’t care about them and what they have to say. I’d rather hear it all from you instead,” you profess.

Peering down at her wine glass, she smiles again at your attempts to charm her. This one seems a little more genuine though, a sign that your persistence (and perhaps, foolishness) is slowly piercing through her walls.

She looks back up at you and seemingly ponders your unsaid request as she pensively sips her wine. At last, she says, “Alright then, what would you like to know?”

You grin cheekily at having so easily won her favour. “Well for starters, pray tell me, which land do you come from?”

“Europe,” she answers simply.

You both know that you already knew that, both because Agnes already told you as well as the evident hints of Slavic you identify in her accent.

“Where might one find your county of ownership though, my Countess?” you attempt to press.

“I’m sure you’d like to know,” she teases with another smirk, just as mysterious and secretive as Agnes described.

You’ve spent your entire life travelling through Europe’s High Societies, from the Parisian aristocracy to Florence’s art scene, and yet you’ve never heard of or seen her before this night. And you’d certainly remember if you did, she’s not a face one forgets.

“So, we’re playing this game, are we?”

“You started it, Miss Y/L/N,” she matches your teasing tone.

You’ve noticed that she only calls you by your name formally, keeping a distance between the two of you despite having let you in more than anyone else tonight.

You’re even more aware of all the eyes on you, watching like hawks as your interaction plays out. How odd of a pair you must be, a sight to behold you’re sure. You’re keenly aware of how you’re likely equally as intriguing and alien as she is. How your existence defies the rigid social norms; a girl of your standing able to dance through high society while working to accumulate your own wealth and remaining single at a less than conventional age. You wonder if perchance, in this way, you interest her as much as she interests you.

Clearing your throat, you decide to accept that this is as much as you’ll learn about her tonight. “Agnes tells me you’re staying as a guest at Harkness Hall,” you segue instead.

Tilting her head once again, she lifts an eyebrow in curiosity. “That would be correct.”

“As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, I have been commissioned to paint a portrait for Ms Harkness.” Gently, you once again place a kiss on the back of her resting hand. “I suppose we’ll be seeing more of each other then,” you quietly bid farewell before walking away, not turning back although you know she’s following you with a curious eye.

Later throughout the night, the other cautious elites approach you one by one, all warning you to stay away from Wanda. There’s a certain look in their eyes that you can’t quite decipher yet, resembling that of Agnes’ expression if you really think about it. Something akin to fear or intimidation or something in between and like they’re trying to tell you something they can’t say with words. Their warnings only serve to further interest you in the Countess and the mystery that surrounds her though.

Returning your gaze to the woman before you depart for the evening, you find her already staring fervently at you with a smile you can only describe as devilish. Her pearly white teeth seem to sparkle under the chandelier’s light and you swear that from this side of the ballroom, you spot a glimmer of red in her eyes under the veil.

But, when you remember her beautiful green eyes, you suppose it’s simply a trick of the light.

—

The day after the next, you return to Harkness Hall for your first session with Agnes.

The moment you step foot through the doors, you instantly search for Wanda but are dismayed to fail in your pursuit, not even hearing word of her throughout the entire day. From morning to night, while you’re painting in Agnes’ drawing room or enjoying lunch with her in the garden, you never see Wanda even once.

You suppose it’s a large estate so it’s not hard to believe that your paths wouldn’t cross, but the thought does nothing to dispel the persistent pout on your face.

You honestly try your very hardest to focus on the woman posing in front of you, but the task is near impossible. You almost want to ask Agnes about Wanda, where she is and what she’s doing, but you suppose that would be highly improper. Not that you would typically care, you’d just rather not let it be known how taken you’ve become with her.

It’s only later that evening when you walk through the estate to take your leave, around the eleventh hour after the sun has already set and the hustle and bustle of Harkness Hall has come to a standstill, that your eyes once again find the Countess’ solitary form.

Bathed in the moonlight, the Lady sits by herself in the courtyard facing away from you. You’re once again struck by her beauty. In this pure light and under the night sky, her ivory skin almost glows. You briefly ponder the idea that she could be an angel descended from the heavens above.

Seemingly sensing your presence, despite how stealthily you’d hidden yourself behind the doorway, she spins around faster than you can blink and catches you.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she remarks with a drawl and that sinisterness that makes you think that more accurately, she must be a fallen angel sent to this world by the devil himself.

Matching your intense gaze, she simply says, “Come,” beckoning you to her side.

And you obey without a single objection, padding across the courtyard and placing yourself in the seat beside her obediently.

“I heard you were here painting Agnes today,” she brings up cordially.

Your eyes drop down and you notice her drinking something in her glass that oddly looks a little too dark and thick to be wine, that leaves a deep cherry stain on her lips that would otherwise be an unusual lipstick shade. You equally notice that despite her attempts at pleasant small talk, she doesn’t make any attempts to offer you a glass of whatever it is she’s drinking.

“I was,” you affirm. “I was….” hoping to see you, you trail off and keep to yourself, not wanting to seem desperate in her eyes despite how desperate for her attention you truly are.

She smiles to herself, seemingly hearing your confession all the same. She has a way of reading you without you saying a word.

“And how are you finding it so far?”

“It’s going as well as it can. Agnes is a wonderful subject,” you share, hiding the fact that the only woman you wanted to paint today was her.

A beat of silence passes, only the soft breeze of winter heard in the space you share.

“Have you ever sat for a portrait before?” you ask.

Shaking her head thoughtfully, she answers “No, never.”

“Why, might I ask? Your beauty is one I’m sure hundreds would flock to capture on canvas and stone.”

Inwardly, she smirks at your unrelenting boldness. “Yes… be that as it may, it’s not one I’m happy to share with the world for all to see,” she answers just as cryptically as everything else she’s told you thus far.

You suspect there’s a deeper and very real reason to it, but don’t question further. You’re happy to take as much as she gives you, as little as it is.

“Would you let me paint you one day?” you ask honestly.

Wistfully, she turns to glance up at the scattered stars in the clear sky, musing on your offer. “Perhaps,” she finally turns to look at you again, “if you’re a good girl.”

A fierce blush rushes to your cheeks as she gets up and caresses your chin with her gloved hand before leaning down and placing a fleeting kiss on the very cheek reddened by her teasing. As she saunters away from you, you watch her go and dazedly wonder if whatever she was drinking left its own stain on your skin.

Only when she walks past a statement mirror in the hallway are you pulled out of your trance. You can’t see her reflection, you remark.

Confused, you give it little thought before reasoning that it must be your tired eyes playing a trick on you.

—

Over the coming days, you return to Harkness Hall for your work with Agnes and continue seeking Wanda’s company.

Every time though, you only ever locate her after the sun’s gone down or alone in some secluded space like the library or tea room with the windows shut.

This time, you lose the fight and ask Agnes about her peculiar behaviour. She tells you that the Countess typically goes out at night and only returns in the early hours of the morning. Otherwise, during the day she either slumbers until the early afternoon or rests indoors.

Agnes doesn’t quite understand it either, but she’s neither questioning it nor complaining when it makes it a little easier for her to avoid the Lady. You thank her for her explanation (gossip), but it only piques your curiosity more and more, as does everything else you learn about Wanda.

Every time you do cross her path though, she always invites you to sit with her. Most of the time, she nurses a glass of the too-dark-and-too-thick wine. You never ask for a glass of your own or a taste and she never offers.

And every time, you find yourself entranced by her beauty for at least a minute or two or typically, much more. At times, you think she must be from another world, one so delicate and divine that man cannot and must not touch it lest it be corrupted. Other times you think her beauty is simply not human and must be a form of corruption of its own. But maybe that’s just the dramatic artist in you.

You’re saddened to say that after all this time though, you still don’t know much more about her, the mystery still largely unsolved. You know that she’s rich, she’s alone, and she’s the most beautiful woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on, which is essentially everything you already knew from the first night you met her.

She does occasionally share some stories with you though, of her life when she was younger in the foreign Slavic land you still haven’t identified. She tells you of growing up in a castle at the top of a mountain, of being bathed in the riches of love. “I’ve lost all the family I’ve ever known,” she confesses the next evening after you share stories of your own rough upbringing.

As always, she remains cryptically vague with every word she offers you, never giving you details and always leaving you wanting more.

Sometimes, she even reveals glimpses of her other facets like her interests and apparent appreciation for the theatre. “There’s a new musical on Broadway that I believe you’d enjoy,” she remarks offhandedly. Despite your attempts to suppress it, you feel a fluttering sensation within you at the prospect of seeing the Countess outside the walls of Harkness Hall, of even courting her if she allowed.

You’d like to think that you’re the only one honoured to hear these words from her, that you’re someone special to her as she is to you.

Other times when you come upon wherever she’s hiding and she doesn’t instantly detect you, you watch her quietly from the shadows, hiding away and observing her peaceful form. You fetch your pocket pad from the bag on your waist and roughly sketch her reading, birdwatching, embroidering or simply gazing at the night sky.

Then, you return home and paint her as accurately from memory as you can, attempting to capture her beauty with oil paints and canvas.

One day, you hope you’ll have a chance to show her how she’s become your muse and how you see her unlike anyone else.

—

Almost a week has passed since you started painting Agnes and you only know because you’ve been committing every encounter with the Lady Maximoff to memory.

Over the days, you’ve become comfortable and developed a routine of sorts for yourself. Around mid-morning, you arrive at Agnes’ manor and recommence work right away. Once noon comes, you have lunch with her in her expansive garden and enjoy tea with Wanda in the mid-afternoon if you can locate her, otherwise you greet her on your departure in the evening.

For the short while, you develop a new normal, which makes it all the weirder when a sense of unease overcomes the city and its inhabitants. From your own maids and coachmen to Agnes and the other elites you come across, everyone all of a sudden seems on edge. Almost like a blanket of doom and gloom has been laid over the city.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, it’s only Wanda who seems normal and unperturbed when you find her in her usual lounge chair in the courtyard under the moonlit sky. Once again, you obediently take the seat beside her.

Tonight, you can’t help but notice that she’s not nursing her favoured drink and if it were possible, she appears more pale than ever. You want to ask if she is well, but instead of overstepping, you decide to ask why everyone seems so off.

Pensively, she oddly smiles at your question and peer up at the sky. You follow her line of sight and see that the moon tonight is full and bright.

“Be careful, Miss Y/L/N,” is all she says as you turn to her again. There’s an unsettling look in her eye, like she knows something you don’t.

“You never know what’s hiding in the shadows, what creatures of the night lurk in the dark,” she warns ominously before turning to you and flashing a blinding smile. “One wouldn’t want something to happen to a pretty young thing like you.”

You gulp at her forbidding words and sudden predatory appearance, left only more confused and unnerved than ever. Flustered, you avert your gaze and miss the flash of crimson in her eyes.

—

The following evening, you’re half asleep in your carriage home when you abruptly realise you forgot a broken easel that you wanted to have fixed at Harkness Hall. Having requested your coachman retrieve it for you, you now patiently wait in your carriage in front of the estate.

Leaning your cheek on the window with a pout, you’re a little saddened since you didn’t see Wanda at all today, the first time it’s happened all week.

When you asked one of Agnes’ maids where the Lady was, she said she hadn’t seen Wanda all day either which meant she must’ve still been asleep since she didn’t hear her return until just before dawn. But then even on your way out a few moments ago, you still couldn’t find her in any of her usual hiding spots to your dismay. 

Staring out solemnly at the Upper East Side streets, you notice that it’s a lot quieter than usual. This district is typically much busier, even at this late hour with the wealthy enjoying their night on the town. 

However, it seems everyone is as on edge as they were the previous day. Most people have opted to stay inside with the windows shut, leaving the streets mostly empty barring a few passersby and dimly lit lamp posts. Even your coachman seemed a little less willing than usual to fulfil your request, as if he just wanted to rush the both of you home to safety. From what, you’re not too sure.

Sleepily, you lift your gaze and stare at the moon, slightly fuller and even brighter than it was the night before, having just reached the peak of its cycle. 

You admire its alluring beauty for a brief second until something in the alley across the road from your carriage catches your eye; a lone man and woman hidden in the shadows. You think they must be one of the only people who don’t fear what everyone else does to be lingering in the darkness like this. 

Intrigued, you study the pair when something strikes you. The woman throws her head back laughing and you catch a glimpse of her canines, so pearly and sharp you’re almost sure they look like fangs.

It’s only when you narrow your eyes and the woman leans forward out of the shadows into the light that you realise with a start, it’s Wanda.

—

When the sun rises and morning comes, you wake up safe in your bed but just as shaken.

With the calming of your heart, you reason that the events of the night before must have been a dream or even a hallucination of your tired mind. But you’ve been making the same excuse a lot lately and the image is etched so realistically in your memory it must be real.

In a daze, you ready yourself for the day and go to the dining room for the breakfast awaiting you. Perhaps some food in your stomach will wake you up from whatever this is, you think.

You’re distractedly munching on some berries when your handmaiden enters the room with a boiled kettle for your morning tea. It seems that the water isn’t the only thing bubbling this morning though.

“Miss! Have you heard the news?” she asks worriedly.

“I can’t say I have,” you answer, shaking your head. “What appears to have happened?”

“My, there’s been a murder! In an alley near Harkness Hall!”

Your blood instantly runs cold and you freeze like a bucket of cold water has been thrown on you.

“W-what?”

“A young man in his early 20s, foolish enough to stay out late on a full moon. They say his body was otherwise unmarked except for two puncture wounds in his neck. The sheriffs think it’s the Moonlit Killer again!” she frantically explains, every word striking your shaky bones.

“The Moonlit Killer?” you whisper to yourself in thought. “Who is that?”

“The city, no the state’s, very own serial killer, miss! No one knows who it is and they haven’t been caught yet, but for over a year now there have been murders across New York every full moon,” she tells you, the kettle completely forgotten as well as your breakfast which you know for certain you can no longer stomach with the tightening of your throat.

“The victims always match each other too, always young men taken in dark alleys and left with only two punctures in their necks.”

Like fangs…, you piece together.

It all makes sense now, why everyone was so on edge with the arrival of the full moon.

Quietly, you think back to what you witnessed last night. You’re sure it was Wanda. You would recognise her anywhere, in a crowded ballroom or even a… dark alleyway.

An image forms in your mind and you quickly race to your studio, ignoring the concerned calls of your handmaiden. You pull out a fresh canvas and your brushes and you paint and paint and paint.

You paint Wanda’s unusually pale ivory skin. You paint her red irises that you’ve seen on occasion. And lastly, you paint the sharp fangs you saw last night that lie where any other person’s canines would.

Once you’ve finished, you step back to take in your rough portrait and drop your brush in shock.

It can’t be…

You’ve only heard tales of them during your travels when instances similar to last night’s rocked the cities you visited. You’ve only seen frightening drawings of them in books that told farfetched legends of the undead.

Creatures of the night, skin as pale as the moon, pearly white fangs as sharp as blades, and most of all, eyes the colour of scarlet.

Everything suddenly makes sense now, pieces fall into place as the mystery is finally solved.

The glasses she’s always drinking of some liquid that looks too dark and thick to be wine must have been blood all this time and her main source of sustenance since you’ve never seen her eat a single crumb.

The way she oddly sleeps during the day and always shies away from sunlight, because if she didn’t she would quite literally be burned.

How you’re sure you’ve never seen her reflection in mirrors or water or windows because she doesn’t in fact have a soul to reflect.

Why no matter how much you asked around or researched about the elusive Countess, you could never obtain any information dating back earlier than over a year ago, precisely when the Moonlit Killer started taking their victims.

And how you’re certain that if you matched the homes of the other aristocrats she stayed with to the locations of the killings, it would all line up perfectly.

Countess Maximoff is… a vampire.

With the realisation, you’re filled with frightening clarity, both proudly smug at having unearthed her secret and slightly fearful at the true nature of the woman you’ve become enamoured of. Foolishly, you thought it was your eyes playing tricks or simple coincidences, but it’s too much to be.

For a second, you even think you must be going crazy to be entertaining this thought. Wanda… the beautiful, alluring, and bewitching woman… is a vampire. A monster? How could someone so enchanting be so horrific, though? So cruel…

But then you remember the old wives’ tales about sirens and succubi and creatures of sin that seduce and corrupt with their otherworldly beauty and frankly, now you’re only more sure of your discovery.

And that’s when it hits you… there’s only one way to test your theory.

—

That evening, you put your plan into motion. You haven’t much time. You figure in a few days she’ll announce her departure from Harkness Hall and return to her estate until she has to hunt for the next full moon, so why wait to confirm something you’re already so sure of.

In the dead of night, you pad through her designated wing and sneak into her bedchambers, awaiting her eventual return in the early morning. Earlier, you sent your carriage home with a feigned excuse and listened carefully to confirm that Agnes had retired for the evening.

Making yourself comfortable on Wanda’s loveseat, you patiently survey the door and await her arrival, alone in the dark room lit only by a few ruby candles and the bright moonlight.

In the Winter night, you feel the cool breeze on your exposed skin and shiver, pulling your coat tighter around you. Beneath it, you wear nothing but a lace blood red nightgown that leaves your neck bare in hopes of enticing her.

As expected, she’s absent for most of the evening, you assume too preoccupied with hunting her prey. Tonight, the moon is at the absolute peak of its cycle. Her lust for blood must be uncontrollable, but the thought only excites you more.

You almost fall asleep against your hand propped up on the armrest when finally, sometime between the second and third hour, you hear a shuffle outside the door that instantly wakes you.

Creaking, the door opens to reveal the Countess you’ve been waiting for, clad in a black hooded cloak and dark burgundy dress. Dark enough to conceal any bloodstains, you realise.

You suspect the city will awake to news of another victim at the hand of the Moonlit Killer, but that’s for whatever awaits you after the sun rises. Right now, you have your mystery standing in front of you, surprised to say the least to see you in her bedchambers and especially at this hour.

In the dimly lit room, you can barely see her if it weren’t for her skin that seemingly glows under the moonlight and the fleeting glint of red in her eyes that show themselves when she lifts off her hood and removes her cloak.

She’s as beautiful to you now as she was before you knew what kind of creature she really is. The thought leaves you as breathless as the sight of her. You think you would have fallen for her no matter who, or rather what, she is.

Fully facing your standing figure now, she smirks, knowing that there is something different about you tonight and this encounter. A sense of pride fills you at her sinister expression.

“Miss Y/L/N, what a surprise to find you here. Have you gotten lost in the middle of the night, sweet thing? Sleepwalked from the other side of the city, perchance?” she asks playfully. There’s a hint of something new in her tone, something a little demeaning. You can’t say you hate it. No… not at all.

“No, my lady. There is something I wish to discuss with you.”

She simply lifts an eyebrow in response, signalling you to continue while she hangs up her cloak and only offers you part of her attention. You almost want to beg to have all of it.

“I’ve been watching you,” you admit.

“I know you have. And what have you so skillfully unearthed, Miss Y/L/N?”

With a nervous gulp, you confess, “I know your secret, what you hide from the others.” Her ears seem to perk up with interest at your admission, but she’s still unsettlingly calm about the revelation.

“I know why you sleep during the day and what you do during the night. I know why you avoid sunlight at all costs and why no one seems to know anything about you. I know what you are.”

At last, she turns to you and gives you her full and complete attention. As much as you previously desired it, you quickly find yourself wilting under the weight of her stare.

Crossing the room in three strides, she stands face-to-face before you. “Oh? And pray tell, what exactly am I?” she teases and finally unveils the true scarlet hue of her eyes with a tilt of her head, equally as stunning as the green if not more bewitching.

It leaves you in a state of vulnerable immobility like prey trapped in the clutch of its predator and you pull at the sleeves of your coat in an attempt to regain your courage. Distantly, you wonder if perhaps there’s more to her species that the myths don’t yet know about, that perhaps she wields sinister abilities to influence the mind which would explain the eerie nature of Agnes’ facade.

“You’re… you’re a…”

Intimidatingly, she stalks to you in a few weightless steps almost like a bat. Delicately pulling her satin gloves off and haphazardly tossing them to the wooden floor, she reveals her long sharp nails, claws really.

Getting closer in your space now, she takes your chin between her thumb and index finger and tilts your head up to face her, the chilled skin of a soulless body sends shivers through your bones.

Menacingly, she grins, no leers, at you and detracts her fangs, glistening in the moonlight and bared for you to see. Up close, it strikes you with an immediate fear, but also something equally as exciting that leaves a tightening sensation deep in your belly.

“Say it,” she whispers, her cool breath against your lips and sending a chill down your spine.

With a gulp, you finally bring yourself to say out loud, “You’re a vampire.”

If it were somehow possible, her grin grows even wider and more sinister and you briefly think that she might just eat you alive.

“Good girl, I knew you were a smart one the second I laid my eyes on you.” The term of praise, as proud as you are to have received it, only intensifies that feeling in your belly and for the first time this evening, you question if you’re actually capable of surviving a night with the vampire Countess.

Patting your cheek with her other hand and cocking her head amusedly, Wanda continues. “Although, you were foolish enough to have come here alone and approached me like this.”

Maybe she’s right…

“No one would know if I killed you right here and now. No one would even hear you scream before I sank my teeth in your neck.”

Or maybe, that’s exactly what you want from her.

In a heartbeat, you instantly regain all your confidence. You know her secret and you came here for a reason. It’s time to claim what you’re owed, what you came to this city searching for.

Hastily, you untie your coat and drop it to the floor, revealing your barely clothed body to her stunned eyes. A rush of excitement goes through your veins at the sight of her dilated pupils, a telling sign that she just might desire you as much as you desire her.

Placing your own hands atop the ones she still rests on your face, you confess, “I want to be yours.” She lifts her eyebrow in curiosity at your proposition. “You don’t need to feed on other people, or hunt when you’re desperate anymore… You can just feed on me.”

For the first time ever, you hear her laugh, throwing her head back with her imposing fangs on full display. A deep and maniacal sound that’s degrading and humiliating as you stand there before her exposed and yet, you decide you’d do anything to hear it again.

It takes a second or two for her to regain her composure and you think you spot tears in her eyes, only further reddening your blushing cheeks.

“You know,” she says in between huffed laughter. “I typically only drink animal blood, as I’m sure you’ve seen on occasion. It’s a lot more… convenient and certainly a lot less messy. But the real reason,” she confesses, whispering almost secretively as her ruby coloured irises stare into your blown out pupils, “is that blood from a human source is dangerously addictive. That’s why I only feed on humans on days like this when the moon’s pull is too strong. Because everyone I drink from ends up dead and somehow, I just know that if I drank yours… well I’d be addicted for eternity.”

But what if that’s exactly what you want?

Blindly reaching towards a nearby table, you grab what feels like a glass and smash it against the surface, successfully slicing your left palm and sending drops of blood rolling down your skin.

In the same heartbeat, Wanda instantly freezes, her enhanced sense of smell immediately picking up the intoxicating scent of your blood. Tightly closing her eyes and letting go of her hold on you, she takes two steps back from you, seemingly struggling to restrain herself.

Fearlessly, you take two steps towards her, crowding her space just as she crowded yours.

“Let go,” you tempt, lifting your bleeding hand in an attempt to flood her senses and lure her further into your trap. “Let me be yours,” you whisper teasingly into her ear.

In a second, her eyes burst open, now blazing scarlet and burning into you. Roughly, she wraps her hand around your throat and pushes you against the nearest wall, uncaring of how you wince at the strength with which she slams you.

Just as harshly, she finally kisses you, her icy lips meeting yours and moving against each other as one as she almost devours you in her eagerness. And just as eagerly, you let her, drowning in the rush of losing yourself in something so wrong that feels so right.

The cautiousness with which she treated you before has completely disappeared as she dangerously tightens her grip around your throat, claiming your lips over and over again.

In her lust-clouded haste, her sharp fangs faintly slice your bottom lip and you quickly start bleeding with a wince that’s promptly muffled by her soft lips. Her greedy tongue licks it all up and you’re blessed with her deep moans at the rich and teasing taste.

To your dismay, she pulls away and releases her grip on your throat. But when you look in her bloodshot eyes, pupils blown and glittering in the moonlight, you’re thrilled to see a complete lack of resistance, a surrender to the offer you’ve presented.

And yet, there’s a hidden question in them, if you’re really willing to cross this line with her. In the back of your mind, you wonder that perhaps you're the first person who’s ever shared this secret of hers, who's ever willingly given themselves to her.

You hope to be the only.

Without saying a word, you simply crane your awaiting neck towards her, offering the expanse of it to her on a golden platter.

“I’m yours,” you whisper into the night for only her to hear.

In the blink of an eye, she becomes a predator before you. Still trapped between her body and the wall, you watch in equal amounts of fear and lust as she bares her fangs and sinks them into your naked neck.

You scream in pain and tightly scrunch a hand in her hair until, almost like you're hearing yourself outside of your body, you realise that your screams have become moans, the pain in your neck abruptly replaced by pleasure racing through your bloodstream.

“Mine,” you hear her snarl in between your moans and you only barely manage to yell, “Yours”, back.

Wanda is equally disarmed as she buries her face in your neck. She drinks and drinks and drinks, and as predicted, loses herself in you. It’s a criminal understatement to say that your blood is the best she’s ever tasted in her centuries-long life and endless list of victims. It’s rich and thick and if you hadn’t already offered to become her pet for eternity, she would have stolen you away anyway.

She revels even more in the sounds of your very evident pleasure, which when mixed with her instant addiction to your taste leaves a tight sensation in her core.

As she continues feasting on you, she slots a knee between your open legs and tightly grips your waist in her hands, harshly thrusting you down on her leg and surely leaving bruises in her wake. Eagerly, you grind against her firm thigh, head lolling back and hitting the wall with a resounding thud.

Somehow, your unabashed moans get even louder as you feel your blood starting to drip across your chest. Distantly, you consider that maybe you should quieten yourself lest someone hear of your tryst, but that thought swiftly disappears when Wanda presses her knee against your core while pushing you down to grind against it and deepening her fangs in your neck.

She’s everywhere. Pressed against you, piercing you with her teeth, becoming one with you. Suddenly, the overwhelming sensations become too much and you come undone in her arms, climaxing unexpectedly from the equally consuming mix of pleasure and pain.

In a lust- and blood-drunk daze, Wanda takes little notice of your state and attempts to keep drinking every ounce of the red liquid left in your body. She feels you start to loosen your hold on her hair and slacken against her thigh though, so she reluctantly stops lest she loses her pet as quickly as she got her.

Regrettably, she pulls away from you but you’re glad she keeps her knee between your legs because you immediately slump against her from an exhaustive combination of the severe blood loss and intense climax.

Surprisingly tenderly, she captures you in her arms and holds you up against her and the wall. You take a second to regain your breath as your heart races to pump more blood through your veins.

“That was…” you trail off, dazed and half struggling to hold on to consciousness.

“Delicious,” she finishes for you.

You eventually manage to open your eyes and watch her sadly remove a hand from your waist to wipe your blood from her mouth with the pad of her thumb, serving to only spread it across her face even more.

The sight is more arousing than it should be and as you stare at her, you discover that with her porcelain moonlit skin, scarlet coloured eyes, snow white fangs, and mouth covered in your dark blood, she’s the most beautiful creature you’ve ever seen.

In the haze of the afterglow, your gaze lowers to her bloody lips and you briefly wonder how you taste. Somehow reading your thoughts as she always does, she places a surprisingly soft kiss on your lips and you’re equally surprised by the taste of your blood on her lips. It’s different from what you expected, not as jarringly metallic as when you bite the inside of your cheek but rather smooth and rich like a well-aged wine.

As you deepen the kiss searching for more, she returns the eagerness by tracing the surface of your lips with her tongue, easily parting them and entering your mouth. Distracting you with the feel of your tongues swirling against each other, she sneakily reaches behind your back and unties the fragile bow tying your nightgown together.

Pulling away, she lets the sheer fabric fall in a heap to the floor and leaves you chasing her lips like a lovesick fool. You feel even more foolish when you look up and find her staring intensely at your entirely exposed body while she remains fully clothed, almost moving to wrap your arms around your bare chest in an attempt to hide yourself from her scrutiny.

Just as quickly though, she captures your wrists and traps them beside you against the wall. “Don’t hide from me. You’re mine now, pet,” she whispers in her criminally deep voice.

Not to mention her apparent assignment of a new title for you, a stark contrast from the formal way with which she has been regarding you until now. A fierce blush rises to your cheeks at her choice and when combined with the sound of her voice, you think you could come from the short sentence alone.

Softly and slowly with all the time in the world, or at least the few hours left before the sun awakes, she places delicate kisses across your shaking body. Her icy cold touch cools every inch of your burning skin that it contacts, along the curve of your jawline up to the space below your ear, down your neck and especially taking care to lick your puncture wounds clean before travelling across your chest and licking up any blood that previously escaped her.

Taking your left nipple in her awaiting mouth, she latches on and sucks greedily before switching to the right. You squirm and try to free your hands wanting to touch her, but her bruising grip around your wrists unrelenting keeps you trapped. If she notices you continue to painfully twist yourself in her grasp anyway in an attempt to amass more marks as proof of her ownership of you, she doesn’t utter a single word.

A second later, she withdraws from your body and sighs against your wet skin, which when coupled with her chilled touch and the cool winter night leaves you shuddering with goosebumps.

Stepping back from you entirely now, she reaches behind herself and undoes her own dress. When it falls to the floor, so does your jaw as you shamelessly stare at the pale expanse of her skin, almost completely unblemished and illuminated by the moonlight.

You carefully place your hands on the curves of her waist, hidden beneath her burgundy corset. For a brief moment, she lets you admire her body like an artist admires their muse before she gets impatient and turns around in your arms.

Pulling her hair to her front, she demands, “Won’t you lend me a hand, pet?”

Wordlessly and obediently, you unlace her corset while leaving delicate kisses behind her ear and along her neck. She buries her hand in your hair and you almost let out a moan from the way she tugs at it. Under your breath, you curse the corset for being so intricate as your shaking hands struggle against the detailed binds.

Luckily for you though, it finally becomes undone and drops to the floor with the rest of your clothes. With your hands returning to her waist again, now soft and bare, you turn her around to face you and almost collapse.

You’re not sure how it’s possible, but she continues to take your breath away. She’s more beautiful than anything you’ve ever seen in your lifelong travels. More than any of the marble Grecian sculptures or oil paintings of Aphrodite.

Just as she did, you take your time peppering kisses over her ivory and cool skin. You gently kiss every inch from right under her jawline to the dips of her collarbones and down along her chest to the mole of her left breast, from the curve of her shoulder down to the edge of her fingers and even lightly sucking your blood off her thumb.

Delicately, you devote yourself to kissing her perfect skin marked only by a few moles littered across her body, mapping them like constellations, and licking away any of your blood that stains the porcelain surface of her chin and neck.

Here and there, when you get to a particularly sensitive spot like the space under her jawline, she writhes in your arms and lets out a breathless gasp. You continue sucking on the same spot lightly, proudly drawing pleasure out of her as she did with you, but only lightly and not harsh enough to mark her flawless skin.

Internally, you think you could spend an eternity worshipping her body if she let you. You wouldn’t mind all the pain if you had the pleasure of being hers.

As you take your time exploring her body, her thin patience finally runs out and she roughly wraps your hair around her hand, pushing you down to exactly where she needs you.

“On your knees, pet,” she demands breathlessly and you instantly obey, falling to your knees with a thud and ignoring the bruising pain, proudly collecting more evidence of your tryst.

Diligently, you continue trailing your kisses down between the centre of her chest and her taut stomach until you reach her core, which you brazenly pass in favour of nibbling her inner thigh.

Roughly yanking your hair though, Wanda makes her annoyance known. “Oh, don’t be like that now, sweetheart. I thought it was clear who’s in charge here,” she bends down and sneers in your face.

“‘Mm sorry…” you frantically nod and apologise while keeping the enticing idea of disobeying and testing her patience in the back of your mind for another time. Right now, though, you desperately want to taste her.

Lifting her leg over your shoulder, she increases your accessibility or rather traps you and pushes your head back towards her centre.

“Be a good pet now won’t you, darling?”

You don’t need to be told twice, swiftly diving in between her thighs. You’re pleasantly delighted to feel how wet for you she already is, probably since the moment she sank her teeth in your neck.

Burying yourself against her core, you greedily part her folds with your tongue and lap up all her juices. Immediately drunk on her taste, you moan against her and the resounding vibrations apparently stimulate her even more as she whimpers above you and tightens her grip on your hair.

As you eagerly stroke your tongue against her pussy and brush your nose against her clit, you decide that between her legs must be the best place on Earth. And if anything, you so quickly become addicted to her sweet essence just as she was with your rich blood.

Almost crazed, you both want her everywhere and to be all over her, meticulously switching between placing kitty licks between her folds and latching onto her bulb.

Losing herself in you, Wanda somehow pushes the back of your head even deeper against her and bucks against your face. “Good girl… just like that,” she murmurs.

If your mouth wasn’t so preoccupied, you would’ve begged her to pull your hair harder.

Glancing up as you devour her, you realise that she truly is a fallen angel sent from the depths of hell to corrupt you. As you stare at her lust hazed eyes and domineering form stalked over you, you find yourself getting pleasure just from her pleasure alone.

You think that whether she suffocated you between her thighs or sucked out all your blood with her fangs in your neck, you’d be honoured to die by her hand.

With her moans getting louder and her body writhing above you, you catch on to her rapidly increasing need for more and raise your right hand to rub her clit with the pads of two fingers.

Catching her off guard, you swiftly thrust the same two fingers between her folds and earn a blissed out scream. You fit perfectly inside her as she clenches around you, sending a tightening sensation to your own core.

Latching onto her clit with your mouth again while your fingers slide in and out of her, you proudly smile against her at the tightening grip on your hair.

“Faster,” she manages to demand and you once again obey, pistoning your fingers in and out of her even faster and setting a ruthless rhythm. Soon after, your fingertips locate her g-spot so you curl the ends of your two fingers, hitting the spot with every thrust.

As you watch her, you notice that her hands are preoccupied with gripping the back of your head in pleasure and her bedpost in an attempt to stay standing.

With so much of her immaculate body shamefully left unattended, you reach your sliced hand back up her still cool body and cup her breast. As you massage the supple mound, the pain of the fresh cut stings your skin but you hear yourself whimper in time with her own moans.

You’re everywhere and the stimulation of your touch starts to make Wanda go crazy. Releasing her hold on your hair, she glides it down your back and scratches the skin below your shoulders with her claws in an attempt to pull you even closer.

Shuddering against her, you wince at the pain but proudly add the scratches to your long list of scars from tonight.

With her hand on your back, she feels you pathetically grind down against nothing and decides to take pity on you, placing her foot below your core. Finally getting some much needed friction, you rub yourself against her in a frenzy and practically ride her foot.

In a daze, she peers down at you and is entranced by the sight of you on your knees for her, looking up obediently at her with doe-like eyes, your face covered in her juices and skin covered in bite marks and hickeys she placed haphazardly, all while servicing her every demand and devoting yourself to her every need.

Unable to hold herself back anymore, she climaxes. Feeling her clench around your fingers and hearing her scream, you quickly follow and come against her foot. Bewitched, you see her arch her back in satisfaction and let her ride out her high against your face.

Once she calms down, you greedily lick up all her cum and clean up her centre just as you did with your blood on her skin. When your mission is complete and she pushes you away, overstimulated by your persistent touch, you stare into her eyes as you slide the same two fingers that were just inside her mere second ago into your own mouth, sucking them clean and taking care to not leave even a single drop.

If it were possible, her already blown out pupils dilate even more as she watches the show you put on for her. Pulling you up with a strength that’s probably owed to her inhumane cells, she tugs you into a kiss once again, tasting her essence on your tongue just as you did with your blood on hers.

Fitting your waist in her hands again, she hastily throws you on her bed before straddling your hips and pressing you against the mattress. She wastes no time and leans down to reclaim your lips, carelessly letting her fangs nick your lips again.

In the corner of your sleepy eyes, you see the glowing moonlight illuminate the stars in the night sky outside, the sun still a lifetime away. For this next little while, all that matters is the cool feel of her touch against your scorched skin and the pleasure of the pain she brings.

For under the full moon, you are completely and irrevocably hers; a vampire’s pet for better or worse.

[trivia-yandere]

I just found Family Matters and aaaaarghh cmon, you are alwaysssss alwaysss so telented, their chemistry!

Is ... maybe a part 2 on the way, tried to look for one but did not find it soooo i am here... just curious 👀 

Take care sweetie!

i actually like yoongi and mc in family matters - fuck it another part!!

family matters (2)

somehow, you find yourself back at yoongi's home after an uneventful five months of pregnancy.

word count: 6.000

warning: kissing, affair/cheating, dirty talking, unprotected sex, pregnant sex, fluff lmao,smut, praising, fingering, nipple sucking, impregnation kink,

part one

Nerves are flowing through you rapidly. Your palms are sweaty as you sit on the toilet, lid down, and you wait for the results.

You were more than positive that you were pregnant. You missed your period already and - in all actuality - there couldn’t be a way around it. Not with the amount of sex you and Yoongi had.

Yoongi.

Your mind wanders to the younger Min brother. His kind smile he had given you, reassuring that he would be the best uncle he could be; it was heart-wrenching when only you and he knew the truth of it all.

Yoongi wasn’t going to allow you to leave without taking the check with you. After the first week when he hadn’t noticed the money taken out, he had reached out to you. That same week, you had done what he asked. It was enough money to last years, not including interest. How were you going to explain such a large amount of money to Yo-han without him growing suspicious?

Or you can just tell the truth - if it came to that - right? Tell Yo-han that his brother thought about his future niece or nephew and gave them a hefty savings for when they were of age?

It was easier said than done, especially with how arrogant Yo-han was. Everything was a competition about being better, the first, the favorite or the overall top.

Your alarm sounds loudly in the bathroom, echoing off of the walls and startling you entirely. You shut it off, your hands immediately grasping the white and blue test on the bathroom sink and sighing when you see the words displayed on it.

Pregnant - yet you knew this much. Every once in a while your brain forces you to replay the scenes of you and Yoongi entangled together in his bed. Each and every time, you felt even worse of a wife.

You supposed you made it up by attempting to be better for You-han. You assured you cooked his meals right on time with him coming home from work. You occupied your time with cleaning and organizing - and when he was in the mood, you told yourself you were, too.

Yo-han and you were eating in silence when you cleared your throat. His dark eyes glances up at you, one brow slowly raising.

“How was your day?” you question, lifting a glass of water and taking a sip.

“Alright.” Yo-han responds. “I still have to close in on a deal but I’m sure I have it settled.”

You nod your head, though you couldn’t pretend to care about Yo-han and his work life. If you’d allow him, he’d go on and on about the company and his arrogance would often show. It would turn to his younger brother and his mood would sour instantly - over nothing.“I have something to tell you.” you lick your lips. You weren’t hungry anymore. Your stomach is bubbling with nerves already.

“Do you?” Yo-han offers you his full attention.

You nod your head. You take a deep breath. How would he react? Yo-han rarely mentions wanting children, even if his mother insisted on it. He always told you “not now” or “it’s too soon”. But when? You weren’t getting any younger and you were lonely in such a big home while Yo-han worked. Your friends were occupied with their own families and you were far away from your own - was it selfish in wanting a child of your own to have to love?

“I’m pregnant.”

Yo-han was never a man of grand emotions. The Min family were just like that. However, you weren’t expecting Yo-han to stare at you blankly for longer than a few moments. You contemplated repeating yourself if you weren’t already positive that he heard you loud and clear. There wasn’t any other sound in the home besides the ones you and him made.

Yo-han, without removing his eyes from you, lifts his wine glass and downs the rest. For a moment, he and Yoongi look so much alike that it causes your stomach to sink.

“How?”

Your lips form a thin line at Yo-han’s question.

“We’re always careful.” Yo-han continues.

“Condoms aren’t always effective-”

“They have been this entire time, haven’t they?” Yo-han scoffs. 

This is what you knew was going to happen. It was always a possibility that Yo-han was going to react in such a way that made you regret doing this. But it was a risk you took - deciding that it’s what you wanted. 

“I don’t even think we’re ready for a baby right now, Y/N.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to calm your emotions.

“What are you trying to say, Yo-han?” your voice is low when you ask. “There’s no going back.” you scoff.

Yo-han swallows. He pushes his seat back and lets out a low sigh. He slowly begins to unbutton his shirt, glancing away for a moment.

“Of course there is.” Yo-han murmurs through gritted teeth. He doesn’t want to say it - to sound as selfish as he always is. “I’m not in the right space for a baby right now, Y/N. And neither are you-”

“How can you tell me when I’m ready?” you hiss. You never raise your voice at Yo-han and the action causes him to stop and look at you. “How many more years are you planning on getting higher and higher? How high can you even go in a company you own?”

You lift yourself from the table and grasp your plate and cup. You turn on the sink and pour the rest of your water down the drain before throwing out the remainder of your dinner. You take several deep breaths, attempting to calm yourself down.

“Y/N,”

Yo-han leans against the island opposite of you. He doesn’t want to have this conversation now, it’s obvious. But he doesn’t want to hesitate and wait until it’s too late.

“Baby let’s think about this.”

“I did.” you tell him. You pick up your sponge and coat it with soap before you begin to wash your dish. “And I’m keeping it. I have an appointment tomorrow to see how far along I am.” Yet, you know already.

Yo-han’s foot begins to tap against the marble floor.

“You’re only doing this because you’re bored.” Yo-han scoffs. “Why don’t you pick up a hobby? Book club? Pilates or…I don’t know what women do these days.”

You place your plate onto the dryer rack, deciding that it was best to ignore Yo-han.

“Once a baby is in the picture things change. Marriages change. It’s all about the baby-”

“You’re barely here, Yo-han. Your life will remain the same.” you retort with a roll of your eyes. “You’ll come and go as you please, right? What’s wrong with me…” you stop yourself. It was sounding a bit more obvious why you wanted a baby, and it was more selfish than intended.

Yo-han rubs his temples. It was only day 1 but stress was already eating him alive. 

“Did you tell anyone, yet?” Yo-han questions after a few silent minutes. You had since turned off the water and began drying your hands.

“No.” you murmur.

Straightening his shoulders, Yo-han responds, “How about we think about this before you do?” he suggests. “If this is what you truly want…”

“How about this?”

Your mother in law is holding up two onesies - one a light pink and the other a soft, baby-blue onesie with white cursive lettering that says “oh baby”  at the center of it. You blink a few times to come back to reality.

Upon telling your mother in law that you were pregnant, she was far more ecstatic than your husband was - that was obvious. You had called her after telling Yo-han that you’d think about it. He had gone to shower while you went to call her - because if she knew, that meant that there was nothing your husband could force you to do.

Five months later, Yo-han and you weren’t close in the slightest. He worked longer hours - his excuse being he had to work for the child. He allowed you to go baby shopping alone. If you needed any help building, he would pay for it. He wasn’t interested and deep down, you couldn’t blame him. You forced this baby - one that wasn’t his - in his life because you hoped he would come around.

Yo-han never did - not yet at least; yet you’re positive he won’t.

“They’re cute.” you murmur, forcing a smile to your lips that don’t reach your eyes.

She knows her son and your mother in law understands that Yo-han isn’t as ecstatic with being a father as she would like him to be. This is why she would often accompany you to whatever appointments you had or would visit you whenever she was free.

Her company was wanted and warm, but it wasn’t the same as going to bed with a warm body at night. But you made your bed and you were going to lie in it.

“Has my son come around?”

She lowers the onesie and lets out a disappointed sigh. No matter how many times she calls her son to demand he act differently, she is left with more useless excuses. Her words fall on deaf ears.

“Yo-han’s been very busy with work-”

“Don’t defend him, Y/N.” she cuts you off. “This is his first child.”

She shakes her head. Very rarely has she been disappointed with her eldest son, but he was disappointing her in ways he’s never had before.

“I got a cake.” your mother in law begins to smile. You notice her feminine features are more potent in Yoongi than they are in Yo-han. “For you and Yo-han…”

You raise your eyebrows. “A cake?”

She nods her head. “I know you said you didn’t want a party.” she says. “Gender reveal parties are all the crave now, right?”

You laugh. You had told her you weren’t in a mood for a large party or even a small get together. Your pregnancy wasn’t one that left you content unless you were around her. Yo-han was always gone and you aren’t even sure he would attend if it did happen. You didn’t want to have to explain to your friends why your husband couldn’t take one day off of work to be there for you and your unborn child.

It was easier to pretend.

“My niece said a gender reveal cake is more intimate for you and Yo-han.” your mother in law appears entirely too happy. “I gave the baker the envelope and she said she’ll put the color into the cake.”

You inhale through your nose. You aren’t sure you wanted to know the gender yet. Your mother wanted a girl - obviously having two boys - and your father in law wanted a boy. Yo-han hasn’t stated anything and you…

You just wanted a baby..

“I have it in the car.” your mother in law continues. She wants you to be happy - to enjoy your pregnancy with or without her son.

“I’ll take it home.” you nod reassuringly. “Yo-han should be home tonight.”

You’re lying. Yo-han told you he wouldn’t be home until the weekend, but you didn’t want any of her pity. You would pretend you were going home to find the gender of your baby with your loving husband.

However, that’s not what happened. You found yourself outside an entirely different home.

Yoongi opens the door, his eyes immediately softening when he looks at you outside. You appear shy and uncertain and before you can speak, he’s inviting you in.

You kick off your shoes and follow Yoongi to his kitchen where you place the cake onto the island. 

You turn to face him nervously. “I shouldn’t be here.” you murmur.

Though you haven’t seen Yoongi in months in person, you and he had spoken. You talk on the phone and sometimes you and he text. He checks in on you at times, asking if you’re craving something new or different. 

You had shown pictures of your ultrasound to Yoongi, confused on how doctors and nurses could tell what the black and white blob on the screen was.

He would tell you random facts - like now you’re the size of a papaya - and you would always laugh at how cute he sounded.

How excited.

Unlike your husband.

“Your mother…got me a cake.” you begin. “To find out the gender and…Yo-han isn’t home.”

Yo-han isn’t interested is more like it, but what’s understood between the both of you didn’t need to be said.

“And I thought you wanted to…” your heart is pounding so loud. Your cheeks are warm. “...I don’t know if this is inappropriate or not. I think it is. I didn’t even think before coming here and-”

Yoongi’s hands, large and warm, place themselves onto your cheeks. You immediately silent yourself, eyes blinking at him.

“Calm down.” Yoongi murmurs. His thumb rubs along your lips for a moment. “I would love to find out the gender with you.”

You nod your head slowly. Your palms are sweaty when Yoongi removes his hands from your cheeks and smiles. 

Yoongi wasn’t expecting to have you here, but he would be lying if he said it didn’t brighten his evening. He knows just what his brother is putting you through and though he doesn’t agree, he was expecting this. Yo-han was a selfish person. He had his entire life planned out and a baby wasn’t a part of it yet. You had caused him to have to re-write his own life plan and he was pissed about it.

“Your belly is growing.” Yoongi notes, taking a step back. There’s an obvious bump in your stomach. You haven’t gotten maternity shirts yet so a part of your stomach hangs out a bit from your tank top - the only acceptable piece of clothing you could managed at the moment.

You look down to your stomach and laugh, nodding your head. “Yeah. Yeah it has.” you agree. You place a hand onto your stomach. “Sometimes I feel it moving. The doctor says around this time there should be some kicking and moving.”

“Really?” Yoongi asks. His hand twitches to touch you, but he doesn’t. He has to remember there was a boundary between you and him. 

“Really.” you nod. Without thinking, you grab Yoongi’s hand and place it onto the side of your stomach. “I don’t think you can feel anything now but..” you gently poke your stomach in an attempt to get the fetus to do something.

Yoongi marvels at the feel of your stomach. He’s highly intrigued with how round it is - with how a baby could form inside of you in just under a year. “The baby will be the size of a grapefruit next week,” he says, eyes intrigued.

You couldn’t help but laugh at yet another random fact; a laugh that Yoongi joins in on. It’s a bittersweet moment, you think. You smiled more now with Yoongi than you ever did with Yo-han the last few months, your body feeling warm.

Yoongi’s eyes glances up at yours and for a moment, it’s a sweet moment. From the outside looking in, you and Yoongi are experiencing a sweet moment together and it was just that.

Yet anyone that knew the both of you would see this as weird. Yoongi wasn’t your husband - and he wasn’t supposed to be this happy just as an “uncle” to feel your stomach.

Yoongi removes his hands as if he’s thinking the same thing you are. He takes a few steps back, his warm presence going right along with him.

“Let’s find out.” you jump to change the subject in an attempt to make things less awkward. You gulp, hands lifting towards the small white box to open it.

“So we’re just supposed to cut the cake or…?” Yoongi watches. 

When you open the box, Yoongi’s interested in how simple yet effected it looks. It’s an all white cake with “baby boy or girl” written in the middle of it, patterned in blue and pink.

“We can. I’ve seen different ways.”

You turn to Yoongi and raise your brows.

“What ways?” Yoongi smiles. He can tell that you’re a bit excited and jittery.

“Do you have any champagne glasses?”

Yoongi nods his head, taking a step away to go towards his cabinets. “I don’t really use them as often,” he states. He grabs two and returns, placing them onto the island.

“So,” you take a hold of both of them and lift one up to Yoongi for him to take. 

“So.” Yoongi grins as you face him and away from the cake. 

“We’re going to sink the champagne glass into the cake”

“Okay-”

“Don’t look!” you hiss, but you aren’t upset. You giggle immediately when Yoongi’s head snaps towards you. “We’re supposed to look together.”

“Okay.” Yoongi nods. He chuckles a bit, gummy smile causing your heart to jolt.

“Okay, so we’re just going to sink it in now…”

Yoongi’s eyes remain on yours as he tries his best to do what you’re asking of him. His own heart is beating with nerves that he feels that shouldn’t be there. He feels honored to be a part of this moment with you, but it wasn’t going to last. Eventually, you’d have to return home where you lived with Yo-han and he would have to go back to just being Yoongi.

“Do you have cake?” you ask.

Yoongi nods his head. “I should.”

“Okay.” you murmur. “Now lift.”

Yoongi does, hoping that none of the cake drops from his champagne glass and makes a mess. He has to admit the entire ordeal was possibly meant to be messy, but he’s far from annoyed.

“Do we do a countdown?” Yoongi murmurs. His foot taps against the floor with nerves, his eyes watching you for the next step.

You nod. “Yeah…” you murmur. “3…”

“…2…” Yoongi adds, just for the suspense. He laughs at the look on your face that possibly mirrors your own.

“...1.” 

Your head snaps along with his to the champagne glass. Your eyes widen, as do Yoongi’s, at the blue sponge cake in the glass. 

You never thought about the gender of your child. You told yourself you would be happy with whatever gender just as long as they were healthy. 

But now that your eyes witness the blue tint, your heart warms and you cannot help but be excited. You squeal, eyes widening when you turn to Yoongi. Your excitement is contagious, and he cannot help but let out a laugh. 

You’re unsure why it happened - maybe you were far too excited for once in your pregnancy, and Yoongi's demeanor is just as excited as you. Your lips clash onto Yoongi’s and you push yourself away before he has the chance to.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

Yoongi presses his lips onto yours in response, a hand tugging you closer to him. The kiss doesn’t last long, but it was enough of a response in assuring you that he wasn’t upset about the kiss.

When Yoongi lifts his lips from yours, his forehead is lightly pressed against your own, eyes fluttering open. He is silent, as are you. You weren’t supposed to be in this position at all, nor were you supposed to be in Yoongi’s home. This cake was for you and Yo-han, yet here you are experiencing a moment with someone else entirely.

A position you put yourself in time and time again.

“I’m making things more complicated.” you murmur, breath warm against his lips. 

“The decision we made wasn’t as simple either.” Yoongi retorts. “It’s difficult for both of us.”

You rarely thought about how Yoongi might feel in this situation about being a father. You thought maybe it was easier  for him as he wasn’t the one that had to be around. Yet here you are, celebrating the fact that his first child was a son - and it was with his brother’s wife.

You take a deep breath, closing your eyes.

“You can stay for tonight.” Yoongi suggests, a pleading undertone in his voice. His hand gently squeezes your waist.

“I shouldn’t.” you sigh, but your own hand touches Yoongi’s chest. You make no attempt to move away and neither does Yoongi.

“You shouldn’t.” Yoongi agrees with a curt nod. 

You both stand in silence, too close for in-laws to be. Yoongi’s presence was so warm and welcoming that leaving here - like you should be - and going back to a quiet, cold and lonely home didn’t feel right. Even if you were the reason for it.

What you and Yoongi were doing was wrong. You shouldn’t be in his bed, lips pressed firmly against one another. His hands shouldn’t be pulling your pants down nor should your hands be tugging at his shirt.

You and Yoongi had one agreement - five months ago. You would go against your marriage and get pregnant by your brother in law and have the family your husband wasn’t ready to have. That agreement didn’t mean returning to your brother in law when things got tough - when you were sad and lonely while at home. But here you are - and here Yoongi was allowing it.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N.” Yoongi grunts against your lips. One hand dips between your legs to touch your clothed clit.

“You don’t have to lie and flatter me, Yoongi. I look a mess.” you snicker, but you had to admit his words flatter you.

Yoongi doesn’t blink nor is he amused by your attempting to joke. “My brother doesn’t compliment you enough.” he states low.

Yoongi connects his lips back to yours, slowly molding it against his. His fingers work their way between your panties until they feel your wet clit. He groans against your lips, but he doesn’t break the kiss. 

You’re wet - wetter than you have been in months. Yo-han and you had stopped having sex once your bump formed. And even then, the sex wasn’t the same. It felt like a chore for the both of you instead of passionate sex between husband and wife.

Yoongi’s fingers glides between your folds, feeling such arousal that he’s missed for months now - arousal that he couldn’t get his mind off of. No matter whatever one night stand he attempted to use to occupy his time, it never lived up to you.

Maybe you were different because he knew you personally. You and him had ties; he would always have to see you.

Or it was possibly the adrenaline rush in knowing that you were forbidden to him; completely off limits. 

Whatever it was, Yoongi could only hope that one day you would return to him, and you had. A part of him feels shitty for having you here now when it was obvious that you were hurting - you were lonely and had experienced less affection from your husband as the days went on. But he cannot help but want to feel you again.

You’re first to break the kiss to let out a strangled gasp when Yoongi’s fingers begin to pump into you without warning. Your right hand tangles into his hair - it’s soft to the touch. Your pussy squeezes around him greedily. 

“Feels good?” Yoongi questions, though he knows the answer. He leans back enough so he can see the way two of his fingers pump in and out of you. Your arousal is shiny against his palm and all he can do is chuckle. “You missed me?”

Maybe it was an arrogant question - but Yoongi was an arrogant man. Especially when it came to his brother. He didn’t live his life wanting to be better than Yo-han - that was no way to live. But he got great satisfaction in knowing that you were here with him right now instead of waiting for his brother to return home. Even if he couldn’t brag about it aloud, just living it was enough.

“I missed you so much.” you bite your lip to suppress another moan, your grip on Yoongi’s hair only tightening.

Yoongi himself groans. His eyes lift to yours for a moment, before he glances down to your breast. They’ve grown a bit since the last time he saw you - as they would with pregnancy.  His free hand goes to pull your tank top down just enough so your breast can pop out. His mouth is already salivating at how perky your nipples were already. The tip of his tongue swirls it teasingly, enjoying the way your back arches a bit.

With Yoongi’s pumping fingers and his warm tongue suckling onto your nipple, you were seeing stars. You’re not fighting off your moans any longer, nor are your fingers letting go of Yoongi’s hair.

It all feels so scandalous like it did the first time. Only now, you were returning to the same man who impregnated you in the first place. It’s all fucked up, truly, but it’s nothing either of you could do now.

“Want you to cum all over my fingers.” Yoongi pops your nipple from his mouth long enough to speak. He captures the other one, suckling with the same amount of need. His eyes are full of lust as they glance up at you.

The way your pussy is squeezing his fingers, Yoongi knows just how well his fingers are fucking you. His palm rubs against your swollen clit for added pleasuring and it causes your thighs to shake. 

“Y-Yoongi…” your back arches a bit more, allowing Yoongi more access to your breast. He nearly has half of it in his mouth, groaning as his fingers have their way with you. Your eyes close tightly as that familiar churning in your stomach appears.

“Your pussy’s so wet, baby.” Yoongi grumbles, his mouth wet with saliva and your nipple nearly swollen. “You’re gonna cum for me?”

You nod hastily, your thighs closing when it comes. But Yoongi only pumps quicker, moaning along with you. You were insanely attractive this way - it had to be the pregnancy glow.

“Wanna feel your cock in me.” you murmur, wrapping both arms around him now. “Want you to cum in me.”

Yoongi swallows, eyes slightly widening. “Yeah?” he hums, his already hardened cock twitching. It wants to be let out and plunged inside of you already.

“Please.”

Fuck - how could Yoongi resist you? He fumbles with his pants for a moment before his cock springs out when he drops them along with his underwear.

You’re not too far along where being in this position is uncomfortable, so you widen your legs. You’ve wanted Yoongi’s cock in you for far too long to want to wait any longer.

Yoongi wraps a palm around his cock and slaps it against your wet clit before rubbing it between your  folds. He shudders at the feeling, having missed your pussy wrapped around his.

“You’re so tight.” Yoongi grunts as he enters you. “He hasn’t been fucking you good, has he?”

Both of Yoongi’s hands settle onto your hips as he slowly pumps inside of you. His head falls limp backwards for a moment as he takes a few soft moments to savor just how wet and tight you are.

Your own hands sink into the sheets, your pussy clenching and unclenching around his cock. This was passionate - something you haven’t received in so long. When Yo-han and you were active, it didn’t feel like passionate sex, more like a chore.

Yoongi’s hips pick up the pace. His cock pumps in and out of you, going deeper and deeper. Your walls were so heavenly, wrapping around him and milking him entirely. You were already pregnant, but he wishes he could experience impregnating you over and over again.

“You’re fucking me so good.” you shudder.

Yoongi opens his eyes to look at you. 

A mistake.

Your breasts are bouncing with each thrust, causing him to pump more eagerly. Your pussy is wet, a creamy ring soaked around his cock.

But it was your stomach that caused Yoongi's hands to tighten around your frame. He never had sex with someone that was pregnant before - not until now. Someone he impregnated. Was it weird that it turned him on even more? It shouldn't be (right?).

But it did. Yoongi’s hips snap deeper inside of you, his eyes dancing between your bump to your breast, then to your face.

“You’re so pretty pregnant.” Yoongi blurts out with a soft gasp. His right hand rubs at your bump for a moment, shaking his head to get rid of these intrusive thoughts. “So, so pretty.”

Your cheeks warm at the compliment. Yoongi hadn’t stopped complimenting you yet and it was a new experience. You ponder if Yo-han didn’t find you as pretty as he did before, but you also find that you don’t care at the moment. Not while you’re with Yoongi.

“Of course you think so. You’re the one that did this to me.”

“I would do it again.”

Yoongi shouldn’t speak so lustfully, but he cannot help it. Your pussy feels too good and it’s clouding his best judgment. But he was a man and any man enjoyed the thought of impregnating a woman - even if it was just bedroom talk.

Anyone but Yo-han that was. But fuck Yo-han.

“You’d want another baby, wouldn’t you?” Yoongi leans down a bit closer, his hands lifting from your stomach to place on both sides of you. He places his hands onto yours, tangling your fingers together. “Our son needs someone to play with.”

This was wrong - it all was fucked up. Yoongi shouldn’t sound so possessive of the child he couldn’t be there to raise as his own, but he is. And you are just as excited at the sound of “our son” coming from Yoongi’s lips, his tone so deep and husky that it sends shivers up your spine.

“Y-Yeah,” you moan with a short nod of your head. Your stomach churns - it was far too soon for you to be cumming again, but here you were. “‘want you to get me pregnant again after this.”

Yoongi hisses, his hips snapping sloppily into you. This was your fault that he was this way - you were only entertaining him further with things that couldn’t happen again. Yet, you told yourself that you wouldn’t allow Yoongi to fuck you again and here you and he were.

“You’re such a good girl, Y/N, letting me fuck you raw again.” Yoongi’s lips graze yours. “You don’t have to wait so long next time. You don’t have to force yourself to fuck your husband, either.”

You bite your lip at the pressuring building up deep within your core.

“I’ll fuck you whenver you want, baby.” Yoongi feels his cock swell, ready to release right inside of you. He knew he wasn’t going to last long - not when it came to you. If he was lucky, you wouldn’t leave and he would get to pump even more cum into you throughout the night. 

“I’m cumming..!” you gasp out, your thighs twitching automatically. You’re clenching around Yoongi so hard that you’re forcing him to cum right along with you, an action he isn’t upset about.

“Everything alright?”

Yoongi blinks a few times, his eyes dancing around the dinner table until they land on his mother. She’s looking straight at him with the same feline-like eyes that matches his own. She’s staring a hole right through him.

“Yes.” Yoongi nods his head. He lifts his wine glass up and brings it to his lips. “Dinner is good.”

“I’m actually surprised you showed up.”

And then there was that voice that caused Yoongi’s mood to immediately sour.

Yo-han appears that he wish he could be anywhere else but here. He isn’t seated next to his wife, no, you’re right across from him and right next to his mother. He is forced to be next to Yo-han, but both brothers' chairs are pushed to the furthest away from one another.

“As am I.” Yoongi retorts. “I’ve been busy.”

“With music?” Yo-han sounds as if he wants to laugh, but refrains. “How hard could it be to talk on a track?”

“As hard as it can be to be away from your wife for weeks on end.” Yoongi rebuttals with another sip of wine. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. After all, he isn’t supposed to know.

Yo-han’s eyes glances from Yoongi to you. Immediately, you advert them.

“I see my wife has been pillow talking with my brother.”

“What Yoongi means,” his mother speaks up this time. “Is that he has been the one to help Y/N. Do you expect her to build the furniture for the baby?”

“No, of course not.” Yo-han grits his teeth. “I expect the help I hired. Not him.”

“I’ve been told I was good with my hands, brother.” Yoongi responds, bored. He looks right at you this time, a look that his mother doesn’t miss. 

“Yoongi.”

Yoongi’s eyes advert to his mother. She’s reading him, tilting her head. She did this often in their youth.

“Be sure to not provoke your brother.” his mother says, though there’s something she’s holding back. The obvious (yet not so obvious to Yo-han) elephant in the room. “Yo-han…Yoongi is just helping. That’s what uncles do.”

Yoongi drops his wine glass onto the table with a clank. It startles your nervous eyes upwards to look at him. Yoongi pushes his chair back. “I’ll make my leave now. Mother,” Yoongi bows his head. “Y/N…” he murmurs. He doesn’t want to meet your eyes, but he does. “...let me know if you need anything from me.”

Yo-han snickers, but doesn’t respond.

Yoongi can feel his mother’s eyes on the back of his head as he strolls down the hall. He attempts to keep his posture relaxed, but there’s a deep despair in his stomach. An uncertain feeling of being caught red-handed.

@lula-mei @lover-bts-fairy @pp0810 @slutoru1207 @tokkihalo @kkuniki1816 @ @thelilbutifulthings @avawants2havefun @dream-lover200 @haru-jiminn @investedreader @darkuni63

explicit-tae/trivia-yandere: idk i feel like we can end this here with such suspense :3

[motorsportbarbie13]

The Yapping Hour Is Upon Us - Part 3

In which you and Max spend the next six months just being obsessed with each other.

Warnings: A little angst, but not 'break up with you' angst, just 'i really fucking miss you' angst so it's okay. And fluff. Tooth achingly sweet fluff. Pairing: Max Verstappen x Podcaster!Reader Word Count: 4.4k plus a shit ton of social media posts. - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - The Yapping Hour is Upon Us - Part 2 - Master List

(a/n before we begin: Probably one more part to this. Thinking of doing an 'after Max gets you back to the hotel post-race' part to wrap things up nicely if anyone wants to see that.)

Monaco May 2024

F1GossipOfficial posted

34,028 likes F1GossipOfficial Seems as if our favorite Red Bull driver and sunny little podcaster are getting closer! The pair was spotted around Monaco this week ahead of the Monaco Grand Prix. The pair have been seen publicly a handful of times since Max made an appearance on her podcast The Yapping Hour in late April, most notably at the Miami Grand Prix at the beginning of the month and then the week later in New York City where she is based. Everyone who sent in photos said the pair were super cozy and seemed lost in their own world. user0299 she's only with him for the clout and money. Her little podcast was dying out and she latched onto Max like a leech. >>>user5572 go touch some grass my man. Her podcast is consistently the number 1 listened to show on all platforms all the fucking time. user9938 they are so cute, i can't handle it user4530 I saw them at dinner the other night and oh my GOD. They sat on the same side of the table even though it was just the two of them. He held her hand underneath the table all through dinner and I don't think either of them stopped smiling or looked anywhere else but at each other the entire night. >>>user39948 they are so fucking perfect oml

Canada June 2024 yourpersonalinsta posted

493,928 likes liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris, totowolff, and others yourpersonalinsta Over the moon to have been able to be with you for this win in Canada, Maxie. user299 MAXIE?! I have no one to talk to about this redbullracing our good luck charm strikes again! >>>user456 Red Bull calling her theirs??? Love this for her. maxverstsppen1 thank you for always being in my corner liefje ❤️ >>>user394 how am i supposed to be normal after reading this??? user8827 Not Toto in the likes trying to get on her good side so Max signs with Merc in 2026 >>>user778 HAHA can you imagine??

Amalfi Coast August 2024

maxverstappen1 posted

987,409 likes liked by yourpersonalinsta, redbullracing, yourdad and others maxverstappen1 summer break with this gorgeous girl user458 they are my royal couple yourpersonalinsta wishing we were back on that boat rn instead of on different continents :( >>>maxverstappen1 just a few more weeks until Singapore, schatje. >>>user4938 this is my roman empire >>>user024 mom and dad are sad so i am sad too

October 2024 Austin, Texas

You hadn't seen Max in over three weeks. Three very, very, very long weeks. And not to be dramatic or anything but you felt like you might actually pass away if the Uber that was currently picking it's way through very heavy Austin traffic drove any slower.

While the sleek Mercedes SUV waited at a red light, your gaze drifted away from the navigation system showing the the heavy traffic all around you towards the busy city streets around you. Whoever had decided to schedule an Eminem concert, a huge college rivalry football game, and a Formula 1 race all in the same city on the same weekend should have their head examined.

Fixated on the crowd on the sidewalk outside, you mull over the last six months of your life. It has certainly been a whirlwind, that was for sure. If someone had told you back in the beginning of May that you'd be on your way to your sixth Grand Prix of the year to watch your boyfriend race in Formula 1, you would have laughed in their faces. Because really, when you sat back and considered it, the fact that you had gone from being a fan of the sport and interviewing Max on a professional level to dating him in under six months was absolutely wild.

While you attended races whenever you could, you found yourself more often than not called to the other side of the world to attend to your flourishing career. In the last six months you had ping ponged around the globe, bouncing between weekends with Max and over scheduled weeks filled with work, interviews, and meetings. Some days you just wished that things were simpler and you could just dedicate yourself to following Max around from city to city but you knew that Susan B Anthony would roll over in her grave if you gave up everything for a man so quickly, even a man as amazing as Max Verstappen.

You brush aside the thought of leaving your work because in the end, all that is is a simple fantasy brought on by you missing the man that has become the center of your universe lately.

After attending the Singapore GP with Max, you had spent a few extra days with him in Asia before needing to fly home. While Max did have nearly an entire month break from racing, he couldn't follow you to New York like he had intended. After coming back from the summer break, Max's luck had started to slip and the car had deteriorated. He hadn't won a race in months, the car was an absolute tractor, and Lando was gaining on him in the Championship. He had needed to spend every extra moment he had in the sims and with the engineering team trying to salvage the season.

While Max had been in Europe, you had been in the US recording episodes with Heidi Klum, Wayne Gretzky, and finally Kylie Kelce. Heidi had been in LA, Wayne in Florida, and Kylie in Philly so you had spent most of the last three weeks on the road. As the SUV inched closer to the COTA track, you realized you couldn't remember the last time you'd set foot in your apartment.

Exhaustion seeps into your bones as the realization washes over you. You loved the life you lived, wouldn't trade it for the world but sometimes, in these quiet moments you wished for a break, a chance to go home, wherever that even was now, and just rest.

Your phone buzzing beside you pulls you back to the present. Ysou struggle to shake off the mind numbing melancholy that's settled over you like a thick woolen blanket before answering the call. "Hi baby." You sigh, knowing who it is without even looking at the caller ID.

"What's wrong?" Max's voice is sharp on the other end, effortlessly reading your tone.

You shake your head, chest tightening with anxiety. "Just..." You search for the right words. "tired is all. I just realized I can't even remember the last time I spent a night in my own bed."

"Oh, schatje." Max sighs, knowing how grueling this schedule is as he lives it as well. "Do you want me to have the jet take you home? It's at the airfield still."

Tears collect in your eyes as your chest squeezes painfully. "No, I just want to see you." You whisper, afraid if you raise your voice you'll start to cry.

"How far are you from the track?"

You pop your head around the SUV's headrest to check the nav system. "Not long. Five minutes. I can see the giant observation tower from here."

"Have the Uber bring you right to the paddock gates. I have a car here and a few hours before any media duties. I'll take you back to the hotel myself and we can take a nap together, okay?"

Your entire body sags with relief at his words. If there was one thing that Max was good at, it was taking care of you. He didn't hem and haw or waver on a plan of action. He saw what you needed and made sure that you were taken care of. The way the burden of everything that you had silently carried for years shifted towards Max the moment you landed in Miami all those months ago was something that would shock you for years to come.

"Okay." You whisper, swiping at a single tear that managed to escape.

You have a few moments to collect yourself before the Uber stops at the entrance to the paddock. From your seat in the back, you spot a familiar blonde head that belonged to your Dutch boyfriend waiting for you. You're suddenly simultaneously bursting with excitement and beside yourself with grief as the anxiety that has gnawed at you over the last 24 hours fully consumes you at the mere sight of Max.

Max has you out of the car and into his arms before you can barely catch your breath. The moment you inhale that uniquely Max scent something inside you shifts and becomes crystal clear. You didn't need Max to have his jet take you home because you already were home. It sounded cliche in your head and it probably was, but you knew there was some truth to it: somewhere over the last six months your home had shifted away from your apartment in New York to wherever Max was.

Max tightens his grip around your waist, settling his chin on your head while you stay buried deep in his neck, you realize that home isn't a place any longer. Home is a person now and Max is that person. You don't have to go home to New York to rest, you just have to be in Max's presence. With him, you are utterly and completely safe and secure. For someone who spends 99% of her time 'on' and performing, being able to come home to Max and just switch it all off, allowing him to lead and take over, is the most powerful form of rest you could have ever dreamt of.

Max nods at the driver as he unloads your luggage, arms still locked tight around you. He can feel you melt into him, like you've been waiting for this moment since the last time you saw him. He knows that for him at least, this is true. Everything else in his life is completley falling apart. The car sucks, they had to ditch the special livery for this weekend becuase the fucking paint had the potential to make the car too heavy and slow. Lando has been on a tear lately, that McLaren a complete rocket ship and the only reason Lando hasn't overtaken him in the championship is thanks to some spectacularly shitty calls from the McLaren pit wall.

The only bright spot in Max's day is you. Your voice, your touch, your face. Any bit of you he gets on a daily basis is what keeps him going right now. As he had stood on the curb just moments before, desperately and not so patiently waiting while watching the black Mercedes SUV creep down the street towards him, it had felt like cruel and unusual punishment after being apart from you for so long.

And now? Now you were back in his arms and he drew in the longest breath he could, taking in the scent of your perfume and laundry soap that he had missed so keenly while he'd been working, and he simply couldn't get enough.

Max pulls away slightly, so he can see your pretty face but what he sees in your eyes nearly breaks him. Pain and longing hang heavy in your eyes and there is nothing Max wouldn't do to make all of that go away for you. Fingers tip your chin up towards him so he can finally get his lips on yours, a soft sigh escaping your mouth when he makes that first contact.

You swear it's like a cool drink of water in the middle of a humid heatwave in July, the way Max kisses you with such relief and passion and affection. Like he's trying to tell you through his kiss how much he adores you, how much he's missed you, how much he craves you.

"I love you." Are the first words he says to you and your breath catches in your throat. It isn't the first time he's said those words, Max had said them first all those months back when he brought you home to Monaco. It had been quick, probably too quick by the world's standards, but it just clicked between the two of you and the words had tumbled out of Max like it was the most natural thing in the world. The reason the words had your breath catching in your chest was because of the ferocity behind them, like he could tell how bone tired you were from all the travel over the last few months and he was desperate to remind you why you were doing all of this. Why the two of you were doing all of this together and apart. It was for moments like this, moments where you were attached to each other in the middle of the busy paddock parking lot like no one else existed.

"I love you too, Max." You whisper, dusting your lips over the stubble that was scattered over his jaw. "Can we go take a nap now? I'm so tired."

yourpersonalinsta posted

348,209 likes liked by kyliekelce, maxverstappen1, assistantshannon, and others yourpersonalinsta home is wherever you are (tagged: maxverstappen1) user098 mad max is no more, there is only soft cuddly boyfie max user0399 this is the cutest thing i've ever seen user000 god i am so single maxverstappen1 love you baby >>>danielricciardo SIMP >>>maxverstappen1 absolutely >>>user9938 it kills me that he is loves her so boldly and loudly. girl hit the mfing jackpot. (liked by author)

It's not your alarm that fully wakes you up on Friday morning. It isn't Max's either. But as you try to untangle your limbs from Max's and search for the source of the ringing, you can't help but curse whoever is interrupting the slow sleepy cuddles that had been progressing into something more heated for the past 20 minutes.

You nearly spit you're so mad when you see the caller ID.

"John." You growl, sitting up in bed as Max settles himself back against the mountain of pillows beside you. "It is 8 in the morning on a Friday the day after I saw my boyfriend for the first time in over three weeks. I swear on all things good and holy, this had better be good."

John, to his credit, didn't even scoff at the threat. He'd been your business manager for going on four years now and was used to your early morning attitudes.

"She said yes."

You sit up, back going ramrod straight as the three words clang through you. "What?" You hiss.

Beside you, Max struggles to sit up too, alarm coursing through him at the panic in your voice.

"Tree just called me five minutes ago. Said that Kylie had sent her the episode and wouldn't stop gushing about how amazing you were and how you were the perfect person to do this interview on the end of the tour and everything. Tree said Taylor watched your episode with Michelle and Queen Maxima too, said they were the best interviews she's ever seen. Everything is a go."

Your entire world tilts as what John is telling you fully sinks in. "Taylor Swift's agreed to come on the show?" You voice is weak, heavy under the weight of the news John is telling you. Your hands tremble at the thought of what this means for you. For your career.

Beside you, Max sucks in a breath at your sentence, fully aware of how big of a moment this is for you. Pride soars through him as he watches literal sunshine dance across your face, your smile as bright as the Texas morning light. "Schatje." He whispers, pulling your free hand towards his lips. Your eyes dart over to him and you grin at him, kicking your feet a little, completely unable to hide your excitement.

"She also said yes to your suggestion of a behind the scenes vlog on your channel ahead of the release of the episode. Thought the idea was marketing gold. You've got full access to everything for the entire week."

Before you had landed Kylie Kelce on the show, you and John had made a silly, pie in the sky request to Tree Paine not even thinking that it would go anywhere. When Kylie had agreed to do an episode, a request that had actually been made to her people months before John had contacted Tree, the idea of maybe, just maybe you might be able to land Taylor after had grown a bit. You hadn't told anyone of the request, not even Max, because you didn't want to be embarrassed if it didn't work out.

"There's only one problem." Your heart stops and you grip at Max's hand for support. You knew there had to be a catch. "They want you in Toronto by Sunday."

"Wh-what?" Your stomach plummets through the floor. You had just gotten to Austin last night and now you were going to have to leave again? You were supposed to spend the entire triple header with Max. Three weeks of solid time with him had been the only thing getting you through the previous three week separation. You two had even planned to go visit your parents in Michigan between Austin and Mexico later next week.

"The first concert is Monday and Tree wants you to get as much content as you can and has asked you be there at 9am Monday morning."

You head spins. "Oh-okay." There's a giant Max shaped hole in your heart at what you have to agree to, simply exhausted by the fact that you're going to have to pick up and leave again so soon. "Okay. We'll figure it out."

"Do you want me to have Shannon make flight arrangements?"

You glance over at Max, who senses your apprehension. "Let me talk through it with Max and see what we can figure out. I'll call you in a few hours, okay?"

"Sounds good. Congratulations, kiddo. This is huge."

You smile despite yourself, excitement and anxiety winding their way through your chest making it a little hard to breathe. "Bye John."

You gently place your phone back on the bedside table before turning to Max, bracing yourself for the good and bad news you have to deliver.

"The beginning of that call looked phenomenal but now you look like you're going to be sick." Max observes, pulling you into his lap.

You shudder against when his lips graze your neck, dropping a kiss to his forehead. "Taylor Swift agreed to come on the show and to let me do a weeks worth of behind the scenes of her Toronto shows."

"Baby, that is amazing. This is going to be huge for you and the show!"

You nod, a bit dazed by all of this information you have to process. "But they want me there by Sunday night so I can start first thing Monday." Sadness edges into your voice, the dread of having to leave Max again begins to sink in fully.

"When should Greg have the jet ready to take off then? You'll probably want to leave before the end of the race to beat traffic, yeah? Although I suppose we could find you a helicopter to take you from the track to the airport."

You stare at Max like he's grown three heads. His voice is so nonchalant despite him suggesting he rent you a helicopter that all you can do is blink at him for a few moments. "Just...just like that? You're on board with it? You're not upset?"

Max scoffs, pulling you closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. His arms go tighter around your waist as he gives you a kiss on the cheek. "Why would I be upset? I'll do anything I can to help you live out this dream, schatje. You know that. This is the biggest thing to happen to your career since you had F1 racing legend Max Verstappen as a guest."

The giggle that tumbles out of you has the tension in the room popping like a soap bubble. "You're ridiculous."

"And yet, you're still here." Max finds your lips then, the kiss full of reassurance and confidence. Of course he was disappointed you were going to be leaving in 2 days and he wasn't sure when you'd be back with him but this opportunity was too good to miss. "I'd never forgive myself if you missed spending a week doing what you love with one of your favorite artists because of me. Of course I'll miss you but you need to do this. So tell me, when should I have the jet ready to get you to Toronto?"

yourpersonalinsta story post

story replies: user8882 ARE YOU THERE FOR ERAS TOUR??? user029 what are you up to ma'am??? user837 wait. first kylie's on the show and now you're in Toronto the same week as Taylor. ARE WE GETTING A TAYLOR EPISODE OH MY GOD.

TheYappingHour posted

876,029 likes liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, alexandrasaintmleux, and others theyappinghour Toronto, you were stunning! Can anyone guess who our next guest on the show is going to be??? Behind the scenes vlog dropping next week ahead of a very very special two part episode set to drop later this month. user928 oh my god, everyone stay calm, it's happening. user020 IS THIS FOR REAL??? I will never recover maxverstappen1 so proud of you my love >>>yourpersonalinsta couldn't do it without you, maxie >>>user928 if there's one thing Max is going to be, it's the first one in the likes and comments on anything his girl does. (liked by yourpersonalinsta) >>>user0298 may this kind of love find me one day

Excerpt from Episode 59 of The Yapping Hour featuring Taylor Swift:

You: Speaking of what you do in your down time, can we talk about how supportive you are of your boyfriend and show up for him despite the Brad's and Chad's hating every second of it?

Taylor: It's so silly to me, how much everyone hates it. When I show up at the game, I'm just like every other significant other. I'm not there to take the spotlight away from anyone, I just want to watch my man play!

You: Oh my God, I totally get it. It's so strange to me the way some fans can't handle someone like you who has a whole other identity outside of who you're dating, showing up to support the person you love.

Taylor: It's like, relax! I'm just here to watch my boyfriend catch a ball!

You: Right? Just let me enjoy watching 20 cars drive around in circles in peace please!

Taylor: You two are so cute though. Trav was watching the race in Monaco a few months back, right after he invested in Alpine, and there was that one shot of you and Max after the end of the race in his garage and you were giving him a hug. I love how loudly you love him and how public he is about you. It's refreshing.

You: Oh gosh, thank you. Yes, he is so supportive of everything I do, just like Travis is. It's such a comfort, isn't it? *Taylor nods* He actually stayed in Austin an extra day so I could use his jet to come up here.

Taylor: Trav was supposed to go to that race but got caught up in training stuff. It looked like so much fun.

You: Have you ever been to a race? Either of you?

Taylor: I haven't but Travis went to the Las Vegas race last year. Said it was the one of the biggest parties he'd ever been to.

You: You'll have to come this year then! It's in a few weeks!

Taylor: I'll talk to Trav and see if we can make it happen.

TheYappingHour posted

1,039,928 likes liked by maxverstappen1, taylorswift, kikagomes, and others theyappinghour What an absolute whirlwind of a week and a half. Spending time with your favorite artist, seeing her in her element, and then spending a few hours talking about everything from what it's like to live such a public life to how important it is to have a supportive significant other. I simply can't wait to share the behind the scenes vlog dropping at the end of this week and then the episode later this month. Taylor, you are a dream of a human being and we are so happy to have had this opportunity. Can't wait to see you and Travis at a race! taylorswift You are such a sweetheart! So glad we got to spend time together this past week! Can't wait to hear the episode my love! kikagomes how does it feel to live my dreammmm bestie??? >>>yourpersonalinsta kiks omg i will never recover from this!! maxverstappen1 Proud of you, as always lifeje. >>>yourpersonalinsta can't wait to see you so so so soon baby

"And he doesn't expect a thing?" You glance up at the ticket counter where the airline employee has begun to call first class. You stand, phone still pressed to your ear, pulling your carry on behind you.

"Nope!" On the other end, Max's PR manager Sophie giggles conspiratorially. "He was just complaining to GP ten minutes ago how he couldn't believe they didn't have more flights from Sao Paulo to Paris. He said he was considering upgrading his jet to one with longer range so he could fly private next time."

You roll your eyes but chuckle. If you were a drama queen, your boyfriend could be the drama king to match sometimes. Although you didn't blame him to be quite honest. After leaving Austin mid way through the race, you had missed the Mexico race entirely. The plan had been for you to fly down to Brazil for the Sao Paulo race but editing and press had taken much longer than you had anticipated so now it was Saturday night and you were boarding a 9 hour flight from New York to the South American country.

Only, Max didn't know that. Max thought you were getting on a flight to Nice via Paris before driving to Monaco where he'd meet you sometime late Monday night or early Tuesday morning. Joke was on him though, you had finished everything up and had called Sophie for help to get you down to Brazil just in time for Sunday's race.

"He's such a baby." You murmur as the flight attendant leads you to your seat.

"He is beside himself missing you." Sophie says and you can hear the smile in her voice. "Just make sure I'm around when he sees you for the firs time, okay? He's going to lose it."

Laughing, you hoist your suitcase into the overhead bin before settling down in the luxurious lie flat seat that will be your bed for the next nine hours. If everything goes right, you'll land in Brazil just as the postponed qualifying is finishing up and will be able to watch the entire race in person.

"Thank you for helping coordinate this, Soph. I really appreciate it."

"Anything to get Max out of this slump he's in!" She replies brightly.

A few minutes later, you hang up the phone and type out a quick text letting Max know you're boarding the flight. Luckily, the flight from New York to Paris is roughly the same time as the flight to Sao Paulo so he doesn't bat an eye when you tell him you'll be unreachable, only telling you that the doorman to his building is expecting you and to make yourself at home in his apartment in Monaco when you get there before he does.

************************************************************************

It is absolutely raining cats and dogs when the car Sophie hired pulls into the track after what feels like a lifetime of travel. Right after they served dinner on your flight, you took a sleeping pill and passed out for the duration of the flight, only waking up once the pilot turned on the overhead lights, signaling your arrival.

A quick text to Sophie alerts her to your arrival and she says she'll come and meet you outside the paddock with an extra umbrella. The driver that picked you up from the airport will take your luggage to the hotel where Max and the team are staying. When the car stops in front of the paddock gates, you spot Sophie immediately.

"Soph!!" You shout the moment you stumble out of the car, limbs a little stiff from the long car ride. Sao Paulo traffic is a beast in the best of weather but in a downpour like this? Nightmarish.

Sophie opens her arms to embrace you, "Oh I am so glad you're here. He is an absolute nightmare right now."

You grimace, knowing exactly why. He'd be starting P17 in a few hours. Between the team having got caught behind a red flag during Q2 and his 5 place grid penalty, it was a nightmare scenario for Max. All of this was compounded by Lando's win in the sprint yesterday and the fact that he was starting on pole today.

"Alright then, lets go. Maybe I can talk him down off a ledge before the race starts."

Sophie grins because she knows you'll be able to do just that. If there was anyone who could calm Mad Max down and bring him back to earth after the kind of morning the team had had today, it was you.

As you weave your way through the crowded paddock, the heavy rain simply not a deterrent to anyone at the track today, Max is in the garage considering the merits of scratching his eyeballs out so that he doesn't have to run this fucking race today. Everything is wrong. The car is terrible. Still. The FIA seemed to have a hard on for fucking up his weekend. Lando was on poll. And worst of all, he really fucking missed you. There was still several days between him and being reunited with you but if he could have just walked right out of the paddock and onto a plane to get to wherever you were in that moment, he would have. The only thing that seemed to settle him during these times lately was your steady presence in the garage. He didn't even need you to say anything, just knowing that you were around, within arms length if he needed you, did something to calm him like nothing else could.

He's talking to GP, actually, he's grumbling at GP when a familiar flash of hair and bright smile catches his eyes. Perfect, he thinks miserably, now I'm imagining her in the garage. I've gone full unhinged obsessed boyfriend, haven't I?

Imagine his shock when he actually hears your voice. "Max." You call out softly, hands clasped in front of you as you wait at the edge of the garage beside Sophie.

Max simply blinks a few times, as if he's trying to figure out if he's hallucinating or if you're really standing in front of him. His heart hammers in his chest when everything finally clicks into place. GP doesn't even bat an eye when Max walks away from him, mid sentence, before crossing the garage in a few short strides.

Max isn't usually one for intense public displays of affection, especailly in the garage and neither are you. There's a level of professionalism he likes to maintain while racing and you have always respected that but when Max sees you standing in front of him, practically drowning in one of his sweatshirts, hair wet and messy from walking through the paddock in the rain, he can't stop himself from scooping you up in his arms. Burying his head in your neck, he inhales deeply. So deeply that his lungs pinch with pain from the way he's trying to commit the way you smell to memory.

"You're here." He murmurs, voice thick and heavy with emotion. "What are you doing here? I thought you were going to meet me in Monaco?"

Max sets you down, not really wanting you out of his arms but wanting to move you to a quieter part of the garage. Behind you, Sophie, GP and the rest of the team discreetly shuffle away to give you two a bit of privacy.

"I knew how hard the last two races were for you and I just..." Pausing, you have to wait for a moment for your hands to stop shaking. You've been running on sheer adrenaline and caffeine for what feels like the last three weeks now and the emotion of the moment catches up to you. "I just wanted to be here for you."

Max lowers his lips to yours, covering them in a kiss that is all longing and white hot heat. He keeps the kiss just this side of tame enough for the garage, not wanting to draw the ire of Christian but he had needed to taste you then. His hand comes up to cup your face while the other slips around your waist, pulling you in closer to his body. He's slightly damp from how wet it's been this morning but none of that matters now that you're back in his arms.

"I missed you so much." He murmurs, blue eyes practially sparkling down at you, he's so happy. It's been weeks since he's felt like this. Settled. Like he can take on the world. For the first time in what feels like forever, Max has a sense of determination that wraps itself around him. Like the championship isn't all but lost to Lando. Like the car isn't going to be terrible today, even though he might not even finish in the points. Like everything he's gone through the past few months on the track is all about to end because you're finally here and if anyone can bring the team luck, it's you.

"I love you." You whisper into his chest. "Now, let's go show the world why you're about to become a 4 time world champion, yeah?"

And that's exactly what he does.

yourpersonalinsta posted

938,398 likes liked by redbullracing, taylorswift, yourdad and others yourpersonalinsta we are SO back, baby!!! What started out as a nightmare of a day turned into a generational drive for the history books. P17 to P1 and I cannot believe I was there to witness it. Max, I am proud of you beyond words. You and the entire team deserve this win today. I love you to the moon and back, Maxie. (tagged: maxverstappen1) taylorswift what a race! Trav and I caught most of it before the game today. Congratulations!!! >>>yourpersonalinsta hope to see you in Vegas in a couple of weeks! >>>user928 oh my god, new bestie duo unlocked!? maxverstappen1 words fail to describe how much I love you baby. Thank you for always being in my corner and never giving up on me, even when I want to give up on myself. Love you to the ends of time, schatje >>>user928 i am SOBBING. Boyfriend Max is my favorite Max.

Tags: @shelbyteller @formulaal @martygraciesversion381 @longhairkoo @samantha-chicago @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99

[ceridescent]

only threw this party for you

pairing: wanda maximoff x AFAB!reader

summary: in which wanda maximoff, your stepmother, surprises you with a graduation party at home, where it started, 3 years ago.

warnings: angst, infidelity, toxic relationship, mentions of being in heterosexual relations, mentions of orgy, lots of angst, begging, breast play, fingering, hair pulling, brief choking, the word ‘mama’ is used once, slapping, you’re just very good at making bad decisions, cunninglingus, tribbing, hate-fucking kinda, did i say angst? multiple orgasms.

author’s note: i am rusty! i say after writing a whole 8k-word fic... but i can’t stop thinking about this prompt in my head, and this fic helped me declare that i am sooo back!

—inspired by charli xcx's party 4 u.

word count: 8, 080

made by and for adults. men and minors DNI.

masterlist | navigation

nothing could have prepared mrs. wanda maximoff, the heart of new jersey’s westview, widowed and remarried, the moment you opened the door to your old cape cod with a familiar smile.

(it knocked her off her feet, quite literally, as she held on to the nearest furniture she could find, staring proudly at everyone who came to greet you with open arms.)

even more so when you barely acknowledged her glamorous presentation of welcome, trying your best to hide the investigation of scanning the room for a face that hasn’t come. 

(she expected this, replayed the scenario like a broken record, memorizing it almost.)

and now, when there’s nothing but a dull pounding in her head, stirring her awake to the natural light of your old bedroom, staying strong despite your father’s protest to turn it into another home office; insisting that it’s closer to their master bedroom than the one on the first floor. he shouldn’t give it up, she remembered saying, “she might need a room to come back to,” when really she’d spend her lonely nights there, nursing a bottle of d’usse, chasing the feeling of belonging to someone.

wanda moans in defeat, consciousness winning over, despite blocking the sun with the covers that smell like you. “baby,” she mumbles, then your name, a giggle breaking out of her stupor, a lazy smile graceful on her face. wanda automatically reaches over to the right side of the bed to feel your warm body. her heart skips a beat, awareness taking over her completely, preserving the last part of her senses that hasn’t confirmed it yet.

“y/n” she calls, voice trembling, unsure of the need to plead. the older woman feels the dryness of her mouth that you occupied not long ago, your taste lingering in a thermal burn kind-of-way, dry and tingling, her nerves set on fire. her hand remains at the space where you’re supposed to be, turning numb.

wanda peaks one eye open and shudders, the sight of the empty bed confirming her worst fear. her heart sinks in a way she begins squirming for help, deflated and flooding her entire system with blood that wouldn’t settle down. wanda gulps down her remaining dignity and reaches for the phone.

it all goes toward voicemail. 

by the tenth ring, she throws it across the room and your vanity mirror shatters. she cries like a wounded animal, clutching her chest and falling to the ground, burying her face into the duvet, muffling her sobs, terrified to hear it clear as day. what would the neighbors say?

it’s funny how one decision made on impulse could turn her life upside down in a few hours by the one person keeping it together. for wanda, it’s ironic that it’s you, her stepdaughter.

her stepdaughter, why she’s still a part of a loveless marriage, waiting by the door every other week to greet your father with a dry kiss on the cheek, asking him questions regarding his business trips just to revive a closeness that furthers her loneliness in the big house. you, maintaining the pact of her husband to never divorce again, because for once in your life, you need a normal family. how uncanny is that?

“it’s kind of ridiculous, dear, throwing a party for her,” he said, mouth full of baklava when wanda begged for him to come to your graduation party.

“it’s ridiculous you’re stuffing your face with baklava and cocktails, telling me how to show her appreciation, when you barely see her. come on! you only stayed for an hour during her graduation ceremony, and you didn’t even stay to take her home!”

“she didn’t want to come home-!”

“and why do you think that-?”

he raised a hand on the screen, signifying silence. he had a big furrow on his brow, “why something grand, wanda? you know how our daughter likes to spend time with kids her age. all i’m saying, is that i’m not sure she’ll appreciate that you bring an entire estranged neighborhood to our house to accompany her, let alone surprise her with them,” his voice softened, making her see his side of things.

he has a point. an amazing one at that. but who would fill the silence in the house? who would initiate the first move? who would try to not stutter first? wanda never had a nervous bone in her body until you.

instead, she does what she’s best at: deflecting.

“it could have just been the three of us, dear. but you left a lot of spots to fill while you’re not here.”

“is that what you do, when i’m not home and you’re all alone?”

wanda had never felt more accused of something she’s never done in her life.

“of course not,” she scoffed,”i’d never betray my family like that.”

and they left it at that.

wanda maximoff regretted not putting up a fight with him, as you looked so crestfallen and tired.

“fresh out the slammer, i see,” she greeted you with her renowned winning smile, her pearly whites taking over your sight. you greeted back, “hey, wanda,” letting go of your rimowa luggages to give her a side hug. the older woman stifled a cry, keeping it together. (at least, until everyone was gone.) wanda had forgotten the difficulty of watching over her back, as two years without keeping secrets felt truly like two years—of freedom or loneliness, she’s not quite certain. but isolation? most definitely.

“let me help you with your belongings–”

“i can handle it,” you dismissed her kindness, clutching the handles, your knuckles white at the grip. wanda raised an eyebrow in which you immediately softened at, tilting your head for a silent plea. “you don’t have to do this,” you said, changing your tone to act more grown-up. wanda tilted her head as her mouth quivered, throwing you off-guard for a second, audibly gulping as you stared at her pouting lips. everyone naturally drowned out in the background.

you’re all grown-up now, your once soft features wanda used to trace with her lips now lined with eyeliner and experiences you might never reveal to her. you have that confident look in your eyes that hasn’t passed since she approached you with caution, standing tall and unshakable. she might be more in love with you now, if only it wasn’t for two years ago.

“don’t be silly,” wanda decided, shaking her head, “i’m your stepmom after all.”

she gave you a restrained smile and grabbed your belongings when you froze at the statement, unsure if it’s due to the passerby’s on the way to the restroom as her eyes darted when she said it. but nevertheless, wanda maximoff could still knock you off your feet. you just didn’t expect it to be caused by the most obvious statement of your relationship. once a teasing now felt like a threat. (or a reminder.)

despite the bombardment of people you recognized barely from when you were 11 at candy shops and the other times wanda diligently hosted brunch with the ladies in summers still shaking away from memory, it was a warm welcome from westview. you have missed it dearly, but you were sure for it to remain a distant memory. you haven’t stepped foot in here for an entire year, finishing college in new york to take over your father’s company one day. however, without your parents’ knowledge, one day you might be comfortable to build your own. but for now, you’re not ready to make big, adult decisions yet. you may as well search for wanda’s d’usse in the liquor cabinet at the thought of your future.

wanda, in a whisper, so close you almost succumbed to her familiar scent, sends her deepest apologies that your best friend, yelena belova, went straight to morocco after graduation, (who graduated in california), hence her absence.

“it’s okay, thank you, wanda,” you said, inhaling the guilt and exhaling it out in the open. the older woman never knew you came home to westview last year, staying over at the belova’s for the entire summer, locked in the guestroom, scared to bump into her at any possible moment.

age takes everything away from you, except that for wanda, it’ll never be her beauty and grace. you’re sure of it. you’d bet your life and future kids on it.

although you resisted to no avail, staring at her, watching her head tip back as she laughed at her cousin’s stupid joke, giving him a light slap. wanda’s a reserved woman, but sometimes, when her feelings are hard to contain, she expresses it contagiously, you can’t help but to join in as well. with that, a smile broke out of your stupor, and then a furrow in your brows.

you found your reaction to be jealousy, in which your brows furrowed deeper, tuning out mr. dickey’s passion for miniature golfing with his grandson mickey dickey jr.

wanda met your gaze when you looked again at her direction, giving you quick palpitations, immediately turning your gaze to mr. dickey showing pictures of him and his fluffy-haired grandson. and if that touchless interaction was bad for your cardiovascular health, the older woman landing a hand on your waist and encircling it casually would have given you a cardiac arrest.

“what’s going on here?” wanda asked sweetly, giving you a once-over, letting go of your body when she realized how stiff you got, keeping a subtle distance away from you. 

mr. dickey replied, “i was just telling these folks about mini golfing with mickey! back in the day when we were still a bunch of teenagers, y/n’s dad and i would always spend afternoons down at jersey tee...”

both you and wanda exchanged looks amicably for the first time, the biggest elephant in the room you were avoiding came showing up on your laps. he barely came to your graduation party a few nights ago, insisting that there will be a tape sent to the mail anyway, but blowing up his phone with 200 calls and 500 messages made him come through. it’s a different story with wanda, with whom you had the audacity to reject sending an invite. you weren’t really in the mood for party poopers at your graduation, and it’s already complicated enough, so you didn’t bother. how she felt about your silence you’re afraid to know.

she doesn’t push, wanda. she just minds her own business. this wanda—petite and awfully silent than before, who’s lost its spark, wanda you can see clearly with your two eyes—struggling wanda with a knowing smile. it hurts to witness how much she’s trying. your intake of breath caught her stare at the fresh burn marking her left wrist. wanda coughed and hid it with her sleeve, giving you a look.

“so wanda, when do you think your little dove here’s getting married?”

you blushed, staring at the bold woman who asked. “w-what–”

“a little birdie told me you’re cozying up with a senator’s quarterback son in the big apple! oh wanda, isn’t that fantastic?”

the older woman only chuckled and smiled. 

you tried your best not to wander into your stepmom’s liquor cabinet as after that, 

she avoided you the remainder of the night.

“you didn’t have to, you know,” you started, tossing the garbage in the trash bag, a heavy load forming.

you were both in the kitchen cleaning up, the ‘2025 graduate’ celebration over thirty minutes ago. you made sure, taking the banner down the moment the last guest in the house left with a shake on his hips.

“don’t say that,” wanda responded, reserved. the dishes are clink clacking, along with the sound of the open faucet. your backs are turned to each other, in your own worlds. 

“it’s your big day. was your big day. the least i can do for not showing up is to host a party for you at home.”

“about that–”

you heard wanda chuckled as you bagged the plastic. “don’t, okay? you’re here now, and i basically own the house since i’m the one left here all the time, so i get to decide what to do with it,” she said with finality, and you know better than to argue but

you needed to let her know your concerns, “i appreciate that, i do. i just don’t want you overworking yourself to the point of injury–”

wanda sighed, “y/n, please don’t,” her movements pausing for a second, then resuming. she responded aggrievedly, “i…this is what wives do, they serve. they take care of the house. they take care of their loved ones. no matter what,” almost contemptuous. it seemed as though she had been bottling the sentiment not because she doesn’t want to express resentment, but because no one was there to listen.

your heartstrings tugged, an ache deeper than you thought possible. you shook your head, refusing to get caught up with wanda’s emotions.

“i-it’s just–you didn’t have to? you could’ve done something better with your time–”

wanda’s voice rose, shaking, her tone hostile.

“oh yeah, y/n? like what? rewatch friends while i morosely wait for your father to come home from yet another business trip but he never does? and please,” she chuckled, her footsteps dangerously working, (pacing, obviously), “if your guilt is drowning you, don’t project it to me, okay? that’s not what adults do in this house,” she said with no pause, laughing sarcastically at the end.

“i’m sure i taught you that.”

you gulped down your saliva in order to respond, hoping to push your palpating heart down into your gut in the process.

“i-i mean,” you stuttered anyway, intimidation clouding your train of thought. you almost forgot how ruthless the older woman gets when she’s at her boiling point. she was close to losing it, you were certain, but if you needed to get out of this conversation–this house–this woman–you’d have to go through. at least, you were mature enough to acknowledge that now.

“i don’t mean to upset you, o-okay? you could’ve, you know, d-done something else with the people you know, like maybe going downtown for some ice cream o-or–”

“oh yeah? ‘cause we’ve never done that before?”

“i–

“you’re mad, i’m sorry. it just f-feels weird–”

wanda sighed heavily, discarding the dishes altogether.

“i-i mean, i’m not used to being together in the house is all. i though–”

“you thought what, y/n? that i stayed in the bedroom and hoped by the time i go outside, you’re ready to play hide-and-seek from me?”

as you turned quiet, gripping the bin so close to your chest, wanda lost it.

she paced at you, her nostrils flaring, inhibition out of the window. “no, no, i’m done taking nothing but bullshit from you. matter of fact, just stay quiet like you have been doing the entire time the past two years.”

“y/n!” wanda yelled in frustration, causing you to jump and let go of the bin. it made a resounding thwack that you audibly flinched at, shaking your head at the chaos ensuing. you weren't ready yet, but here it is.

“woman up for once!” the older woman shrieked, “come face me! you’re one to talk about how i should be spending my divine time without looking at me in the eye!” ire and poison dripped from her voice. if you weren’t terrified for your life, you would’ve noticed her trembling body for a completely different reason other than indignation.

you turned around eventually, your downcast sight studying your white socks and how your toes fidgeted under. wanda shook her head and went for it anyway. this was better than nothing at all. and nothing, you could do very well.

“two whole years, y/n! two whole years. you completely abandoned me. you never returned my calls. you never came home. you’d fly to the farthest city available whenever i’m in new york to see you. and now you’re back, waltzing in, casually telling me what i should be doing with my life!”

“how did you expect me to react to this grand gesture then? did you want applause? did you want a peck? did you expect me to still bow down at your every breath?” 

“i don’t expect anything from you at all!”

“and i the same! i didn’t want this bullshit party! i just wanted to go to bed! and now look at where we are!” you screamed at her, infuriated. you huffed and automatically went for the door but this time wanda stopped you. “hold on, young lady. don’t you run away from me again, y/n y/l/n!

“you did this to us. you left me to deal with this alone, while you chased the next big thing that you thought was way fucking easier than getting through this together!”

you scoffed, turning around to finally face her. you staggered, stunned at the woman staring at you. 

you tried, anyway, disregarding how she felt to be transparent with yours. “is that so bad, to want that for myself? fuck you, wanda. acting all high and mighty. as if you didn’t fuck this up with me.”

you lashed out–angry, raw, resentful. 

“you’d be glad i came home to you–to this stupid house—this stupid town—to this reminder that there is someone here in westview that’s still holding me down!” 

wanda made a noise, antagonized.

“you couldn’t, for a split second, thought i deserved to know this? that i wouldn’t understand–?”

“you’d never understand!” you moaned, “you‘ve never been in love with your stepmother!”

your stepmother froze with a gasp, the color in her face dissipating, a haunting look passing over the hollow of her eyes.

trying to undo damage to no avail, only a stutter broke out of you.

“you regret it?”

her voice is shallow.

“wanda–”

“answer me”

“wanda, p-please, can we–”

“ANSWER ME!” she bursted, tears spilling like a dam opening, her body in so much pain as she shook, and shook, and shook. you did nothing but stood, watching, drowning in her upset. “please–ple–”

“yes, YES! I DO REGRET IT! I DID. I DO!” you cried, pulling yourself away from wanda’s proximity, running your fingers into your scalp as you tried to reason with yourself to not leave her in the heat of it all. no matter how much your body craved to bolt and take a flight back to new york.

the words choked up out of you, the ones you were afraid to voice out loud for fear it might come true. “you don’t–i can’t–the thought of being found out–dad–i–” 

wanda sniffled, “you’re killing me, darling,” hoarse but still able. understanding to the rusted core.

you give her a sliver of pain through your face.

“it kills me too. but i have to be tough, for me–”

the older woman whimpered.

“–for us–”

you paused, getting a good look at wanda. the once woman of your dreams. confidante. best friend. stepmother. lover. restrictor. older. never better. wiser? not so much, but once your lover. your father’s wife. your stepmother. lover once, not anymore. stepmother? maybe forever.

there is so much more in between the letters and the hesitations, but at the end of the day, you knew there’s nothing more than this. you just can’t seem to tell her that, somehow. as if you can’t wait for her to prove you wrong, to change your mind. but you haven’t been letting her for a long time now, so what is it you’re actually waiting for?

“wanda, how messy do you need it to be to realize just how fucked up it was for all three of us?”

she was quiet, hiccuping through her tears. still streaming, but not so much anymore. 

“has dad ever suspected?”

“you’d love to know, don’t you?” she finally spoke, hopping through her words, wetting her dried lips with her tongue. “you can never mean to hurt him, can you?”

you were quiet now, biting your lip.

“it used to be us against the world, isn’t it?” 

wanda gave you a look you knew oh-so well, the one that used to make you weak like getting hit in the backs of your knees, ushering her at the closest private corner of the house, automatically kneeling down. 

“he doesn’t, by the way. i’m not as stupid as you ought me to be. but then, wouldn’t it be a win for me if he did? you’d have me all to yourself then, with how selfish you think i am for wanting–”

“this delusion has to stop, wanda. i–”

“i fucking hate you,” she spat, face deeply indented by a frown.

“good. hate me all you want. hate me with all you’ve got. but you could never erase what you did to me and to yourself that night.”

wanda recoiled, “i needed to be with you that night. i just needed–” wailing like a wounded animal.

“needed what, wanda? a good fuck? a ploy for revenge because–”

“i needed love, okay? don’t you get it? i needed you that night. i needed you–”

“so you fucked my father!”

“and so i fucked your father! out of spite! out of pain! anger! i was spiraling out of control! there is no excuse, y/n. i owned up to it but it was too late. i didn’t do it to get back at you. sure, at one point, i thought to myself, “s-she’d regret doing this to me”, but the need to get rid of the lonely feeling was too much–”

you shook your head, “unbelievable.”

“i wanted to end it with him, i wanted to stop the complications. i wanted to divorce him–”

“you can’t divorce him–!”

“–but you were so against it–!”

“you should never–!”

“–i heard you! i did! i stayed! can’t you see how miserable i am? are you fucking happy?”

you chuckled, dry and painful, like sandpaper scratching your skin.

“you know what’s funny? i’ve been with many people after you. girls, boys, hell, sometimes both at the same time,” you started, your smirk faltering as wanda clenched her jaw, tears welling in your eyes. “even mothers like you–sad and lonely in their quiet homes–”

“y/n–”

“but somehow, i still can’t get the image i made up in my mind that night,” you confessed, eyes twitching by the fact that you were, at long last, completely honest with the older woman who plagued your mind day and night for the last four years. confused, wanda furrowed her brows, blinking her tears away to get a proper look at you. “w-what–?”

“how did you two do it?”

“what are you–?”

you bit your lip, inhaling a breath, tapping your foot impatiently.

“when you fucked him that night. what did you do?”

the tears fell in tandem with wanda the moment those words shook out of you, the impact bringing her to her knees. you staggered as well, your body giving into your emotions altogether, shaking uncontrollably as you took some slow breaths. the guilt and shame had festered in you long ago, but the betrayal of how ridiculous it sounded out loud, compared to the renowned made-up fact in your head that justified resentment for her? for both of them? it wasn’t fucking worth it.

it wasn’t worth how wanda cried in her hands, on the floor, as you paced, wondering why the words i’m sorry couldn’t come out of your sloppy mouth.

it wasn’t worth spending the holidays alone in your three-thousand dollar apartment in the city that never sleeps, reheating italian pasta and watching reruns of sex and the city, purposely missing facetime from your family in westview.

it wasn’t worth hearing wanda beg you to come back through voicemail for the first time, deliberately deleting the rest after that, and vowing to never listen to the following again.

it wasn’t worth getting pounded raw from the back of a frat house’s cubicle, hoping the image of your stepmom getting done the same by your biological father wouldn’t be the worst thing that’s happened to you, to no avail.

it wasn’t worth bawling your eyes out, stoned, after arranging your graduation invitation list, retracting wanda maximoff from your roster, with a justified sigh that didn’t even last a couple of seconds.

it wasn’t worth it at all.

“is this what’s all this been about?”

you inhaled sharply, halting your footing. 

“you wanted to know–”

you whimpered, biting your lip hardly.

you knew she was staring at you with her big, dewy jades; nothing but torment and affection and in between, despite looking at the dishes yet to be rinsed.

“i rode your father that night.”

you hissed, harshly wiping the floodgates submerging your eyes.

wanda shuddered, “i sucked his cock,” whimpering, shaking her head. she held a hand in her mouth to muffle her words, but you heard it anyway. “h-he tried to bend me over but i said i didn’t like it.”

for a moment, none of you spoke. quiet, chaotic. nothing but your sniffles, sighs, and whimpers. wanda was the one who regained composure first, standing up from the floor to fetch a glass of water. you watched her every move, memorizing how she looked now as you discarded how she looked then when your father–

when he did what he did, and what she did when he did it.

when you used to do what you did with her alone. and how she didn’t deny you at all, but willingly let you.

“but you liked it with me,” you choked up, walking over to her, whilst she only stared at you like a deer caught in headlights. the frown in her face is permanent, her lips quivering as she does her best to read your next move.

“y/n, what are you trying to do?”

as you raised your hand in the air, wanda flinched, but seeing your hand placement, she let you stroke her head, taking you in. 

“i am miserable too,” you said in a whisper, like sharing a secret with your closest adult friend. you caressed her cheek with the backs of your fingers, replacing it with a peck from your lips. wanda gasped, backing away the farthest she can, albeit sandwiched by the counter and your body.

“utterly miserable,” you husked, your kisses lowering down toward the sides of her lips. wanda could only whimper without objection. “after everything i did, i can’t get away from you,” you confessed, furthering your affection down to her neck, leaving a wet kiss on her pulse.

“but you did so for two years, haven’t you,” the older woman managed to say, hands gripping the counter.

swiftly but soothingly, you positioned your hand around her neck, giving enough pressure to alarm her senses. you peppered kisses to her jawline, and then the back of her ear, the angle of her cheekbone, toward the side of her mouth. you nodded your head as you grazed your nose against hers. wanda chuckled.

“must be fucking awful.”

you sucked in a breath as you pressed your lips against hers, mouth full of wanton and regret. wanda moaned instantaneously, her knees giving out, kissing you desperately just the same, hoisting her on the counter, not letting go.

the older woman grabbed your neck to fully close the gap between you two, probing her tongue in your sighing mouth for an invitation to dive right in and feel good. you comply without second thought, sucking the muscle and swirling yours around, before closing it in with your lips, pressing into a kiss. you gasped as wanda disrupted the act with her own by sucking and biting on your lip til it drew blood.

“i miss you, baby,” wanda gasped as you cooed, nuzzling your noses together before kissing her again. “mhmm,” she hummed, running her fingers through your scalp, “my baby.”

those two words, the pet name, that identity, drove you to the last chain of self-restraint, yanking her hair with a tight grip, grunting when she thrusted her hips with a yelp, taking her skin in between teeth and tongue. you weren’t gentle nor patient, sucking and biting all over her neck and collarbone, inhaling her scent as you went, keeping your grip tight as she guided you through it.

“i miss you too,” you finally said with a strangled gasp, a tear falling over your cheek.

when you dove in for another kiss, wanda stopped you with hands on either side of your face, studying you with her maternal-like stare. your jaw automatically tensed at the scrutiny–the observation, perhaps, looking away at the burn of her gaze. she shook your head lightly to grab your attention back into hers, blinking your tears away. she pursed her lips, the ends of her lips tugging upwards. you gasped when she kissed your forehead, lingering there, caressing your temple by the ends of her fingers.

“my sweet baby,” wanda whispered as you melted into her arms. 

the two of you remained that way, the saccharine scent of the older woman rendering your senses completely, and then eventually your guard. 

this will always be here for you.

it’s familiar, uninhibited, and everything you tried to run away from. it reminded you of when it was two of you against the world; your protector who unconditionally loved you with her might, coming in unexpectedly and being everything you hoped for. but it was also daringly optimistic and hopeless, yet you were always safe within wanda’s arms, and that’s what made you sleep at night.

wanda was quiet, only stroking your head, her other arm embracing you, occasionally kissing your crown.

the cadence naturally made you trace figures at the exposed skin of her sweater’s neckline. a reflex, really, doodling her name and then some shapes, until you weren’t feeling child-like anymore, slithering a hand under her clothing. wanda’s breath hitched. “it tickles,” she said, giving you another kiss at the top of your head. “it won’t later,” you replied.

it’s a promise, something you can keep for tonight, so when you fully unveiled wanda’s torso, you sighed in awe.

unable to resist the urge, “mama,” you let out, which is like tracing figures on her skin, a muscle memory, kissing the tops of her breasts, pale and exposed. the older woman made a sound as she smiled. her palms were cupping your face as you looked up, tilting her head as you pushed yourself against her with a reassuring kiss, unstrapping her bra at the process, and then pulling the strap down. “won’t be needing that,” you said, flicking the tip of her nipple with your tongue.

the older woman hissed, “d-don’t tease, malyshka,” she sighed. you grinned. who were you to say no to the love of your life?

you did it again though just to hear her cry, before taking her nipple fully into your mouth, giving it a suck, then letting it go with a pop. it bounced delightfully. and then back at it, this time with no shame, putting as much of her tit as you can, all the while using your other hand to pay attention to the other one. you rolled your eyes, loving how shameless the older woman got as you lightly grazed your teeth in between, as your fingers twisted and pulled.

“i need you,” you whimpered, “take off your pants,” fondling wanda’s chest some more before helping her with her jeans. “the panties too, damn it,” you complained with a huff, not wasting another precious moment with wanda in her cozy wear. 

you pulled the older woman’s hips at the edge of the counter for some room, as she begged, “please, please, please,” hushing her with her mouth full of your fingers, wetting it to slide into her heat. “i don’t even need to do this, you’re so wet,” you sighed, her slick, throbbing clit just begging for it. you licked your lips, “but it’s the reflex, wanda. everything i’m doing i did it before,” you said, causing wanda’s eyes to roll back, hips rocking.

“what are you waiting for?

“i need you, baby, please,” wanda barely finished her sentence before you pushed two fingers in, moaning at the stretch of her pussy. 

wanda sighed as she grabbed your sweater, clinging onto it as you filled her hole with your two fingers, gingerly reaching the deepest part, your digits coming out slicked white with her cum. you gasped, droplets splashing onto the counter, the squelch and the older woman’s moans filling the room. 

“good god,” you murmured, undecidedly switching sight between her dripping pussy and her blissed-out look. “don’t hold back,” you ordered when she snapped her mouth shut with her hand. you take it away, kissing the back of it, before placing it on her chest. “go on,” you encouraged, then grinned when wanda began fondling at her own breast, hips rolling at the stimulation. 

“you’re so perfect for me,” you sighed, peppering kisses on her neck and jaw, fastening your pace, grunting as wanda’s moans got louder. 

the demons arrived once again when the image of Wanda and your father, which has altered your thinking and permanently haunted your brain, popped in your head, the once-missionary act replaced by wanda riding—

you groaned and bit wanda’s neck, causing the older woman to yelp and push you off.

“what the hell!”

“i’m sorry!” you cried, lifting her onto the ground. before a series of protests could even begin, you turned her around, pushing her torso against the kitchen counter. “y/n!” wanda screamed at the aggression.

“just take it!” you retorted and rammed your fingers back inside her, turning wanda’s “what the–”  fuss into “f–fuck!” relish, the pleading returning.

“i fucking hate you,” she panted, whining as she took every thrust.

“yeah, if you hate me, why are you letting me do this?!”

“so you can undo it,” wanda frankly responded, before a series of saccharine curses came out of her lips.

“and, ah, if this is what gets–gets you to, ah, to s…”

…stay, is what she was about to say before you shoved two fingers inside her gorgeous motormouth.

your brow furrowed at the indignation. wanda was bringing this up now, whilst you were knuckles deep inside her and at the verge of climax. it doesn’t seem proper, and you weren’t willing to pull out to have another productive conversation as two decisional adults.

“...today’s your lucky day,” is what you said instead.

the older woman’s ass bounced as you moved against her, giving it a slap without thinking, feeling her muscles clamp around your fingers, writhing. you took your fingers off, asking,

“he did this after i left?”

“we haven’t had sex since,” she frankly responded, with a hint of irritation in her voice.

“you’re a liar,” you shook your head, twisting your hand in order to thumb her clit, pressing hard against it. wanda screamed and whined, gripping her hands as she did her best to audibly respond to your accusation.

“t-that's you! t-telling me you forgave me when, ah f-fuck! lying bitch–”

you yanked her hair hard, curling your fingers against her g-spot. you snarled, “say that again,” as she cried.

“you’re a lying bitch–!”

you clawed your fingers at her ass before giving it a spank. “please,” wanda moaned. you wished you could see her face.

“and you’re pathetic, getting off to your stepdaughter with just her fingers. what would your husband say, huh? if he saw you like this,”

“y/n…” wanda warned, gritting her teeth before another moan tore away.

you stopped, remembered your boundary. “i’m s-sorry, wanda, i–”

“are you going to finish me off?” she demanded, authoritative yet hoarse. 

you grinned and whined, “you want to come?” receiving a scream when you shoved a third finger, pulling her hair as she replied a choking “yes!”

bending over, you pressed your clothed front against her bare back, lowering your face at the space between her shoulder and neck, then moving higher, blowing your breath against her ear.

“come for me.”

wanda arched her back against you as she did, coming apart with a throaty scream, chanting, “baby, baby, baby,” like she usually did.

you flipped her over and as soon as you faced her she languidly kissed you, wrapping her legs around your hips, situating her back on the counter. 

your bundle of nerves tugged at the sight of wanda’s naked form, glistening and flushed with sweat. her cum clung to her thighs like second skin, but it didn’t look like it belonged as well, urging you to lick it clean. when you met wanda’s gaze, you saw an obvious pout as she looked you up and down. “you’re still wearing clothes,” she sharply whined, swaying her calves a little.

you gave her a lazy smile, reciprocated, and then took her hand in yours at eye level. “inspection much?”

you hummed and spotted the burn mark, a thick maroon line on the side of her wrist. you kissed it, looking up through your eyelashes as wanda closed her eyes, whimpering, choking up a sob. 

you smiled and stripped the sweater off, throwing it behind your direction, gladly allowing wanda to cast her magic. you began thinking as she peppered wet kisses to your neck down to your chest.

is this what beggars feel, taking anything offered without a second thought?

is this what wanda felt when it came to you?

the sharp itch of pleasure rang through your rationale as wanda sucked at your nipples, nibbling the skin surrounding it, before licking the marks like a lollipop. she hummed as you whimpered, but when wanda’s mouth came off, her amusement turned into a look of hurt and realization, her jaw clenching immediately.

“i have to tell you something,”

“what?”

wanda sighed, leaned against the cupboard. she crossed her arms in front of her chest, shielding away from you.

you fished a hand in your back pocket and came with it an engagement ring.

you mustered a sorry look, because damn it, it might never end with this one tonight, and because right now the word is too much for you to handle, especially when you’d have to spend the rest of your waking life making it up to your future spouse without his knowledge that you screwed up, with his mother-in-law at that, because he will never know about it. about any of it. no one can.

wanda stared at you for a minute, her jades piercing as ever, shielding any chance of observation, as if she regained composure after her great fuck-out, which supported her confession about her nonexistent sex life. sure, you would have swooned over it back then, ‘cause it meant that you had her solo despite her sharing a bed with your biological father at night when he was home. but that was the reassurance you needed that it wouldn’t end abruptly because it meant he found out. if only that optimism stayed with you. the older woman tilted her head to the side, and eventually, her frown stretched into a grin.

a beam, actually, then a chuckle.

“did that ever stop us, malysk?”

you’re right, you almost said aloud, allowing her to pull you back into her by hooking a finger into your belt loop, mashing your lips together in an affirmative “yes”.

“i think i love you even more.”

you made a sound swallowed by wanda’s mouth, and eventually she wanted more than just kiss you. 

you closed your eyes in content by the way wanda inserted a finger easily, pumping them in and out at a slow pace, her face nestled in the crook of your neck. it doesn’t tickle, but you shivered every time she exhaled, which was followed by an affectionate kiss at your pulse point, with an intention of all ways wanda maximoff knew how to love.

“do you want more?” she asked politely, her voice little, her eyelashes stroking your cheek. you nodded your head, biting your lip when she filled in another finger, closing your mouth for any demands that may come out. you refused to do so, allowing wanda to carry this one on her own, eager to see how gentle she could be. you owe her a bit of this. and besides, it’s been a long time since you had someone treat your body tenderly.

“faster, baby?” 

wanda grinned, excited, quickening her movements, her thrusts swift and light, completely lacking of the anger you’ve inflicted upon her. your heartbeat thrummed across your humming body when she took your earlobe into your mouth, nibbling it, her breath hot in your ear. “i love you,” she whispered, kissing the back of your ear before grabbing your ass and driving it into her long digits. 

you yelped, grabbing the older woman’s shoulder for support, chuckling along with her, and then moaning at the aggression, the one you’re used to. “is this okay?” she asked, concerned, until you waved her off. “do i look not okay?” you whined, thrusting your hips against her hand, the pressure building in your abdomen. she sighed, “just making sure…” trailing off as she licked her lips with how you took her inside your pussy.

getting off the counter, wanda pushed you against it after flipping you both, getting on her knees to lap at your pussy.

muffled by her face in between your legs, “god, you taste so good,” wanda moaned, rolling her eyes at the slicked wet heat, intoxicated with your essence, and the way your mouth hung open, body in full bliss. your legs tremored, your clit pulsating in between wanda’s lips as she passionately made out with it. “you’re as delectable as i remembered, detka.

“you’re so fucking tight too,” wanda whined, pumping two fingers back inside your hole, clenching at the stimulation. you’re close. thinking became harder as well as making sense of your surroundings; you breathed deeply through your mouth, prepping for the crash, grabbing wanda’s hair and shoving it deeper into your pussy. she made a sound, and you couldn’t care less if she couldn’t breathe anymore, because with how she licked and sucked and fingered you altogether, you’d think she was asking to be suffocated to death in between your thighs. 

“i’m coming, wanda,” you cried, driving your hips into her face, her fingers drilling into your g-spot until you saw stars. your entire body convulsed at the climax, the older woman helping you ride it out as she slowed her movements, and then to a halt, pecking your inner thighs, jerking against it. “my sensitive girl,” wanda cooed, kissing her way up to face you. she gasped when you buried your face in her hair, weeping as she rubbed your back.

“it’s okay, my love, it’s okay,” she whispered, carrying you down the floor. never once did the older woman let go when she took your sweater and her own to create a makeshift blanket to lay on. you calmed down then, a few minutes after laying there with wanda on top of you. 

“wanda, can you take me to my old bedroom?”

“does he touch you like this?” wanda remembered asking, featherlight, intentional. curious.

“wanda,” you warned, squirming.

“does he look at you like this?” 

goosebumps erupted on her skin when you looked away, reluctant. deep down she had a feeling that you might just say the words she wants to hear, despite appeasing her. she was close to having it, the resignation. wanda moved down and pressed a kiss on your clit. your back arched at the contact.

“will he love you like i do?”

it’s the ultimatum, you both knew that, but wanda wasn’t sure if she was ready for the last blow, so she masked her resolve with her mouth on your pussy, not letting one awkward moment ruin everything you’ve built together for the past six hours. she reminded you of what you missed the last two years, humping the mattress as she tongue-fucked you, in ecstasy. 

her clit met your own when she asked, “do the new york moms fuck better than me?” placing your leg on her shoulder, grinding her pussy against yours.

“they were close.”

the conversation ended there, with finality that the new yorkers you delightfully surround with will never compare to the one small town housewife in new jersey that turned your life upside down. there was a clarity for wanda that this—where you both were, primal and naked—was at the bottom of the barrel, the end of your kindness. but then you promised her breakfast, before drifting soundly. she followed soon enough, relishing the quiet snores that used to lull her to sleep. it felt so long ago, but also recent, when she’d toss and turn at night on routine, getting used to the fact that her little girl would never do her the favor again, with no intention.

and then she wakes up, wondering if the validation that she is better than everyone, including the person you’re marrying, is enough to at least get her through another day. the answer is no, not at all, because the reality comes to her in an avalanche that she knows this time she could never overcome, limping down the staircase with such urgency, sobbing and whimpering as her heart shatters at the sound of your name, begging for a reply.

she feels her hands scraping under the dining table, “y/n, please?” croaking once again, pulling out a brand new case of marlboro’s, haphazardly tearing the film off and taking one in between her fingers. wanda’s voice breaks as she muster a string of curses to release her anger as she makes her way to the kitchen stove, avoiding the huge bag of trash you left when you stuck three fingers in her pussy, and the misplaced bin when you jumped at her outburst.

it doesn’t matter anymore, because when she takes a long hit of the cigarette, the bitterness replaces the sweetness of your lips. it’s a done deal by the third puff, since you stopped frequenting her body two years ago, serving solely as a hostel today, self-cleaning now after you checked out, your taste barely there. wanda hopes the detector is defective so she wouldn't have to do a walk of shame to her car, and then probably run herself over a cliff.

her phone rings and she answers it immediately, chuckling as she pondered what the silence meant on the other side in god-knows-where you are right now. are you going to apologize again? are you going to ask what she wants for breakfast? are you with your father right now, picking him up at the airport? she can’t really tell with you.

“i’m sorry, wanda,” is what you went for.

she chortled, long and hard, coughing at the smoke in her lungs. 

“you need to start meaning that,” she says with a voice crack, lighting up another one. she hasn’t smoked in ages, but today’s a good occasion to break the streak. she keeps her phone pressed against her ear in pretense that you’re actually whispering there, up close with no room for reality. 

“you’re a coward,”

“i know, i’m sorry,”

“you’re selfish,”

“i’m sorry,”

you’re hopeless,” she sobs. 

“wanda, i’m sorry,”

“you’ll never find love like mine!”

“wanda, i…i hope so,” you sigh, three words summarizing how you felt about what the two of you had.

wanda cries and accidentally burns herself at the open stove, yanking her hand away as she screams. pressing the ends of the cigarettes against the granite, the older woman decides she’s done with the rush, urging the burning skin to replace her heart breaking, at least for a little while as she tries to gather herself. 

“i…

“...i’m leaving to new york,”

the older woman shakes her head, in denial, in disbelief, in amusement, in all the ways you make her feel. “can’t wait to make up with your fiance, huh?” she spits as her tears come cascading down. she doesn’t wipe them away, accepting that cigarettes and salty tears is the only option in her breakfast menu until further notice. 

“i’m-“

“do me a favor, y/n,” she grits her teeth as she utters your name, dismantling the fondness she had of it and balling it in her spit with spite. 

“don’t ever come back.”

wanda’s line cuts off moments before you jump at the startling crack of her phone, thrown against the wall. 

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 5: What I Want

Summary: You begin your training with Ghost, but not everything goes as smoothly as you'd hoped. At least you're learning how to want things, and that it won't kill you if you ask for them.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader, some Ghost x Soap

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, oral sex, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, suggestive content, language, brief violence, reader has a breakdown

A/N: I know I was supposed to rest, but I couldn't help myself. I just had to get this one done. I was feeling it. We're finally getting into the good stuff here. Things will kind of pick up after this part, so I'm really looking forward for that.

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(Gif pulled from google)

You tug nervously at your sleeve, feeling exactly as you did when you had to sit in the director’s office at The Institute. Only, you never got in trouble there. You had never been summoned because you misbehaved. You made it a point not to get into trouble, avoiding it at all costs. 

You’ve been here just over a week and you’ve already messed up. 

Price is staring at you across his desk, leaning on his elbows as his blue eyes bore into you. You’re not staring at Price, you think. No, you’ve come face to face with The Captain. He’s angry, though you can’t be entirely sure. You’ve never seen him truly angry. You’re waiting on the reprimanding, the punishment, for him to tell you they’re sending you back because you’re too much trouble. 

“I want you to tell me exactly what happened.”

You flinch at his voice, half expecting him to start shouting but he sounds almost calm. There’s a strain to his voice, like he’s restraining himself. He’s doing it for your sake, you think. 

“Ghost and I were walking back from the mess when one of the alphas called out to me. He...he asked if I was going to go spread my legs for ‘that freak’ and he said he could offer me a better time.” You swallow thickly, Price’s shoulders tensing just slightly. “I don’t know what happened...I just suddenly felt so angry and it’s like I lost control of myself and I went up to him and he asked if I was gonna take him up on his offer and that he’d like to bend me over and stare at my sweet ass all night...and then I hit him, sir.” 

“Good.” 

You look up at Price in surprise at his answer, your eyes widening a bit. “S-sorry, sir?” 

“I have little tolerance for alphas that think it’s alright to speak crudely to omegas, especially those they were explicitly told to let be. You saved me a lot of paperwork today. Simon would have done a lot worse had you not gotten to him first.” He moves the papers on his desk aside, holding out his hand. “Let me see.” 

You stare at his hand for a moment before you realize he’s talking about your hand. You push your sleeve up, putting your hand in his. Your knuckles have swollen a bit and bruised, tender to the touch as he runs his thumb over them. 

“Simon told me you asked him to teach you to fight.” He says, closing his fingers around your hand. 

“Well, not so much fight, sir.” You say, staring at your hands. “Maybe just how to throw a decent punch.” 

“I’d say the one you threw today was at least half-decent. Corporal Allen is sporting quite the bruise on his face.” The corner of his lips lift in a smile. “You won’t have to worry about him anymore. He’ll be properly dealt with and they’ll all be receiving a lecture on proper base etiquette.” 

“So...am I in trouble, sir?” You ask, pulling your hand back slowly as he releases it. 

“No, you were simply defending yourself after Corporal Allen made a pass at you. Just don’t make it a habit of going around punching alphas.” He smiles. 

“I’ll try not to, sir.” You say, relieved that you weren’t about to get punished for your mistake. 

“Go on.” He nods towards the door. “I’m sure the boys are waiting for you.” 

“Thank you, sir.” You say, standing up from your chair, heading towards the door. 

Price leans back in his chair as the door closes, the sweet scent of caramel and strawberries still permeating his office. He breathes it in for a moment before pulling out his phone, scrolling through the contacts. 

“You’ll be delighted to hear our girl punched an alpha in the face today.” He says once the other line picks up. 

“She did what?” Laswell asks, genuine surprise in her tone. 

“One of the Corporals made a pass at her, and she left quite the bruise on his cheek. She’s turning into quite the spitfire.” 

“I told you she would fit right in. Underneath all that institute-taught BS there’s quite the personality. How is she settling in?” 

“She’s softening up to the betas already. Still a bit fidgety, but she’s found a way to get Simon to warm up to her.” 

“Oh? How so?” 

“She asked him to teach her to fight.” Price grins. 

Laswell chuckles. “I told you she’s smart. Just make sure he’s gentle with her.” 

“Don't worry, I reminded him to go easy on her. I think it will be good for both of them. Some forced proximity will be good for Simon and she’ll get to learn a few things that could be helpful.” 

“So long as she doesn’t go around trying to fight more alphas.” 

“She’s already promised not to. The Corporal got off easy. I can only imagine what Simon might have done to him.” 

“I’m glad to hear things are going well, John. I worry about her sometimes, but I know you boys will take good care of her.” 

“We’re doing our best.” 

“If you ever need anything, you know you can call.” 

“I know. I’ll keep you updated as her heat gets closer.” 

“Good. I’d hate to have to file that paperwork.” 

Price grimaces. “I know. I hope you don’t have to.” 

You’re tying your shoes as the knock sounds on the door. You’re not sure how they manage to do it, always seeming to catch you at the perfect moment. You’re glad Kate thought to get you some more active-wear type clothing, though perhaps she expected you’d be getting involved in their training or at least start a bit of your own once you arrived, just as she had thought to get you outdoorsy clothes too. 

You open the door, staring up at the hulking form of Ghost. 

“Come on.” He grunts, turning on his heel to walk down the hallway. 

You quickly close your door, hurrying after him. Not much has changed since your request for him to train you, though you didn’t really expect it to. Not at first, at least. You still have to prove yourself to him. Simply existing and getting involved in their lives would not be enough. 

He escorts you to the gym, a building you haven’t been in yet. There’s a few soldiers milling around, most of them in the weight room. There’s a pool across from the weight room, for more than just swimming, you think. Your father had talked about his own water survival training. You can only imagine the kind of water training they go through. 

Ghost leads you towards the back of the gym, unlocking a door near the exit. It’s set up not unlike a dojo, mats on the floor and punching bags and other training equipment along the walls. Ghost empties his pockets, setting his things on a bench before removing his sweatshirt. 

You can’t help but stare, only ever having seen him in long sleeves. His muscles bulge beneath his t-shirt, the first bit of skin revealed to you besides his neck, chin, and hands. Your eyes are drawn to his arms, taking in the sheer size of them. 

Tattoos. 

He has a sleeve of tattoos on his left arm. You have a desire to look at them closer, to trace each one but you wouldn’t dare. Not right now. You pull off your own sweatshirt, folding it and setting it on the bench, leaving you in just a t-shirt and your leggings. 

You fail in your attempt not to stare as he walks towards the center of the mat in his t-shirt and sweatpants, swallowing nervously. He turns to face you, motioning for you to approach with two of his fingers. Your face warms as you hurry onto the mat, coming to stand in front of him. 

“Let me see.” He says, holding out his hand. 

You stare at it for a moment before your brain catches up, and you put your right hand into his. You ignore the feeling of his fingers wrapping around your hand, lifting it so he can inspect your still bruised knuckles. 

“We’ll start with dodging.” He says, releasing your hand, taking a step back. “Let me see your stance.” 

You part your feet a little, bringing your fists up to your face. His shoulders shake in a quiet huff of a laugh as he stares at you. 

“You need to stagger your stance more.” He says, circling you. “Otherwise,” Hands push you from behind, and you nearly avoid face planting into the floor. “You’re too easy to knock over. The last thing you want is the fight to end up on the floor. You won’t be getting back up if you let your opponent overpower you that much. Again.” He motions to you. 

You set up your stance again, widening your feet just a bit. 

“Good.” He says, moving to stand in front of you. “These protect your face.” He says, hands wrapping around your wrists, raising your hands just a bit. “You get hit in the face...” 

“I won’t be getting back up.” You finish for him. 

You know most fights end up with both opponents on the ground. You’d watched your brothers wrestle and play fight enough to know that. You’re not here to learn how to win a fight, only how to protect yourself enough until you can find space to run. 

You barely have time to stumble back as his fist swings at you, nearly losing your footing. “Hey! You could warn me first.” 

“You think someone attacking you is going to warn you?” He asks. 

He has a point. 

“Use your legs.” He says as you set yourself up again. “Move side to side if you can instead of ducking under the punch, but if you have to, don’t let your eyes leave your opponent.” 

You see this punch coming, ducking to your right to avoid getting hit. 

“Good.” He says, repeating the motion with his left hand. “Stay focused.” 

You continue with the same motion a few times, already starting to feel a bit fatigued. Running is one thing, but strength is another. Most omegas aren’t naturally strong, nor are they inclined to increase their strength. That’s what alphas and their packs are for. It’s not unheard of, though, for omegas to increase their physical strength. Perhaps you’ll need to consider looking into doing that as well. 

Ghost takes a step back, letting you rest for a moment. You’re breathing heavily, though he’s hardly looking fatigued at all. He’s used to this, you remind yourself. He probably throws more punches in a day in the field than he’s thrown at you so far in 30 minutes. 

“Now, let’s make it a bit more realistic.” He says, a low rumble at the edge of his voice. 

A wave of scent hits you, your brain nearly short-circuiting. Fear pulses through you, ozone burning your nostrils. You stumble backwards, landing on your back on the mat. You’re breathing heavily, every cell in your body screaming at you to run or submit. 

“That’s...that’s n-not fair!” You say, your hands trembling from the adrenaline coursing through you. 

“Any alpha you fight is going to use every natural advantage they have over you.” Ghost says, stalking towards you. You can practically see it, the purebred alpha within him coming through. “You need to learn to protect yourself against them.” 

“That's...that’s not possible.” You say, the edge of a whine detectable in your tone. 

He kneels down over you, crowding into your space despite the souring of your scent. It doesn’t even seem to phase him as he forces you flat on your back, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head. You stare up at him, every fiber of your being screaming at you to bare your throat, submit, give in. 

Don’t back down. 

Don’t back down. 

You push past the fear, the instincts screaming at you as you drive your knee up into his stomach. He lets out a grunt but it doesn’t phase him, his hand wrapping around your leg, using his sheer strength to flip you onto your stomach under him. He presses against you, body folding over yours. You resist the urge, the instinct to press back into him, to be a good omega. 

“If an alpha gets you onto the floor...” He says, warm breath fanning your ear through his mask. “You won’t want to get back up.” 

His face presses against your neck as he inhales deeply before he pushes himself up, grabbing the back of your shirt and hauling you to your feet as well. You’re shaking, your heart thumping in your chest. Your head feels fuzzy, your brain buzzing a bit. Your omega is confused, poised to strike but she’s not sure against who. Ghost isn’t a threat, and you know that, but he had just proved how easily he could be. Any of them could be, with a simple scent change and their sheer strength. 

“Again.” He says, getting into a fighting stance. 

“You can’t expect me to fight after that.” You say, your voice breathless. 

“If you’re in a real fight, you won’t have much of a choice.” He says, the rumble still audible around his own voice. 

He’s right. If someone is attacking you, it’s likely going to be to kill, or to try and take you from them. Your omega shifts uncomfortably as you raise your shaking hands to guard your face. You continue to dodge punches, hitting the ground more and more as you continue to get tired. You’re going to be sore, still feeling your hike through the woods a bit. 

The door opens, giving you a moment to breathe. Soap enters, a grin on his face. 

“Ah, the wee lass is still breathin’.” He says, leaning against the wall. “Came tae make sure ye hadnae killed ‘er.” 

You can practically hear Ghost roll his eyes, his back turned to you as he says something to Soap. You can’t hear what it is, the ringing in your ears too loud. Your omega is still worked up, still poised to strike, more so now in your exhausted state. You push yourself off the floor, not having a moment to think things through before you’re throwing yourself at Ghost’s back. 

He turns before you hit him, catching you and flipping you onto your back on the mat. You hit hard, the breath forced from your lungs at the impact.

“Christ, Simon!” Soap shouts, hurrying to your side. “Ye tryin’ tae break her, ye numpty?” 

“Don’t do that again.” Ghost growls at you, stomping over to grab his things before leaving the room. 

“Easy, hen.” Soap soothes you as you gasp for air, his hand gently rubbing your shoulder. “Be over before ye know it.” 

Slowly the paralysis of your diaphragm begins to lessen, your stomach still aching but the air comes easier now. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to fight the tears. You’ve messed it up. One day and you’ve already done more damage than you would have had you not asked him to teach you to fight. 

“Don’ worry, hen. He’s just worked up, that's all.” Soap says, brushing a damp strand of hair from your forehead. 

“It’s his fault.” You murmur. 

“Maybe, but yer scent...surprised you didn’t notice, hen.” Soap wiggles his brows. 

Your face warms. You hadn’t noticed the uptick of muskiness in the room, the heady scent of arousal before now.

It’s not yours. 

“Me?” You ask, letting Soap help you into a seated position. 

Soap smirks. “It wasnae me that tented his breeks this time.” 

Your face warms even more, your body feeling like it might explode. 

“Come on, hen.” He says, slipping his hands under your arms to lift you to your feet. “There’s still time tae shower before breakfast.” 

“I can assume you know why you were called in here sooner than our normal weekly meeting time.” Dr. Keller says as you sit in her office. 

“Because I punched Corporal Allen.” You say with a wince. 

Dr. Keller nods. “Indeed. I just want to make sure you’re feeling alright, after that. Getting into an altercation with an alpha can be tough.” 

“I don’t think I’d call it an altercation.” You say quietly. 

“Maybe not,” She says, shuffling her papers. “But standing up to an alpha can be daunting.” 

“I wasn’t alone.” You shrug. “Ghost was there.” 

“I saw both yours and Lieutenant Riley’s account of what happened. I’m wondering, would you have confronted him if you were alone?” 

Her question makes you think for a moment. Would you have stopped? Would you have confronted him, much less punched him if you were alone, or even with one of the others? No, you likely would have ignored him and kept walking like you did with Gaz. You’d likely have gone straight to your room and cried a little out of embarrassment and disgust. 

“No, ma’am.” You say quietly. “I don’t think so.” 

Dr. Keller nods. “You’re aware of Lieutenant Riley’s status.” 

You nod, a frown pulling at your brows. How did she figure it out? “Yes, ma’am.” 

“I know because I have access to their medical records.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s required for statuses to be present in medical records since purebreds have to be treated differently, just as alphas, betas, and omegas have to be treated differently.” 

You do know that. You know that an injured alpha can get defensive if they feel cornered. You know omegas can die from stress if they’re not taken care of correctly. You know betas can get overwhelmed by large groups of injured people all in the same place without proper training to filter out the scents of agony and suffering. 

“I think you reacted to his scent.” Dr. Keller continues. “You mentioned feeling a sudden rush of uncontrollable anger. Do you remember smelling anything at that moment?” 

You nod. “Ozone.” 

She nods, the pieces beginning to come together in your own head. “I’m sure you’ve figured out how different purebred alpha’s are and how much more potent their scents are. Your own status makes you more susceptible to their scents and the changes in them. You were reacting to the change in his scent. Your omega sensed a threat, and took over for a moment to defend you. It’s a natural response in omegas towards those they see as protectors, or even packmates.” 

Your eyes widen a bit at her words. Ghost is technically your packmate. He’s an alpha in your pack, but you’ve never considered that you see him as anything but. He has defended you, and he had defended you not long before your altercation with Corporal Allen. Had your omega begun to cling to him out of a sheer need for protection after something like what happened in the mess? 

You would like Ghost to see you as more than just an omega in his pack, more than just Price’s omega. You know he’d never claim you, but you’d at least like to get onto friendly terms with him. Soap said it had taken proving himself before Ghost started to accept him. You’re hoping your time spent learning how to fight helps you prove yourself, that you’re not a threat or even a risk. That maybe you can be an acceptable omega for his pack. 

“Aside from this incident, how are you settling in? How are things going with your new pack?” 

“Fine, I guess.” You shrug, starting to pick at your sleeve again. “Ghost is teaching me to defend myself.”

“Oh? Does this have something to do with what happened with Corporal Allen? Or is there a different reason?” Dr. Keller asks. 

“I mean, partially that but also, Ghost, he’s...hard to get along with.” You grimace. “I know that in relationships, a good way to bond with people is to get into their hobbies so you have something in common. Ghost...ghost speaks in violence and I think it would help ease some of my fears if I can at least defend myself.” 

“I think this is a great idea. It allows for some bonding time between the two of you, and it can also be beneficial to ease your anxiety a bit. As long as you’re being careful and you don’t get hurt.” She says, giving you a pointed look. 

You think back to Ghost flipping you onto your back on the mat, narrowly missing getting hit, how he’d pinned you down using his own scent against you. “He’s being careful.” You say, clearing your throat. “Price would put him through the ringer if something happened. Even just as an accident.” 

“How are things going with Price?” She asks, writing something down. 

You shrug. “Fine. He involved me in some training this past weekend. We hiked out to a watchtower and the others tried to follow my scent. We got to spend some time together while we waited.” 

“Have you done much of that? Spending time together?” She asks. 

You shake your head. “Not really. He’s...busy. A lot.” 

“You should start making an effort to get to know him more.” Dr. Keller says. “It’ll make it easier once your heat hits if you’re familiar with him. Have you knelt for him yet?” 

You shake your head again, not wanting to answer out loud. 

“Why not?” She asks. 

“He still hasn’t asked me to.” You murmur. 

“Do you know why omegas kneel for their alphas?” She asks. 

You nod. “It’s good for our brains and bodies. It helps relax us and soothes our omega, makes it easier to process stressful events and can prevent stress related diseases later in life.” 

Dr. Keller nods. “Correct. It’s an important first step in building that bond between an alpha and an omega, when it’s done correctly.” 

Bad alphas can use kneeling to control omegas, put them in certain mindsets, make them more subservient. You know this, you’d heard stories from your fellow omegas after watching their parents. That’s not kneeling. You never had the heart to tell them it was so much worse. 

“Do you want to kneel for him?” She asks you. 

That word again. 

You do want to kneel for him. You’ve wanted to since this past Saturday in the watchtower. You’ve felt that urge, that drive to drop to your knees beside him and let yourself go, let him carry everything you’ve been feeling over the last week. 

You nod slowly, ripping one of the strings off your sleeve. You’re fighting the tears, fighting the emotions welling up inside you. You can feel them building, pushing against your stomach and your chest, threatening to burst right out of your skin and leave you nothing but an empty carcass. You’re breathing has picked up, shaking a bit as you inhale deeply. 

“Why haven’t you asked?” Dr. Keller asks, her brows furrowing as she stares at you. 

“I don’t know how!” The words tear from your lips, almost echoing as they bounce off the walls like projectiles. You haven’t so much as raised your voice in years, much less to a person of authority, but you can’t stop. The dam has been breached. “Everyone keeps asking me what I want, but I don’t know how to want!” Tears cascade down your cheeks, your breaths coming in sharp gasps. You cover your face with your hands, muffling your sobs. “I’m not supposed to want.” 

“Hey,” Dr. Keller’s voice is soft as she kneels in front of you, her hands trying to gently pry yours away from your face. “Who told you that?” 

“That’s what we’re taught!” You hiccup, letting her pull your hands from your face. The tears are still falling, lips trembling as you sob. “We’re supposed to be good omegas. Obedient and serve our alphas. We don’t want anything, we’re only supposed to give.” 

“Well that’s a load of bullshit if I’ve ever heard it.” 

Dr. Keller’s words shock you into reality, your sobs halting with a sharp inhale. You stare at her, the tears still spilling from your eyes. Your hands are closed into fists, your sore knuckles aching from the strain. 

“You’re an omega. It’s in your nature to want, to need. You can’t help your alpha if your own needs aren’t being met first. It’s okay to need things, to want things. Are there things you want?” 

“Softer blankets. Fluffier pillows. A nightlight. Something to put on my walls. Strawberry scented body wash. Some goddamn authentic Mexican food.” 

Dr. Keller chuckles lightly. “I can agree with you on that last one.” She squeezes your arms gently. “You’re allowed to ask for things. You’re not a soldier, and even they are allowed to have things of their own, comfort items, with them. It doesn’t have to be material things either that you ask for. I’m sure your pack would find a way to bend over backwards if you asked them.” 

She’s right. The book says omegas can hold great power over the members of their packs if they try. A mix of playing their instincts and the right behavior and temperament can have betas and alphas wrapped around your finger. The idea of having such control over four powerful men makes your head spin. 

“I want Soap to kiss me.” You blurt out, your face warming as you hastily wipe at your tears to hide. 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller’s eyebrows raise as she looks at you. “This is a new development.” 

“We...we almost did...a couple days ago.” You say, burying your face in your hands. “But I stopped it because I thought maybe Price...but then he said he didn’t care...” 

Dr. Keller gently wraps her hands around your wrists, lowering your hands. “It’s okay to want that, and it’s okay to want to kneel for Price. I bet he’d be delighted if you asked him. I bet he was waiting because he didn't think you were ready for it yet.”  

The calming beta scent washes over you, Dr. Keller projecting it to try and help you calm down. Your tears have stopped, your breathing starting to slow as the gentle almond scent goes straight to your brain. 

“I’d like us to still meet for our regularly scheduled appointment this week, but I’m giving you an assignment to complete between then and now.” Dr. Keller says. “I want you to ask one of the members of your pack for one thing that you want. You can pick what it is, and who you ask, but I want to hear about it when I see you later this week, understood?” 

You push back the nerves twisting in your stomach. “Yes, ma’am.” 

“Good.” She pushes herself up to stand. “You can stay here as long as you want. Just let me know when you’re ready to go back to the barracks. Take your time. You are my only patient.” 

She grabs the paperwork off the couch before moving to her desk. You watch her for a moment before letting your eyes wander. You wipe at your face, your cheeks feeling puffy from your tears. You’re glad she’s giving you time to relax. The last thing you needed was to run into a member of your pack like this. 

That’s not a conversation you want to have right now. 

You take deep breaths, letting the beta scent permeating the air calm you down. You sink down further into the chair, letting it surround you. It’s soft, the cushions pressing around you like a hug. You wonder how she managed to get it in the hard, “function-above-all” world of the military. You wonder how she got most things in her office, or maybe if she’d brought them with her. 

It was likely Kate’s doing, you think. The office space was made for an omega, set up to be as comforting as possible. Though, you don't doubt Dr. Keller would have argued her case for having these things fearlessly if she had to. 

You stay in her office for a while, listening to the clacking of her keyboard as the soothing beta scent washes over you. Your eyes are still burning a bit as you force yourself out of the chair, out of the soft comfort you could spend days wrapped in. 

“I’m ready to go now.” You say quietly. 

“Okay.” Dr. Keller says, finishing what she was typing before she stands, grabbing her keys. 

She locks the office behind you before you leave the medical center, pulling up your hood to protect you from the drizzling rain. You’re growing used to the perpetually grey skies and sudden rainstorms. 

Dr. Keller squeezes your arm gently as you stop at the door to the barracks. “Remember what I told you. I’ll see you in a few days, alright?” 

You nod. “Thank you.” 

She smiles softly. “You did good today. I am proud of you.” 

You slip into the door of the barracks as she makes her way back to the medical center, your shoes squeaking on the tile floors. You head back to your room, the silence in the barracks telling you they’re not back yet. 

You kick off your shoes, pulling your damp sweatshirt off as you sit on the edge of your bed. You stare at your ruined sleeve, the seam split to the edge of the cuff now. You got the sweatshirt from one of your fellow omegas at the institute, and you’ve worn it almost every day since. It’s turned a bit raggedy, and your picking at it hasn’t helped any. 

Ask for one thing that you want. 

It would be easy to ask for a new sweatshirt. You’re sure if you asked Gaz, he’d give you the one right off his back. Everything you can think to ask for, they’d have to buy. If you asked Soap, he’d likely commandeer the closest vehicle and drive straight to town and buy you one in every color, even if he didn’t have permission to. 

You could ask for something that’s not material. 

Warmth floods your face as you think about it. How would you even ask? You can’t just ask directly. You could, but you might die of embarrassment if anyone heard you. There’s nothing to really be embarrassed about, but you can’t help it. It’s a bold thing to ask for, and you’re not sure you’re feeling quite so bold today. 

You chew on your lip as the barrack door opens, their voices echoing down the hallway as they return from their morning training. They pass by your door, their own doors opening and closing. You get up, moving to stand in front of your own door, holding your breath. You could just step out, knock on his door and ask. He’s probably changing, though. You’d never get the words out if he thought it was one of the others and opened it half dressed. 

You have to do it, though, before you lose your nerve. If you don’t do it now, you’ll never do it and you’ll have to tell Dr. Keller that you failed. You’re allowed to want things. It’s your nature to want things. It’s human nature to want things. There’s nothing wrong with having needs and wants. 

You can want this. 

You repeat it over and over as you slowly open your door, letting it close behind you. You smell the air, finding the trail of his scent. It disappears down the hall and around the corner towards the rec room. Your legs feel shaky as you follow it, your stomach twisting anxiously. You can want this. It’s okay to want this. 

You turn the corner, finding him coming out of the rec room. He grins at you, eyes sparkling. 

You want this. 

“Hey, lass, was just lookin’ for ye. Are ye ready for lunch-” 

His words cut off as you grab his face, standing on your toes to press your lips against his. He makes a surprised sound against your lips, his body tensing. It’s quick, only a couple seconds before you’re releasing him, taking a big step back. Your eyes are wide with shock, almost as wide as his. His lips are parted in surprise still, his shoulders tensed. 

“Sorry.” You blurt out, your nerves only heightened. What if he hadn’t wanted it? “Sorry, I just...I wanted to do it and I wanted you to do it that day, but I’ve never had a real kiss before and I thought maybe Price would want to...but then he said he didn’t care-” 

Your words cut off as he grips your chin, lifting your face so you’re looking at him. The tension has melted from his shoulders, the surprise gone from his face. His eyes are soft as they stare down at you, his thumb brushing your lower lip. 

“I didnae know it was yer first kiss.” He says softly. “I wouldnae pushed it so far if I did.” 

“It wasn’t technically my first kiss, I kissed another omega at the institute but I don’t really count it cause I did it for her.” You shrug. “I’ve regretted pulling away since that day and Dr. Keller said I should start learning to want things and she gave me the assignment of asking for one thing that I want before I see her again at the end of the week and I could have just asked for something simple but-” 

Your words are cut off as he leans down, pressing his lips to yours again. It’s soft and sweet, his hand sliding from your chin to the back of your head, holding you against him. Your fingers grip his shirt, and you lift yourself onto your toes to press back against him as his lips move against yours. 

His forehead presses against yours as he pulls away, your breaths mingling as you continue to hold each other. “Gaz will be upset he missed out.” He says quietly, lips tugging up in a smile as he squeezes your waist. 

“He can kiss me later.” You say, pressing a quick kiss to his lips once more before pulling away. “After lunch.” 

Soap chuckles quietly, slipping his hand into yours. “After lunch.” 

You hesitate outside the door, shifting nervously on your feet. You could turn around and go back to bed, pretend like you hadn’t spent an hour convincing yourself to walk down here, like you haven’t been thinking about this all afternoon. You had already completed your assignment for the week. You’d kissed Soap, done something you wanted. You’ve fulfilled that desire, and it didn’t kill you. You hadn’t dropped dead afterward. If the others noticed, they didn’t say anything. 

This isn’t a want. 

You knock softly on the door, half tempted to turn and run and hide under your covers until you inevitably have to get up tomorrow. 

“Come in.” 

Your hand hesitates on the door handle for just a moment before you’re turning it, stepping into the office. He doesn’t look surprised to see you, though you suppose if nothing else, he had smelled you standing outside. The thought makes your cheeks warm in embarrassment. How long has he known you were standing out there? 

“What can I do for you, sweetheart?” He asks, setting down his pen. 

You shuffle nervously, clasping your hands in front of you. “I-I was wondering...I..um...” You take a deep breath. “I was wondering if I could kneel for you.” 

You bite your lip as he stares at you, the words having come out fast, almost meshing into one long string of nonsense. His eyes darken just a bit, his scent thickening in the air. 

“You want to kneel for me, sweetheart?” He asks, his voice low and rough. 

You nod, shifting your weight again. “Yes, sir.” 

“Grab a pillow.” He nods to the couch. “I won’t have you hurting yourself.” 

You grab one of the pillows from the couch, wondering how often he’s slept in his office. How many nights he’s spent awake, pouring over files, his mind working too hard for him to find any rest. You set the pillow on the floor before kneeling down next to him, facing his desk. You shift until you’re comfortable, sitting back on your feet. You let out a long breath as your eyes slipped closed, your fingers twitching anxiously in your lap. 

Price’s hand is gentle as it comes to rest on the top of your head. You relax into his touch as he strokes your hair, working his way down towards your neck. You force your mind to relax, easing away the desire to tense your shoulders, to draw them up around your ears. It’s pure natural instinct, one that will fade the more you practice, the more you bond with him. The more you trust him. 

“Ready?” He asks, his voice sounding far away despite the fact you’re right next to him. 

“Yes, sir.” You murmur, pressing your head into his hand. 

His hand slips lower, curling around the back of your neck. You inhale sharply as he finally makes contact with the sensitive area. His hand is warm, the tension slowly easing from your body as he presses his thumb lightly into the side of your neck. The back of your brain begins to buzz, your mind slowly filling with static. You relax even further, your head bowing just slightly as you feel the weight of the last three months lifting off your shoulders. 

All the emotions, all the fear, all the unknowns suddenly feel far away. All the apprehension and the anxiety are soothed to nothing as he holds you, the hand on your neck a firm reminder that you’re not alone in this anymore. You have an alpha now, a strong alpha that you can trust in, that will carry it all for you. 

You don’t need to be stressed or afraid anymore. A warmth begins blossoming within you, spreading from your core out to your fingers and toes. You feel a bit dazed, but not in a bad way. You’re not afraid of the feeling, not with your alpha’s hand around the back of your neck keeping you safe. 

You’re not sure how much time passes, how long you kneel there. It could be five minutes, it could be two hours. Price continues to go over his paperwork, his other hand steady on the back of your neck. It’s not until he’s done that he carefully pushes his seat back, kneeling on the floor next to you. He releases your neck, catching your body as it slumps over, drawing you against his chest. 

“Easy, sweet girl.” He murmurs, pressing your face into his neck. 

You’re shaking a bit, brain still dazed and flying as you breathe in his scent. Earthy, trees, petrichor. The warm muskiness of a content alpha. You made him smell like that. You invoked that scent. 

“Feeling alright?” He murmurs into your hair, gently stroking your side as you begin to come back into your body. 

You hum in affirmation, wrapping your arms around his neck. You haven’t been this close to him yet, not since the scenting and that was more of a formal closeness, a required closeness. This is because you want it. 

“Don’t let me go.” You murmur into his neck, clinging to him tightly. 

His arms tighten around you for a moment before he slips them under you, lifting you into his arms easily. He pushes himself from the floor, moving to sit on the couch with you on his lap. You let yourself go lax in his hold again, feeling calmer and more relaxed than you have in months. You feel safe in his arms, not that he would have let anything happen to you before. 

You’ve always been safe, you think as you let your eyes drift closed again. 

The water is hot as it runs down his back, contrasting the cool tile against his forehead. His eyes are closed, breaths slow and steady through his nose. He can’t get that damn scent of vanilla and sweet, sweet omega arousal out of his head. He drives his fist into the wall with a growl, cursing the blood rushing south. 

He can’t forget the way you felt under him, pinned so easily and helpless beneath him. He hates the way his cock twitches at the thought of the pout on your lips as he’d swung at you, narrowly missing you too many times. The way you tried to jump him. 

He lets out another frustrated growl, slamming his forehead into the tile. A hand presses against his bare back and he turns on his heel, hand wrapping around Johnny’s throat, slamming him back against the shower wall. 

Jesus Christ, he’s going to kill the mutt one of these days. 

“Easy, Lt.” Johnny rasps, not fazed at all by the alpha’s actions. His eyes flicker lower, to the hard cock standing at attention. “Bit worked up, eh?” 

He lets Johnny go with a growl, stepping back under the water, turning it all the way to the right until it’s nearly freezing. He almost groans in frustration as the water shuts off completely, his eyes cracking open as Johnny’s hand trails up his chest. 

“Easy, big guy. Let me help ye.” 

Simon moves until his back is pressed against the tiles, eyes not leaving Johnny’s sapphire ones as the beta slowly kneels in front of him. Johnny’s hands trace over his hips, outlining scars both old and new. Johnny’s fingers finally reach his cock, wrapping around the thick length. Simon sighs in quiet relief as Johnny slowly pumps his length, their gazes still locked. 

Simon stares down at Johnny through his blonde lashes as Johnny leans forward, dragging his tongue along his head. A low growl rumbles through his chest as the beta circles his tongue around his head, smearing precum on his chin. He’s painfully hard now, breaking his gaze as his head tilts back, eyes fluttering closed. 

His fingers sink into Johnny’s mohawk as the beta takes his cock in his mouth. He breathes through his nose, relaxing his throat as Simon’s cock sinks deeper and deeper, Johnny’s hands closing around his hips to hold himself steady. Simon grips his hair tightly as he begins to move, bobbing his head along his length, his tongue pressing against the bottom of his cock. 

Simon squeezes his eyes closed as an image comes to mind, a smaller hand fondling his balls. His hand wraps around the base of his cock as he imagines soft lips on his tip, Johnny’s tongue tracing the parts of him that you can’t fit yet as you take him in your mouth. The sweet whines that would be pulled from you as he choked you on his thick length, Johnny whispering sweet encouragements to you. 

He can picture the two of you, you and Johnny with your tongues entwined, his cum stringing between your lips. 

He growls, yanking Johnny off his cock and pinning him to the tile wall. Johnny’s lips are parted as he breathes heavily, eyes blown with lust as he stares up at his alpha. Simon’s hand tugs at his hair, tilting his head back to bear his throat. Johnny lets out a quiet moan as he sinks his teeth into the delicate skin, leaving a mark he’ll wear proudly for a few days. 

“Turn around and bend over.” He growls to the beta, his cock still hard and throbbing. 

“Sir, yes sir.” Johnny says, smirking wickedly as he slowly turns to face the wall. 

Fucking christ, Simon groans. They’re going to be the death of him. 

You’re going to be the death of him. 

NEXT ->

Taglist, part 1:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @hanellokey @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieee @141trash @ghostlythots @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @thychuvaluswife @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @bisky-business @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @cadotoast @linaangel @rancid-wasp @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @puppyel @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10 @cassiecasluciluce @darling006

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 I AM HIS, AND HE IS MINE

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: it's the night of what's supposed to be your first date with dazai, but of course, like all things involving dazai osamu, nothing goes right. you should have expected it... but maybe not all is ruined.

(wordcount: 6.9k; fem!reader, pm!reader, sfw but steamy make out sesh. reader slaps dazai. this one is a bit of a whirllwind, it is purposely fast-paced and a bit choppy. unedited.)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: HAPPY FRIDAY <333 enjoy a bit of a funner pmreader au fic because beast au is coming soon <3 bonus points if any of you can figure out the importance of the next mission that's mentioned at dinner and at the end <333

“I mean, I should’ve known he was going to pussy out, right?’ you say with a scoff as you lean back in your seat, phone pressed to your ear as you look over the Yokohama skyline. “It’s just like him. It was like pulling teeth to even get him to admit there’s something between us. He avoided me for weeks after we talked things out and-”

“Wait, wait, hold on. I thought things were good between you guys now?” Chuuya asks, baffled. You can hear some commotion happening in the background, and what seems like an explosion, your eyebrows shoot up, wondering where he is. “He said he was going to meet you.”

“Where are you?” you ask confused. “I thought you didn’t have a mission today.”

“I didn’t,” Chuuya spits out, voice rising in irritation. “I took over shitty Dazai’s so he could go get ready to meet you, and you’re telling me he’s not there? I’ll fucking kill him.”

You let out a sharp puff of air, disappointed but not entirely surprised that Dazai used you as an excuse to dodge a mission. Things have been better between the two of you—he doesn’t avoid you anymore, in fact, he usually seeks you out on his own like he used to before your friendship was wrecked by your fling with that civilian, but you haven’t slept with each other since that night two weeks ago. And that’s fine, you don’t only want Dazai for sex, but it just feels like you guys are back to being friends, and that’s also fine, but this was supposed to be your next step at maybe being more than friends, so how are you supposed to feel when he bails?

You should’ve expected it, you think blandly, letting out another sigh as you shake your head. Dealing with Dazai is like trying to pull out an anchor that’s buried feet under the ocean floor with your bare hands—he doesn’t like changes from the norm, and he especially doesn’t like having to confront his own emotions, you’ve known that since the day you’ve met him. You thought you made enough progress the night that you slept together for it to be a non-issue, but clearly, you were wrong. 

Sleeping together is evidently less emotionally taxing for him than going out to dinner with you, which is crazy when you consider just how that night had started. 

“You okay?” Chuuya asks quietly. “I can come meet you there, I’ll be done here in a few.”

You roll your eyes with a fond smile. “I don��t need a pity date because Dazai Osamu stood me up, Chuuya.”

“Fuck you, it’s not a pity date,” Chuuya snaps, and you raise your eyebrows in amusement when you hear a sudden shout from the other line and a few curses from him. “Look, just let me know, yeah? We can chill and get takeout too.” 

“Chuuya, go handle your mission. I’ll be fine,” you say, still smiling lightly as you take a sip of your wine. You’re on your second glass already—Dazai was supposed to be here half an hour ago. “I’ll text you.”

“You better,” he warns, and you hear him let out a litany of frustrated curses as he starts shouting at someone with him before you finally hang up.

You let out another heavy sigh, the small smile fading from your lips as you look down at the red tablecloth, lowering your glass as you swallow thickly. You can feel several gazes on you—this is a Mafia establishment, and your favorite restaurant to wine and dine Port Mafia associates at, most of the staff knows you by name. The last thing you want is their pity because you were very clearly stood up by someone, even if they don’t know who it is that had the nerve. 

Just as you’re about to rise to your feet and leave, you notice the hostess’s eyes widen as she turns to acknowledge someone entering the restaurant, rushing back over to the podium to greet the newcomer. She bows too deeply for it to be a regular customer, but you don’t dare to get your hopes up, stiffening as you wait to see who arrived. You tell yourself that it must be some government official taking his wife out, or maybe a businessman and his colleagues going out after a long day of work because you don’t want to be disappointed when an unfamiliar man turns the corner.

Still, you take in a deep breath and can’t help the way your throat spasms when you realize the newcomer is coming around the corner, and you certainly can’t help the way you straighten. The rest of the staff catches sight of them before you can, and the way they all have a visible reaction to the person, the way their gaze turns to you.

You know it’s him before he turns the corner, but your heart races still when he comes into view.

He’s not wearing his typical waistcoat and slacks—or well, he is, but it’s a new set. You can tell because you can’t see the darker splotches on his waistcoat from the blood the dry-cleaner hadn’t been able to get out from his last mission. And he’s not wearing his black trench coat; rather, he’s wearing an expensive suit jacket you’d never seen before. Even during events, he would usually just shed his jacket, he never really dressed up special like you and Chuuya would. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him in an actual suit jacket like this.

More importantly, he has a bouquet of roses in hand, and the expression on his face is nothing like the aloofness you’re used to him wearing in public. He looks unsure, almost hesitant as he looks around trying to figure out where you’re sitting, and he physically falters when he catches sight of you sitting at the window already looking in his direction.

You shift your seat slightly so you can face him, crossing one leg over the other and tilting your head to the side. His throat visibly bobs as his gaze tracks down to the way your red dress rides up your thighs, and you can’t help the amusement that bubbles in your chest when he has to physically inhale to get ahold of himself before making his way over to you.

When he gets close to you, you can feel almost all of the eyes in the room pinned on the two of you. You can’t exactly blame them—it’s not everyday that the Port Mafia’s most notorious executive is seen outside of the darkness he usually lurks in. Most of those who are seemingly aware of who Dazai is look nervous. You can’t blame them for that either, as far as rumors go, it’s pretty well known that death clings to Dazai Osamu in a similar fashion that shadows cling to a dying light—unyielding, inevitable, and always just a step behind.

“You’re late,” you say coolly, grateful that your voice doesn’t betray the way your heart is racing. 

Dazai doesn’t respond right away. He looks down at the bouquet in his hands, and then back up at you. The way he shifts awkwardly on his feet is almost endearing, and the way his brows furrow as he tries to decide what to say almost makes you soften up.

After what feels like an eternity, he says, “I wasn’t sure which flowers to get.”

“You didn’t have to get me flowers,” you reply quietly, standing up to take them from him. 

They’re pretty. You’re used to getting flowers—Mori makes sure there’s a fresh bouquet on your desk every Monday, and these ones are definitely not of the same quality Mori usually gets you. They’re expensive for sure, but you can see the way the edges of the petals are just barely wrinkled from a day in a storefront. Yet somehow, these feel more special than any of Mori’s bouquets ever have.

“Odasaku said that I should,” Dazai replies after a moment.

Any fondness that might’ve been swelling in your chest is crushed in an instant.

“You got me flowers because Oda said you should?” you ask flatly, looking up at him with a visibly displeased expression. 

You can see confusion fly across Dazai’s face at your sudden change in demeanor, mind racing as he tries to figure out what he said wrong. After a few moments, he seems to realize from the way his eye widens slightly.

“He only suggested it,” he says, voice low as he looks down at you through his lashes. Suddenly, you’re all too aware of how close you’re standing to him as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. He dips his head a little more. “I got you them because I wanted to get you them.”

You swallow thickly, lashes fluttering as you avert your eyes to the side. “Well, I guess that’s fine then,” you reply primly, clearing your throat as you meet his gaze again, mouth drying when you see the way his lips curl up into a slow smirk, dark eye glittering with amusement.

“Yeah?” he drawls. “As long as it’s fine with you, then.”

You scoff at him and turn your head away pointedly. “Would you sit down? I’ve already been waiting for over a half hour.”

He hums in agreement, but before he moves to sit down, he leans down to brush his lips against the corner of yours. Your throat tightens, and you pretend to not notice the pink that dusts his visible cheek as he swiftly turns to take his seat.

When the two of you take your seat, the silence between you is abundantly awkward. You press your lips together, thrumming your fingers against the red cloth. You’re usually good at making conversation—it’s quite literally what you’ve been trained to do—yet no words find their way to you with Dazai sitting across from you.

“I-”

“Y-”

Both of you go silent at the same time, and both of you say, “Go ahead,” at the same time. You pointedly raise your eyebrows, beckoning him to continue, and you smile curiously when you see how his gaze drops to the table for a moment.

“You look beautiful,” he says quietly. “Your dress… I haven’t seen you…”

“I always wear dresses to events,” you tell him with a half-smile to hide that you’re flustered by the compliments. “You see me in them all the time.”

He inhales and then shakes his head, you watch his gaze track down suspiciously low for a split second, and then down to the table to where he’d seen your dress ride up your thighs, and the smile on your lips becomes a little more mischievous.

“Oh, I see,” you say, relishing in the way his cheeks go from dusting pink to flaming red as he pointedly looks away from you. “I think you’d like more what I have on beneath it.”

Dazai chokes, and then tries to mask it with a cough. You wonder if you pushed too far, the two of you haven’t done anything physically since the first time you slept together. Not even kiss. But from the way his pupil is blown wide as his gaze focuses back on you, you think your words have their intended effect.

Before he can reply, someone clears their throat from next to your table. You turn your head to the side, mortified when you realize that your waiter is standing there waiting to take your order.

“Hime, Dazai-sama,” he greets, bowing low with bright red cheeks. “I apologize if I interrupted.”

Dazai’s expression goes cold at the arrival of a stranger, but you direct an uneasy smile toward the man as you say, “Shinohara-san, good evening… I hope you didn’t hear anything… unsavory.”

“Of course not, hime,” he agrees, even though you know it’s a blatant lie. “Are you ready to order?”

Before Dazai can disagree, you nod and pointedly ignore the offended look he shoots your way. “It’s pretty busy tonight, isn’t it?” you say curiously as you look around. There’s double… triple the amount of people that are usually here. “I hope you’re not too overrun with work.”

Shinohara lets out a huff of laughter. “It was so quiet until an hour ago,” he agrees. “We had to open up the other room because people just kept pouring in at five. We’re managing though, don’t worry.”

You order for both you and Dazai. You figure that he could order for himself, but he hardly ever treats himself out to eat. He’s more prone to hoarding cans of crab and ordering takeout on your card, so you’d rather just order something you know he’d like than wait for him to sort through each and every item on the menu before he settles on what you know he’s going to get anyway.

Dazai takes advantage of you placing the order to sit there and glower at the man who is only trying to do his job—probably the only one of the staff that had the balls to approach your table with Dazai Osamu sitting across from you. As soon as he leaves, you settle a flat expression on Dazai.

“He’s just doing his job, Dazai,” you say, unamused. “Won’t you leave him be?” 

Dazai gives you an offended look. “I didn’t even do anything,” he protests.

“You were glaring at him.”

“That’s just my face.”

“Right,” you say sarcastically. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably cute,” he corrects with a sweet smile.

“Hah!” you laugh in his face. “You wish.”

“I don’t need to wish, it’s true,” Dazai says confidently, leaning back in his seat with a smug grin. “You think I’m the cutest. You love me.”

You roll your eyes. “At least you have confidence.”

“What does that mean?” 

An easy smile settles on your lips as the awkward silence between the two of you finally shatters. You look down at the table, a fond feeling swelling in your chest as you finally come to terms with the fact that Dazai did come, and a lump forming in your throat as your gaze tracks back over to the flowers he gave you, wondering if this all means he’s finally ready to officially take that next step with you.

And if it does mean he’s ready to take the next step, is he going to feel the same way when the sun rises tomorrow? You can never tell with him. He’s fickle and capricious, and it’s obscenely frustrating trying to deal with his back-and-forth.

“I heard you have a mission in Kyoto at the end of the week,” Dazai says quietly after a few moments, an unreadable expression on his face as you look back up at him. “You’ll be there for a bit.”

You hum in response, taking a sip of your drink. “Yeah,” you agree, and then you let out a sigh. “Ihara Saikaku has made… a lot of progress in undoing all the work I did back in Kyoto before coming here. More than we realized until two of our warehouses up there were blown up. I don’t think I’ll be there long—probably a week.”

Dazai’s lips curl down into a frown at your words. “Who’s all going with you?” 

“Itou,” you answer, referring to your partner, rolling your eyes at the way a distasteful expression immediately crosses Dazai’s face. “Some of our subordinates. It’s a small group, we don’t want to bring too much attention before we go there..”

“I can come,” Dazai offers, and it makes your chest flutter because Dazai never offers to take on extra work unless you’re involved. Hirotsu pointed it out to you over a year ago, but you never really took notice of it until recently. Dazai notices the small smile unconsciously curling at your lips and takes offense to it. “What? Why are you laughing at me?”

“I’m not,” you say quietly. “I just…”

You care about him a lot—more and more every single day, and it scares you, because you never know which days he’ll choose to stay, and which he’ll run away. So you don’t voice it, instead you tilt your head to the side and raise your eyebrows at him.

“I can handle the mission,” you tell him.

Dazai huffs. “I know you can,” he says, raising his chin, looking a bit put out by your comment. “Doesn’t mean you don’t want company.”

My company, you hear the unspoken word as he frowns and looks away and your expression softens. 

“Don’t you have a mission with Chuuya this weekend?” you remind him dryly, smile becoming a bit more amused when he obnoxiously rolls his eye and gives you a judgmental look.

“He can handle it on his own,” he mutters bitterly. “Whatever. Fine. You don’t want my help clearly. You don’t need to say it, I can take the hint.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you say fondly, resting your chin on your hand as you observe him. He’s clearly flustered by your stare, immediately looking down at the table. “I leave on Friday, it won’t be long.”

Dazai still doesn’t look pleased. 

“Friday is movie night,” he says, clearly bothered by the prospect of missing it. Dazai is a creature of habit—much like how he didn’t want to change his friendship with you by taking the next step in your relationship, he doesn’t like when his weekly schedule is disrupted, and you know he looks forward to Fridays with you.

“We can go to the arcade on Thursday.” you compromise.

Dazai lights up. “You hate the arcade,” he says suspiciously.

“I hate losing to you at the arcade,” you tell him, scowling at him briefly when he gives you a smug smile. “I’ll suffer through it just this once.”

You do hate losing to him, but you also like watching how excited he gets when he wins games. You would usually join him and Chuuya when they went because you could just watch and not get dragged into their dumb competitions. They’d get so wound up with arguing with each other that they’d genuinely forget you were there.

“Don’t invite Chuuya,” Dazai says with a frown after a few moments.

“You’re so mean to him,” you say absently, thanking Shinohara as he returns with the appetizers that you ordered. “He likes going to the arcade with you.”

Dazai sneers. “Until he loses every single game,” he says haughtily. “We don’t invite him to movie night, so we’re not inviting him to game night.”

“Sometimes we invite him to movie night,” you argue with a frown.

“Sometimes you invite him to movie night,” Dazai corrects, voice dripping with disdain. “You taint our movie nights. Not me.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you repeat, lips curling up into another smile. “He wanted to do something with me before I left too. Why not-”

“No,” Dazai says, voice pitched in complaint. He draws several eyes onto the two of you, which he quite quickly takes care of with a vicious look in their direction. His expression smooths out before he turns a frown back onto you. “No.”

“Fine, I’ll do something with him earlier in the da-”

“No,” he says, even more loudly this time, but the other patrons of the restaurant know better than to look over now, keeping their gazes trained on their meals or their partners. “Fine. He can come to the arcade. We can do something else earlier in the day.”

Your lips curl up into another amused smile, tilting your head to the ideas your eyes settle back on his face. “Oh yeah?” you drawl, “and what do you want to do earlier in the day?”

The smile on Dazai’s lips is unrepentant. “I could think of a few things,” he murmurs, gaze dipping down for a moment before settling back on your face.

“Pervert,” you insult, but your tone stays light.

“You’re the pervert,” Dazai accuses, dark eye glittering playfully as he reaches for a piece of calamari curiously, eyeing it for a moment before popping it into his mouth. You watch his expression light up before he reaches for another quickly—you’re not the biggest fan of it, but you figured he would like it. “I was talking about going to the movies. What were you talking about?”

“Riiiiight,” you say dryly, leaning back. “What movie do you want to see?”

“Hmm,” Dazai hums, pressing his finger to his mouth as he tries to think of a movie he wants to go see, but you find your attention drawn behind him to where the hostess is whispering with the head of staff, looking at something behind you.

Dazai is rambling about some animated movie that’s about to leave theaters—something about a robot, you’re not really listening because you’re too busy trying to figure out what they’re so focused on. Something about it has you on edge. You follow their gaze to a party of three sitting at a nearby window close to the event room; it isn’t anything too suspicious, you think, until one of them looks in your direction and instantly looks away.

“Helloooo,” Dazai demands your attention, irritated. “Why did you ask if you weren’t going to listen to me?” 

“It really is busy today, isn’t it?” you ask quietly, and Dazai’s expression immediately clears, lips curling down and brows furrowing as his sharp gaze circles the room. You noticed it earlier when Shinohara came over, but you didn’t think anything of it. You should have. “It’s not usually this busy, especially during the week.”

“Yeah?” Dazai murmurs, now brought aware of the oddity, you can see the thoughts racing behind his dark eyes, trying to figure out what caused it. “Weird.”

“Weird,” you agree, watching as the hostess shifts on her feet nervously and then pointedly meets your eyes. Something is not right, and you have a very bad feeling about it—the people who’d been seated in the event room are becoming restless. You can see it in the way they’re shifting in their seats and looking around quickly. Dazai realizes too from the way his expression closes off and his hands tense. “I-”

Dazai tosses you a smile that’s so disarming that you almost don’t register what he says to you next. “When I tap the table twice, get under the table and crawl to my side.”

You unlock your phone and quickly send a text to Chuuya with your location and a ‘help’—no explanation, because the uncertainty and anxiety will make him get here faster. By the time you hit send, Dazai is looking at you again. His lips curl up into a teasing smile that tells you he’s about to tap the table; he raises his eyes at you as if asking if you're ready, and you raise yours right back at him in response.

You see a rush of movement from the corner of your eye at the same time as Dazai’s fingers hit the table twice. You drop to the ground at the same time as the first gunshot rings from somewhere behind you. Dazai is shoving the table over onto its side and hitting the ground beside you; he has the nerve to let out a breathless laugh as his shoulder knocks against yours.

As the screams of the regular patrons of the restaurant start resounding through the air, he leans in with a wild grin and says, “That was close. Almost took off my ear.”

You’re not quite as amused when your gaze snaps over to him and you see the blood staining the bandages that cover the right side of his face. Your eyes widen and you gasp, “You-”

“It only grazed me,” he tells you, and then nods over in the direction of the kitchen. “Let’s get out through the employee entrance while everyone is running around panicking.”

“Right,” you say quietly, and then your lips curl up into a tight smile. Of course this is how your first official date with Dazai goes—you almost wonder if it’s a sign from the gods telling you that this will never work. To quit before you’re in too deep, as if you aren’t already. “We just can’t have one night of peace, can we?”

“I was really looking forward to those crab legs,” Dazai sighs dramatically, throwing his head back. “You think it’s the feds?”

“No way,” you say. “It’s another organization, I just don’t know who the hell is bold enough to pull something like this off in our city.”

“Guess we’ll find out,” Dazai says lazily, and then motions to the kitchen. “Let’s go.”

He doesn’t give you much time to react; your body lurches as he grabs your wrist and hauls you up to your feet, pushing you ahead of him to get you moving in the direction of the kitchen. You stumble over your heels and glare at him from the corner of your eye, but he only tosses you another breathless smile in return, clearly having the time of his life.

“You’re ridiculous,” you snap at him, not quite enjoying having your night ruined like he seemingly is. “You could at least pretend to be bothered.”

“I’m so bothered to have my night ruined with my sweet hime,” Dazai says with another wide smile as he dances ahead of you to push open the door to the kitchen and drag you in there with him.

You can hear shouts coming from behind you and another barrage of gunshots, and you can’t help but mourn because of course this had to happen here at one of your favorite places to go out to eat. You won’t be able to come back for ages now because of this—you’re going to have to figure out if they were involved with this first, but even if they weren’t, this is going to be a hotspot that the feds will be watching for months. One of the cooks directs the two of you to the staircase in the back just as the door you entered through to get into the kitchen slams open.

You try to get a look at the people chasing you, but Dazai doesn’t give you a chance, yanking you into the stairwell to start making a break for the exit of the building. You grimace at the thought of having to run down fifteen flights of stairs, your feet aching just at the thought of it. 

“We’ll never get to the bottom before they catch up. I’m in heels,” you say as the two of you get down the first flight only to hear the doors you just came out of slam open, signalling that they’re already giving chase.

“Take them off,” Dazai says easily. He still has a shit eating grin on his face and you have half a mind to slap it off him. You think he’s enjoying running for his life more than he was enjoying dinner with you.

“I’d rather be shot.”

“Then we’ll just out smart them,” Dazai tells you, wagging his fingers obnoxiously in your direction. You think he tosses you a wink before he keeps dragging you along, fingers tight around your wrist. 

You grimace when a bullet flies a bit too close to your head, stumbling as you skip over a step to the middle landing between the eleventh and tenth floors. The people chasing you are Japanese—you can hear them shouting at one another as they try to catch up to the two of you, but they’re not from the area, you can tell from the accent, so they can’t be from one of the Yakuza syndicates.

Then who?

Shikibu or Ihara’s men? Kawabata’s?

Your mind races for an answer, but you’re startled out of your thoughts when you and Dazai reach the tenth floor and he kicks open the door to the hallway loudly. You shoot him a wide-eyed look, but he doesn’t drag you into the hallway, instead he yanks open what looks like a small maintenance closet and pulls you inside of it, pullingshutting the door shut quietly.

“What-” you start to say, but you can’t finish your question because Dazai is backing you into the wall, he pins one of your wrists right up next to your head and his other hand drops to your hip as he presses his body flush to yours

Oh, you think absently, all thoughts slipping from your mind when he presses his lips to yours. They’re chapped and taste faintly of the garlic on the calamari he’d been snacking on combined with the blood that has dripped down his face to his lips—you don’t think you should like the taste of it, but your hand comes up to cup his cheek and you find your lips parting as you deepen the kiss.

He lets out a low groan into your mouth, and you know that this is not the time for this. The people chasing you could walk into the closet any moment and riddle both of you with dozens of holes, but you’re two glasses of wine in, high on adrenaline, and this is the first time Dazai has kissed you since the night the two of you slept together—his lips are more intoxicating than any type of liquor or drug.

“We shouldn’t-” you start to whisper when you pull away for air, but your words fail you when he immediately turns his attention to your jaw, trailing his lips halfway down your neck. “What’s gotten into you?”

Your breath catches when you feel his lips curl up against your skin. He nips your neck and slides his hand down from your hip to your thigh, slipping his fingers below the tight red fabric of your dress to hike your thigh up around his waist so he can roll his hips against yours. Your breath hitches, head falling back against the wall as Dazai continues to kiss down your neck, tongue darting out to swipe at your collarbone.

“You are so…” you breathe out.

“Sexy? Arousing? Tempting?” Dazai offers, lifting his head to look down at you, eye darker than usual, pupil blown wide as he gives you a lazy smile and waits for your response.

“Unbelievable,” you finish, shaking your head. “I never know what to expect with you.”

“That means you’ll never get bored of me,” he says with a grin. “That’s a good thing.”

“It’s something alright,” you agree, noticing the way his smile falters at your answer. “I’d never get bored of you regardless, Dazai. I just wish…”

You don’t finish the sentence, not wanting to send him running when you’re already in such a precarious situation. Instead, you shake your head and look away with a frown. 

“You wish what?’ Dazai asks quietly. “Tell me.”

“I didn’t think you were going to come today,” you admit after a moment, deciding to just come out with it. His lips part at your words, suddenly looking unsure. “I just… sometimes I still don’t know where we stand. It’s hard.”

“You don’t know where we stand?” Dazai has the nerve to sound amused, but there’s an oddly vulnerable look in his gaze as he looks down at you. He brings the hand he still has pinned to the wall next to your head to his chest so that your palm is flat against his heart. “I thought I made it clear that night. I’m yours.”

Your breath catches again, heart racing as you look up at him and ask quietly, “You’re mine?”

“I’m yours,” he repeats, lifting your hand from his chest to press his lips against your palm and then your wrist. You cup his cheek, wiping away the blood that’s tricked down the right side of his face. “Heart, body, and soul. I’m yours.��

He looks like he didn’t mean to say all of that from the way his eye suddenly widens, but the damage is done and you are down for the count. Your entire world is shaken by the words that you never thought you’d hear him say out loud. Luckily, he’s saved by the chaos happening right outside of the closet the two of you are hiding in. The shouting draws close as they get down to the tenth floor, trying to figure out where the two of you went.

He presses his hand over your mouth and backs you against the wall again, trying to hide in the shadows of the small room just in case they decide to take a peek inside of the closet. After what feels like an eternity, they seem to go down the hall of the tenth floor looking for you guys. 

“That’s why you kicked the door,” you realize and he gives you a smug grin. “Dazai…”

Dazai can seemingly tell that you’re about to go back to the conversation the two of you’d been having because he winces and croaks out, “No more talking, please. This has been a lot for me in one day, y’know.”

“Okay,” you agree with a small smile. When he finally steps away from you, you reach out for his hand, entwining your fingers with his. “Let’s get out of here then.”

The worst part about getting down to the ground floor is the fact that your feet are killing you, but you’re too stubborn to take your heels off. The exit leads into an alley next to the building, and you sigh as the door shuts behind you, reaching for your phone to see if Chuuya or the Black Lizards are anywhere nearby, not wanting to go out anywhere in the open when there could be snipers waiting in case the two of you managed to escape the hit squad.

“I-” you start to say, looking up at Dazai. He turns to look at you, but his eye widens as his gaze focuses on something behind you. “What are you…?”

You yelp when Dazai reaches out to grab your wrist. He yanks you behind him, and as you crane your neck around to see what’s going on, your breath catches when you realize that they had someone waiting outside. His gun is trained in your direction and Dazai is swinging you around so that he’s the one that will take the bullets, using his body as a shield to protect you. Your lips part in a silent cry of his name when you realize what he’s doing, trying to stop him, but you know you won’t be fast enough. 

It all happens too fast—too slow—you don’t even know really; you can see it all happen but you can’t react. You’re watching the man’s finger curl around the trigger, you’re watching Dazai stiffen as he braces himself for the impact, eyes locked with yours and grip on your wrist tightening, and you’re choking over a gasp, panic flooding your blood and fogging your brain as you realize what’s about to happen.

It doesn’t happen though—the ground shakes violently as a familiar figure drops from the sky in-between the two of you and the gunman. The gasp you choked over turns into a shaky sigh of relief when you realize that Chuuya arrived. 

He turns a glare onto the two of you, the Tainted Sorrow emanating around his body as he stops the barrage of bullets midair. He spits, “You two-”

“Late as always,” Dazai jeers, but you can see the way his shoulders visibly relax and you can hear the tremor of relief just barely audible in his tone. The tight grip on your wrist eases, but instead of pulling away, his hand slips down so he can entwine his fingers loosely with yours again. “But what else should I expect from a slug?” 

Chuuya snarls at Dazai, but before he can say anything else, his attention is drawn back to the man fumbling to reload his gun. You have half a mind to tell Chuuya to leave him alive, but your focus is pulled back to Dazai and the panic and fear that had been flooding you quickly shifts into anger.

You reach out to grab him by the tie to yank him closer to you, his eye widens and his eyebrows shoot up teasingly, but you’re not having it. You lift your free hand and before you can even consider what you’re doing, you slap him hard. Dazai draws back, cheek pink in the shape of your hand and lips parted in shock.

“Ouch,” he says flatly. “That’s what I get for saving your life?” 

“Don’t ever do that again,” you spit at him angrily, knuckles tight around his black tie as you drag him closer. “Ever. What were you thinking throwing yourself in front of the gun like that? Are you insane?”

Something mirthful flickers across his face as he looks down at you, dark eye lidded and lips pulled flat. His voice is colder now as he asks, “You don’t like it, do you? Funny.” 

“What?” you breathe out, confused and taken aback by the comment, even more so when he only averts his gaze and shakes his head. “What are you even talking ab-”

“Yo, come here,” Chuuya says abruptly. You give Dazai one last concerned look before trailing over to Chuuya, who’s kneeling over the corpse of the man that tried to kill you and Dazai. He’s pointing at a tattoo on the man’s forearm of a castle floating in a sea of clouds. “You recognize this? It's so familiar, I can’t place it.” 

You frown. “Yeah,” you say, voice tight. “It’s Ihara. The Floating World. Guess I’m going back to Kyoto sooner than I thought.”

Dazai’s expression shifts instantly, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “But what about-”

“They just attacked an executive in the heart of our territory, Dazai,” you say, voice strained. “This needs to be handled immediately, and you and Chuuya need to stay here. If they’re willing to do this, then there’s no telling what they’re capable of trying for. You two need to stay here and be ready to deal with any potential threats to Mori.”

Neither Chuuya nor Dazai look pleased by your words, but it’s Dazai who speaks up, expression twisted. “You can’t order me around, I’m the executive.”

“And because you’re the executive, you know that I’m making the right call, don’t you?” 

Dazai doesn’t look pleased, but he doesn’t reply other than a shake of his head. It’s only when you reach for your pocket to grab your phone so you can call your partner, Itou, that he finally reacts. He grabs your wrist quickly, the pads of his fingers burning against your skin and though he doesn’t speak right away, you still brace yourself for what you know is coming.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says quietly as Chuuya steps away to make a call. “I don’t think-”

“You told me that you’re mine, Dazai,” you say softly. “Heart. Body. Soul. Do I have your trust too?” 

Dazai looks conflicted, face twisting and lips pressing together. His grip on your wrist tightens, but he finally shakes his head and looks away. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “You do.”

“Then trust me when I say I can handle this,” you say, voice coming out a bit more pleading than you intend for it to. You gently shake his hand from your wrist so you can entwine your fingers with his again, squeezing his hand. “I was in Kyoto on my own for years, Dazai. I know what’s waiting for me there. I’ll be fine, we need you and Chuuya here with Mori.”

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally replies, “Okay. I trust you.”

You let out a breath of relief, shooting a text to Itou so you can let him know that plans changed, and you’ll all be leaving in the morning instead. You roll your eyes when you get a ‘yippee’ from the grown ass man as a response, but promptly turn your attention back to Dazai, who’s still frowning at the ground.

You squeeze his hand to get his attention, and he looks at you with an indecipherable expression. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s go home and clean the blood off of you. We can spend the night together before I leave in the morning.”

“In the morning,” he echoes, a whine clinging to his tone, but he lets out a melodramatic sigh before giving you a lecherous smile. “... You did promise me that I’d like what you had on underneath the dress more, didn’t you? You gonna prove it?” 

The smirk that curves at the corner of your lips is playful. “You know it.”

You hear a noise of disgust from a few feet away, and you both turn to see Chuuya standing there, looking thoroughly disturbed.

“Gross,” Chuuya scoffs, sneering at the two of you.

“Shut up,” you and Dazai snap at the same time. 

“No you. I don’t need to hear this shit, take it to a goddamn bedroom.”

You and Dazai share a look at his suggestion, then snicker when another groan comes from the ginger.

“Forget it.”

[hanniebaeee]

The Plan

Hyunjin x fem!reader

Warnings: Suggestive MDNI

Genre: Established relationship, fluff (a little angst)

Summary: You and Hyunjin have a week off, at the same time, so you both make plans. Plans, but different plans, involving each other.

It was supposed to be very simple. But obviously simple didn't exist in your home. Because the tension in the apartment was palpable.

“You’re telling me,” Hyunjin began, voice wobbling, “that you booked our week off to go to yours without even asking me first?”

You were standing at the kitchen counter with your hands clenched around a mug of tea (that you weren’t drinking because you were too busy suppressing your rage).

“Jinnie, I did ask. You said you were fine with whatever I planned.”

“I said that thinking you'd actually be discussing it with me!” His voice raised a little. Of course it did. “I wanted to take you to mine this time! My mom's been dying to spend time with you! And she has been knitting a sweater for you and -”

Hyunjin was already emotionally unraveling, hands flailing in the air.

Your jaw ticked. You were actually trying not to show how agitated you were feeling. It wasn't like you to yell or explode or make a scene. You imploded - silently, gracefully, like a submarine sinking into the abyss.

“Okay, Hyunjin,” you said evenly, though your teeth were clenched so tight your jaw ached. “I’m not fighting. You can have what you want.”

“You’re not fighting?!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms up. “You’re always not angry, which is just a code for angrier than hell! While I’m here, losing my mind, because I had this whole thing planned -”

You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t listen to one more word. You haven't been home in a while and you missed your parents. And they were actually excited to meet Hyunjin. And now your feelings bubbled under the surface like hot lava. 

“For the love of God, can you stop yelling!” You bit out and it made him even more agitated.

“Oh, I’m sorry for being emotional! Not all of us are emotionally constipated like you!”

You sucked in a sharp breath, your hands clenching into fists at your sides.

“I am NOT emotionally constipated!”

“Yes, you are!” Hyunjin yelled back, pointing an accusing finger at you. “You’re mad right now, aren’t you? But instead of yelling at me like a normal person, you’re standing there pretending you’re fine while plotting my death in your head!”

You froze. He wasn’t entirely wrong, really.

“I’m not plotting your death,” you muttered.

“Oh, please,” he scoffed, throwing himself onto the couch dramatically. “You’re probably going to go scream into a pillow or something, because god forbid you actually express an emotion.”

Your mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?!”

“You heard me!” He said dramatically. “You’re a psycho perfectionist, and I -”

Okay, your eyes were starting to sting with tears now, and without a word, you turned and walked out of the kitchen. Hyunjin trailed after you, his voice climbing several octaves.

“Wait! Where are you going? Are you mad? Are you CRYING?!”

You slammed the bathroom door behind you, locked it, and turned on the faucet for cover. No way in hell were you letting him hear you cry. You pressed your eyes tightly closed, biting back the tears threatening to spill over. Then you let out a strangled scream into your hands.

Oh yeah. It was all coming out now. 

“BABE, I CAN HEAR YOU SCREAMING.” His voice was high-pitched with panic. You heard him jiggling the doorknob. “Y/N, PLEASE, OPEN THE DOOR. WE CAN TALK ABOUT THIS. OR FIGHT ABOUT IT. OR KISS ABOUT IT. JUST OPEN THE DOOR.”

You grabbed a towel from the rack and let out another muffled scream into it. Ok, that felt a little better.

On the other side of the door, Hyunjin flopped against it dramatically.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my plans. But why are you mad? You didn’t tell me about yours either! Shouldn’t we both be mad? Let’s be mad together! Please open the door, baby!”

The sheer absurdity of it all made you laugh, though it was shaky, laced with frustration. You didn’t want to open the door. You didn’t want to face his dumb, beautiful, perfect face that made you melt faster than an ice cube on a hot pan. 

But, of course, he couldn’t leave it alone.

“Do you want me to cry? I’ll cry. I’ll cry right here, babe. Pisces tears - they’re coming.”

“Oh my god, Jinnie!” you yelled through the door, finally snapping.

“You're the one who locked me out when I’m  emotionally vulnerable!”

You groaned, wiping your face and flinging the door open so hard he stumbled back.

“Fine! You want to talk? Let’s talk. I planned this because I thought you'd be happy to come spend time with my family in my childhood home, Hyunjin. I wanted you to see where I grew up, meet my parents, and understand my world a little better. Ok?”

He blinked at you, tears threatening to spill because of course they were. His lower lip wobbled.

“I did the same because I love you, you idiot,” He whispered. “I love you. I wanted to show you off. And I understand you wanted the same. And now we’re yelling at each other because we both care too much and suck at communicating.”

Damn it. Damn him. You hated when he made sense in the middle of his theatrics.

“I love you, too.” You sighed, deflating.

“Say that again, but slower,” he teased, a spark of mischief returning to his eyes.

You swatted his shoulder, though you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. “Don’t push it.”

“So,” he said, stepping closer, his hands brushing your waist, “are we going to keep fighting, or are we going to make out and figure out where we’re actually going to?”

It obviously started with one kiss - one of those angry, frustrated, teeth-clashing ones. You had grabbed his stupidly pretty face and kissed him, and he kissed you back immediately because, well, Hyunjin was Hyunjin. Dramatic. And, almost entirely too weak for you.

And he couldn't stop ranting even through the kiss. 

“You-”

Kiss. 

“-are the most infuriating person-”

Kiss.

“-I’ve ever met.”

“Shut up, Hyunjin,” you mumbled against his lips, tugging at his shirt to pull him closer.

“No,” he panted, breaking the kiss to glare at you. “You don’t get to tell me to shut up. I’m still mad at you.”

“Oh, you’re mad?” you shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not the one who hijacked an entire week with zero communication. Emotional wreck.”

“EMOTIONAL WRECK?!” he gasped. “At least I express my emotions! You bottle yours up and hold a grudge!”

“I don't-” You cut yourself off, realizing how stupid it was to argue about who was more emotionally stable while Hyunjin’s hands were under your shirt, groping you shamelessly as you glared at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re impossible!” he shot back, his voice cracking slightly. 

“I literally don’t know why I love you,” you snapped, looking away because his fingers were getting somewhere now. 

“At least I know why I love you!” he yelled dramatically. “But right now, I don’t like you, because you’re a terrible planner, and you -”

“Oh my god,” you groaned, grabbing him by the collar and kissing him again to shut him up.

It worked for about ten seconds. Then he was talking again, voice muffled against your lips.

“I can’t believe you think -”

Kiss.

“-that I’m more dramatic-”

Kiss.

“-than you.”

“Hyunjin, if you don’t stop talking-” you hissed and he narrowed his eyes before smirking.

“What are you gonna do?” he challenged.

You sighed because just look at him - lips swollen, hair an absolute mess, and he looked so unfairly good. 

You didn’t answer. Instead, you shoved him back against the bathroom door and kissed him hkisse and yanked his shirt up.

“Okay, wait, timeout,” he gasped, laughing breathlessly as you attacked his neck with kisses. “Are we still fighting? I feel like we’re still fighting. Are you biting me?”

“Maybe,” you mumbled against his skin, fully leaning into your irritation now. “What are you gonna do about it, oh my god,you're such a princess -”

“Oh, I’ll show you what I’m gonna do -”

The aftermath of that argument had settled into an odd quiet. The kind of quiet where you both pretended like nothing was wrong - the situation barely resolved, because you both minus clothes could only resolve so much. 

Hyunjin was trying (really trying) to act like he was fine with your plan. He was aggressively cleaning up the living room, now trying to crack jokes and laugh. But the slight droop in his shoulders? The barely-there pout on his stupidly kissable lips? The way he sighed softly every now and then?

Yeah. He wasn’t fine. Definitely not. 

You watched him from the kitchen, your arms crossed and biting your bottom lip anxiously, trying to steel yourself. Hyunjin wasn’t going to say it, but you could see through him. He wanted to go to his hometown. This was important to him. And now he was swallowing his emotions because he thought you were still mad.

With a sigh, you grabbed your phone and opened your travel app. Your parents would understand. You could still go next month. You told yourself that it was ok, even though you were looking forward to taking him home with you. And then, clicked cancel, and waited for the confirmation email.

“Jinnie,” you called, walking into the living room. He was sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone like he wasn’t secretly sulking. He looked up with wide eyes, a little too eager to pretend like everything was fine.

“Yeah?”

You took a breath and walked over to sit beside him as you said, “We’re going to yours.”

For a moment, he just stared at you like you’d told him something stupid. Then he shook his head quickly.

“No, no, no, we don’t have to do that. I’m totally happy going to yours. Really.” he said. 

You gave him a look.

“Hyunjin. Don’t lie to me. You’ve been pouting all afternoon.”

“I haven’t been pouting!” he said, pouting even harder now.

“Baby,” you said again, softer this time, placing a hand on his thigh. “I know this is important to you. I want to go too, okay? And when it's my turn, I want you to come wholeheartedly. I’m not mad at you, and I’m not holding a grudge. I promise.”

His lips wobbled at that, and he shook his head again, his eyes already starting to glisten.

“No, I'm seriously fine. I want to go to yours. You planned it. It’s -”

“I already canceled the tickets.”

That shut him up. His eyes widened, and his lips parted as he sat still for a second.

“You…you canceled them?”

“Yep.” You smiled, cupping his cheek with your hand. “So, we’re going to yours.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. His lips trembled, blinking rapidly like he was trying to hold it together, and then he let out a shaky little sigh.

“Why are you so nice to me?” he whispered. 

“Because I love you, idiot,” you teased gently, even as your own heart hurt.

You could swear his lip wobbled harder than before.

“I’m gonna cry,” he said, his voice breaking.

You couldn’t help but laugh, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth and said, “You’re already crying, silly boy.”

He sniffled, wiping his eyes with his sleeve, but then he muttered, “I… might’ve also canceled the tickets to my hometown.”

You froze.

“You what?”

He looked sheepish, giving you that shy, half-apologetic smile he always brought out when he knew he’d screwed up.

“I canceled them. Like, right after we -”

“Hyunjin, why?!”

“Because I wanted to go to yours!” he wailed, throwing his hands up. “You seemed so sad, and you are always keeping it all in not to hurt me, and -”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, trying to figure out if you wanted to laugh or scream.

“So…we both canceled our tickets. And now we’re… nowhere.”

“Yep. Pretty much.”

Divider: @strangergraphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @chancloud8 @captainchrisstan @hansmic @emilyywhyy @inlovewithstraykids @my-neurodivergent-world @nightmarenyxx @channie4lifeee143127 @lezleeferguson-120

[petew21-blog]

Siblings rivalry

Lyle was nervously grasping the wheel, side eyeing the man next to him while driving: „Could you, please, put some shirt on?”

“Why? Is it distracting you? It’s just a body, Lyle, and you’re not a faggot. Shouldn’t bother you. Am I right?” the shirtless man sitting on the passenger’s seat responded with a smirk and subtle disdain in his voice.

“Of course I’m not… It’s because of the sweat. The car is borrowed and I don’t want to clean it.” Lyle quickly responded and tried to change the subject

“The car is an old piece of shit. We’ll be lucky if we even make it to the beach in time.”

The engine started making weird noises and the car slowed down. “See, told you.”

Lyle stormed out of the car and screamed:”Can you shut the fuck up already?! I can’t take this anymore. I want my girlfriend back.”

“I didn’t choose this either. And I still am your girlfriend!”

Lyle's girlfriend Nicole has a twin brother, Nicholas. Their family is one of the most weirdest ones you’ll ever meet in your entire life. And Lyle had the pleasure, or maybe misfortune, to find out the hard way. They got their hands on some magical shrooms or something. Some made you see the future, some gave you a really great time and there were also ones that swapped your body. Trippy right? Yeah… Naturally the parents used it for orgies and other experimenting.

But occasionally they used it as a method of punishment. Nicole told Lyle, that she had to be her mum for two weeks last summer, just because she lied about her school results. Lyle didn’t believe the whole swap thing until the parents found out that Nicholas and Nicole didn’t share the same morals about feminism and male value. Nicole was obviously a feminist, but she was belittling her brother. On the other hand, her brother didn’t even stop to consider how different a life is for a woman. The whole family had an argument about this and the parents decided to swap Nicole and Nicholas for the ENTIRE summer before university. Yep, insane.

Nicole responded to her body quite well to be honest. She was in a male body before, but never in her brother’s. Them being twins might have helped a bit. Nicholas is an attractive male, so Nicole had it quite easy. He has a great physique, handsome face and generally is a great guy. Lyle and Nicholas often joked together about women, watch football or play videogames together. But having his girlfriend in his body? Way different for Lyle.

Lyle caught her staring at herself many times. She seemed completely unphased, maybe even excited to be in male body now. Which can’t be said for me. Sex was obviously a no go. Lyle didn’t even want to touch her without feeling like a fag. But Lyle knew something bad was about to happen sooner or later. Maybe this would be a test for their relationship. Maybe it will uncover that he is a superficial asshole and that he love her only for her body.

She keeps staring at Lyle sometimes and tried to even seduce him, but he just can’t like this. Not while she is in Nicholas’s body.

Which brings us back to the present, currently on the coast far from the beach party where we were supposed to be hours ago. Unfortunately, Lyle had to borrow his grandparent’s car and it just broke down. Nicole smiled after being right again and seeing me snap.

She had her shirt off and leaned against the hood of the car. “So what now Sherlock?”

Lyle: „I don’t know. We’re in the middle of nowhere. And the cur is busted.”

Nicole: ”Jesus, Lyle. Be a man and call Jake. He can at least come get us.”

Lyle nervously nodded and took out the phone. He went behind the car and waited for someone to answer. Meanwhile Nicole moved from the front and went to the back of the car, adjusting herself for Lyle.

Lyle finished the call and before he looked up he said: „They’re all drunk already, so Daniel is going to wait a bit before he’s sober and will come get us.”

Nicole: „Good. More time for us to have fun” Lyle looked up and saw Nicole in her shorts, slowly lowering them.

Lyle quickly turned around. “Jesus fuck, what are you doing? What if someone sees you?”

Nicole:”Who? You mean the nearest guy miles away from us? Yeah, right. I wanna get Nicholas a good tan for the summer. We agreed to treat each other’s body properly.”

Lyle knew Nicole had different intentions, but he wouldn’t succumb to her. He isn’t gay for fuck’s sake.

Nicole took the folding chair they had in their trunk and positioned herself in front of the car, enjoying the sun.

Nicole: „When was the last time that the two of us had some proper free time to just stop? Did we ever? Feels like the first time. Maybe we should use it properly.”

Lyle: „What are you suggesting?”

Nicole: „I think we should fuck. You haven’t touched me in weeks.”

Lyle: „Because you are a man now!!! And your brother, Jesus fuck.”

Nicole:”Cut the crap, Lyle. Do. You. Love. Me?”

Lyle:”… I… of course I love you.”

Nicole: „Do you love me for me, or my body?”

Lyle: „I… I love YOU.”

Nicole: „So come and prove it.” Her daring voice made Lyle feel uneasy. But he felt as if something was pulling him towards Nicole, towards Nicholas.

Nicole got up, uncovering her hairy manhood. This was the first time that Lyle looked at it. It wasn’t hard, but even now it was still pretty impressive. Nicole headed to the car, going past Lyle and whispering in his ear: „I haven’t sucked your dick in weeks. I need to have your dick as much as you want me.”

Lyle looked as Nicole laid down on the car seats, waiting for Lyle to make his move. Her dick was getting hard and getting bigger. Maybe even bigger than his own. Lyle couldn’t keep his eyes off of that thing.

Nicole spoke up: „Lyle, I need you. I need your dick!”

Lyle’s dick was hard as well. He felt himself throwing his clothes off as if he was just a passenger. He thought about Nicole giving him that great blow job of hers once again. He could see in his memory, his dick disappearing in her mouth.

He got close to Nicole, lowering himself on top of her, HIM. And was ready to push his dick closer to her, but he was so horny, that he didn’t even realize that he was now the one holding HER dick in his hands. Jerking it furiously. Lick it from top to base. Swallowing it fully. He didn’t even realize he didn’t have much trouble swallowing her cum. Even after SHE pushed HER dick in his ass, he didn’t find it that weird.

They laid on top of each other, breathing out loud, enjoying each other’s company, making out. Nicole gave Lyle a sign that she need to go out and piss. Lyle stayed in the car, still struck for what just happened. Nicole’s phone vibrated. Lyle thought that maybe someone was ready to pick them up, but instead it was Nicole’s friend Stacy texting her. The text said: „Hey, Stacy. Thanks again for swapping with me. I really needed to be fucked and not as a man, haha. Hope you’re enjoying it. Luv U”

Lyle:”What. The. Fuck?!”

[wonderjanga]

Ms. Kent and Billy

it’s 1959 and it’s been a year ever since Billy got his powers. Life is good and he found out about a pie eating contest happening in some little town in Kansas called Smallville. If you were to win, you’d get a whole $100.

Billy: “A hundred whole dollars… I could get food for weeks- no, months with that!”

Martha(Ma Kent): *appeared behind him* “Are you gonna participate in the contest?”

Billy: *startles* “Uh… Yes?”

Martha: “Aren’t you a little skinny for that?”

Billy: “Wha- I’m not skinny! I don’t think I’m too skinny at least.”

Martha: *looks him up and down wondering if he’d let her cook a bunch of food for him* “Sure. Hey, I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. Are you new to Smallville?”

Billy: “Yes. This is my first time here actually.”

Martha: “Oh? So you’re just here for the pie contest?”

Billy: “Yup. I’m gonna eat as much pie as I can, and then I’m gonna get the money.”

Martha: “Will you tell me if they’re good?”

Billy: “Sure? Why?”

Martha: “Cause me and my mom made all the pies for the competition!”

Billy: “Oh, that’s amazing!” *looks starstruck*

Martha: *sounds proud* “I know.”

Billy didn’t end up winning the competition. He actually ended up vomiting after his first pie because his little malnourished self couldn’t handle all of that. Martha was there though to clean him up with a rag. They got to know each other better after that and soon enough, Billy would transform into Marvel, fly over to Smallville, and hang out with her. Martha even got to know Freddy because he would sometimes fly over with Billy too. Then the time bubble happened and fast forward 50 years. Billy, after panicking about his entire life and everything he knows it being over, went to go see Martha, who was conveniently still near Smallville.

Billy: *knocks on the door*

Martha: “Coming!” *opens the door and looks around seeing no one*

Billy: “Down here.”

Martha: *looks down to Billy and pauses to stare*

Billy: “Heeeeeeeey Martha.” *awkward wave*

Martha continued to stare at him for a solid minute before she rubbed her eyes, and then rubbed them again for good measure.

Martha: “Billy…?”

Billy: “Martha…?”

Martha: “Oh- my… Oh my Gosh!” *kneels down so she can look him over even going as far as to pinch his little cheeks to make sure he’s real*

Billy: “Ow! Martha, stop!” *bats away her hands*

Martha: *keeps trying to pinch him aways* “Are you real?”

Billy: “Yes?”

Martha: *has seen too much nonsense due to Clark* “Well, if you’re the real Billy uhm… Where did we first meet?”

Billy: “A pie eating contest here?”

Martha: “Hmm… That might be too easy… What pies did I make for the contest?”

Billy: “Wha- I don’t know!? How am I supposed to remember that??”

Martha: “Okay… Too hard. How about you tell me something only you would’ve known about a fourteen year old me.”

Billy: “Like what?”

Martha: “Like something secret I told you.”

Billy: “Uhm… You had a crush on Elvis and said you wanted your future husband to be just like him?”

Martha: *stares before feeling herself cringe at her teenage self* “Okay, I’ll assume you’re the real Billy. Come in, bud.”

They caught up after that. They even decided to make pies together again. It was fun. You would just see them in the kitchen together talking about whatever, normally old lady stuff, and baking. Then, when Grandpa Kent came home…

Jonathan(Pa Kent): “Martha, I’m home!” *walks to the kitchen and pauses when he sees Billy and Martha*

Martha and Billy: *stare back at him*

Jonathan: “Martha is that an another grandbaby, clone, or cousin of Clark’s?”

Martha: “None of those. This is Billy. He’s a friend of mine.”

Jonathan: “Martha, you’re just befriending eight-year-olds now? Where are his parents?”

Billy: “They’re dead, mister! But don’t worry, me and Martha met back in ‘59. We go way back.”

Jonathan: *stares for a solid minute* “Wait a darn moment… were you caught up in all that Fawcett business?” *heard about it on the news*

Billy: “Yup!”

Martha: “What Fawcett business?”

That’s how Billy was led to explain the entirety of the time bubble and suspendium and all that. The Kents thankfully welcomed him with open arms. After this entire incident, Billy showing up to the farm was a regular occurrence. He could bake with Martha and help Mr. Jonathan out as much as he could on the farm. Then, one of the Kents other grandchildren showed up. (Billy was basically their grandbaby too, not that the Batson knew)

Jonathan: *trying to fix their tractor because it broke down for whatever reason*

Billy: *standing to the side, holding a toolbox and giving him tools whenever he asks*

Jon: *flies over from Metropolis* “Grandpa! Grandpa-” *does a double take when he sees Billy* “Wait, who’re you?”

Billy: “I’m Billy!”

Jonathan: “You heard him Jon. He’s Billy.”

Jon: *suddenly self-conscious of the fact that he’s flying in front of this kid and kinda just revealed his identity* “I’m uh… Jon.” *slowly floats down to land on the ground*

Billy and Jon: *stare at each other*

Jonathan: “Billy, can you pass me the diamond tip screwdriver?”

Billy: “Sure!” *passes it to him*

Yeah… Jon was a little confused as to who this random kid was. He was also a little confused as to why he refers to Jon’s grandpa has Mr. Jonathan but refers to Jon’s grandma as Martha. Did he live with grandma and grandpa? Is he another one of his dad’s cousins? Jon doesn’t think the boy’s a kryptonian but he might be wrong. Anyways, he’s making everything weird! Though it’s a sort of good kind of weird? His grandma is acting… younger? They also keep referencing things Jon has no idea about. (Late 50s pop culture) The kid- Billy, seems nice enough though. He has no problems playing with Jon so that’s awesome! Jon is so happy to have a friend away from home, but he’s still confused as to why Billy is at the farm.

Jon: “Dad, why do some people live on farms?”

Supes: “Because they’re farmers…?”

Jon: “No, but like what if they aren’t farmers, and they just help the farmers that are already there? Like one day they just showed up and decided to help around.”

Supes: “Well, I guess the closest thing you’re looking for would be a farmhand. Why are you asking?”

Jon: “Well, there’s this kid that lives with grandma and grandpa now-”

Supes: “WHAT?!”

Yeah, neither Ma Kent or Pa Kent have told Clark about this. It kind of slipped their minds.

Bonus interactions:

Before Pa Kent Came Home…

Billy: “Who’s that?” *looking at a photo of Pa and Ma Kent together*

Martha: “My husband.”

Billy: “Husband…?” *suddenly sad he missed a bunch of stuff from Martha’s life* “Oh…”

Martha: You sound upset. What’s wrong?

Billy: “Nothing.”

Twenty Years Ago When Clark Was Still a Kid…

Supes: Ma, who’s that? *looking at a photo of a nine year old Billy and a fourteen year old Martha*

Martha: “Oh, that’s Billy and I.”

Supes: “Who’s Billy?”

Martha: “An old friend of mine. He uhm… disappeared one day. I don’t know what happened to him.”

[yojeongin]

this night has opened my eyes | j.jh

→sister’s fiancé!jaehyun x f!reader

genre: smut, angst, close proximity attraction, forbidden affairs, 80s au, and familial relationships study

synopsis: grief hits everyone differently, especially when so close to a major "once in a lifetime" event. you try to not judge everyone's character but how can you not when emotions are conflicting and it doesn't help that your sister's fiancé is the only one helping you cope.

warning(s): ADULTS ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! generational trauma, mentions of child emotional neglect, grief, cheating, smoking, alcohol consumption, emotional repression (minor memory loss), some fingering, semi-handjob, unprotected and rough sex, creampie, jaehyun a lil ooc, somewhat one-sided, lack of chemistry (their lonelyness tries to say otherwise), this one is for the eldest daughters with mommy issues

wc: 21.1k+ || anthology masterlist || soundtrack || ao3

© 2025 YOJEONGIN all rights reserved — please DO NOT translate, take, nor repost any of my works on other platforms. reblogs are HIGHLY appreciated and preferred!

disclaimer: this is purely fictional; in no way am I condoning this behavior, trying to offend anyone, nor is it meant to place such image on the idol, these are only characters. read at your own discretion.

an: well I lied about posting last week. I'm fond of lying and worst scenario did happen and I'm posting in may. anyways, tried hard to make them lack chemistry so you guys tell me how that turned out.

This is your punishment. It must be. Why is it that when you’re finally at ease with life, something has to ruin your stable comfort? You swore you wouldn't come back to this town unless a major celebration or an emergency would occur. Unfortunately, it so happens that both had transpired at the same time. In the worst way possible.

A year and a half ago your sister had met someone. It only took nine months of being together for them to get engaged and your entire family knew besides you. Chances are you would have remained in the dark even after the event if the pyramid schemer of your cousin hadn't called you about the possibility of lending her money to pay for the items she was supposed to sell. 

Merciless enough and with no regard for your sister, she spilled it all to you along with ridicule laced in each word. Reveling and laughing at the theory of your sister possibly being pregnant. Interlaced jealousy for obtaining a “great catch”.

You don't entertain it, humming with faux excitement despite dreading the fact that you're now expected to send a letter to your sister letting her know how happy you are for her. Whether you truly were or didn't care, did not matter. You expected nothing out of it, nothing was supposed to happen after all, per usual. It was all courtesy. 

Silence from your sister was always a better reward than having her talk your ear off about anything she was fairly interested in. The matter becomes worse knowing she dreaded talking to you overall, therefore it was a waste of time for you both.

Unfortunately, days later you received a phone call where she, in fact, talked your ear off about the guy she was engaged to and what she had in mind for her celebration. It’s not like she was having fun telling you about it, she didn’t plan for you to find out to begin with. But again, it was all courtesy. Hoping that this would make you feel included enough to send her a gift without invitation.

The call extended for longer despite the long periods of silence on both ends. She had waited and waited, with no signs of you asking what she wanted, leading her to hang up feigning a dinner with her fiance. Truth is she scoffed rolling her eyes and petulantly stomping around knowing she would have to invite you now if she wanted a gift.

Two months later a wedding invitation was sent to your apartment. Reading over the script typeface with all of its coiled swashes, embossed flowers, and the underlying inked words that scream at you to not go, to not entertain this and just send the damn gift. Courtesy, it's all about courtesy.

You didn’t hear from any of your family members again after receiving that piece of cardstock. Not until a week before the wedding day. Merciless Friday. By Friday, life has killed you.

You had planned on leaving a day before the date. You were in no rush to visit anyone in that town nor did you plan to stay long after the ceremony. Like a business trip, that’s what you were treating it as.

Simply, your plan was to get a round trip ticket. The departing flight back home after the ceremony, possibly at the middle of it, or worst case scenario: the following morning. All to avoid being berated by your mother or aunts; with no plan to overstay your visit.

That was the plan, yet again the universe was so humorous that when you picked up the phone to hear your father talk to you casually with long gaps in between his words, you knew something was awfully wrong. He didn’t specify the reason for his call nor did he give you much information about how his fig tree wasn’t looking too good and most likely would not make it for fig season. 

It was quick and brief, that should have been telling. Your mother would have called you selfish for not noticing the small things but those words were customary for her so you didn’t take them to heart. You haven’t in years, you would like to think. 

Now you look at those same trees, nodding to yourself about how correct he was. Branches too frail and crackly, snapping with a swipe of a finger. They used to be so strong, even in these winter temperatures with biting and prickling coldness. The one your mother often caused within you and now it’s odd knowing that’s what she must have felt last night. 

It’s strange to come back and notice the state of the weather. A town usually disgustingly humid, scaldingly hot, and sunny was now replicating your current city. Gloomy and rainy, the humidity never leaves but the disgust clings to the feeling in your chest as cousins, uncles, and aunts rush out of your childhood home with box sets of silverware, easy and light furniture, and china that had not been locked away. 

A cheery smile on their faces, patting you as a welcome while stuffing their rickety cars with your parents’ belongings. You don’t question it, you always expected this from them. The best you can do now, is close the door in their faces when the youngest of your cousins walks out with your father’s broken Atari in his grimy hands.

So young and already so rotten.

It’s not the fact that they are taking the things, it’s more so that none of them bothered to let you know your mother had died Friday morning or looked to be mourning. Or how she had been battling a nasty infection due to the thorns in her rose bushes. How rapidly the fungus had consumed her cells.

The house is eerie and cold; silence was never this stiff. Biting and dull, but never static. The large portraits of your mother scattered around the walls feeling more patronizing than ever before. You can already imagine what she must be thinking about you all the way from purgatory. “Typical, you could not even bother to show before my last breaths.” A scoff, turning up her nose with a shake of her head to avoid looking at you. 

Disgust, disgust, disgust.

It doesn’t take long to find your father in their shared bedroom. Sitting idly on the edge of the bed looking out the window. A usual position, now enveloped with grief and despair. Not his ordinary nonchalance and comfort. He was a shell of a man from when you last saw him. Then again, that was two years ago for their silver anniversary where your mother scolded you for not helping or for not doing things the way she wanted them.

You remember clearly ending that night in the train station with your suitcase. Your father dropping you off while affirming that they loved you despite all your mother had spewed the entire visit. You both smiled fondly before hugging and patting each other’s cheeks. He knew you well enough to leave before your train arrived, giving you a breather and letting out all your grievances, leaving them here and not taking them back home. 

“Hey…” Your meek voice causes his hand to twitch, not turning to look at you. “How are you holding up?” You question, hand sliding down his shoulder to rub comfortingly. You feel his chest rumble, your fingers thrumming against his wool sweater. “I told you the fig tree was not going to hold on until spring.” He answers slowly, eyeing how the branches snapped with the breeze.

“You did.”

Silence befalls, it’s uncomfortable yet comfortable. The contradiction makes it far more confusing on your end. You’re not too sure how he feels. Perhaps you should say something, something stupid or mundane but something. These days you're far more unaware of what to do or think. 

“Hey, dad?” “Hey, dad!”

There’s a clear difference in the way those words are uttered. In the way the voices sound and how they roll off each other’s tongues but ultimately both of you turn towards the door, seeing your sister stand with a cheery smile – a tad duller when her eyes fall on you. The most she gives you besides a hum, unphased by your presence. 

“The morgue is on the line.” She utters, chin turning to point towards the phone on your mother’s nightstand. Your father makes no effort to answer, leaving it to both of you to decide. Ultimately, you reach for the device, the cold plastic uncomfortable against your ear. 

“Hello?” “With the family of Mrs. Y/l/n?” “Yes…”

Taken aback by your lack of warmth, the mortuary technician hums, “We wanted to inform you that we got results back from the police station and after the autopsy, Mrs. Y/l/n is ready to be transferred to the services you’ve chosen. Since she is an identified body, we can only keep her for a week at best. She does have to be transferred for burial or a different mortuary by the time frame.” 

Confused, you turn to your father. His lack of response makes you turn to your sister who looks at you like you’re crazy for whatever you haven’t told them. “What?— I thought you guys handled funeral services as well?” You answer, clutching the hard plastic in your hand.

“Unfortunately, no. Not yet at least, but there are multiple funeral homes around the area that you can contact and we can transfer the body to them for the burial or their own morgue. It just has to be before the week ends. Fortunately, it’s a busy season– Unfortunately, I mean! Sorry… We will need the space.” Catching his mistake he laughs nervously, pulling the last remaining hair strand on his balding head.

“Give me a second.” You grumble, your mother’s lipstick still plastered against the bottom half of the phone. “Have you looked into funeral home services?” You whisper, looking at your standing sister who shakes her head vigorously. There’s no way your father had the will to do so and you don’t ask him but the gnawing feeling of the lack of organization is eating at you already.

With a sigh you pick up the phone from your lap, taking your time to answer. “We don’t yet have a plan… Is there no way we can get more time?” You almost beg, was it not for his disinterested whiny voice while twirling the spiral cord around his finger. “Yeah, no… That’s quite unfortunate, yeah.” He hums, patronizing. It irritates you beyond belief. To the point where you hang up before even giving him a definitive answer.

“A week! That’s all we get to find any funeral services or she’ll get tossed out like a butchery carcass!” You’re not sure if you’re more irritated from the call, your sister’s nonchalance, or the fact that you care more than you allowed yourself on the flight back.

"A week?!" Your sister screeches, "My wedding is a week! We can't possibly do that!" Her hands come to her head, distress covering her face like a wedding being pushed back would be the bigger tragedy out of this. Your slow turn of head and slotting eyes don't phase her but your words do irk her.

"Mom just died and you're more worried about a wedding?...”

 "It's not that! It's just that— the wedding is already planned. Mom's funeral isn't, we don't have anything to look for and especially in this short amount of time." She covers up, nodding like it was the best excuse she has ever come with. Was it not for your father's voice catching both of your attention and his slow monotone tone, you would have finally slapped the sense into her that you should've done years ago if allowed.

"Your mother began saving up for this, months ago. I don't think it's much but we will find out when her lawyer arrives tomorrow to read her will." He pauses, "We will make do." He concludes with a nod to himself.

It's not enough for you. That goes to say there's virtually nothing when funerals cost an arm and a leg. You don't even know how much her payment plan was so what gave you the reassurance that you could do anything with that. No, you had to think for the three of you. Like — fucking — usual.

"Aren't you paying for the wedding too?" You turn to him. He nods, "We will make do."

No. No, it's not that simple.

"Your wedding is in a week, there's no reason for you to spend anymore. How about we cut that off already and you can help with the funeral preparations." You speak sternly to your sister. That desperation and anger lacing every single one of your words.

"What?! No, you can't just cut me off! I still have to pay the catering and flower vendors. That doesn't go into action until Tuesday." It's crazy to see how maniac she became in an instant. Her hair disheveled the further her fingers threaded through it. "You can't have me present my guests beautiful decor just to serve their food on paper plates, can you? That's tacky!" She groans, petulantly turning to your father for back up.

"We will make do."

Are you satisfied? No, but you're exhausted and quite honestly jet lagged. This has been enough interacting with your sister and your father's enabling that you decide to throw the towel and shake your head.

"Fine. But you'll have to help me with the funeral services and finding an adequate funeral home."

She's pushed her luck already, and she knows it. "Fine."

It should have been an obvious sign that normal days were left behind when you arrived. What used to be quaint mornings in this town were now loud and obnoxious. Things were different in a sense that you had not expected. The blaring of a nightstand alarm transformed into an irritating screech of the fire alarm calling your name over and over to turn it off. Bike bells from the paperboy calling for the daily paper were now incessant honks tattle-telling on the neighborhood boys that kicked balls at whatever car was left outside the garage.

Whether your body wanted it or not, you pushed off the mattress that was once your safe haven. Now it was hard as rock and the cause of your aching muscles that wept with every step down the stairs. Your mother’s penetrative glare through all those portraits adding onto your pain. 

Upon hearing your steps, your father turns with a blank look on his face but an apology in his eyes. You let out a sigh and a reassuring smile on your lips, turning off the stove and moving the pan away. “I burnt the eggs.” He utters monotonously, each word spoken with every step you take towards the fire alarm. “A coward egg. Preferring to burn than to be eaten. It’s okay, the next one will be brave.” You think you can see a smile on his face although blocked by the fabric of your pajamas and sprawled hair. 

“Those damn kids, running around the street when cars are leaving for church.” Your sister had interrupted any sense of tranquility (if any) with complaints. Her eyebrows furrowed and a frown on her face that becomes teasing when she sees you on a chair, mangling the fire alarm. 

It’s mocking you think, the way she looks at you. “What did you do? You’ve only been here for a few hours.” And your glare gives her the response she was looking for. Receiving you with a teasing scoff, almost turned into a giggle while she swivels towards your dad, kissing his cheek good morning. 

“Geez, relax. I was just kidding.” She huffs, “Look who woke up on the wrong side of the bed.” Usually comments as such warranted extensive berating from her and  your mother. Your aunts if they were visiting but now it’s just you two and your dad. Your catatonic dad that can only give her the same blank look and words he’s given you: “I burnt the eggs.”

She kisses his head, smiles reassuringly, reaching for the pan to toss out the now cold eggs. “It’s okay, I’ll make you some.” It’s similar enough, you’re sisters after all. 

You manage to silence the fire alarm, bringing tranquility for a second before three rhythmic knocks are heard at the front door. Your sister and you share a glance, questioning with an indication for you to open the door. It’s something menial that you won’t fight her over, rather you just do it to let the starch pressed suit wearing lawyer inside the house. 

He’s roughly a head taller than you, lankier and awkward but in a way that makes him seem snooty. He gives you a glance and a muted greeting smile. He attempts to share some pleasantries but you don’t let him, leading him to the living room where the other two had gathered already. Eggs and stove long forgotten. 

“Good morning,” he utters, “Only you three will join us?” He asks, fingers threading through the cuff links of his suit. They’re rusted, staining his dress shirt with every move. He knows it and hates that others do too but he can’t be bothered to change them. Rather they’re his only ones. 

“Yes, morning.” You answer with a nod, sitting besides him. “Right.” He mutters, clearing his throat, fumbling to open his briefcase. “I’ve brought copies for you all and given the quantity, I consider it best we get straight to it, yes?” The lawyer — who you later learned his name was Mr. Chop, called pork chop by your sister whenever he said something she didn’t like — handed you each a thin packet. Swivel designs on each corner, customary of your mother who most likely brought in her own paper for him to print on whenever the time came. She probably did not expect it to be this early. 

Your father makes no effort to touch it, your sister only flips through it, but you focus on every word and the tone everything is dictated in. Mr. Chop reads in a lousy voice that he’s forced to sound vigorous but his constant voice cracks give out his experience. Not that much.

“For my dear husband,” He fixes the stiff paper under his fingers. “You will find yourself flooded by life insurances all to your name. Enjoy them while you remain, it is your call what you do when you think your time will come.” Mr. Chop clears his throat, turning to you before continuing. “As long as you’re wise if you dare leave anything to Y/n…” 

Typical. It doesn’t make it any less frustrating.

“To my youngest daughter, you’ve always loved the eccentricity of your mother and grandmother. For that, I leave you our jewelry. I know you will do the right thing when it comes to these and you will take good care as I have all these years.” 

You could swear your mother’s doting voice projected through his weak mouth. Sweet when looking at your sister but patronizing and mocking when he turned to you. Just the way the old hag intended. 

Take that back, pinch yourself under the thigh for thinking of your mother as an old hag. No matter how much she’s impacted you, remorse and guilt will always flood you when it comes to her. 

Fuck. 

“Lastly, Y/n. Consider yourself lucky for this letter and your grandmother’s cookbook. Lord knows you could benefit from it. I will not offer you more for you know what you’ve done and you shall live with that your entire life.” 

The paper doesn’t feel heavy under your fingertips. It’s light, translucent, and from the sunlight peeking through the sliding doors leading to the backyard, you can see she did not write much. 

“What about the funeral plan she began? How much is there?” 

Mr. Chop knows there’s urgency in your voice. Desperation and frustration etching themselves across your face while he takes his time to flip through some papers he had not yet taken out. “Yes… it seems your mother did not begin this plan until three months ago that leaves with only—“ he hums, holding his tongue to not sigh and give more pity remarks than he’s already given. “$169 to be exact, not discounting taxes depending on the company. Some funeral plans tend to take out taxes when the money is put to use.” He drops his professional act momentarily to look at you. 

“These insurances… they can cover it, surely. Yes?” It’s the first time your father spoke since the lawyer arrived. Grievance written all over his face, in the way his eyebrows knit like a begging hungry child. His fingers twitch, itching to look for answers in the packet but hold back. As if touching the decorative paper ought to burn his fingers.

Mr. Chop hums for an exaggerated amount, head tilting to ultimately click his tongue. His pen hits his forehead, leaving a tiny blob of ink that you fixate on. “Well, yes… the thing is that insurances take a month to three after the claim. Unfortunately — for some reason — February is high in mortality and it’s going to take longer than that to hear back from the insurance companies.” 

It’s a dead end. A dead end and it seems only your father and you feel the weight of your mother’s body crushing the both. It’s typically you whose hands were freezing cold but now they’re warm against your father’s. Taking them in a tight and reassuring grip, forcing belief into both. He glances at you, apologies flooding his eyes and threatening to escape his lips. Those that you shut with a smile and another squeeze.

“We will make do.” And now you’re fully convinced that he’s smiling. Believing you with no proof or witness, just the fatherly love and remnants of hope he has. He squeezes your hands in return, a sign of compliance.

Mr. Chop doesn’t extend his invite. As soon as it’s settled he makes his exit, leaving the three of you to wonder what should be done. Your father reverted to small talk, managing to nod at some questions and stare blankly at others. That left you and your sister to make calls to funeral homes all day. Alternating between landlines while one of you wrote, analyzed, and organized the price points and deals. All flukes and robberies. 

To say frustration wasn’t getting the best of you was an understatement. How is it that death is perceived as an eternal slumber where you feel no more, yet it leaves those behind you in perpetual suffering. 

Your father won’t explain what he feels but everyone can read it in the wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. You’re not too sure how you feel besides uncertainty that makes you scribble harshly against the notepad. Eraser shavings get between the lead and paper, forcing large gaps between words. It bothers you enough to rewrite the words just for another piece to be erased. A cycle that you know you should end but the bubbling ache in your chest makes you continue your angry scribbles until you touch the fresh page underneath.

Faith lets it survive for longer. Intervening through an ecstatic screech that leaves your sister. It gives you hope, seeing her stomp around in a happy dance. Telephone cord wrapping around her body the way her fiance will do in a few days to come. She’s so happy. Your mother is dead, your father is bordering on joining her and your sister is happy. 

“Found a funeral service?” Your voice breaks her out of it. Her wide smile, not flattering as she turns to look at you with faux confusion. That stupid midline diastema was growing but it made her look far more charming than before. Her giggle doesn’t help and for a second you think she’s that same little girl that would pity you when mother scolded for her wrong doings before she joined in on the mockery. 

“What? No!” She unravels the cord, some of it stuck against the buttons of her overalls. “The caterer called back and said they could work with the budget you're forcing me into! I can make this wedding work, Y/n!” If she was to ever touch you it would leave a reminder of her disdain and faux affection. This one, she’s genuinely happy and with no intention to mock you but even when she doesn’t want to, she manages to plague you with that poison your mother created and taught her to inject into you. 

She jumps around, holding your hands with no intention to seize her excited giggles. How can someone be so happy in times like these? Is this what being full of love creates?

“You’re fucking kidding, right?” The words leave your mouth in waves. Lips quiver with every letter and your hold on her hands turn crushing. Her eyebrows furrow, pulling away like a child that’s been zapped with prank gum. She scowls at the ruined moment, “Have you seriously been working on your wedding all this time?!” 

“No…” A scolded child answers, tucking her hands in the denim pockets. “I was making calls too, I just… took a break to answer the caterer.” she murmurs, swinging her body the way she does when consequences attempt to reach her.

“A break… We can’t take fucking breaks, sissy! We have to find a funeral home now or else who knows where mom will end up!” You don’t try to sound so angry or sad. The whine and fire in your voice will betray you the way it always does. “We can’t afford them if you're too fucking worried about your stupid wedding!” 

“Stupid?! Mom was looking forward to it! You would know if you checked in often and didn’t think you’re too good for us! Doesn't your job pay you well? You could possibly pay for this by yourself and leave dad alone.” A leach and a burden is what they’ll always see you as. It’s obvious through the gaps of invisible words she doesn’t spew. 

Despite the scratch created over your soul, you’ve only ever known to cover it with electric tape. It’s sticky and temporary, leaves a disgusting residue if you ever try to remove it but that doesn’t come until you’re ready to fix it. Which you won't, you never do. You never will.

“I am going to pay for it at this rate because you are more worried about a wedding with a guy you met not even a year ago and God trust no one believes it will last.” Condescension and it’s not yet Wednesday. It’s spilled in the same tone she utilizes with you, the difference is she’s never been strong enough to reap what she sews.

There’s fire in her eyes. The same fire she looked at your mother the few times she was reprimanded. The kind that tells you she loathes you with her entire soul and wants nothing but the worst for you. It translates perfectly through her words, ones that make you forget she’s the town sweetheart. 

“You know what your problem is, Y/n? That I’ve always been able to find someone and you haven’t. You’re lonely. A lonely, bitter spinstress. Bitter overall and that’s how you’ll end if you keep acting like this. Mom was right about you. She always has been.” She gives you no time to rebuttal with your own venom. Taking her belongings and slamming the kitchen door behind her while the words ‘naive’ and ‘dumb-fuck’ flood your brain knowing they’re far less offensive than bitter and lonely.

Without trying to dwell, you exit the kitchen as well. Rolling your eyes with a huff as the scene replays. Your mother is gone, there’s no reason for you to hold your tongue, doing that for years has stunted your ability to defend yourself. Your little sister will always have the upper hand the longer you keep your mother’s image etched inside your brain. 

She has no power over you. Not anymore. Free yourself. Try…

You can’t, you probably won’t. Because behind your disappointed father that sits on the steps of the stairs, your mother’s portrait bores holes into you. Engraving every word your sister spat out with far more volition.

Monday: Humiliation

Maybe you were brash with your outburst yesterday. Perhaps you could have handled the discontent better but the longer the argument plays in your head the more and more you think there’s no way you’re going to apologize to your sister for that. Not even when said argument led to you making your way to the first funeral home by foot because she refused to pick up the phone. 

You couldn’t ask your father to drive you there nor were you going to ask anyone else in your family. Those leeches had only made an effort to contact you to ask for more things they could take and when turned down they’d drop their sugar bowls and act as sour as you remember them. It’s laughable. How high and mighty they act but turn into grimy beggars attempting to slither their way into the home for more and more things to steal.

It’s happened a handful of times since your arrival. All ending with you slamming the door in their faces and them calling you the same names your mother used to. Disguising their visit as a form to check on your father without waiting for him to come down the stairs before acting like debt collectors. By now he knows not to come down, he’s always left panting and huffing on the last step when they leave. 

There’s been a few times they’ve been able to fool you. Their appreciation for taking over the funeral plans soothing your soul and causing you to release a content sigh, all to come crumbling when they mention how this was a nice gift for your sister. 

“So kind of you to take this off your sister’s hands. She’s already stressed enough with the wedding, you’re truly an angel, Y/n.” It’s so cut throat, fictitious, and treated like a burden. Each word pierces your jugular and is brought down to your chest, carving a cross over your skin. “God bless you.” The concluding words to whatever game they want to play at. 

“God bless you.”

A laugh leaves your mouth, covering it with your gloved hand as your head shakes. Oh, Y/n… What can you expect from your family? All so selfish and conceited. Spoiled and rotten. Rotten to the core.

The headphones on the Walkman threaten you to stop moving so much, inching closer to snapping off your head and leave you with the sound of cars driving past. Some, confused on why you would walk in this weather and lack of sidewalks. There’s no time to explain that your sister and family are petty. Enough to not take care of your father while you’re gone and the only person you trust to look after him is the neighbor, Mrs. Mimi and her dog Rek. At least with them you know your father’s belongings won’t be gone within minutes. 

Usually you’re not against walking to places. It’s the only thing you can do back in the city where everything is within walking distance and at least the view is pretty. As pretty as skyscrapers and tourists are but it’s better than cracked pavement, rickety old homes with old men sitting on the porch nearly naked despite the freezing temperatures, and roadkill almost every day. Anyhow, you hate to admit that you’d rather see this than the horrendous interior design of this first funeral home.

You can blame the lighting and the textures of every surface. Despite this, nothing justifies how horrendous acid yellow carpeting and neon purple wood paneling look together. Obnoxious in the way that forces your brain to transmit the message of hurling your guts out and nothing would show on the carpet. Perhaps it’s happened before according to the stench — discarding the cadavers below ground.

“Shit show.” You huff under your breath, taking out a notepad from your purse. 

“What was that?” It comes out friendly, playful despite the chill it forces all over your body. Swiveling on your heel to turn to two men emerging from the backroom. They smile acknowledging your presence but don’t press the matter. “Sorry, how may I help you?” The shorter one smiles. It’s scarily similar to Pee-wee Herman’s, far more disturbing. You chalk it up to his growing bald spot, making him look like an aging uncle despite most likely being around your age.

“Hello…” Nervously, your hand waves. “I’m Y/n, I called yesterday about funeral plans.” His ankles click with each other, knees straightening up as his face lights up comically. As if a light bulb actually lit before his eyes. “Right! Ms. Y/l/n, I was just showing Mr. Jung what the plan consists of. Would you want to see it too or do I leave you two to discuss it?” His ominous and strained smile returns, blinking too fast for his own liking and it makes him look frightening but perhaps that uneasiness is what keeps the place in business. 

He doesn’t seem to catch onto your confusion on why you’d talk with the taller stranger beside him. In comparison to the funeral director, the other man is relaxed. His hands remain inside his wool coat, dark as his hair that makes his skin seem brighter. He was a little too pale for this area, even in the winter the sun shines bright. 

You’re within seconds of concluding that he’s an attendant until he speaks up, hands coming out of the coat pockets. “Mr. Holmes, would you mind giving Ms. Y/l/n and I, a minute alone to discuss?” And that only manages to furrow your eyebrows further to the point your eyes may be bulging out. You’ve never been good at hiding your emotions. Your mother made sure to take full advantage of that.

The funeral director isn’t told twice. Leaving a packet with the stranger that thanks him before releasing a heavy sigh and rocking in his heels as his eyes mimic yours. He shakes his head, making an odd expression with his mouth that tells you something you know already.

“Shit show.”

And it bothers you how easy it was for him to knock down your defensiveness to snicker along with him. 

When both seem to calm down, he clears his throat, extending his hand for you to shake. Skeptically you take it, never removing your gloves and clutching the pen in your other hand. “Y/n…” He smiles fondly, his other hand coming to clutch yours as well. It feels odd and it confuses you, enough to bubble up an upset.

“Y/n Y/l/n, it’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” An airy chuckle of finality escapes him, his head dips as he smiles widely like you’ve known each other for ages while the only thing that crosses your mind is: “Who the fuck is this guy?” It’s obvious in the way you’re giving him that same reserved look from seconds ago. One he chalks up to the distance and he shakes his head to relax.

“From your AP world history and APUSH classes… Remember me?” His voice lilts, eyebrow twitching as he recalls. You truly don’t know what he’s talking about and while his expressions are soft, yours are in perpetual incertitude. “Well, we went to the same middle and high school but- I don’t know, I thought high school would be easier for you to recall. You remember me, right?” 

His tone doesn’t falter, he’s still as joyous as you’ve first heard him. He’s trying his darn best but if you’re being honest to yourself, you have no idea who this man is. Your body betrays you though, faux laugh escaping your lips as you nod. “Yeah! Yeah… AP Biology, right?” Your eyebrows don’t unknit and there is when he begins to question himself. He hums but shakes his head despite his smile slowly falling. 

“No, no… We only had the same AP humanities classes.” “Ah… Yeah, APUSH.”

It’s difficult to understand how easily discomfort settles.

“Victor Asuel, right?” While you smile, he replicates it uncomfortably. “The one that got a perm and had to go bald when it burnt the scalp, yeah?” Jaehyun joins you in an uneasy laugh, shaking his head to awkwardly correct you. “No, Jaehyun. Jung. I sat next to you in world history and well… APUSH.” He chuckles uncomfortably, his hands finally leaving yours to shove them in his coat pockets. Hurt, you’re aware of that.

“Sorry…” It’s a dead end you don’t think you’re able to get out of. Charismatic as he is, he smiles shaking his head. “Forget about it, it’s fine. It’s been a while, yeah.” He nods, looking at your face to memorize all expressions. “It’s been over ten years anyways.” 

Jaehyun sucks in his teeth, sighing afterwards. “I’m also your sister's fiance if that helps.” It’s muted and less exciting than the original topic. It doesn’t help, you had no care of who she was marrying if you’re being sincere but at least you know there’s another reason for him to talk to you. 

“Oh. Okay.” 

“Thoughts on the plan?” This time you try to break the silence. “Shit show.” He repeats, shaking his head with that same nice smile of his. He’s comfortable and that’s good enough for you. “On three we run out?” You suggest and that smile widens showing his pearly whites. The likes, emphasizing the lines around his nose, the type that tells you he’s smiling genuinely hard. 

“Now!” His hand takes a hold of your arm pulling you out of the funeral home while the entrance bell blares for the funeral director that you’re running out without sealing the deal. Mr. Holmes must have smelt the rejection from down the mortuary that he runs upstairs with a bloodied apron still on, stumbling on the disgusting carpet that stains his polished shoes. 

He yells something that sounds like begging whines, intermixed with growls. All fading when he covers his mouth with his fist, the other clutching his disgusting apron. Jaehyun had learned that this funeral home was the most successful one. Not a single decline for the past two years – of course all due to their pushiness. This will be the first time. You make sure to annotate that on the pocket notebook you’ve been clutching since entering.

That initiated your journey of looking through funeral homes with him. Jaehyun wasn’t quiet, he liked to talk a lot. If the dog was pissing on the side of the road he’d laugh then become concerned for its safety but wouldn’t stop the car to help it onto the sidewalk. 

He talked about how horrible the paneling in the second funeral home was. How the humidity had sunk in and now the walls were swollen. He talked about the light fixtures in the second funeral home. The light bulbs were foggy and therefore made the place look disgusting. It reminded you eerily of your mother. Word for word and it made you resent him without trying. Jaehyun talked a lot about everything but mostly about a past that you don’t recall.

“Do you remember Dorcas Reus.” He animatedly questions. “No.” You respond, scowling at how the whipped cream on his milkshake clung to his cheek. “No, I don’t either.” He nods to himself without looking at you. This time he hesitates, lips twisting to the side as he contemplates his next words.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Y/n.” There it is. Took him long enough considering the nature of your time together this day. You reassure him with a smile, nodding while the words slowly process in your brain and your mouth agrees to let them out. It doesn’t want to but your tongue force them out. “Thank you.” He shares a quizzical look, one that tells you that maybe your answer is too cold and simple for people’s liking but it’s the best you can do.

If he had anything to say about it, he ignores it. “Truly, she was like a second mom to me.” There’s sincerity in each word that curdles the milk in your own milkshake, etching a scowl in your face as you push the glass away. 

It’s rich, coming from a stranger. 

It’s rich, of course anything associated with your sister will receive your mother’s love more than you’ve ever felt. 

It’s rich.

“Right.” 

He purses his lips, halting whatever words he had said afterwards from hearing you interject. He breathes through his nose, back firm against the cold backrest of the diner’s booth. It’s easy to sense what he feels, at least in that subject you can relate to him.

“Why isn’t my sister here by the way?”

“Right!” It’s more joyous coming from his mouth. Dwindling when the nature of reality comes back to him and it presents itself as a deep blush across his face and scorching warmth at the back of his neck. He rubs at it to cool it down but your steady gaze makes it unbearable. “You see, we had dinner with some others in your family.” Almost everyone. “And they’re all busy with the wedding, she’s busy with the wedding… I offered, it’s the least I can do for your mom.” 

Words are heavy in his mouth, thumping against the vinyl tabletop and bouncing your way. You know he’s sincere and that makes you hate him a bit more. He has more love for your mother than you and that bothers you. Because while you’re doing it out of self prescribed guilt and obligation he’s doing it because he actually likes her. 

Tuesday: Suffocation 

Jaehyun was much quieter the following day. That’s not to say he didn’t squabble at any given chance. Who knew he was highly passionate about tap shoes. All stemming from you giggling at how ugly some tap shoes in a garbage bin were. He scolded you like you’ve known each other for years. That may be true in his reality but in yours, you have no idea who this man is. 

He fears you’ve suffered from memory loss. Recalling almost every single event that you two went through in your early academic years but when you hum with a nod and he can tell you’re lying about remembering he sighs and nods, giving you a name of a classmate that he hasn’t talked to in years but recalls for some odd reason.

He was highly passionate about paneling as well. Yesterday, that was an important factor that made him discard all the other funeral homes. Today it was the flooring and after touring two other ones that expected you to give them your first born, here he was conversing with the funeral home director the same age as your father about how horrible things have become since Reagan entered. In the short span you’ve been with him, you’ve learned that he’s comfortable and decided. 

Mr. Nix was no better than Jaehyun, jumping from interest to interest like the fleas on the stray cat. He feeds it tuna and deli meats, the only things he will eat, Mr. Nix claims, emerging from the backroom with a packet and a bag of cookies in his other hand. Jaehyun chuckles along with him and you’re thankful that he’s here for the poor old man would be nothing but uncomfortable if it was just you.

He truly has a beautiful funeral home. The walls resemble your grandmother’s. Pristine white but clean with rinceau scrolls wrapping around the bottom and top of each wall. There’s no carpet, thankfully. Beautiful mosaic flooring with spring colors replacing it and form an image of an angel in the center where the body will be seen. It’s too expensive from sight alone and you fear what it will come to but this is for your mother. Even in death you try to please her.

“I’ve circled the pain points and the discounts amounted. We can handle a payment plan. I don’t usually do that but I can trust you folks.” He completes his chuckle, placing the packet on the marble counter. He turns somber, looking at the cookies as if they contain his soul. “Here,” he addresses you after all this time with a smile. “I’m sorry for your loss, dear. Lavender lemon cookies, they were your mom’s favorite… Your dad’s too.” 

The sincerity in his expression makes your chest ache. He knows your parents, he knows what your mother likes and what your father does too. He knows them and is making an effort to acknowledge your dad… unlike the rest of the world. It’s uncharacteristic of you but you sigh with a wide smile, taking the older man into an embrace. 

It takes him by surprise, though, he’s the wiser to know this is a confused little girl that needs some comfort. He pats your head — throwing a look at Jaehyun, one which means more to the younger than intended — while wrapping his own arms around you before you ease out of it within seconds. Embarrassed by yet another public humiliation ritual of your own. 

“Thank you, Mr. Nix… we’ll see you soon.” 

He nods, perplexed by your response. A sheer layer of horror from what Jaehyun’s eyes tell him and for a second he could be confused with clairvoyant if he was to speak his mind. 

Too much affection in one gaze. Too much affection for too little time.

You attempt to flip through the package in the car while he drives to the flower shop you were meant to meet your sister. Albeit, the weight of the cookies in your palm is uncomfortable. The clear bag prickles your skin, unbearable like the touch of microfiber cloth with the exception in which you feel this ten times worse. They smell divinely, you’ll give them that but your mind gnaws with memories you’ve pushed away with this confection in particular. 

Jaehyun is considerate enough to not question it. While he loves to talk, he knows you don’t. The most he utters is: “We’re here.” while he parks the car, a pathetic side smile attempting to comfort you. You thank him regardless, he’s been good enough to sweet talk the directors while you examine what the plans included. 

He’s been company. Good enough company.

There’s only three times you’ve been inside of the flower shop. Once to buy your mother a bouquet for mother’s day that she hated with her entire soul. Second, for your parent’s fifteenth anniversary. And most recently for your mother’s funeral preparations. It’s comforting how nothing has changed besides seasonal flowers and plants.

Your sister doesn’t hesitate to greet him with a kiss when the threshold is crossed. Pushing you aside like any obstacle in her way. Lord only knows your state of mind for this act was comforting and familiar enough that you smile to yourself, something Jaehyun doesn’t miss.

They converse for the time being, you don’t waste time on flipping through the mangled pieces of funeral arrangement catalogs and looking around to find flowers. Some look too old and battered for the price and others are simply to ugly for an arrangement. Well… maybe your mom does deserve those.

You’re not too sure when Jaehyun had joined your side. You only recall your eyebrows knitting when he pointed at something in your pocket notebook. “You misspelled that.” He utters playfully and it bothers you beyond belief that you ripped off the page and begin from the top again while listing all the flowers you thought were good. He responds with nods and hums, similar to the ones you give your sister when she shows you flowers instead of her soon to be husband.

She doesn’t trust him. She doesn’t trust her soon to be husband.

The grating voice in the back of your head keeps gnawing at your brain, reaching your eye sockets and forcing your eyelids to bunch up together the louder your sister laughs with the clerk and Jaehyun’s voice rumbles against your ear drums. Incessant and miserable, yet, not comparable to the twinging screech of the credit card imprinter laughing at you for another failed attempt at maintaining the peace. 

Eyes wide open, your body abrasively turns to your sister and the clerk. Reaching them with three long strides while your eyes bore holes into the imprinter that’s full to the max with your father’s credit card. “What the hell?” It’s raw and vulnerable and so pathetic that you want to rip your hair out when all she musters is a pitiful mocking-faux-confused grin. 

“Why did you ask to meet here if you’re not even helping in finding flower arrangements for mom’s funeral?” Good, less whiny but still pathetic in everyone’s eyes. “Jaehyun is here for that.” She shrugs nonchalantly all the while she signs the receipt the clerk hands her. 

“What’s that for?” Jaehyun interjects in the conversation. His lips are puckered in a way you’ve never seen and his features are sharper than you’d ever imagine they could become. She dismisses him too. With a scoff this time to express her discontent and it makes you question many menial things that shouldn’t matter in this second. “Last minute additions, don’t worry.”

Jaehyun felt far more bothered than you’d think he’d be. Frustration carves itself on his face and for a second you believe the words spewing from his mouth would tattoo themselves onto his face. “We came to a deal that you’d stop spending on the wedding. It’s too near for you to spend willy-nilly when you should worry about your mother!” He does not intend to bawl, obvious by the red that tinges his ears. 

You don’t fall too behind, taking advantage of Jaehyun’s generosity knowing he’d back you up if things worsen. “We had a deal too. You can’t just spend dad’s money on things you don’t need anymore. The caterer was enough, Jesus Christ!” Her name teeters near the precipice of your tongue but that would humanize her too much. 

Bewilderment becomes her new acquaintance. Visibly upset at the turn of events that hold her words off in the back of her throat with a net of saliva too thick to swallow. Airy protests, the best she can utter before her body has mercy on her and she screeches, offendedly at the gang up she’s never experienced before. Only witnessed through your disadvantage.

“Well fucking sue me!” Her arms flail animatedly, harsh when they grace against both your arms ‘accidentally’. Her mouth is still puckered in offended disbelief showing more than her teeth— those gums she’s not fond of. “Fucking sue me for wanting a pretty wedding as a way to cope over mom being fucking dead!” And so bratty. “Cancel it! Cancel the transaction and take the stupid card if I’m such a burden to you two!”

How familiar, how comforting. It brings a smile to your face and your eyes close for a second. She truly is your mother’s daughter. Even in the way she runs out of the flower shop, crocodile tears staining her tulle scarf. 

Her theatrics force your head to shake with an eye roll as you sign the canceling transaction forms. The clerk is upset at the loss but very much entertained with Jaehyun’s dilemma. The man standing in the middle of the store with hands on his hips looking at the crystal door and seeing your sister hop inside the car. 

You don’t hear any crying, that’s something she still needs to learn to do. Cry loud enough to be heard from miles away to get her tantrum through. That’s what mom would do. 

“Lilies or peonies?” You ask the clerk, a contemplative look on her face. She thinks both are horrid but will offer you both to make up for the loss you caused. “Lavender,” Jaehyun answers for her. It shocks you that he’s still in here and not with your sister. No, it upsets you that he’s still here. With you and not her. 

“She hated lavender.” You deny confidently, that is the one thing you’re sure about your mother. He’s kind and gentle, at least his smile is when he attempts to correct you. “She always bought lavender stocks. Said they were the most delicious thing she’s ever known to exist.” It’s a fond memory of his. “Mr. Nix is right. She loved lavender lemon cookies.” 

His stupid chuckle was the lowest blow, not even the way his eyes narrowed pissed you off more than his stupid affectionate tone. And if he had doubts that you were your mothers daughter and his fiancee's sister, he’d be reassured you are with the way you shut the dingy catalogs and shove your pocket notebook into your purse. Brashly walking out of that overbearing floral shop. 

Jaehyun is sweet. He’s kind and patient. He’s understanding, putting his incessant vice of speaking behind to let you think in peace. His glances don’t go unnoticed by you and you don’t know how to take it. His presence annoys you but it’s also very comforting that you don’t know how you’d handle these preparations without his support. It’s a game of push and pull where you’re the only one playing at his expense and he’s still there. Stuck with nostalgia over things you don’t recall.

“Do you remember Karla Morris?” “That’s not a real person.” “I know.” Jaehyun turns to you at a stop light, laughing at your attempt to emulate him. You smile at him flatly which is good enough for him to know you’re feeling better. 

“I want to eat dinner with my dad tonight.” Jaehyun nods, taking a right. “I do too. We’ll pick something up on the way.” He quickly adds before you push him away. So little time and he knows your habits already. Allowing the word ‘alone’ to die in the cavity of your mouth and expel through a sigh that draws you towards the lavender lemon cookies on your lap. Your fingers shiver with a need to crush each one inside the bag.

“She hated lavender lemon cookies. She made it a mission to remind me every day after she spat out the ones I made for her.” A frown tugs at your lips, received with neutral understanding. “Said it tasted like stale soap.” Your chuckle must’ve been so bitter that his hand lands on yours, letting one of the cookies crack underneath the weight.

“How long ago was that?” “I was twelve.” “How old are you now?”

Like clockwork, your neck cranes slowly. Eyes narrowed in a mix of disdain and playfulness. “I know what you’re doing.” You crack a smile, annoyed but amused. Irritated but surprisingly endeared. He laughs louder than before, his smile as big as when you first met him. 

“Minds change, people change, taste buds too… maybe consider it.” It’s so easy for him to say that it reminds you why his presence irritates you so much. He’s sweet, kind, and patient. Then he speaks and it’s a giveaway that he doesn’t understand. Not the way you want him to. 

Your mother never changes. She was adamant in drilling that through everyone's head. Boasting and celebrating when she had heard a song the previous year that resonated with her about nothing being able to change her.

“Who cares what I do and say. I’m this way and I’ll never change.”

Your mother is two sides of the same coin that you and Jaehyun share with the exception that you’ll always be on the losing end when it comes to flipping it. Jaehyun understands when to step down but he doesn’t understand what it is to be your mother’s child. Let alone her oldest daughter.

Wednesday: Condescension

“Hey! Settle in, dad is watching TV. I’ll be in the kitchen with Mrs. Mimi for a bit.” 

The house is livelier than Jaehyun recalls. His last visit was the day your mother was taken away and the color had been drained from every wall in this vicinity. Now it’s warm and homey again like Christmas Eve. You as well, he blindly believes. Your inviting smile lures him into a reality where nothing life altering has happened. A smile he remembers vividly on a thirteen year old Y/n, as foreign it is to you now.

He knows this house like the back of his hand and when he reaches your father there’s a serenity to his face that calms Jaehyun further. Your mother’s portraits are soft again and there’s noise in the house. So much noise that makes Jaehyun want to sigh in relief. Things are normal again! Please be normal again…

Rek is next to your dad’s recliner chair, grumbling when he smells Jaehyun. He wasn’t familiar with Mrs. Mimi nor her dog but he often left treats for it outside the front door per request from your dad. Your mother hated it and through the pet, Jaehyun could taste the demise you’ve known for longer. One crack on the wall doesn’t always bring it down.

Catalogs are scattered across the rug, TV’s reflection on the worn out glossy covers. Neither speak for what feels like an eternity after greetings, entertained with their own fixations. Your father mimicked the dog’s complaints with everything wrong from last year's F1 championship results. He hated every single driver and team but his hate watch was more entertaining.

“Y/n, your boyfriend is on screen.” He calls over when the rerun for the Portugal Grand Prix began. “Y/n likes Nigel Mansell.” Your father clears it with Jaehyun as if it was meant to bother the younger. Jaehyun smiles cluelessly, “He’s not very good.” Your dad whispers, you still hear him. “He lost the championship by two points, don’t be like that.” You defend in a whine and Jaehyun understands now why your father would try to clear things up with him.

“He’s too old for you.” “He’s only five years older.” “Well he looks too old.”

Your dad’s quibble is comedic and protective; Jaehyun scowls, confused on how this man was anywhere near both your ages when he looked to be nearing your father’s age. Happy on the podium with his trophy and champagne on hand looking in his 40s, only thirty-three.

It’s all forgotten when you lie besides him on the floor, flipping through worn out catalog pages and jotting down notes. It’s a different notebook now. This one is in brown leather and binder rings in the middle. Loose pages of paper, cards, and receipts in every pocket. Occasionally you’ll make a wrong move that makes many of those scrap pages slip out. From that he’s seen a few words that he doesn’t think he’s meant to see. It’s the most he’s received to be filled in on your life. 

Now he knows you like a daily Dunkin’. You frequent the movie theater six times a week (one singular ticket with a large drink), spend too much at Tower Records, and hate going to the mall but love to watch people. "Pathetic, solitary, weird, but real.” as it read from the back of a dirty Pretzel Peddler receipt.

You don’t ask him for input on the flower arrangements. Both of you working in silence with a few glances from your dad here and there. Jaehyun himself flips through catalogs, reading everything you jot down without finding your notes useful. 

While prices and deals claim your focus, Jaehyun’s is taken by the symbolism of even the smallest flower he can find. You’ve chosen pre-made arrangements and wreaths, all white and boring. His lips twist in a disappointed scowl that lets it pass while he circles the things he likes. 

He doesn’t stop your robotics until you pull out the order form. Sliding closer to you with urgency, gripping your hand to not continue. “Those are nice, yeah. But… here,” he points at the first flowers he marked. “Your mom got a kick out of pulling little pranks. Laughing when the kids that set off car alarms were zapped every time they attempted to ding-dong-ditch. Geraniums, for happiness, joy.” 

There, that fondness is again. The one that laughs at you for not knowing small things. Reinforced when your dad lets out a sly chuckle himself, shaking his head at a memory you’re fabricating in your head. 

“I think if we add purple Morning Glories for happiness, blue Day lilies that have represented mothers since the Tang Dynasty and white Lilies and Roses like you originally planned then we’d have good arrangements with a message.” 

Jaehyun is ecstatic, the twinkle in his eyes tell you he means no malice but the seed that your mother planted whispers in your ear that he’s doing it for the same reasons little kids that like to gloat speak about their vacation trips and birthday presents.

Words tussle among themselves in your mouth, fighting to see in which tone they will leave and whether they’ll be harsh or not. Shaky as they come, rattling every tooth in your mouth, “Too colorful, no? She hated blue.” So matter-of-factly that makes Jaehyun smile politely knowing he’s going to correct you.

“She loved blue. Wore it daily after that blue dress you had for our silver anniversary.” Your dad kindly recalls the memory. 

The same blue dress she called you a doxy for. 

Jaehyun’s twinkle dies when he turns to you. He can’t see your eyes but feels the heat from your body radiate. “Okay, write them down.” You push the form and pen his way, taking the unopened catalogs. “And add Petunias in there.” He doesn’t question the finality, not the significance. It’s the least he can do.

Mrs. Mimi calls for everyone, dinner was ready despite it being four in the afternoon. Your father is the most eager, cackling like he hasn’t since the doomed day. It’s nice enough to kill it with your questions. 

“Dad? Did mom really like lavender?” Sheepish and childlike, memories that are not strong enough to dwindle the ache in his chest. He turns to you, forcing a smile with his nod. “Yes… everyone that wanted her knew lavenders were her favorites. They’d give these huge bouquets that would make her sneeze. I always gave her the smallest ones, she said it was the perfect amount every time.” He laughs, ignoring your stare to let the fond memories flow. “She would make lavender lemon cookies with them. Your grandma, though, hated them. Spat them out every time there was any and called them soap.” He shakes his head frantically, more so to avoid the guilt from your glazing eyes.

Forsaken with the clicking of keys when your sister opens the front door. 

Dinner goes as expected, silent besides the blaring voice of your sister talking about her wedding. Mrs. Mimi is the only one to ask questions and Jaehyun gives polite smiles and nods to your sister for reassurance. He doesn’t know what she’s talking about but this makes her happy.

Your dad on the other hand had reverted to the state you saw him when you first arrived. Eating slowly while you flip through JCPenny catalogs for the outfit your mother was to choose. Everything is horrendous and overpriced, choosing whatever looks the most appropriate. 

“That’s hideous, Y/n. Don’t do that.” Your sister cuts off her wedding talk, projecting a disgusted face at the white dress you had circled. You had drowned out her voice for the past hour that it startled you to be acknowledged. The deer-in-headlights look like you gave her only forcing a scoff to leave. Snatching the catalog from your hands and sliding it her way. 

Disgusted, she’s not shy about it with every flip of the page. Sly comments here and there while Jaehyun whispers that it’s unnecessary. “No, mom would rather die again than be seen wearing these.” She pettishly wails, the same offended look from yesterday. When Jaehyun turns quiet and your dad stops eating, she halts her own actions knowing it may have been tone deaf.

“Silly sis…” She giggles. “I’m just saying that if you had stayed you’d know she wasn’t a fan of simple but not quite flashy.” No matter how sugar sweet her voice is, the patronizing doesn’t quaver. She gives you the smile she uses to calm down Jaehyun with no effect at all on you. 

“Fine, you choose that and let me choose the jewelry from her box before you keep them, yeah?” You try to reason, sighing exhaustively with your fingers raking through your tousled hair. And if the clothes were bad, the mention of jewelry was far worse. 

“What?! No! No, no.” She laughs off her feelings, nervous with the confused looks that even Mrs. Mimi is giving her now. It’s awkward and tense but she can’t believe this is being said to her. “No, I just think it’s dangerous. It’s going to be an open casket service and with how the family has been acting…” Her head bobbles with the insinuation. She’s right but you also know her and you know she’s full of shit. “I think it’s best that she doesn’t take anything. Free of worry for everyone and she can rest without having to think of grave thieves as well.” 

You’d think she made a great point with the self reassured nod she gives, looking at her fiance to make sure he’s following her drift but turns to your father angrily when Jaehyun glares at her. Something she hasn’t seen since you arrived. Your dad on the other hand avoids her gaze the way he avoided yours.

He’s always been cowardly.

“You won’t even let her take her daily wear? Not her ring and earrings, at least?” The disbelief in your voice irks her, annoyed that your voice sounds as patronizing as hers when addressing you. You’ve overstayed your time and if it wasn’t for the funeral planning she would’ve kicked you out like your mother times past. No, she simply sighs, and shakes her head with a faux pensive look on her face.

“I want to wear them for my wedding—” “You have two large jewelry boxes for that.” “Something borrowed… something old, something new, something blue. The daily fits all the marks.”

No she wasn’t going to give her jewelry to be buried six feet underground. Who is she to let good jewelry corrode for no one to see?

Your mother’s favorite daughter.

“If you see fit…” Your father answers before you can, eyes glued to the dog that silently wails in pain for reasons unknown to you all. “Dad… she loved those earrings.” You try to reason, begging in silence for him to look at you. To look at you when you’re speaking, for fucks sake!

He’s not strong enough for that. He’s never been strong for anything related to your mother. Mustering only the art of shaking his hand to settle things down. “It would be lovely to see either of you wear them… It so happens your mother wants her to have them. They are hers now to decide their faith.” The heaviness of his voice is heartbreaking and it turns your mind to sludge. The toxic kind that evaporates and poisons the entire universe if it’s let out. Like fungal spores.

“Even dad knows best.” Your sister throws the rock that decidedly let out that venom and for their own good you shake your own thoughts away, fingernails clinging to the cushion as you push your chair away. Your father’s disappointment on your sister matters no more, he still made his choice to enable her choices. He’s a coward as much as Jaehyun that only offers apologetic looks.

“Yes… Excuse me then, I’ll go make some calls.” You utter with your father’s monotonous voice. He winces hearing the similarities and the sound of your steps. A coward. He knows he’s a coward but will do nothing about it. He’s lived too long this way.

You don’t know how long time passes, all you know is your nose won’t stop being stuffy and your eyes are trying to force out tears that won’t come. Making you feel like the worst daughter to ever exist. 

It’s useless to try to cry, groaning out of frustration and taking the pack of cigarettes you bought a few days ago when you felt the same way. Making your way out your room to chip a piece of paint from your mother’s hallway portraits on the way downstairs towards the backyard. 

A fluorescent blue that was always calming as a child illuminates the pool. Moonlight makes it more soothing and it reminds you of the times you spent your summers as toddlers swimming with your sister and father at night because that’s the only times you'd see him in those days. 

The days when your sister inherently loved you. 

The memory fades away with the smoke you exhale, trying to cling with no avail after the sigh that follows right after.

“Mind if I have one?” Jaehyun’s soothingly grating voice cranes your neck. The sound of the sliding doors keeps you grounded. Tossing the box his way to catch, with a box of matches. He manages to catch the larger box while the matches recoil in his grasp, jumping into the pool. 

A bummer, you really liked the iconography in the back.

“Sorry…” He sighs, scolded with the look you give him when you stand up from your crouching position. Connecting your lit cigarette with his. The proximity to his face lets you see the small details you hadn’t noticed this entire time. His eyes are darker than you remember. They’re nice, they’re warm. You like them…

Jaehyun had been inhaling deeply during the transaction, heavily letting it out in the form of smoke when he thanked you. A good distance between you both that transcends into a comfortable silence; cigarettes racing among each other to see which one burns the fastest. 

Ironically, his does, leaving him with nothing else to concentrate on besides what he has been thinking about telling you all afternoon. He licks his lower lip, looking between you, the conch shell ashtray that looks too familiar, the pool, and you again. His eyes tracing over that pattern to put off the remaining bud. 

“I’ll talk to her. About the jewelry. Don’t worry.” He nods like he’s doing you a favor. The last bit of cigarette burning away with the stare you give him. Exuding energy that makes your cigarette burn faster and force the smoke to frantically leave. 

“Can we not?” Irritated was the tone of your voice that made him wince and cower away. “I’m sorry.” He offers and he truly is but the awkwardness eats him away. He’s like a child trying to bond with their cool older neighbor that pays them no mind and finds them annoying.

“Everyone just seems to know her more than I do, it’s pathetic.” You derail, it’s whiny and peevish like your sister’s tone. “Does it fully bother you?” He questions, weighing the similarities. “It does for now but I think once I go back, I won’t care again.” Your lips purse, humming contemplatively. He mimics yours expressions and sounds, nodding as a difference. “Count your days then.”

Not much has made you laugh but this does, showing him a smile he hasn’t seen in days. “It sounds like a threat.” You joke, he follows with a chuckle and a grin, “It is. But a threat to not think too much about it.” 

He knows how to kill the mood.

“It’s my mom’s funeral, how can I not?” You’re irked. He knows he’s irked you once again and he yearns to know when he should stop. It’s overbearing and tiring for him to keep fucking up but he doesn’t know when to stop talking. 

“I didn't mean it like that, I’m sorry… That was too aloof on my part, I'm sorry.” He begs, eyebrows knitted looking at you. His eyes are still dark but hurt unlike earlier.

“I don't know how to take it either, Jaehyun.” You grumble, standing up from your spot, putting the cigarette bud off on the delicate shell that cracks with the heat. The silence surrounding both isn’t comfortable like it was only a few minutes ago. It’s tense and intoxicating, filling his lungs with tar making them heavy and he knows he can’t stay here for longer.

“Her wedding outfit. What she was going to wear for our wedding. You should choose that.” It sounds strange, ‘our wedding’ like he’s talking about his and your wedding not his and your sister’s wedding. You go stiff at the thought, it’s too intimate and immoral. It’s you now that needs to get out of there before you let the repression do or say anything stupid. 

Your hands tingle when they clasp onto the sliding door handle, his gaze on your turned back holding you in place. You’re sure neither of you know what either want but whatever you’re feeling shouldn’t be there. A goodnight is polite, better than bye yet neither wants to leave your cold lips aching for warmth. No, rather you slide the door open leaving him behind.

Between your own, your mother’s ghost’s, and your father’s judgment the heaviness persists the longer the older man looks at you without speaking. He’s looking at you. He’s finally looking at you directly in the eyes with a distraught disappointment as if he knows what you’re thinking. There he knew you’re also your father’s daughter. Cowering away from anything remotely complicated. The words evident in the harsh smoke of your father’s own cigar when walking past him.

Thursday: Pathetic

Jaehyun hadn’t mentioned anything from the previous night when he came around to pick you up. Your father hadn’t either, not like he would anyways. Mrs. Mimi had let Jaehyun in, forcing him to eat breakfast with the rest of you while Rek growled at him anytime he got near you to speak. The dog truly was not fond of him for whatever reason which wounded Jaehyun and confused you. Your father didn’t voice it but thought the dog was too perspective for either of you. The boundary that separates it all.

But Rek wasn’t here with you two at the funeral home, listening to the radio that gets drawn out by Mr. Nix and Jaehyun as they speak about the weather while you flip through the order forms to make sure everything is correct. 

You nitpick at everything. From Jaehyun’s horrible chicken scratch handwriting to the awkward paint chips on the decor. Similar enough and in places that resemble the ones you’ve made on your mother’s portraits around the house these past days.

“Lavender and Lilies… that’s lovely… your mother would’ve loved it.” Mr. Nix’s soothing voice attracts your attention, craning your neck to see him reading the order form still in your hands. 

He smiles widely, laughing quietly until it turns into a sob upon sensing your eyes on him. It’s startling, feeling like a bubble for only you two being created. Jaehyun was no longer anywhere in sight and the doorbells by the backdoor kept ringing melodiously. You’ve never been great in these situations. 

Comfort was only granted by coworkers after you got scolded for a mistake, none very genuine. Or by strangers who wanted the feel of one night with you. Mr. Nix wants nothing of that sort from you, you’re not even sure if he wants comfort with the way his smile tries to not seize. 

“I loved your mother, you know. She was my first love and I want to think I was hers too.” He sniffles, a handkerchief in his hand that you never saw him take out. “Of course she would say your father was but she had been choosing between the two before going steady with either.” He nods as if it was common sense. You knew your mother loved your father but she could have loved him as much as you with the way she took her hatred out on him when you weren’t around.

“Your grandmother never liked me. Not sure why but she just didn't.” He shrugs, lips pursed in surrender. “Your mother would say it was because I made her happy and it’s something your grandmother didn't like. I could see that.”

Oh.

The apple was rotten right to the core from all those that came before. 

“I don’t know when it happened but suddenly the next thing I knew about your mother was that she was getting married to your father. That sent me into a spiral and when I returned from my breakdown trip, you were already here.” Melancholy floods those poor foggy eyes, cataracts forming from pain. He looks at you for longer than you’d like, sensing his desire to know what floods your mind but you’re as hard to read as your mother was, eliciting a chuckle. 

“I gave her one last call to ask how labor had been, to make sure she was fine and when you cried, we both said our goodbyes. We knew that was it. Y/n, that’s the name we’d give a girl if we ever had one.” 

There’s no more wonder why Jaehyun and Mr. Nix get along so well, both are horrendous at keeping to themselves and both know how to irk your nerves beyond belief. 

Maybe this is why your mother chose your mousy father rather than this chatterbox.

Regret floods Mr. Nix at your perpetual silence and where he hadn’t been able to tell what you were feeling earlier, he could feel your frustrated disgust concentrated in the blank look. It’s warm, piercing, and as painful as the ones your mother would give him. 

You’re just like her.

Mr. Nix sighs, gaze dropping with a final sigh, “Congratulations on your wedding, dear. Jaehyun cares for you deeply. Trust me…” It dawns upon you that Mr. Nix thought you’re the one marrying Jaehyun. It brings that similar pit in your stomach from last night. 

‘Our wedding.’

Yours and Jaehyun’s. Not your sisters and Jaehyun’s.

Every bone in your body attempts to not combust into powder. Neurons arguing among themselves on how to respond or if to ignore him. He’s added damage to your perception of your mother, you’re not too sure he’s deserving of any more socially appropriate politeness.

The backdoor bells ring, blaring content for what is being brewed in this room. It’s uncomfortable, disgustingly sticky tension the while you look at Mr. Nix and he looks back at you with confusion and somewhat freight. Eerie how similar you resemble your mother. 

“Ready to go? Apparently your sister wants me to pick up the veil.” Jaehyun sighs looking at his pager, the TV guide in his hand crumpled with burnt edges. He had been clenching to it as he smoked one of your cigarettes.

“Yes,” You tear your gaze from the older of the three, he releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. Glad this easy solution rids him of the painstaking sharp stab in his chest. “Mr. Nix wanted to congratulate us.” You add, turning back to him.

“On?” Jaehyun quizzically questions, “Your wedding, consider all of this my wedding gift for you both and… for your mother.” Mr. Nix turns back to you, a polite apologetic smile for what he has dumped. 

Neither you or Jaehyun correct him, the latter thanking him with a hug while you wait by the door for him. He doesn’t speak to you the entirety of the car ride to the bridal shop. Perhaps he’s angry you didn’t correct Mr. Nix but neither did he so it’s much his fault as it is yours. Or perhaps he’s grown tired of your hot and cold behavior with the slightest inconvenience. 

Regardless, it’s not for him to care how you react nor do you care.

“Why didn’t you correct him?” He sighs, looking forward. He has that same sunken look he had given your sister last night. You don’t think it’s comparable. In no form is your sister priving your mother of the luxury she grew to know to you not correcting your mother’s old flame about who Jaehyun was to marry. If it mattered that much to him, then he shouldn’t have enabled the old man with a cheery smile and a hug. 

You still can’t fathom that he thought you and Jaehyun were the ones getting married. Are you not obvious with how little comfort you find in Jaehyun? Is it not obvious that you can barely stand him? Or is your solitude too grand that people find it a breath of fresh air that someone like Jaehyun floods your vicinity with his polite affection and caring nagging? As if he’s doing you a favor.

Pathetic is what you are seen as in everyone’s eyes. Even Jaehyun's, it seems.

“I’m not the one getting married. You are.”

Friday: Has killed you

It’s filthy, disgusting, and shameful. The wake, everything is beautifully decorated, making you forget it's a funeral, save for the countless pictures of your mother and weeping crowd. You're not sure they're sincere but it makes your father feel calm seeing the masses of people approach the casket. "She's loved." He fondly claims, a sadden smile plastered on his face.

You don't have the heart nor will to remind him that they're all here for appearances and in hopes of taking more things once home. Maybe that's the pessimist in you who cannot fathom your mother being genuinely adored. The words affection and mother are foreign to each other in your mind.

Besides your aunts, sister — surprising despite her indifference this entire week—, and Mr. Nix, you don't hear much wailing. Your father is holding his breath to not shatter in front of all these people.

Chatter from one end to the other, mostly prayer. A part of you feels envious of their ability to let everything out. Why is it that you have to suffer with the weight of your unexplored emotions? Leaving you to dry heave or tear at your hair when nothing expels. Why is it so easy for everyone else to let things go?

Jaehyun's persistent staring doesn't make it any easier. He's made it a mission to fly around you like a hungry vulture waiting for its prey to finally give out and then consume.

Surely, he's not. He's making sure you're doing fine, keeping an eye on you but Lord, do you fucking loathe it. You don't understand it, would be a better descriptor, but it irritates you that he cares so much that you can't fathom any other emotion but dislike.

Perhaps what makes it worse is that your sister is there by his side, every second. You reckon you could handle it if it was just him. After all, this isn't the first time he's kept a watchful eye on you. He's done it the entire week, it just feels too real today out of all days.

Everything is felt too deeply. Today.

Tomorrow is your sister's wedding. Tomorrow is Valentine's Day. Tomorrow is meant to be happy and full of love. But today has killed you. Today has killed any positive perception of those around. It has killed your sensibility and everything is nothing but a shit show. A shit show like Jaehyun described when reconnecting.

Fuck, even that bothers you.

He talks and talks and talks about something that happened before college that you have no prior memory of. The people he mentions, the events, the laughter, the year. You don't remember anything prior to getting a bachelors, how is it that this stranger that is marrying your sister knows more about your life than you do?

How does he know more about your mother than you?

"Y/n!"

Embarrassing. Zoning out in your mother's funeral service.

Mrs. Mimi, the much perceptive, gives you a pitiful smile, hand to your shoulder to hand you a warm Dixie cup. Your head's attempt to shake is futile, the muscles of your neck refuse to move. 

"You look tired,"

"More like sickly." Your sister interrupts. Jaehyun looks down at her with furrowed eyebrows to scold. "Drink it, ‘should give you some energy." Mrs. Mimi pushes the cup further into your hand. It's warm and comforting in a sense you haven't experienced.

Despite the bitter taste of ginger and apples in the tea, you drink it. It brings no energy boost, rather it makes you more sleepy but she had all the intention to make you feel better and that keeps you up for longer.

A mother. At least that is what you think a mother should do and Mrs. Mimi was a wonderful mother. Even to those she did not birth.

"Do you remember Jo Josephine?" Jaehyun utters, leaning into you. You hadn't realized when he had sat beside you or when you had been ushered onto a chair.

"No." "No? Really?"

The surprise in his tone doesn't go overlooked. He tends to hum when you respond as such but not this time.

"She was your friend. Always wore a huge gardener hat and gloves with bee print." He chuckles, a surprised chuckle. "Yeah?" You hum, dazed. Well maybe the tea was effective in relaxing your senses. "No, I don't remember any of my friends. It's been too long since I saw any of them." You shrug, the nonchalance in your tone worrying Jaehyun.

Per usual, Jaehyun goes on a tangent about something you don't recall. You've learned to drown his voice out. Muffled in the sea of weeps, his laughter the only outlier that doesn't last long. Another voice joins him but you're too busy with the liquid in your cup to care for what they ought to say.

There's some liquid in the cup. Enough to submerge the small cubes of ginger and apples but cold against your tongue. You swivel around the cup, making it colder. For a part of you longs to be in their place than here. Swimming in a pool of cold water with no preoccupation of the outside world. Being inanimate sounds desirable.

"Y/n!"

It's that same incessant call from earlier. This time you're able to pin it to your sister that looks at you far more annoyed. She grumbles under her breath about something you don't care to hear as Mr. Nix gives you that same pitiful smile Mrs. Mimi had given you. It'd be ironic if he was to give you some tea as well.

"Carriage and burial space is ready to transfer your mother's body." He meekly comments, he's as stuffy as your sister had been. Mustering a nod, you stand up from your spot, not noticing Jaehyun's help when standing up. His hand feels warm against the small of your back.

A huge part of you wants to blame your disconnect with whatever Mrs. Mimi had given you. One second you were standing up at the funeral home giving Jaehyun a long look that for once made your sister quizzical and upset while his hand remained on you and the next you're watching how roses are being tossed over your mother’s casket as Jaehyun ushers you into Mrs. Mimi's car.

The priest's prayer had been the only thing you remember vividly. Reciting every word in hushed murmurs — drowned by the cackling and chattering in the other rooms of the house — while serving coffee into Dixie cups. Mrs. Mimi often tries to take the tray away from your hands and Rek to absorb all of your attention. Both fail miserably.

Jaehyun hadn't stopped looking your way. He tries what Mrs. Mimi and her dog do but he's received harshly. Rather, you send him to make sure no one tries to take anything else or go upstairs to bother your exhausted father, hidden away in his bedroom. The masses of people downstairs and their brewing questions had kept him awake all night.

Your sister? Doing what your mother would have done. Entertain and please the guests. She's your mother's favorite for a reason.

By 20:00 when your mother had passed, she led the novena prayer. The only moment of silence and unity you felt among your extended family and for a second you believed there could be some good in these people.

Of course by 21:03 when prayer was done and they reverted to their constant chatter about stories of old regarding your mother, that serenity left your body once more.

It's outstanding how these memories sound so loving and nurturing. Something you can't recall from your mother. They laugh and cackle about her scoldings. How she'd yell at them for running inside the house, wet from the pool. But it was you that had to clean the entire house right after. It was you that had to make sure there was no chlorine smell left behind.

Your cousins laugh about the time they had attempted to smash your face on your 8th birthday cake but she had told them to not be rude. She had done it. She had smashed your face on that cake and it was difficult to rid away the smell of artificial strawberries from your nose after the jam had gone too far up. The cake was destroyed and they had all gotten upset at you. You never had a party after that. It's been twenty years.

Or the story your aunt is on and on about now. She had gotten so upset at your mother for not letting her borrow grandma's gold bangles for clubbing that she bent them without anyone knowing. Your mom had blamed you for it a week later after making you get them for her in hopes to wear them for a PTA meeting. Your sister's pet at the time had gotten in your way and to avoid stepping on it, you fell. She chalked it up to that and left you to do chores for your aunt an entire week.

There's no way your sensibility can return when all these funny and fond memories of your mother came at your expense and none of them care. None of them will ever care.

You can't take it anymore, rushing upstairs into your room to hide away. You can't say you feel saddened. You do feel a raging heat in your chest that attempts for you to bring your fists hard at your thighs to release it.

The intruder in your room doesn't let that happen. It surprises and annoys you at the same time seeing them there. On your bed with hands on their head while weeping harder than the wailing in public earlier today.

"I'm sorry, my room was locked." Your sister sniffles, slowly turning to look at you. There's a horrific sincerity in her voice that you're not used to. A frame rests on her lap, jittering with her legs.

Your silence draws her attention, handing you the frame while tears flood her waterline. It's a picture of your mother with the both of you. Quite honestly, you don't remember this. It's surprising to see your mother this affectionate with you. Arms encircling your waist and kissing your face.

"Grandma's funeral trip. We went to the lake on the way home, remember?" She questions, blowing her nose. You shake your head, standing straight. You hadn't attempted to take the frame from her hand. You're sure it would leave a branding on your palm, there's no way this is real.

The look in her eye is similar to the one Jaehyun gives you when you don't remember what he's talking about. Although, his is more comprehensive and patient.

"You don't remember this at all?" She asks, taken aback. You want to lie and say you do but knowing who she's marrying, she will just ask follow up questions too. "No." She scoffs in disbelief, swallows it before blinking rapidly. Patient, that's new.

"Mom was ecstatic that week. Rejoicing that the witch was dead and no one would torment her anymore. She treated you better than me for an entire month. Do you not remember that?" She prods, placing the frame on your bed.

You shake your head, she can only laugh. "What has she done to you…" She sighs to herself. She had heard in college about trauma causing memory loss but she had never guessed your mother had been that harsh for you to repress everything. Maybe she just hadn't seen her worse but you can't tell her either. You don't remember, after all.

"Would you be a stand-in for her tomorrow?" She questions meekly. You want to say no, to tell her you would rather miss the wedding at this point but she gives you no chance. "Please?" Her voice wavers, lips quiver. Here come the waterworks.

"I don't know about you, Y/n. But I miss mom so dearly and not having her on the day she was looking forward to is—" She sobs, covering her mouth with the frame, lips falling over your mother.

"Why not ask one of our aunts?" Your voice is hoarse. She shakes her head, pursed lips in disgust. "I'm not letting those hags get their hands on mom's jewelry. You heard them, yeah? Worms for brains all of them." She scoffs before releasing a forlorn sigh.

"Dad doesn't want to look at you because you look so much like mom today." She confesses. It would explain why he's avoided you. "You're even wearing the dress she wore for grandma's funeral." She tries to laugh yet it comes out as a shaky sob. 

"Mrs. Mimi left it out for me…" You defend, she shrugs. "I told her to." She shrugs again like it was the most sane thing to do. You're not sure how to take this. On one hand it seems like psychological warfare on your father — cruel on her part even if she doesn't see it — and on the other, it's the closest you'll be to your mother.

"You look so much like her. More than I do… It would bring peace to me if you were her stand in." She breathes deeply and exhales heavily. She's trying to seem relaxed before breaking into yet another sob. The one that makes her entire body shake and fall onto your bed, clutching onto the frame that's now against her chest.

"I didn't want her to take her daily stack so you could wear it… Not because I'm that much of a heartless bitch, Y/n. I loved mom." She cries some more. 

It’s rich, considering she said she wanted to wear it for her wedding. Whether you believe either version or not, doesn’t matter. Not when she hugs you in hopes it digs your heels deeper. It's stale and awkward but she revels in it, hiding in the crook of your neck as she cries harder.

"You smell like mom too." She wants to confess, but she knows it would drive you away. She'll take what she can get before you leave them all once again.

"Will you?" She voices, pulling away. "I don't w— don’t know." You don't want to. She knows it. 

"Why are you like this?" The question everyone has meant to ask. "Like?" Your indifferent confusion bothers her further.

"You're like a doll that gains consciousness for a certain amount of time and then you're… a doll again. Quiet, clueless, awkward. No offense, sissy. It's just… not what I remember you as at all." There's a sigh stuck in her chest, it clamps around her lungs but it refuses to leave. There's a sincere worry in her voice that makes your own set beliefs waver but you won't break that wall just yet.

You shrug. Slow and unsure of what to say. "It worries Jaehyun more than it should." The bite in her words will go ignored, you're having a relatively nice talk with her to let any animosity return.

"You don't remember him at all." Your head shakes as confirmation. "You don't even remember the projects you did with him." You shake your head again and it makes her want to hit it for the memories to return.

"I pray you learn to trust, have faith in both of us." She hugs you again. It's warm but empty. Mayhaps it's just you, unused to the affection and love of a sibling. Of a family member and if she meant trust in Jaehyun too, then you'll give it a chance for the warm feeling brewing in your heart.

"I'll do it… I'll be mom's stand-in." You relent. She smiles and cheers like there isn't a post burial get together downstairs. Like your mother isn't gone but everyone copes differently. You cope by not being able to cry and allowing everyone to walk all over you. 

On the way downstairs she rambles about what you can wear and the jewelry she had chosen. Nothing seems ideal nor your taste. It sounds redundant and weird in a sense that she's making you be so much like your mother.

Although, that's the whole point. Having your mother be at her wedding one way or another, no matter that your identity is being wiped. Like it would have been if your cousin hadn't opened her mouth about the wedding. You later found your mother had gotten that stinking infection from picking flowers with her. It's bizarre how a domino effect works.

It all muddles with the laughter of the guests, “Well to my sister! And to her lovely daughter, for juggling the stress of a wedding and grief to organize a beautiful burial for her mother.” The crowd turns to your sister as if they knew where she was immediately. Despite the streaks and puffiness she still looks ethereal and content with the recognition.

Right. Foolish of you to trust too easily.

She thanks them, hands to her heart and ignoring the side eye you give her. A look that begs her to correct them because truly she did jackshit for this funeral. This was so in character for her and you still fell. She'll cry and throw a tantrum until she gets what she wants while pretending like she did nothing for it.

She's your mother's daughter.

Unsure of when but the slight grin on your face unsettles her and it worsens when Jaehyun calls for the floor. He smiles and giggles, he's already so loved by the family.

"Thank you uncle, Carlo. Thank you as well my love for the suggestions but I do want to thank Y/n most of all for every single detail she gave into organizing this funeral." My love… so cold and unloving. It soothes you.

"For her delicacy in detail, to the meaning of the flowers, all the way down to her last outfit. Mrs. Y/l/n was a woman with a strong attitude who never took anything that did not cater to her. Therefore, knowing her, I'm sure she would love how today and the entire week was held in her honor. She would be proud."

Jaehyun's voice is so reassuring that it bothers you how much he believes it. It bothers you that everyone seems so surprised and taken aback. It bothers you that your sister seems slightly upset and weary. It bothers you that he thinks he did you a favor.

Yet it soothes you once more and your grin does not go overlooked. You're being recognized.

Guests leave shortly after. Jaehyun had made sure to kill their mood with mentions of you and for once you're openly thankful for his help despite knowing all he mentioned was thanks to him.

Mrs. Mimi and you had stayed to clean the house while your father had fallen asleep hours ago. Your sister made sure to give him his medication before she left. Despite the severity of this day's events, she was still going to celebrate her bachelorette party. Something some of your cousins and her friends threw on her behalf to rid of the sadness experienced. Of course, you don't receive an invitation.

It was just Mrs. Mimi, your father, you, and Jaehyun.

Jaehyun?

"You don't have a bachelor party or something?" You don't intend for it to come out irritated but Rek's wheezing seals the blow. "Ouch." Jaehyun laughs, attempting to pet the dog that growls at him to stay away. He frowns, furrowing his eyebrows before huffing.

"I'd rather make sure you— you're all doing good." Mrs. Mimi halts her scrubbing, sighing to herself before returning to the final dishes. "We're fine." You answer, aiding the older woman.

"Why aren't you with your sister? I thought you had left with them." "Wasn't invited."

Jaehyun stops drying the dishes you rinse, slowly turning to look at you. Musing similarly to when your sister refused to bury your mother in her daily wear jewelry.

"Mrs. Mimi, we got it from here. You should rest for tomorrow." Jaehyun diverts, upset settled in his voice despite his sweetness. The older of the three chuckles, shaking her head, handing the soap lathered cup to you. It's crowded near the sink and fairly humid but none of you would rather be anywhere else.

"Baby, I wasn't invited." It's infinitely hilarious to her. The angered looks and disgust in your faces. She's amused while Jaehyun tries to process it. "What? I asked her and she said she made sure to drop off your invite." He huffs and scoffs like a steam whistle from disbelief.

"You'll be my plus one, in that case!" It's so childlike that it makes Mrs. Mimi continue her laughter, scrubbing the last remaining plates. She shakes her head, wiping her hands on the tea towel. "No, don't worry. This week made me reflect and I'm going to visit my mother…" She sighs, nodding to herself before looking at you both.

Jaehyun wants to say something but he is not one to get between someone and their family so he relents as you do. "Sleep well then." He pouts, hugging her goodbye. She thanks him, patting his cheek to then hug you as well. It lingers and it's comforting to the point that you feel something stir in the pit of your stomach.

Her gaze travels between you and Jaehyun and you both know there are words lingering in mind that she dares not utter. Ultimately she sighs, nodding again before patting both your cheeks, struggling to get Rek out of the house due to his resistance.

Dogs are perspective and they can smell the dangers of the world miles away. He knows nothing good will brew tonight. He knew nothing good would come from you returning. Yet he still loves you more than anyone besides Mrs. Mimi. Just like your father.

Mrs. Mimi leaves with a whaling Rek trailing behind her. His cries are cautionary and she knows it. Uttering silent: "There's so much one can do, Rek." here and there. There's so many things amiss but like usual, you'll ignore anything perturbing you.

It's awkward for the remainder of the clean up. Jaehyun and you share some words but not full sentences. His glances are lesser than earlier but you can still feel them on you when he's not besides you. They're far more penetrating than your mothers and when midnight rolls around and you're both done, the only way to thank him is with a cold glass of wine on your mother's white rug.

You stumble taking a seat before him. Resting against the feet of the couch allows your muscles to relax and scream at you for all the tension you ignored this past week. It's painful to move and your lower back aches as it did when Jaehyun touched it earlier.

"Mom never allowed me to be here in fear of dirtying this rug." You smile fondly, you remember that much. "Now you're drinking red wine on it." He humors you, "Now I'm drinking red wine on it." You repeat, clinking your glasses so hard some wine does splatter onto your hands and the rug.

A rush of freight floods you but remembering where your mother was makes you relax, sharing a silent laugh with Jaehyun who's body shakes along yours with every sip. This is the most you've given him and he won't take it for granted.

"Why do you love my mom so much, Jaehyun?" You ask, the moonlight coming through the sliding doors. That beautiful blue reflecting off the pool into the living room, making you forget that the rug is not blue but white.

He swivels his glass much like you had in the morning. "I told you she's like a second mother to me. She was very nurturing and inviting when we first started dating. Always made me feel like I belonged and it reminded me of my mom." He smiles fondly, "My mom lives too far and I'm not even sure if she'll be here for the wedding." He laughs, "I hope she’s not..."

Huh?...

"Why are you even getting married on Valentine's Day anyway? Isn't it corny?" You attempt to steer the conversation astray. If you think too much about your mother and his words, you may turn into her and wreak havoc on Jaehyun. He doesn't deserve it despite your (un)justly targeted rage.

"It's my birthday." He smiles fondly, his lips stained red. "We met on Valentine's Day." He laughs quietly; his neck must ache from resting against the coffee table. You yourself don't find any humor in the statement. "I guess it was meant for you and her to get married." A horrible despondency in your voice that you regret.

"I meant you and I, Y/n."

You look up at him, confused and somewhat appalled. How corny.

"You don't have to tell me you don't remember, I get it now." He laughs, "Year seven, had just moved here and we had that awful arts class. The one with the loony teacher that spoke about health while smoking cigarettes behind the gym."

You laugh, yet you don't remember.

"Our task was to make Valentine's Day cards for our desk mates. I told you it was my birthday too and you wrote: ‘Happy lover boy day. Love was meant to be in your life.’" There's a certain fondness in his voice that makes you believe it. The detail to his description sounds cliche, something you most definitely had in mind back then.

"Now I illustrate greeting cards for a living." Your laughter fuels Jaehyun's sooner than you thought, his body was next to yours now. His neck resting on the cushion of the couch. "I know. Your dad has a great collection of them. I do too..." Truly, Jaehyun confuses you. You won't dwell on that now, it's not worth it.

Whether it's only a second or an hour, neither of you tear each other's gaze away. His eyes intent on your own, examining every speck of color and the way your pupils dilate, as his do.

"Why don't you remember anything I tell you about?" He questions sincerely, no judgment in comparison to your sister. You shrug, "I don't know. I… don't remember anything from then or you." Jaehyun doesn't respond, staring at you for an answer he won't get. "And you? What do you remember of me?" 

He hesitates, sighing deeply. "You used to be much more jolly than you are now."

That is not what you expected.

"Why do you dislike your mom, Y/n?" He gets comfortable beside you. His glass knocking against your empty one. You can smell the sweet tones of wine in his breath, signaling how uncomfortably close he is.

"I… I don't know…" It's meek and raw, the child in you coming out. "I don't know why she hated me." His expression doesn't change, only do his fingers come to comb away your hair.

"Ever since I can remember she cared more for others and my sister than me. She treated my cousins like hers but me like a beggar." Your grip on the glass tightens, knocking it against Jaehyun's this time.

"One mistake and I was yelled at or she'd ignore me for weeks on end. Then I left for college when she didn't want me to and it became worse… The last time I saw her was for her and dad's anniversary two years ago and she—" The words get stuck in your throat, as if you're to cry.

"She woke me up in the middle of the night, on grandma's birthday — she had been dead for years now — to tell me she hated me… Never knew why… But, yesterday Mr. Nix confessed him and mom dated. That grandma hated him for making mom happy and it clicked. I guess, it's hereditary to hate your first born daughter… Grandma always complained about mom while doting on me."

Your brain attempts to piece it all together but your heart doesn't want to. While you've scratched the surface you don't want to delve into the implication of what it means for your future (if any) or what it means for that inner child of yours.

You just don't want to think anymore.

'Please… Please, Jaehyun, help me not think anymore.'

"You reckon?" He questions, pinky caressing your knuckles. "When I proposed to your sister, she approached me right after. She looked at me, hugged me, and looked at me again with that sunken look she has when she thinks too deep. "Are you sure?" She asked seriously, almost confused. I told her I was, that I loved her with my entire heart and she laughed, shaking her head. She said she was a nice girl but hollow at heart."

Odiously, you know what she meant. "I reaffirmed I loved her, I did… We were looking at family pictures and she kept looking over yours. She said you hated her so much that you left, it was admirable in her eyes." He sighs, more of his fingers on your skin and like a fool you let him.

"She knew you’d always be there but not your sister. You give all to one and they become hollow, shallow, and entitled. You don't give anything to the other and they'll always be there... yearning. They don't expect anything but would love something.”

"That sounds horrible." "It is." "And unfortunately she always knew what I wanted." "I fear so."

You relent, looking directly at him again. "I don't hate her. I just… dislike my mother." The confession is not shocking, it's a given known fact but it's relieving to speak out loud.

"And… I fear she saw through me all those months ago. I was not sure nor in love with your sister."

His confession is shocking. Not because you don't believe him but it was far too late for this statement. "It's fucked, I know. But after this week, I can't marry into this family."

It's too late. It's too late.

"They've indoctrinated you by now." Is the best you can muster. It's not any better than the mantra in your brain.

"The countless meals without you and your father. The conversations: soulless and mean spirited, shallow, egotistical… Everyone’s worry over the wedding rather than their grief – if any. How many people I stopped from trying to pick the locks today... Y/n, only you and your dad are worth it.” He breaths out, an ache in his voice that feels familiar. As if he had been picking at your brain to consume it himself but it's only intoxicating him.

He's so close, far more close than earlier and the wine is stronger. A part of you wants to be sane and stop this madness. Righteous in the sense to not make matters worse but his mewls when you pull at his hair to get him off drive you closer. "Don't do this to me…" You plead with no real intent or sorrow.

“Maybe you were right about the universe being cruel because it was you I was meant to see first. It was you and your mom knew all along.” He whines against your lips, tongue wetting his but you can taste the sweetness of him and that wine. That damn wine.

Your fingers clasp around his hair harder, eliciting more of those pretty sounds he makes and it takes everything in your power to not cry from how beautiful he sounds and looks. Red and needy all for you. "It was you. It has always been you." He confesses, bringing his lips against yours and it's not your will nor your bodies to push him off. Reciprocating that indulgence you've been craving.

His mouth is fairly warm, sweet and dangerous as the wine. The kiss is anything but clean. Mostly tongue and some teeth.

The semi-full glasses of wine are long forgotten, staining the rug as proof of your immorality. Jaehyun doesn't seem to remember them, you on the other hand, don't care. It's not like your mother can scold you anymore.

His hands feel significantly scalding under your dress, rugged fingers working at the clasps to remove it like a robe. Nothing is soft or tender, it's all rushed and hungry. Animalistic almost, save for the soft touches he gives you when a sliver of skin reaches him.

"You're no better than them." You kiss him, his hands on your hips, dragging you onto his lap. He's painfully hard that any move of yours makes him writhe, sinking his teeth onto your lower lip. It's fine, you deserve it and you like it. You'll take what he gives…

Jaehyun nods, tongue seeking yours. He seems to savor the sweet fruity notes of the wine as well. "I know." He hums against your lips, "I'm not denying that." A moan leaves his mouth, swallowed by you. Your hands working on his belt.

"What will you do tomorrow? What will you do standing before God and Christ, promising eternal love and faithfulness? Does that not mean anything to you? Won't shame burn your feet and eat your soul away as you walk though that arch?"

It's rhetorical, he still answers. "It won't." He kisses your jaw. "It will." Tongue laps at your neck where your sister — his fiancee — had cried earlier. "I haven't decided if I want faith to run my future." The indifference in his voice makes you laugh, one that is drowned when he nips at your skin.

Jaehyun isn't particularly soft, his hands knead at your skin and grasp harshly when on your ass. The fabric that made the dress is long tossed to the side and his shirt had been off for seconds now. Ripped from the neck, the restriction bothering him.

It's not a struggle for him to remove your bra, tossing that to the pile of clothes as well. It's his mouth that shows you he can be delicate if he wants to. The way in which his lips wrap around your swollen tit feel like healing pads. Tongue softly lapping at the aching nipples.

You can hear and feel his soft moans around each, rotating after nearly a minute of attention. His tongue is what you love most at the moment. So velvety, warm, and moist. Plush and gentle with every lick to soothe the ache his teeth cause when he wants to be funny and nip at them.

"Don't be a dick." You scold, pulling at his hair like that doesn't turn him on furthermore. He laughs against your chest, the rumble felt so deep against your sternum. "Sorry," He pouts like nothing before kissing a path up your neck to feel your lips against his again.

He wants to speak with no avail, rather you swallow any breath he takes in an attempt to utter a word. Ravishing his lips to distract him from how near you are to taking him out of his trousers. That is until he takes your hands into his, intertwining your fingers with his and leaning further into you. Hard on pressing against the thin cotton of your panties.

"You're being a tease." You joke, mimicking the pout he gave you earlier. He grins, apologizing insincerely once again while pressing into you. The harsh fabric of his trousers was stimulating.

He attempts to reward you by massaging circles on your clit over the cotton of your panties but you swat his hand away, taking his face into your hands for another hungry kiss. He stifles his chuckle, letting you explore his mouth with your tongue. As a reward, he connects his with yours, allowing both muscles to enjoy the ecstasy.

Your hips take his distraction as an opportunity to swivel against him. Eliciting those pretty sounds you love to consume and forcing you to go faster, a wet spot already seeping into any remaining fabric. Jaehyun doesn't take lightly to this, pushing your panties away to let his fingers roam. It's stimulating and overly enjoyable.

How easy the digits slip in, stretching you deliciously to then piston at a set speed that has you hunching over, begging to feel his mouth on yours again. Jaehyun enjoys it, a cheeky grin on his face when your eyes meet his and as a reward, he buries his fingers deeper, curling and thrusting fast enough to make you wail from pleasure you haven't allowed yourself in god knows how long.

It's irritating to be the only one like this. Triumphantly, you finally manage to sneak him out of his trousers, the fabric had been so restraining that he lets out a guttural moan when freed. Throwing his head back onto the couch and wincing with every squeeze and jerk of your soft hand on his sensitive cock.

It's your turn to taunt him. Sneering and laughing quietly when he writhes and cries about how good your hand feels, how he'd love to feel your mouth over it or have you impaled on him. Jaehyun is far weaker than he lets out – nothing new to you.

Was it not for your own desperation and need for release, you'd elongate the sadism. Let him cry for longer about how your hand is not enough despite the pool of pre-come already soiling your hand and his cock.

There's no need for lube, not when his fingers slip out of you and the sea of fluids stain his trousers before pushing them fully off. His pre-come doesn't fall short of a stimulant, so much for such a simple tact. There's nothing grand about this transaction but your bodies know what they want and each other has been written in the stars.

"I don't have a condom…" He pants, a faux attempt at letting morality stop you both. "I'm clean. Abstaining, actually…" You confess, it had not been long since you last had gone to the gyno anyway. Jaehyun's fingers are soft against your lips, his chest slowing down as he hears the meekness in your voice.

"We never have sex without protection and… the last time was months ago." The vulnerability in his voice makes you trust him. Nodding as a response before kissing him again, guiding him for penetration.

He toys with you for seconds, letting his tip graze your folds and slap your clit playfully. Reveling in the hisses you let out. He's so greedy to the point that this isn't enough.

Sheathing himself within you to acquire the pleasure he desires most. It had been so long since you felt this way. The feeling of fullness and completeness. Jaehyun does not fall short with the whines, rather he buries them in your hair, shaking underneath you.

"You feel so good…" He mentions, leaving open mouth kisses along your shoulder while attempting to thrust. His hands reach behind you for stability while you shift in his lap to get comfortable. When he finds a pace you both can work with, Jaehyun throws a thin piece of fabric over you both.

It dawns upon you much later when the tulle feels stuffy and the lacing scratchy that it's your sister's veil. You know it should bother you more, that you should question why it's still here and not with her when the wedding is tomorrow but you don't find it in yourself to care. Not when he's looking at you with an adoration you've never seen and a smile aimed at you and only you.

"You look beautiful." He whispers against your lips, tongue prodding to enter your mouth in one of many kisses he gives you. It's enough to evacuate your head of all these nuisances, focusing on the feel of his cock fucking into you at a steady pace, hips gyrating to allow stimulation to your clit from his pelvic bone.

Whether it's the lack of experience, allowing your body to feel the delicacy of immorality, or he's simply that good, the words cascade from your lips like a mantra. "I'm so close… Fuck, so very closer." You whine against his lips, eyes screwing shut like you're about to cry while holding onto his own shoulders for support.

He smiles, easily wiped away when your hips pick up the pace. Moving up and down his shaft, gyrating as well to follow his lead. From feeling delicious, now he feels like he could come if you did this once more. "I need to feel you coming around me… Y/n, do that for me, please." Jaehyun curses incoherently, his hands holding onto your waist, kneading at the skin but his hands can't stay steady. Rummaging upwards to take your tits into them.

They're softer than earlier. Rubbing circular motions and squeezing when they feel too hot under his touch. Scalding. Thankfully his hips don't fall short in pace. It quickens, his thighs harden under you and it feels like he could give out any second. The sounds he makes surely say so.

"I can feel you ready to explode, Jaehyun." You taunt, seeking his lips and pulling away when he wants to give what you've asked for. His whines turn petulant by the third time. Hand coming off your tit to take a hold of your neck and pulling you in for a kiss. The warmth is gone and your nipple perks from the cold and his determination.

"Let me explode… please…" Jaehyun wanted to be more straightforward yet it came out like begging. It's not like you mind, not when you feel yourself three thrusts away from finishing. He drags it on when you don't give him what you want. Thrusting slowly upwards to bury himself completely and pull away to leave the gaping to turn cold before he's back to bottoming out.

He swats your hand away when he feels your nimble fingers attempt to rub at your clit, hissing disapprovingly. "Is my cock not enough?" He scolds, frowning when you shake your head, teasing. His thrusts turn harsher by then, forcing you to throw your head back in pleasure.

"You're too easy to tease." You jest, taking his hands to perch upon your breasts again. "Don't be mean." He winces, bucking upwards at a faster pace. His tongue not missing a single crevice of your neck before nipping the skin. His own form of protest to your mocking.

You giggle at his words, pressing to get his lips near yours. "Make me come, then. Finish me off for good…" Hushedly and deeper, looking directly into his eyes while processing the words. Jaehyun looks at you with every thrust. They're harder by the point you're done speaking and his eyes never peel from yours.

This is far more intimate than any of you had expected or wanted. The feeling of his cock fitting snugly within you is felt ten times more and the friction feels like your nerves are going to burst if he keeps going.

It causes your legs to spasm, arms flailing and weak around him. Every sense overstimulated when you feel him at the hilt, pressing harshly one thrust at a time.

"Jaehyun, Jaehyun, Jaehyun…"

You cry out, pleasure flooding your entire body that it manifests itself into tears. Louder and harder when you feel him release his warm fluid within your walls. It's a scorching feeling, deliciously overstimulated. Your body is weak and frail against his own, every neuron tingling that it stresses and overwhelms you beyond belief.

But you're crying. You're crying and crying, finally after a week of not being able to let it all out. It's a relief and you can fully understand why your sister is less sad about the reality of your lives.

"Y/n… Y/n! Y/n, are you alright?"

The sincere worry in Jaehyun's voice does not fall short to make you weep even more. You muster a nod, holding his face in your hands while pushing off your sister's veil. It's soiled in sweat, tears, and the smell of sex but it doesn't matter to you right now.

"Are you alright?" He asks again, this time peppering kisses all over your face, holding your body against his for comfort. It's sticky and messy, the sweat reminding you that no matter it being winter, humidity and physical activities don't mix well.

And while your crying doesn't seize, you nod, kissing him instead. "Happy lover boy day. Love was meant to be in your life." You mutter against his lips, your salty tears present with every kiss. Jaehyun sighs, rubbing soothingly against your exposed back before holding you flush against him.

"Than—" and before he can thank you, those same portraits you've been chipping paint from remind you of where you are and who the house belongs to.

It's a horrible crash, the form in which your mother's largest portrait slides down the stairs. Banging against the banisters and breaking the frame into pieces. Wood chips ripping the canvas into large chunks. The last tumble allows it to sway mere feet away from you, glaring for the disgrace you've just committed.

Against your parents, against this sacred home, against the sanctity of a veil, and against your sister. Even in death, your mother's watchful eyes will remain to belittle and judge you.

"Thank you." Jaehyun finishes off, turning your gaze to him and taking your lips into a thankful kiss. Your mother won’t continue to haunt you.

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[bosbas]

Chapter 6: oh, my, love is a lie

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 1.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, mentions of pregnancy, dual pov so it might be confusing sorryyyyy

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

A/N: sorry this is a shorter one but it made more sense to divide it up this way! already working on the next chapter so dw <3

July 8, 1812 - “I beg your pardon?”

Daphne paled. “Oh, no, I didn’t mean-“ she started, choking up immediately. “It’s not-”

“I. Beg. Your. Pardon?” asked Anthony again, his voice steely.

“It’s not like that anymore though, I swear!” cried Daphne, desperate to fix this. “She’s definitely in love with you!”

“She told you this?”

“Well… not exactly,” Daphne finished lamely, not quite sure what to do in this situation. Lying would have probably made it worse at this point, and Daphne wasn’t entirely sure that you’d come to understand your feelings yet.

Shaking his head, Anthony turned to leave the room. “I must go,” he said forcefully, the ire evident in his voice.

---

You stood up as a smile uncontrollably made its way to your lips as you heard the door to your sunroom open, but it dropped just as quickly when you saw that Anthony was furious.

He didn't even bother to greet you as was dictated by social norms. He just stood in the room, breathing heavily and glaring at you as you stood across from him.

“Is it true?” he asked finally, poison dripping from his voice.

You offered him only a perplexed look, not entirely sure what he was referring to but having an excellent idea.

“What Daphne just told me. That you were never interested in me,” he continued, his eyes two angry slits as he stared you down menacingly.

“No, that’s not exactly-”

“So she was lying, then. You didn’t start courting me just to help her find a match,” he said, his voice softening just the tiniest bit.

Your face felt hot, and in fact, the whole room felt far too hot. You looked at Anthony uncomfortably as he waited for your answer.

“No, she wasn’t lying,” you said finally, sounding defeated. “I- I’m so sorry, Anthony. But you have to know I never meant for it to go this far, I just so caught up and I- I just didn’t…” you cut yourself off, too emotional to continue speaking.

Tears rolled freely down your cheeks as you asked yourself, how had everything gotten so messed up? A mere twelve hours ago you were in his arms, having just had the most magical night of your life.

Anthony could only blink at you as he felt his heart drop. He should’ve known this was too good to be true. Of course you weren’t truly interested in him. He didn’t know why he was so surprised.

He supposed he had to hate you now. No one had ever hurt him in this manner, mostly because he hadn’t ever let anyone in as much as he had with you.

But he was still a Bridgerton. And Bridgertons acted with honor. There was a chance you were pregnant, and he was not about to leave you stranded when you were in such a precarious societal position.

Anthony swallowed roughly, trying to gather the courage to speak as though he was unbothered. “Very well, then. I suppose not much can be done about that now. I will speak to your father at once and we can get married next week.”

Your eyebrows shot up. What on earth was he on about? “You can’t marry me,” you said firmly.

He couldn’t. You couldn’t do that to him. You had already hurt him enough.

Anthony sighed in annoyance. “Yes, I can. I will marry you because I am an honorable man. Not for any singular other reason. My reputation is-”

You scoffed, “Oh, what reputation, Anthony? Everyone already thinks you’re the biggest rake in the ton. No one would be surprised by one more conquest, so why are you so insistent that we marry?”

So this is what you truly thought of him, thought Anthony. It was no wonder you didn't feel the same for him as he did for you.

“Because I have respect for you!" he shot back. “Though I can see you have none for me. But that is just fine. I never asked for it, and I don’t need it. All I need is for my family to remain in good standing and for your hand in marriage.”

“I will do no such thing,” you said, scandalized.

“But what if you are with child?” Anthony replied, growing more and more exasperated.

“I am not with child.”

“You cannot possibly know that!”

“I can hope.”

Anthony’s jaw dropped. “How can you say that? After everything we went through?”

Sure, he had never felt pain this intensely in his life. And sure, it was your fault. But he was still shocked that you could wish for such a thing. This only further confirmed his fears that what he felt for you was wildly disproportionate to what you felt for him.

You sniffed, “Look where we are now, Anthony. You hate—me and rightfully so, might I add. So no, I do not wish to have a child with a man who despises me. It’s quite simple really.”

More than that, you didn't think you deserved to marry someone so kind. Someone so loving and perfect. And because you loved Anthony so much you would have rather seen him with someone who hadn't started a courtship with him as a ploy than have him end up with you.

“But you will be ruined!” he pressed.

“Then so be it,” you said decidedly, your voice wavering slightly.

But Anthony was having none of it. It was bad enough that you had completely shattered his heart, you were extremely stubborn when he was trying to do the right thing.

“For heaven’s sake, Y/N. If you will not do it for me or yourself at least do it for my family. For yours.”

“You know my father does not care what I do,” you started, but you knew it was a lost battle. Anthony was right. The Bridgerton family would surely suffer if you had his child out of wedlock, and that was the last thing you wanted. You had harmed them enough already.

But you weren’t ready to completely give up just yet.

“Very well,” you relented. “I see your point, but my courses are due next week. We can put off the proposal by a week, surely?”

Anthony pinched his nose, feeling a headache of annoyance coming on. Why did he have to fall for the most infuriating woman in the ton? The only person who was sure to challenge him whenever possible?

“Yes, we can wait a week,” he asserted.

A week couldn’t come soon enough. Though Anthony’s heart was broken, he couldn’t help the small part of him that was holding out hope for you to miss your courses.

Surely you could learn to love him if you were with child. It would give him the opportunity to try his best to make you love him back, which would likely be easier if you were already married to him. It wasn’t ideal, of course, but it gave him hope.

This wasn’t over yet. It couldn’t be. He was still in love with you, and perhaps with time, you could come to love him too. 

—

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[trikruismybitch]

Did I Cross The Line?

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Yelena Belova x Kate Biship, MentionPast!Kate Bishop x Fem!Reader

Warning: Domestic Violence, Violence, Angst, Implied Cheating

Summary: Y/n comes home after dinner and finds her wife home from a week long mission.

Word Count: 1.1k

Part Two

You walk through the door sighing, dropping your keys on the counter.

"Where were you?" Natasha asks voice husky

"With Yelena and Kate", You sigh again, you've been doing that a lot lately.

She scoffs. She narrows her eyes. It's dark but you can still see her. She's sitting at the counter sipping on a drink, most likely bourbon. Her backs slightly forward so you know she's had a few, not drunk, probably slightly tipsy.

"Listen, I'm tired and kinda tipsy. I really don't want to argue right now." You try to keep your voice soft but it comes out bitter anyways.

Natasha leans back in her chair, "I haven't seen my wife in a week. I come home she's gone and you leave no note, no text? And now when you get home at 2AM you just want to go to bed? You don't even want to speak to me?" She's angry you can tell by her voice even as she keeps tries to keep it even.

"You were on a mission Natasha, I didn't know when you'd be home. You have a phone you could have texted me." You're tired. Your bones feel heavy in your body, weighing you down, "Plus I was out with Yelena and Kate. It's not a big deal."

Natasha downs the rest of her drink.

"How am I supposed to feel, huh? You out with your ex doing god knows what?!"

You roll your eyes having heard this a few times. "My god Nat! I'm out with Yelena and her girlfriend! Kate and Yelena are dating now, did you forget that? And we're married! Kate and I have no romantic feelings for each other anymore, whatsoever!" You yell back "What you think me and Kate are having a quicky in the bathroom while Yelena waits at the dinner table, are you insane?"

Natasha stands up in anger "All I want is to come home and have my wife waiting for me! Is that so much to ask for?" she yells back

"You have to be kidding me! You're always gone Natasha! Always on a mission! I'm not going to wait around at home for you like a dog at your beck and call! I have a life too!"

Natasha scoffs, shaking her head and putting her hands on her hips "Did you forget that, that's my job! I have a responsibility Y/n! You knew this when we got married!"

"I'm an Avenger too 'Tasha, did you forget that?" You take a step closer to her "I go on missions but I don't make that my entire life! I have a life outside of avenging, I want to be able to spend time with family and friends!"

You huff out a breath "I can't with this Natasha. You have been absent from are marriage for months. Ever since the mission in Murcia," Natasha's eyes dart to the left but come back to stare at you. "You come home but you aren't present. You say you have training but i've gone to visit and you aren't there. So where have you been Natasha?"

She looks away from you not answering your question. You hesitate but ask it anyway, "Are you having an affair?"

Natasha's eyes flash to you, her crossed arms dropping.

She stares at you wide-eyes before they turn dark and angry, "How dare you ask me that! I have given you everything. We're married!" She defends herself.

"What else am I supposed to assume Natasha! You aren't here! You lie to me about where you're going! You take back to back missions! We haven't had sex in months! So you have to be getting it from somewhere else! 'Cause it sure as hell isn't me fucking you!"

"Unbelievable" she mutters, Natasha shakes her head and turns away.

"Are you serious? Don't walk away from me! You wanted to talk right?!" You go to grab her arm but the second you touch her.

It happens instantly. She clocks your left jaw and continues to attack. You block what you can but you're too shocked to properly defend yourself.

"Tasha, what are you doing!" you groan as she lands a blow on your ribs.

Natasha goes to strike your face but you block her. Grabbing onto her arms and locking them to your side so you can look at her. Her eyes are black and wild, her breaths coming out in heavy spurts and you know something is seriously wrong.

It all happens so fast. You got distracted and she used it to flip you on your back. Your head rings with the sudden onslaught of punches. Then you can't breathe.

"N-nat" you choke trying to break her grip in your throat. But she can't hear you. She stares down at you and her eyes are unfocused and you know Natasha isn't really there.

Your vision starts to go blurry with tears and black splotches clouding around Natasha's head. If you don't do something now you're going to lose consciousness. With all your strength, you're able to elbow Natasha's inner arm, loosening the hold she had on your neck. You slam your other elbow in the soft part of her thigh turning your body to throw her off you. You get up as fast as you can, left hand holding your neck, your right grabs the table to help you up. You take deep breaths, trying to regain your lost oxygen.

You turn to see Natasha sitting up from where you threw.

"Y-y/n....what-" she looks so shocked. She takes you in. You're leaning on the counter, you have cuts on your face as tears stream down your cheeks

"baby-" she chokes out tears falling from her eyes as she realizes what she had done "I-im so sorry" she reaches out towards you from her position on the ground yet even with the distance you find yourself flinching back, backing away from her.

You slowly start to inch away towards the door. Natasha starts shaking her head standing up "W-wait, i'm sorry. I didn't mean-" Your eyes go wide as she stands up quickly, too quickly, and comes at you.

You're scared. You never thought you'd be scared of her. That she'd hurt you. You shake your head and you run out the door.

"Y/n!" Natasha goes to chase you to explain. "Come back!" She needs to explain. She needs to apologize.

You run, heart beating rapidly as you hear her footsteps as she follows you. You bang on the door as loudly and fast as you can. You look around and see Nat round the corner, so you bang harder on the door.

The door opens.

You and Nat both yell.