#i just kind of forced myself to write so i finally do something on this blog

[jigglyjeon]

all the things she said -> jjk (finale)

summary: he had you and lost you all in the span of a few hours, what will it take to prove to you that you’re all he could ever want and need? as jungkook tries to wriggle his way back into your sheltered heart, taehyung tries to reconcile with you.  jungkook is the one he faces at the door instead.

rating: R18+ MATURE, minors please do not interact

genre: roommate au, angst, fluff, smut

word count: 12k

warnings/tags: this is so angsty omo, swearing (is it even a warning atp lmfao), lots of kissing, caressing, so much touching how does oc even breathe, fingering, more friendship break ups:(, time jump at the end, big and full-circle moment secret reveal.

notes: it's heree!!! the final part of attss! i gave myself whiplash writing this lmfao. i hope you guys enjoyed this series, it's kind of bittersweet that it's over huh :c but if you enjoyed reading about this couple, i’m so more than happy to write drabbles for them, or answer any questions about these characters! (and for any of my ocs/couples! i love interacting with you guys so don’t be shy and send some in if that’s something you’re interested in <3) i hope you enjoyed the absolute MESS that was all the things she said.

soundtrack: getting lighter - goldmund  // it’ll all work out - phoebe bridgers // i was made for loving you - tori kelly (feat. ed sheeran)

⋆ ࣪.  masterlist  ˖ ࣪⭑ 

<- prev

Jungkook had woken up early in hopes to catch you. He waited a good half an hour, looking clean and put together, but the bags beneath his eyes made it known that he wasn’t doing great. He had spent the entire night pacing his room, convincing himself to knock on your door and explain that it really wasn’t it looked like.

Well, it kind of was.

Him and Yuri were a thing for a few months, you knew that as well as him, but the text was a misunderstanding. Jungkook didn’t have a chance to explain that he had been blowing Yuri off for weeks, that her reply was laced with sarcasm in response to the dry one-worded answers he’d been giving her. 

It wasn’t fair, and it was wrong, and he knew that. It wasn’t fair to Yuri, and it wasn’t fair to you. Therefore, Jungkook felt stuck. 

He was still in the wrong no matter what he decided to tell you, and he wasn’t sure you wanted to hear any of what he had to say either way. 

He leans against the kitchen counter with a luke-warm cup of coffee, waiting for you to march through your door snd demand answers from him, and he was prepared to give them to you. He had spent all night practising what it was he was going to say to you.

Eventually you do come storming out, your bag slung over your shoulder. Your features are flat, hair pulled back into a ponytail, your face flushed as if you had only just recently stopped crying. He stands up straight when your presence enters the living room, but he doesn’t even get to let a word past his lips, he can only suck in breath because you head straight for the door, closing the door calmly behind you. You don’t spare him a glance; you don’t even turn around. 

You were out of the apartment just as quickly as you walked into the room. Jungkook sighs, dumping his coffee into the sink, grabbing his bag before heading out the door for work.

When he gets to work, he decides he isn’t going to force it, he’s not gonna check his phone every two seconds in hopes you’ve replied to his message(s). He’ll give you space, let you breathe if that’s what you wanted. He wishes he knew what you were thinking, and he wondered if this was enough of a fuck up on his end to make you hate him. He thinks you hating him might be the scariest thing that could happen to him. Scarier than that time his coffee mug exploded in the microwave at work a couple of months ago, and he had found that moment to be particularly terrifying.

He’s leaning too far forward into the screen as he types, and when Jimin rolls over in his seat he clicks his tongue. Jimin grabs the back of Jungkook’s collar, pulls him back slightly and gives the buff baby a stern look. It reminds him terribly of his mother, which only reminds him that he should call her, it’s been a while. “Don’t slouch, Jungkookie.” The brunette grunts at his supervisor and friend, leaning back instead, and turning back to his work.

Jimin lets out a careful breath, “So, you look like death today.” He rolls closer to Jungkook so that he’s beside him, tapping a pen against the table to garner his attention. “What’d you do this time?”

Jungkook lifts his fingers from his keyboard, puffs out a frustrated breath. He brings his stiff fingers to rub at his tired eyes. “What didn’t I do?” He mumbled, mostly to himself, “I completely took advantage of the girl I love, is what I did.” He scrubs his palms over his face. “Why did I do that?” When he finally looks at Jimin, his eyes are red. He fails to hide the way they’ve glossed over slightly, even though he’s managed to keep his voice steady.

“I’m not following, kid…” Jimin looks at him worriedly, lifting his hand to his friends’ tense shoulders. “Are you alright?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Y/N saw a text from Yuri on my phone last night, and–”

“So what? Doesn’t she know that you two were hooking up?” Jimin frowns, his brows pinching together, bracing himself for what Jungkook is about to reveal to him. Because Jimin knew him, which meant that he also knew you, by default; he knew that you rarely ever got mad at Jungkook, and if there was going to be a reason for it, it was going to be a valid one. As much as he loved and cared for the younger boy, he was renowned for making mistakes. Especially with women. But this was you that they were talking about; Jungkook wasn’t going to take it lightly when it came to his chances with you.

“Yeah, but the text she sent me made it look like we were still hooking up.”

Jungkook had met Yuri at a college part you’d invited him to in late November last year. With absolutely zero intention to sleep with anyone, he had simply agreed because it meant that he got to watch out for you while you got drunk and partied yourself into the ground. To celebrate, you had told him, to let loose. Of course, there had been a theme, which of course was Slutty Santa, and that meant you dressed as a skimpy little elf. You wore a tiny little red and green outfit; with white knee-high socks and a pair of regular loafers you already owned. He remembers it vividly, how could he forget when it was all he could see the entire night; it didn’t matter that the house was dim, the only form of light the LED ones hung along the walls— you stood out to him like the single star that shined just a little bit brighter than the others in the night sky. You always had.

It was jealousy that led him into the arms of a red head with fox eyes, the black dress and Santa hat she wore was lazy work to the theme that Jungkook himself hadn’t even indulged in, maybe it was why he had found himself standing by her, engaging in conversation. Yuri wasn’t subtle in her motivations, touching his arm and smiling sweetly at him. He looked between you and her, and when you had fallen into the lap of a guy he didn’t even know, but you apparently had known so well, he had let Yuri lead him up the stairs and into a vacant bedroom. She was a beautiful woman in her own right, but even when he indulged himself in the way she kissed him, slow with lust, he found it hard to see anyone else but you when his eyes fell shut.

That was that.

He only sees how bad that was when he thinks back to that night, where his possessiveness over a girl who didn’t want him allowed him to make poor decisions. He shuts his eyes tight, blinking rapidly when the ring of his pupil’s pounds through his vision as he tries to adjust them. It makes his head spin instead of ridding himself of the memories of his missteps like he’d intended it to.

“Are you?” Jimin raises a brow that’s met with a deep, sharp glare. He holds up his hands in defence, “Just asking.”

“I haven’t been entertaining Yuri at all since Y/N told me she wanted to give me a chance.” 

“Did you tell Yuri that, though?” 

 Yuri? Why would he tell Yuri? That wasn’t relevant to her or to the arrangement they had together. “No, it’s none of her business.” 

Jimin tuts, shaking his head with a disappointed look on his face. “You are such a mess, you know that?”

He expects Jungkook to grow defensive, he always did when he was slapped in the face with the harsh truth, but the change in his demeanour makes Jimin’s stomach turn.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at him. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Taehyung?”

“I told you I didn’t think it wasn’t good timing–“

“He’s one of my best fucking friends, Jimin!” He whisper-shouts, his jaw stiffening. His sadness merging into the anger he felt last night. “You should have at least told Y/N.”

Jimin nods, “I was coming over here to talk to you about that, actually.” He chews on his lip, rummaging his thoughts for the right words to say. He takes that time to really look at Jungkook.

He looks tired, like he hasn’t even had the chance to shut his eyes. Surely it wasn’t over you finding Yuri’s text. No, there was more to it, and he could tell; it evident in the way his usually lively features were drooping with exhaustion, anger, frustration; his notably big eyes were heavy with the lack of rest he had gotten, and it’s been a while since Jimin’s seen Jungkook so shaken up about something.

He wasn’t going to bounce back quickly from this like his usual self would.

“I was wrong, I–“ Jungkook’s stare remains firm, causing Jimin’s head to drop, looking to the ground with a deflated sigh. “It was wrong of me to keep it from you, from Y/N, too. I thought it was the right thing to do.”

“Yeah, well, you were wrong.”

“I know!” Jimin tosses his pen onto the table with frustration. Jungkook eyes the pen, watches it roll off the table with a dull thud against the carpet floors. With a sigh, he gives Jungkook a sincere look, “I know, I’m sorry.”

For the first time in a long while, Jimin looks apologetic. It’s only then Jungkook softens his gaze, letting his shoulders roll forward. Maybe it wasn’t exactly fair to be taking it out on Jimin, although he stands by the fact he should have told him the minute, he discovered the truth, he trusts in Jimin when he says he was trying to do the right thing. Jimin was always trying to do what he thinks is best for everyone, even for you, even when he was harsh and stern with you about your intentions with Jungkook. While you knew that, it sometimes left you wondering whether he actually liked you or not. Ever the overthinker, you’d always confide in Jungkook about that. Even when his answer was always the same.

“I just, Y/N isn’t this perfect girl that can do no wrong. I think sometimes you forget she’s just a girl.” Jimin explains, “She’s allowed to be special to you, you’re allowed to love her, but just like you, she makes mistakes.”

Jungkook shakes his head, “What are you saying? Aren’t I the one who’s making the mistakes? I got so blinded by her wanting me that I forgot that the rest of the world was still going on around me.”

“I’m just saying she has flaws. One you have in common is that you both lack good communication skills, and if you don’t learn how to, well, talk— it’s going to be a problem for you in the long run.”

Jungkook groans, throws his head back against the chair and folds his arms over his chest. His head has not stopped throbbing since he came into work. For a moment he wonders if you’re okay; a deep part of him hopes that you’re not letting any of it ruin your day, that it’s not affecting you as much as it was affecting him. But it was wishful thinking because he saw the way you walked out of your shared space, avoided seeing him altogether.

He knows you have a big test coming up that you’ve been head-in-books over, and he feels guilty when he thinks about how this was probably piling onto the stress you were currently feeling. He had always admired how hard you work, had always found that part of you attractive— he wasn’t a model student himself, so he really thought it was admirable how consistent and serious you were to your crafts.

“So, should I text her?” He asks, letting go of the anger he had previously directed at Jimin. There was no use for that now, and he was tired of throwing his emotions out on his sleeve. It was starting to suck the life out of him.

“Yeah actually, for once I think that might be a good idea.” Jimin nods, “Take your half-hour if you need it.”

Being alone and to be lonely were two different things— to be alone meant to breathe, to recharge when your batteries inevitably depleted, and all you wanted to do was curl up on your couch with a blanket and some cookies and milk to snack of while you watched the Twilight series back-to-back.

The feeling of being lonely, though? Well, you knew in that moment that it meant to feel lost. Hollow inside, constantly on the verge of tears. To be in a desperate search for a hand to grab onto, a shoulder to lean on; for someone that tells you everything will be okay, that you’re not alone.

It was clear then— this was loneliness. You have never ached so hard, never felt so out of place. Jungkook was the person you turned to for everything; when you got into a fight with Jia, because you always used to butt heads with her because you were both stubborn and head-strong, or when Jimin had something a little bit too honest that hurt your feelings.

You wonder if cutting them off was a good move. They hadn’t reached out since the part, like there was an unspoken silence of the end of an era, the fading of a friendship that was at its foreseeable end. Now you somewhat wish you could pull out your phone and text them, tell them that they were right and men really were impossible.

Still, you can’t help but believe that all of this is your fault. It was you that had kept such a vulnerable secret from the people you loved. You don’t know what’s wrong with you. You don’t know why you find it easy not to say things, to keep them locked away in the taverns of your soul where no one can find them; where your flaws can’t be picked apart, where the people you wanted validation from couldn’t tear you to shreds and realise that you’re damaged.

You hugged your bag to your chest in search of comfort, instead of wearing it over your shoulders like regular. You took your time walking through the courtyard and watched idly as people walked by you; the very people you never bothered to take a second glance at once.

They were the people you’ve attended the same university as for the past three years, smiling and laughing with a friend, or holding hands with their loved one. It only deepened the frown on your face, wondering why you’ve deprived yourself of that. Why were you afraid to make eye contact and smile at a stranger, knowing that if it were you, it would probably make your day a little bit easier. Knowing that you’ve been acknowledge, that you were noticed.

Your bottom lip wobbled when you looked over into the field, where a couple was making a little bit too much noise; a boyfriend that lifted his girlfriend up in his arms with ease, spinning her around and making her laugh hysterically. You think of him then:

Jungkook.

He had sent you a text just before your tutorial had ended, and you hadn’t didn’t reply. You were mad, or sad, or– okay, you admit you don’t really know what you’re feeling. You just felt heavy with emotions, you feel let down. If this were any other guy you were sure you’d find it easier to put one foot in front of the other and keep your shoulders straight. You’d still be smiling, enjoying the sun and seeing the bright side of things. Music playing through your headphones, blocking any chance to feel sadness, or betrayal. What was meant to be would be, and if it wasn’t— then it wouldn’t.

All the walls you had spent years building around your heart had immediately crumbled into dust the moment you felt his lips on yours. His gentle touches, the fluttered pecks along your neck, they all lingered; the ghost of his touch haunting you in your darkest hour. Could it be that you’re using Yuri as an excuse to push Jungkook’s heart away? Maybe partially, because pushing people away felt easier when things got too real. You convinced that all bad things had a purpose to you, and that you were made to deal with on your own.

You pause on your walk to your car, resting your back against a building wall, sniffling. Your tears feel hot when they fall past your eyes. The more you blinked, the more that fell.

You can’t help but think that Jimin had always been right about you; you were avoidant and dismissive, not so much towards other people but to the person that mattered most— yourself. You weren’t the easy-going person you portrayed yourself to be, not the way Yuri was.

Jungkook had always felt like home to you. Being near him steadied your heart and made you feel light. You had mistaken it for the great platonic connection that you had with him; you were comfortable around him, he was easy to talk to, and he never looked at you like you were strange when you let the most unhinged thoughts slip out loud.

He made everything feel better when times got a little bit too tough, and that was something you couldn’t say for any of the other guys you’ve dated over the course of your life. To be comfortable in a relationship was a foreign concept to you, you weren’t meant to let them see your weaknesses because that’s what friendship was for. That’s what you thought.

That gurgling feeling in your stomach whenever Yuri sat in your kitchen in his clothes, it wasn’t because it was late and you needed a snack— it was because you were envious. You were jealous that she was beautiful and very much the type of girl you had always envisioned being with him. Yuri was patient and comfortable with herself and just overall chill about everything— everything except for him.

You knew she had to be crazy about him, because how could she not be? You knew it so not only because she would glow every time she looked at him, but because you were also crazy about him, and you thought she would have to be clinically insane not to be.

Still, he had chosen you. In the words of his own, he had always chosen you. Though right now it didn’t feel sincere. Even if you knew that his feelings were true, because Jungkook plastered his emotions on his face like post it notes on a corkboard. But if he was going to toss Yuri aside like she meant nothing to him.

What’s to say he won’t do the same to you the moment you let your guard down with him?

It’s what you’ve always been afraid of, no matter how much you trusted him. What if the way he claimed to yearn for you was all in the name of the chase, of wanting something he couldn’t have?

You know that it was too late, because you’ve already shown him that the things he did, they mattered to you. That the choices he made, how they affected you. You thought of Yuri, what she’d think if she knew. Did she already know? Would she hate you if she knew? You wonder why that even mattered to you, why you cared so much about what she’d think. Even if she did have something that you’ve always wanted.

Now that you’ve had him, you know it was going to be impossible for you to let him go. It was going to be so much harder to separate your feelings for him when you’ve already allowed him to worm his way into your thoughts and dreams. There was no going back to being his roommate— Jungkook wasn’t just your best friend anymore.

Maybe he never was.

That’s why you couldn’t go home, not yet. You needed to recollect yourself and breathe before you could face him again. Without looking at him with tears in your eyes, all while desperate to fall into his arms for comfort, even if he was the reason for them. When you find yourself in front of Jimin’s apartment instead of your own, you don’t even realise just how long you’re parked, ruminating in your spiralling thoughts. When Jimin knocks on your window, it hardly even makes you flinch. You lift your forehead off the steering wheel, peering up at him with dreary eyes and stained cheeks. He looks through the glass with a confused expression that silently asks you what you’re doing here. It makes you pout, and you start to cry again.

Jimin clicks his tongue, cocking his head towards his home, even opens the door for you to climb out of the driver’s seat. You lock your car and drag your feet behind him, following him into his apartment. He waits until your sat in his kitchen, a cup of cool water held delicately between your hands. Your fingers tap against the glass, palms slightly wet from the condensation. You take another sip before he plants it on the counter.

“He didn’t exactly tell me what he did, but I can muster up some ideas.” He leans in front of you, a careful smile on his full lips. You pucker your lips, staring into the peppery pattern of the marble. It’s then he scoffs, his grin is bright though it holds no humour to it. “God, I feel like a therapist.”

“You’re too honest to be a therapist.” Your voice cracks, but he doesn’t mention it or tease you for it the way he normally would.

“That’s why I’m a supervisor at an office.” He snorts, “Jungkook works hard though, does his job well.” He nods, taking a sip of his third cup of coffee of the day. He had garnered a bit of a caffeine addiction, and he blames everyone else but himself for that.

You hum, “We slept together.”  

Jimin carefully lets the mouthful of coffee spill slowly back into his cup, putting it down and pushing it aside. “This he failed to tell me.”  He raises his brows.

“It was my fault. I was sad, I was angry, and I was confused–”

“So, you regret it?” He cuts you off.

“No! Not at all. It was…” There’s a slight tug at the corners of your lips, looking up as you think back to the moment.

“Okay, no need for details.”  

“Magical.”

“Alright, okay.” He makes an x with his hands, tapping his wrists together “Time out.”

You chuckle lightly, “You know when he started to see Yuri, I closed up my heart to him completely.” You begin, your small smile falters. “I was so sure then, that he had found someone good for him.”

“Even though I spent that night in someone else’s bed, all I could think about was him. I was so used to him being available, and there for me all the time. I took advantage of that, and I realised how much I wanted him because after that I didn’t even so much as look at another guy. Even when he brought Yuri home, let her sleep in his bed.”

Jimin watches you carefully as you talk, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth in hopes to stop yourself from crying anymore. “Then the money my parents had lent me had started running out, and I couldn’t find a job that suited my availability and then I found that stupid app.”

“It helped me forget, made me feel good about myself when my heart was hurting. It’s not his fault, but I sometimes wonder if it would have been different if one of us just said something. I didn’t even know–” You take a breath, steadying your emotions, “I don’t understand why Taehyung did that. He’s always been so kind to me, and he’s one of Jungkook’s closest friends.”

Jimin nods, “I’ve never liked Taehyung. I think he’s always had this secret animosity towards Jungkook. Always competing with him, wanted the things that he had. When Jungkook got a job at our office, Taehyung was stuck as a mechanic.”

You never saw it that way. Taehyung had always seemed comfortable in who he was, content with his life. Whenever you were around him and Jungkook, they were always laughing and having fun together. There were parts of their relationship that had gone unnoticed by you, or perhaps you hadn’t spent the time to really analyse it all the way Jimin seemingly had.

“I think naturally he envied what you and Jungkook had. When I confronted him, he told me that you liked you, too. Actually, he said he saw you first? Whatever that means.”

“What does he mean by that?” You tilt your head.

Jimin isn’t sure what would do more damage than good. The things Taehyung had told him had left him confused, yes, but they did make sense to him. A lot of people had crushes on people that didn’t even know they existed, he supposed it wasn’t a totally foreign concept. He himself remembers the people he admired from afar, especially during his school days.

“Apparently, he ran with the same crowd you did, like a year or so before you moved in with Jungkook.” He explains, “I guess he’d always had his eyes on you.” He shrugs, feeling slightly awkward as you look into the distance at nothing in particular, processing the idea he had just planted in your head.

“I didn’t meet Taehyung until I moved in with Jungkook.” You shake your head, like you’re trying to convince yourself of the fact.

“I’m sure that’s true, or– I don’t know. Don’t take this the wrong way, but is possible you just don’t remember?” Jimin asks, pressing his lips together into a thin line.

You groan when you think about those times. You did do a lot of drinking, that much was true. You roll your head back, suddenly feeling the stiffness in your neck. “It’s not impossible, if what he’s saying is true.”

Jimin only hums, nodding idly.

You pull out your phone to check the time, your eyes drop to the notifications left unopened. Your thumbs over it, you hold your breath when you tap on them.

He watches the way your thumbs over the keyboard on your phone, typing out messages, visibly deleting them when you tap on the same spot repeatedly, clearly removing your reply altogether.

“Go,” Jimin urges. “Talk to him. speak from the heart, just say everything— just don’t let your fears obscure the truth of it all. It’ll work out better that way, I promise you.”

When you look at him, he can tell that you’re just by the way your eyes water through a tightened smile that you’re grateful for him. You’re glad he was there for you when you needed him to be, the way a friend should do. No judgement, no picking apart your errors, just an ear to listen and a gentle outlook.

With a final nod, you let him walk you to the door, groaning when he ruffles your hair and pushes gently on your shoulder, thanking him before he closes the door.

Standing in front of your door, you don’t expect to hear the amount of noise coming from the other side. Clashing of cookware and utensils sound through to make it known that he was there. You try to be as quiet as possible when you shove the key through the door, careful in the way you step into the apartment.

You’re successful, he doesn’t notice you’re there yet. It gives you a moment to take in the sight of him. His back turned to you, the string of the apron tied neatly against his back, the sleeves of his hoodie rolled up to his elbows as he muttered under his breath.

Jungkook whips around the moment he hears the door shut, wide eyes and parted lips. There’s a line of flour along his cheekbone, and when he wiped the back of his hand along his nose it leaves some at the tip of it as well. “Y/N, hey.” His nose twitches, fighting off a smile. He’s not sure if you’d appreciate the gesture or not, not yet.

“What are you doing?” You ask him softly. Your hands linger on the doorknob as you press your back against the door.

“I’m making cookies.” He nods fast, the nerves evident in the way he wipes his palms against his apron. Your apron. “F-for you.” He huffs, shutting his eyes when you stare at him blankly, turning his back to you again as he continues making an absolute mess of the kitchen.

But the aroma it sends throughout the apartment makes your insides flutter with a warmth and giddiness that you fail to subdue. Warm cookies have to be one of those scents that could make nearly everything feel better; maybe it was why you lingered around in the bakery section at the supermarket in the mornings. You slip away from the door, sneak your way to his side. He can hear the quiet patter of your sock-clad feet against the floor. He doesn’t look up at you when you stand beside him, but he can see you in his peripherals.

He wipes at the dampness on his forehead with his forearm, rolling the last of the dough he’d made into a ball to put onto a second baking try. You peak over him where there’s a batch that’s already been cooked. You can tell it’s mixed with white and semi-sweet chocolate chips. That was your favourite, but of course he knew that.

“Jungkook.” You try, resting your temple against the fridge, your fingers still fiddling behind your back. He hums in response, opening the oven to put the tray of cookie dough inside, only to look over all the mess he’d created for himself. Preoccupied, he moves the tray of cookies to the other side of the kitchen out of his way. You shadow him as he moves back and forth within the space. “Jungkook.”

His knuckles hit the underside of the marble, and he grunts, shaking his hand off as the pain sears through his arm. The exhale he lets out shakes slightly, but he meets your waiting eyes. “Yeah?” He exhales.

“I think we should talk about last night.” You push yourself off the fridge, walk toward him slowly. He’s frozen in his spot, forgetting all about what he was meant to be doing. His eyes don’t leave your face, not even breaking contact as you reach around his head, slowly remove the apron from around his neck, moving them down to release the knot that kept it tight around his waist. You toss it onto the table, avoiding his deep stare, letting yours look over his chest that rose and fell faster than normal. You can still feel it even when you turn your back to him, creating some distance between you.

“Y/N–”

“Don’t say sorry.” You stop him. “I just want to know if you love her.”

Jungkook blinks at you from behind. “Yuri?” He almost laughs. But then he sees the way you turn your head, not quite looking over your shoulder at him, but showing him a part of your expression. You were serious. “Not even close.” Because it’s you that I love, he thinks to himself. It doesn’t quite come out, though.

“I could feel this…aching in my chest–” Your fingers twitch, reaching up to rest just where you heart sat inside of you.  “–seeing you with her. You seemed happy.” You admit, your throat growing dry as you speak words you’d never imagine would fall past your lips, would ever move past fleeting thoughts. “Seeing you with her only made how I felt for you real, and that terrified me.” You let the silence ring between you, but when he doesn’t speak you allow yourself to continue.

“I never saw that guy you know. After the Christmas party.”  When you turn around, your initial fear of his eyes piercing into you rings true. For once, you don’t let it shake you. “But you kept Yuri around.”

He opens his mouth, goes to say something but you don’t allow it, there was too much you wanted to say, so you say it. “I thought what you had was serious. I just wanted to leave it alone, pretend that I wasn’t so incredulously into my roommate–” You forget to breathe for a moment. Gasping for air, allowing your breathing pattern to settle back down. Still, you’re bracing yourself for the impact of what you’re about to say next.

“It really hurt to see you make someone else smile, someone that wasn’t me.”

He sighs shakily when your voice breaks at your confession, and the sad look in his eye alone is enough to let yourself cry. He reaches for you, rubs at your arms with a quiet hush. “Don’t cry.” He begs, because it was the most painful thing he’d have to endure— being the reason for your tears.

“I know– I know it’s selfish.” You whimper as he pulls you into his chest, burying his head into your neck, breathing you in. “To just think you could read my mind like that, to think you’d wait for me.”

“I would have, I could, Y/N— wait for you, I mean.” He rushes out, assuring you that it wasn’t just on you. “I fucked it up, okay? I act out when I get jealous. Every time you called me your best friend, I sulked and ran into Yuri’s arms thinking she was going to solve all my problems, but she didn’t.”

Your body shakes in his arms, vision blurred by the tears that didn’t stop coming. You felt so vulnerable, so beaten and broken down, everything hitting you all at once. You failed Jungkook, and you failed yourself— and you truly believed that.

“Have I ruined everything?” Jungkook laughs, but there’s no amusement to his tone. He removes himself from you, to let you breathe, but you only forget how; the moment he lets you go you feel cold— empty.

Subconsciously, your arms reach for him again, but he takes your hands in his instead, thumbs brushing over your knuckles. You watch the movement; you feel the warmth of his hands transfer into yours, uncaring of the fact they were growing clammy.

You shake your head, “You couldn’t ruin how I feel about you, I don’t think it’s possible.”

“Really?” He asks hopeful, can’t contain the way it makes his lips curl up. You release an amused breath through your nose, looking up at him shyly.

“Will you do something for me?” You ask, meek.

“Anything, dove.” His fingers wrap around your wrists, lifting your fingers to his lips. He kisses them gingerly.

“Will you talk to her? Tell her the truth.”

You can tell that he recoils slightly at the thought of that, he releases your wrists, one of his hands reaching to the back of his head. He scratches at his scalp, then runs the same hand through his hair. Jungkook hasn’t had a conversation about his feelings with Yuri, not even close. Their conversations were surface level mostly, if they weren’t indulging in a distraction from his raging emotions. Jungkook frowns, searches your features for answers. Why would you want him to talk to her when you had basically just told him that you were jealous of her? You sniffle, eyes still slightly glassy from earlier. He’s glad you’ve relaxed since, even if it was only a little.

With a huff, he nods curtly. “Okay. If that will make you happy, then I’ll talk to Yuri.”

You smile, thanking him as you reach up to cup your hand over his cheek. He places his own on top of yours. Suddenly your nose twitches, taking a step back, looking down at the oven.

“I think they might be burning.” You state, pointing at the dark-looking cookies that the both of you had long forgotten about.

Jungkook curses under his breath, throwing on the oven mitts and dragging the sweets out of the oven. He slides it onto the counter with a pout. “At least the other batch turned out okay.” He turns to you, hardly given a moment to breathe when you crash into him, your arms falling over his shoulders as you press your lips onto his unsuspecting ones.

He’s only frozen for moment, but it doesn’t take long for his mouth to catch up with his brain, his top lip closing over the top of yours. He lets out a long, happy sigh exiting through his nose. His hands come to rest on your hips, but he still stumbles backwards as you throw your weight at him, your toes not enough to support you leaning forward into him. He moans against your mouth, dragging his hands up your body until they reach your jaw. He takes your face in his hands to pull you off him gently. “I didn’t think you would forgive me just yet.”

“I don’t forgive you.” You breathe, lean forward to find his lips again. He only pecks your lips, holding your shoulders. You roll your eyes. “I also can’t stand being away from you.”

Jungkook bites the inside of his cheek, nodding in understanding. “Okay.” He leans down, kisses you softly. You blink slow when he pulls away, smiling sweetly before repeating the action. “Then I’ll keep trying.”

You melt into him when he walks you back against the counter, pressing his body flush against yours. It’s subtle, but his foot pushes between yours, forcing your legs apart without you even fully realising. “I’ll bring you flowers every day after work.” He kisses your cheek, one hand on your lower back, the other holding the back of your head steady. He feels you rest against it, letting it fall back to give him access to your throat. “I’ll make you dinner every night.” He continues, dragging his lips along your jaw. The feeling makes your eyes fall shut, and with each heavy breath you take your chest rises, colliding gently with his. “I’ll keep telling you how much I love you.”

Your eyes open, looking over his shoulder as he kisses your neck, the warmth of his tongue against your hot skin making you gasp. He pulls away, comes face to face with you. “I–” He closes the distance between you, stealing the words from your lips. Shutting you up.

“How much I always have.” He continues when he pulls away, breathy and quiet— for your ears only.

“When you’re not around, all I can think about is you. You’ve plagued my life with that pretty face of yours, and now I can’t go back.”  

“That’s dangerous.” You flash him a half smile, and there’s a teasing glint in your eye. “Sweet talking like that.”

“I’m just saying how I feel.” The hand on your lower back twitches, you hardly register the way he lowers it until he grabs at your ass, making you arch your back, narrowing your eyes at him in light-hearted warning. He snickers, his forehead resting against yours as he scans your face, watching as you try to capture his lips again. He pulls away whenever you get close, your lips only ever brushing before he pulls away, he kisses your cheek, hiding his face in your hair.  

“We can stop; we don’t have to do this.” He whispers against the shell of your ear, his nose dragging along the side of your neck. You whimper at the pet-name, and you fear that you won’t be able to now— you don’t think you can stop. “I’ll wait however long you need me to— I’m not going anywhere.”  

Why does it feel like he’ll slip through your fingers if you say no to this? How do you say no to this when his knuckle caresses your inner thigh so patiently, never riding his touch high enough to cross a line. Why did you feel like nothing else mattered whenever his lips touched your skin? You were still not sure where you wanted this to lead, or rather, you weren’t sure you were quite ready to forgive him so easily when he had unfinished matters with another woman. A part of you felt dirty for letting him touch you, allowing him to make you want to beg for him to pleasure you; there’s another part of you that feels triumphant, and you know that’s wrong of you.

You never claimed to be good, no matter how hard you tried to be.

Nobody was good 100% of the time.

You’ve only just learnt to stay true to how you feel inside. Your morals are telling you that you should reel this in, tell him you need his friendship right now, that there were things you need to talk about first. But your body? Your body couldn’t care less about your morals right now. Above all, Jungkook was your best friend, and as much as you enjoyed the way he soothed your worries right now, Taehyung still lingered in the back of your mind.

Did Jungkook know that Taehyung knew who you were?

The question ebbs within your thoughts, but the forefront is filled with the way he has your knees giving in. You needed his arms to hold you up, needed his body pressing into yours to keep you stable. “I can’t…” you whine, to yourself or Jungkook you’re not entirely sure.

“Can’t what?” The low buzz of his voice tickles your skin, clearing your throat when you think you might moan because of it. “Talk to me, dove.”

“I…”

Speak from the heart.

“I love you,” it comes out in almost a sob, like it was hurting you to say, all while finding the hand that circled your thigh, leading it higher u, manoeuvring his fingers to skim the material of your shorts between your legs. “I love you too.” You throw your head back when his fingers move on their own, cupping your clothed crotch, pushing his palm into you. He only answers in heavy breaths, guiding your head back up so that he could kiss you again.

Who needed alcohol when you could get this intoxicated from his touch alone? If you had known so back then, in times that you were reckless, you might have waited for him to find you. Maybe then you wouldn’t have put up all of the walls that kept you from these moments. Maybe you would have had him sooner, and things wouldn’t have turned out so complicated. You realise there was no reason to dwell, not when you’re here now.

Still, you wonder. Then you might have remembered those days more clearly, remember the people around. Or maybe you’d know different people altogether. It was funny how every choice you made would change the course of your life forever, would impact every decision and every moment. It would lead you down roads you couldn’t come back from.

You didn’t need to live in your thoughts anymore though.

You knew better than anyone that you could change your life in the blink of an eye, all you had to do was snap your fingers and decide that for yourself. You’ve done it before, and you could do it again.

Knowing Jungkook had changed you for the better. With him you had learnt what it meant to be cared for, to be loved without any strings attached. Jungkook showed you what it truly meant to be seen— to be wanted. You didn’t think someone like that could exist for you; you spent the most part of two years convincing yourself of that.

But you deserved to be happy too, and for the first time – in a very long time – you truly believed that. There was no need to punish yourself for who you used to be. Not anymore.

So, you let his name fall past your lips, buck up into his hand as he pops open the button of your shorts, pulling the zipper down. You grip the edge of the counter with tightened fingers, throwing your head back completely when his hand moves to support your arching back instead of your head. He invades the place you ache for him, dipping his hand into the fabric of your underwear to drag a singular finger between your wet folds. He nips at your neck, tongue soothing over his attack to your sensitive skin.

You release a hand to hold onto his wrist as he rubs on your clit, tantalisingly slow but the feeling is delicious all the same. Your hips stutter as they chase his touch, and you’re no longer shy about the high-pitched breaths that leave your throat, your tiny mewls of desire making it known that what he’s doing is pleasing you.

“Barely touching you…” he laughs, nosing at your jaw. “Look like you’re close to cumming already.”

He’s only teasing, but he’s not wrong. The way he circles and flicks at your bundle of nerves brings your high closer than you’d anticipated. When you look up at him with heavy eyes, he raises a brow at you. “You gonna cum for me, baby?” He asks innocently.

“But Y/N…I haven’t even put my fingers in your pussy yet.” He complains playfully, but his voice deep and coarse. It rings through you and makes your legs stutter on the spot.

You release a shaky moan, your grip on his wrist tightening as you flutter around nothing, feeling empty. You noise your displeasure when he takes his finger off your clit, middle finger circling your entrance. He hums with satisfaction. “So wet, so ready for me.”

He pushes his finger inside, curling them up to prod at your sensitive walls. His thumb finds your swelling nub, rubbing you a little bit faster, in rhythm with his finger dragging in and out of you. “Oh, Jungkook, s’good…” you drag out, struggling to keep your eyes open. You want to see him, so you try but they only roll backwards as that knot in your stomach begins to build up again.

“You’re perfect,” he praises, “Look so beautiful like this.”

The sound of his fingers working you towards your orgasm sounds through the kitchen, the lewd squelch an indication of just how worked up he had made you. Jungkook watches your face contort in pleasure, teeth playing with his lip ring in concentration. He stirs in his boxers, but the thought of releasing his cock from his tightening boxers is far from his mind, too engrossed in the way you moan for him. With a final cry of his name, he leans down to quieten your keening, his tongue swirling into your mouth, soothing over yours. His finger rests inside you to the hilt, his palm resting against your heat as you ride out your orgasm on his hand.

When your noises dispel into slow, heavy breaths, he pulls his hand away, looking at you with dark eyes. He brings his soiled hand up to his lips, pushes his finger them to taste you on his tongue. He moans lowly, dragging it out slowly to tease you. You watch with wild eyes.  

“Wha- I hate you.” You whinge, hiding your face in your hands. His laugh is full, genuine as he watches you cower in embarrassment. He mutters something about you being adorable, but your heart is pounding so loudly in your ears you don’t really hear him.

When your hands fall from your face, you find him already watching you, a soft glimmer to his stare that makes you want to fall into his arms all over again. He finds it endearing when you peer up at him with wonder, likely trying to figure out what he’s thinking when he looks at you with such endearment. When you blush, he hums with an upwards twitch of his lips.

It all just feels like one big dream to you.

You shake your head, pushing lightly at his chest as you brush past him. You turn around again, he leans against the counter the way you were previously, arms crossed over his chest with a smug expression.

“We are not doing this again until you talk to Yuri.” You point at him sternly with wide eyes.

He holds his hands up in front of his chest, folding them back when he nods in understanding. “Yes ma’am.”

You groan, stomping down in the hallway toward your bedroom to wash yourself up, pushing aside the thoughts of him following after you, stepping into the shower behind you.  

A sheen of steam trails after you when you opened the bathroom door, walking into your bedrrom  wrapped in a towel, your wet hair cascading over your shoulders. You lift your arms, pushing the wet strands over them so that the rest against your back. You only catch that he’s standing at the entrance of your room when you turn your head whilst doing so. He opens his mouth to speak but it closes again when he sees you, knocking the wind out of him. He only lingers for a moment longer before he turns around and closes your door behind him. You shake your head, giggling at the dumbfounded look on his face.

You spend your time drying your hair and putting on your pyjamas, readying yourself for the good night’s rest you missed out on the previous night.

You prance into the kitchen where Jungkook’s just finishing up cleaning the area, the cookies stacked neatly in a pile on a plate. He tosses and folds the washcloth he uses to wipe down the table nearby the sink, turning to you. He eyes you as you happily grab one, biting into the sweet treat.

The cookies are slightly over baked.

You usually liked a gooey centre, teetering the edge of raw, because you liked the different textures on your tongue. You hum in delight the moment you bite into the cookie, still enjoying its taste despite the minor indifference.

“They okay?” He asks, chewing on the fingernail of his thumb as he watches you take another bite. You nod wildly, maybe a little too enthusiastically because it makes him narrow his eyes at you. “They sound kinda hard.”

You roll your eyes, putting the half-eaten baked-good back onto the plate. “It’s yummy, Jungkook. Thank you.” You assure him with a gentle smile. “It was very sweet of you to make them for me.”

His head lowers sheepishly between his shoulders in a soft shrug. “It was least I could do on short notice.”

You snort, playfully whacking his arm with the back of your hand. You’re about to counter something witty back at him but are interrupted by a soft knocking at your door. Jungkook furrows his brows when you look at him in questioning. “You expecting someone?” You ask him.

“No… are you?” He brushes by you, ignoring the way you click your tongue at him.

“Why would I ask you if I was?” You mumble under your breath, trailing after him. You stand idly behind the door, watching Jungkook unlock it swiftly, swinging it open and covering you from the person waiting outside.

There’s a thickness that coats the air that you breathe when Jungkook doesn’t speak. You hold your breath, the silence inducing the anxiety rising within you.

“What the fuck do you want?” Jungkook seethes through his teeth, landing like daggers into the throat of his target. Your heart sinks, because you can only piece together who they might be. He’s only met with a deep sigh, and he steps back, swinging the door to shut it but a hand slams down on it to stop it from slamming.

“Wait, just let me–”

“Let you what?” You move further against the wall, pressing your back against it as your breaths shake. You were right about your initial assumption, but you don’t feel good about it. All the ringing questions that plagued your thoughts earlier had resurfaced, pounding through your ears and sitting on the edge of your tongue. You want to peak over, confront him too, but all you can do is listen to the way Jungkook spits at him. “Explain? Apologise?  Which one, Taehyung? I’m looking for both personally, but I think I’m more interested in knowing why you went out of your way to ruin Y/N’s life.”

Jungkook wasn’t a terribly angry person. In the time you’ve known him, he was grumpy at best but seeing him angry was a completely new scene to experience. It made your heart race; it was intimidating, and it, even though you hadn’t planned on doing so. You can only imagine how he looks right now if he weren’t hidden from your view behind the door. Bulging eyes, his lips curling in anger; His chest was most likely rising and falling, his stare grim with malice. His fingers would be squeezed in fists unbeknownst to you, preparing for the worst of how he feels when he looks your betrayer in the eye.

It only fuels his anger when Taehyung lowers his head in shame, his own hands hiding in the back pockets of his jeans, hunching over like a kicked puppy.

But Jungkook felt no empathy for his friend, if he even was one to him at this point.  

“Why the fuck would you do such an evil thing to her?” Each word Jungkook fires at Taehyung gets louder, more frightening. You flinch when he shouts at his friend. “Why, hyung?”  

“I didn’t think it through,” He admits, “I didn’t think it was going to affect everyone so much, okay? I care about Y/N too, man.”

“You care about her?” Jungkook shakes his head, jabbing his finger into his chest. He takes a step back, knowing better than to let it irk him. He keeps his distance as Jungkook steps closer to him standing in the hallway before your apartment. “Fuck, Taehyung. I thought I was bad, but you’re something else.” He pushes at his chest, a little bit harsher, “You wanted my girl and this was the way you thought to go?”

“And yet, she still went running to you.”  Taehyung nods, a humourless laugh leaving him. His defeated demeanour does nothing to shake Jungkook’s hatred from him in the moment. looking “Even when you made her feel small about the way she was making her money.”

“You watch your fucking mouth, Taehyung. I never did that, and you fucking know it. I’d never— I love her.” He’s in his face now, makes Taehyung turn his cheek to him. “So, what then? You thought you’d be the one to swoop in and save her from everyone? Is that it?”

Taehyung throws his head back, taking another step back as he runs a shaking hand through his dark locks.

“Huh?!” He pushes him one last time, and this time he does stumble, catching him off guard. He looks at Jungkook with apologetic eyes, but Jungkook’s expression doesn’t falter. His nostrils are flared, his entire being is tense and ready to fire. Taehyung doesn’t want to fight; his sight flickers up over Jungkook’s shoulder to see you peaking your head through the door. Seeing you makes it difficult to get out a steady breath, let alone anything of value to say to his friend. The friend he’d lost, the same way he’d lost you.

You don’t let him look for too long, you disappear behind the door again, pushing it slightly but keeping it ajar for Jungkook’s return.

“I don’t even want to look at you anymore, just fuck off. Don’t come back here, yeah?” Jungkook scoffs, but his voice is eased as if the words are easy to say, but they manage to hit Taehyung tough in his chest. He turns on his heel with his head low, ridding his presence from your lives.

Jungkook watches, waits. Taehyung taps once at the elevator button, turning his head to look over his shoulder as the it dings “Kook?”

Jungkook furrows his brow, fists balled at his sides. He eyes him harshly as he steps through the opened doors of the elevator, turning to face him with his hands in his pockets once again.

“I could have loved her, too.”

Before he can even think about what he said, he’s gone.

One of his dearest friends, all throughout his high school years, into some of his college ones— all the good and bad times alike ripped from his hands in an instant. He shouldn’t feel so hurt, not when he knows Taehyung was never truly a good person, but he doesn’t want to think about what it made him to have known that. He had a heart, that much was certain, but he was only ever meaningful to the people he cared deeply for. Keeping something like this from Jungkook felt unforgiveable, and wanting the girl that he knew damn well he loved, well, that was fucked up— but not as fucked up as what he had done to you.

And to think all he had to say to Jungkook was that he could love you too.

It was pathetic, and a testament to how selfish he truly was.

That didn’t mean he didn’t feel any less wounded by the end of their friendship. All he can think about as he turns back to re-enter his home is if this was a similar feeling you felt when your friends judged you instead of nurtured you. Did he do a good enough job of protecting you, making it certain that he cared for you more than any stupid job, or picture, provocative or not.  

Jungkook doesn’t relax until he sees you curled up on the couch, chin resting on your forearm, legs splayed out comfortably as you wait for him to come back inside. You only perk up slightly upon seeing when you catch sight of him, watching him cautiously as he locks the door behind him.

Your eyes follow him as he drags his feet toward you, plummeting back into the couch with a puff.

“Are you alright?” you ask, shuffling over to rest beside him, soothing your hand over his bounching leg. He rubs his face with his hands and scoffs, then groans.

“You know he was the reason that we met?” Jungkook says, and you tilt your head at the information. “Fucker showed me your ad on the website, said it might be a good fit.”

You pull your eyebrows close together, trying to piece what he’s telling you together. Jungkook never mentioned this before. “I didn’t think it was that important, or coincidental.”

For some reason, your throat tightens. There’s something accusatory behind his words, and it muddles with your mind. Yet, when you start to mentally prepare yourself for an interrogation, it doesn’t come. He takes your hand that rests on his thigh, bring it to his lips for a kiss. He inhales sharply, flashing you a quick smile before he stands up.

“I’ll call Yuri tomorrow; I’ll settle everything with her.”

You nod up at him, speechless as he leans back down to kiss your temple one last time. “I love you, dove.”

FOUR YEARS LATER—

“Excuse me? Sorry. You’ve forgotten the Iced Americano for my order; it’s for my fiancé.” You beam politely at the server, who doesn’t look the slightest bit amused with what you have to say.

“Sorry about that.” He deadpans, turning his back to you as he – at least you think – makes that Iced Americano for you. You don’t let it ruin your day, so your smile lingers on your lips as you tap you rock heel-to-toe, clasping your hands in front of you as you inhale comfortably.

You feel content.

Today was a good day, and here was why: you’d been promoted, and the both of you were moving to Seoul to start your new life together. The melancholy you felt to leave your home town and the home that brought the two of you together in the first place didn’t last too long; ever since you landed your first job since graduating, you’ve been working tirelessly and left little to no time to make any new lasting friendships after the fall out you had all those years ago. The tears you shed when you revealed the news to Jimin were second-hand because he had unexpectedly burst into hysterics at the news. He shook Jungkook violently and begged him not to go, that he was one of the company’s best, and fastest, workers and that they would fall apart without him.

When you had told Jungkook the news, he took it as a sign to finally pursue his dreams— he had never wanted to be stuck in that office for the rest of his life anyway, and what better time for a new beginning than this?

Needless to say, there wasn’t anything that the universe could throw at you that was going to wipe the smile off your face. You bow at a 90-degree angle when the barista slides you the americano and a cardboard drink holder, popping your iced latte into the spot right next to where you put Jungkook’s drink. You lift it close to your chest and thank him with a chirpy tone, but he only nods curtly and turns his back to you again. Oh, but you can’t stop the way your lip curls upwards in a silent snarl, burning sockets into the back of his skull with imaginary laser beams.

Nothing was going to shake this terribly great mood you’re in!

You’re too busy cursing under your breath to look ahead and brace yourself for a customer walking toward the door. You stop in your tracks when the bell of the café door rings to alert the worker of another customer. You look up, about to apologise to the person but instead your fingers falter and you nearly drop the coffee you had worked extra hard to wait for.

Your patience was really testing you today, you think. God forbid you had one good day without something annoying, or absolutely terrible happening in between.

You have half a mind to ignore him, push right past him and pretend that you don’t know the person you’re looking up at; even though he’s staring right at you, as if he walked in here because he knew that it was you. Still, something about seeing him makes your curious eyes linger, and you blink at him as he lifts a hand, pressing his lips together tightly. Like he knows he’s really testing his luck here, and he is lucky in some regard— lucky that Jungkook isn’t here to see him.

Taehyung looks different. He’s ditched the leather jacket, and the patterned button ups he wore with the chest dangerously low and undone. Now he’s sporting loose pants and neutral colours. His hair is neat, shorter, and small pieces of his cut fall over his forehead. He brushes those loose parts back with his fingers, but it does nothing to tame them.  

“Hi.” He says eventually. It feels like you’ve been frozen in your spot for hours with how tense everything suddenly felt.

You clear your throat, somehow hugging your coffees even closer to your chest. “Hello, Taehyung.” You nod politely.

“How are you? You look well.” Even the way he talks seems different, like he’s allowing himself to be someone who cares about what others thought of him, because the fact had always been true. He had worn a guise, similarly to yourself, to save himself from the harshness of reality.

You nod some more, not really sure what to say.

Hey, you ruined my life, cost me some friendships and could have seriously hurt any chances I had at a career, and it’s absolutely fantastic that I’m seeing you here right now!

“Things are well.” You settle for the simple answer instead. You can’t help but wonder if this was one of those tests of your morality.

Taehyung nods, humming as if he’s pleased to hear that. He lets his eyes rake the image of you before him, and you shift uncomfortably as he inspects you. His land gaze lands on your left hand’s ring finger.

The ring is unique, not any typical rock. It enwraps the expanse of your finger like vine, small, light pink gems adorn the white gold jewellery like little flowers.

He nods towards your hand. “That’s a pretty ring.” He says.

Despite the strangeness of it all, it makes you smile. “It is, isn’t it?” You hold your hand out in front of you to admire it like you don’t already do that at least ten times a day. You swoon internally, thinking back to the moment he got down on one knee, that sparkling boba pearls beaming up at you nervously.

“You’re engaged?” He asks, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth.

“For six months now, yeah.” You grin from ear-to-ear, unable to contain the joy those words make you feel.

Taehyung’s eyes widen, but only for a second, his hands glide behind his hips to find his back pockets to rest them in. A nervous habit.

“I’ve never been happier.” You admit.

It does feel like a blow to the stomach. He doesn’t even think it hurt him this much when Jungkook punched him in the jaw. He deserved it though. He knows that now; deep down he knew it then, too. That he couldn’t come back from what he’d done. “Congratulations.”

His only choice then was to move on, to change. And he’s been trying.

A part of him thought you might be glad to see the changes in him, or to even see him at all. An old friend, one that you didn’t even care to recall. A friend that held your arm over his shoulder when he got black-out drunk, sitting you down somewhere safe and quiet and giving you water to help soothe that throbbing inside your head. Let you whine about how much of a failure you felt like, even if you didn’t remember it the next day.

You had never wanted to go to college, you had never been interested in studying, or academics in general. You had dreams, you wanted to travel the world, to see and create art through the lenses of experiences. It was too far-fetched to you, an impossible dream that was frowned upon by everyone you knew. That wasn’t a job, wasn’t a career that was going to support you through life.

It was so out of reach that you had only let yourself say it out loud when you weren’t going to remember you even admitted that to anyone. You hadn’t even bothered to learn the name of the boy who saved you so many times, who’d hauled you cabs to get home safely.

And when you were sober, you were either in bed sleeping or spending time with your other friends. He didn’t know how to approach you when you looked like your head was always pounding, the bags beneath your eyes telling of the hangovers you hadn’t yet cured.

You wanted those memories pushed so far away that you didn’t recall them. Now, the only parts you do are the ones of you dragging yourself out of bed, fighting with your parents about being a drunk and a screw up, and crying until your eyes had completely been sucked dry of moisture.

If you had known, you would’ve said something. You never even noticed the way he always looked at you, how he was always looking over his shoulder at you when you gathered together as friends, to see if you were okay.

You were okay.

You had gotten better.

That was all that mattered.

“Jungkook,” he shakes his thoughts away, “How’s he?”

“Happy.” Your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, “He’s going back to school when we settle into our new place.”

“You’re moving?”

You lift the coffees in your hands, “Our last ever coffees from this place.” You laugh softly.

“That’s good, I’m really happy for you.” He smiles.

You don’t know what else to say.

Taehyung wants to say so many things.

He takes a step back toward the door. “Just wanted to see how you were doing, check if you were doing okay.”

With that, you nod, flashing him another polite smile. He returns one, a look in his eye you can’t quite decipher, as you watch him open the door, walk out and disappear from your line of sight.

You look down at your coffees, briefly thinking that you were glad they were cold and not hot, because they’d be cold by now if they were. You inhale deeply, let out a sigh like you’ve been holding your breath the entire time, desperate for a breath of air.

You leave out the door then, but before you can get very far a small envelope on the concrete catches your attention. You pick it up, wondering if Taehyung had dropped it, looking in both directions but he’s nowhere to be seen. You don’t have his number; you have no way to find him to return it, either. That was preferable, though.

Right?

Still, you pick it up, flipping it over to the front to see that your name is written there. It was a letter, addressed to you. You blink rapidly, look up in front of you again in confusion. Had he left it there on purpose? Had he meant to give it to you by hand but decided not to? You pull the wrinkled paper from its sleeve.

You tighten the old, crumpled paper in your fist. The breath you take to calm yourself is shaky, and your entire face feels like it’s stuck. You don’t even know how to process the words you’d just read.

You don’t know if you want to.

This damaged person that Taehyung claims to know doesn't exist anymore.

That girl was dead to you. Long gone.

Someone you don't want to remember.

It’s then that your phone rings, and you struggle a little to dig it out the pocket of your jacket staring at the contact image of your fiancé on the screen. You let it buzz a few times more before you answer, the piece of paper resting between your fingers.

“Baby,” he whines playfully through your device, “What’s the hold up? I wanna spend my lunch break with you, not with the moaning beluga with horrifically grown out roots.”  

You can hear Jimin whine loudly in the background, and it makes you laugh, even though your eyes are stinging with tears. You suck in a breath and wipe at your cheeks. “I love you, Jungkook” You tell him.

Over the office Jungkook makes a confused sound, pulling the phone from his ear to look at the screen as if you’re able to see him. “I love you too?” He scoffs light-heartedly, shaking his head like you’re crazy, but he can’t deny it makes his heart swell all the same, and he smiles so big his cheeks start to hurt.

You tell him you’re just around the corner, and he insists on staying on the phone until he sees your face. You hold your phone with your shoulder, balling the piece of paper up in your fist before you toss it into a nearby bin. You tease him all the way there, bickering with Jimin who steals the phone away to scold you for stealing him away.

You find your feet moving a little faster, picking up your pace towards Jungkook's workplace building— towards your future.

©jigglyjeon 2025 all rights reserved

taglist: @bhonbhon, @rikifever, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @songbyeonkim @ttanniett, @jungkookswifeeeeeee, @songbyeonkim, @busanbby-jjk, @justsomoneliving, @supercoolchem, @jeeykey, @toosweetforyall, @nikkinikj, @prxdajeon, @whoa-jo, @kelsyx33, @bugbxte, @army7-013, @jmsrealgf, @elimelbe, @yunhoswrldddd, @gukkie7

[snapscube]

I'd love to hear more about your thought process regarding the lyrics to your Deltarune song! Was it written with a specific POV in mind, or was it more so about the general theme/vibes of the newest chapters?

sure! i love talking about this stuff hehe. you could probably surmise from the font and left-aligned all-caps format of the lyrics that i was specifically trying to adapt the message from Gaster at the end of chapter 4 into lyrics while also mixing a bit of my general sentiment towards the overall story in there for flavor. so going line by line:

HOW MANY YEARS HAVE I SPENT ANTICIPATING THIS NEW CONNECTION

Very much the most "from Gaster POV" the song gets. literally just a direct adaption of Gaster messages like these

ALL OF US MARCHING ALONG YET STILL IN WAITING

I really wanted to include the recurring mention of how something or something within Deltarune as a whole has been "WAITING". We keep hearing this specific word and it really scratches my brain. DELTARUNE IS WAITING. It's so cool to me. Also the "marching along" being a reference to the beads at the hospital. Everyone walks along this path of prophecy and fate but in spite of the progress they make.... IT IS STILL WAITING.

YOUR OWN REFLECTION GAZES IN TURN AS YOU FACE THE LEGEND'S BENDING

The reflection line being meant to both capture the imagery of the reflection in the mirror in Kris's house AS WELL AS the running theory that the "Angel" from the prophecy is supposed to represent the player, which is why their image in the prophecy is blank. So as to reflect your own face onto the black screen in its place. Which I think is SUPER cool and compelling if true.

And then the line about the "legend's bending" being a reference to how in spite of everyone's appeal to prophecy... certain key factors of that prophecy seem to already be wildly out of line. It is bending, it's seemingly changing.

THE SHATTERED GLASS AND

"The shattered glass" once again being a reference to direct rejection of prophecy and what MUST be. The way that Susie punches through the glass of the final prophecy.

PARTS OF YOUR DREAMS THAT YOU WISH COULD BECOME ENDINGS

And my personal favorite line, the one literally being the reason I wrote and recorded this whole thing. I was humming to myself while listening to Neverending Night and the line "All of your dreams that you wish could become endings" entered my brain and became super sticky cause, to me, that's been the most compelling part of Deltarune to me for a long while. The idea that as far as we've heard Deltarune's ending is the driving force behind why it exists in the first place. The one that came from a fever dream so vivid that someone could dedicate their whole life to making it a reality. I love that kind of thing so much and it really strikes my heart.

ARE WITH YOU IN THE

Finishing the sentence about dreams with a reference to the recurring "with you in the dark" motif of Deltarune, butttttt cutting it off right at the final word to capture the nature of Deltarune currently being an incomplete story with room for our expectations and certainties to be challenged.

hope this was fun to read! :) it was fun to write. i'd love to do more if the inspiration strikes.

[bianquitasunderworld]

dave lizewski smut plsss i love nerdy dick 😭😭🙏

Parings: Dave Lizewski x Reader

Warnings: Smut

A/N: I love nerdy dick too twin, you so real for this omg😭‼️ (omg y’all i didn’t expect myself to make this kind of romantic sorry y’all i’ll write something crazy next time, this is long as hell ‼️)

How did this happen? How did Dave end up with the woman he thought was the hottest girl on earth, on top of him straddling his hips?

It all started when Dave decided to invite his girlfriend over to study. She definitely did not want to study—how could she, when all she could think about was how hot he looked while he rambled on about some silly, boring, and excessively long economic questions for class.

Truth be told, she didn’t care much about anything he was saying at the moment. Although that might sound rude, she didn’t care one bit. Her boyfriend sat at the edge of his bed, rambling, and he looked absolutely perfect. His glasses were set perfectly in place on his face, and the way the tip of his tongue stuck out as he delved deep into thought about his stupid economics homework—how could she possibly focus?

Dave was completely oblivious to her ogling. He wasn’t aware that she was practically salivating just from looking at him, he was oblivious to all the impure thoughts running through his girlfriends head, he was so focused on finishing his assignments he didn’t realize just how needy his girlfriend was.

Although Dave and you were in a very serious relationship you’ve never discussed sex it was uncharted territory for both of you. Dave was too shy and embarrassed because he was still a virgin it was a sensitive topic for him. Everyone is aware he isn’t the most popular guy at school.

You on the other hand were scared you’d send him running for the hills if you tried to suggest sex, It’s not like you both never did anything well…the furthest you’ve gotten with each other was making out and grinding against each other, and the ending result was always the same: Dave blushing, covering his lap with a pillow while he sat at his desk chair, and diverting into discussions about random comics and superhero references as if you didn’t just have your tongue in his mouth.

You kept eyeing Dave and biting your lip the thoughts running through your head were pure sin, you were convinced if Dave knew about them he would be a stuttering and blushing disaster. You didn’t think your staring was obvious until Dave suddenly redirected his attention from his five-minute monologue about consumerism, catching you in the act.

He looked back at you from his spot on the bed as he cleared his throat and spoke softly. “Are you okay? Is um something wrong?” God he was so sweet and caring he was oblivious to the fact that all you wanted to do was have him whimpering and groaning beneath you, your desires were consuming your mind. You always wondered what he would sound like when he was overwhelmed with pleasure. You’d caught a glimpse of it once, and since then, your thirst for more was like that of a desert traveler yearning for a drop of water.

“Yeah-Mhm everything’s fine sorry my mind was somewhere else for a second” you smiled at him trying to sound as if you weren’t seconds away from jumping on him. He smiled and adjusted his glasses before he nodded and turned his attention back to his paper.

You couldn’t stand it the last straw was when he bit his bottom lip in concentration you couldn’t stop yourself you swiped his paper off the table, the rustling sound breaking the spell between you. You set it down with a bit more force than intended, a bold move that marked your intentions.

Leaning in, you placed a hand on his cheek and pressed your lips to his, a surge of unspoken desires finally finding expression. His initial surprise melted away, replaced by a hunger that mirrored your own. In that stolen kiss, the air crackled with a mix of passion and anticipation, as if the world outside had faded, leaving just the two of you suspended in that breathtaking moment.

And there it was, the culmination of all those unspoken desires, manifesting in the reality of the moment. Dave found himself reclined against the headboard, a sensation of both exhilaration and disbelief coursing through him. You straddled him, your legs encasing his body, intimacy that had been a distant fantasy until now. His glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, which had turned a deep shade of crimson. The flush of his cheeks mirrored the intensity of the moment, a testament to the shared vulnerability and passion.

Your gaze trailed down, drinking in the sight of his bare chest pressed against you, the rhythmic rise and fall of his breath a captivating dance. The tousled strands of his hair cradled his head against the pillow like a crown, accentuating his allure.

His eyes held a mix of emotions as they lingered on your chest, a blend of curiosity and desire. The gravity of the moment weighed on the air, punctuated by his words, “Are you sure about this?” Your fingers, tender as a whisper, glided across his cheek, a gesture of reassurance and care. Leaning down, you captured his lips in a soft, lingering kiss, your intention clear—to grant him the choice to halt if his comfort wavered.

You sought to convey through touch what words might not fully express. His gaze held yours, a reservoir of affection and trust that spoke volumes. With a glance saturated in love, he nodded, affirming his readiness to explore uncharted realms with you.

He looked down between both your bodies, you were hovering over him, he bit his lip. Dave whined out a small, broken “please.” You closed your eyes savoring the way he spoken his plead was music to your ears.

You slowly sank down on to him, your mouth let out a small gasp at the feeling as he let out a deep groan, he felt the way you clamped down against him, the way he stretched you open had you groaning. You leaned down to kiss him gently, and gave yourselves time to adjust to the new sensation. Dave was girthy and long, he was bigger than anyone you’ve ever had, this felt different from all the times you’ve had sex this, this was love. You could feel the love radiating off of him as he kissed you and groaned into the passionate kiss.

Once you both adjusted, Dave gripped your hips and bucked his hips into you, his thrust were slow and deep, the noises of skin against each other and pleasurable moans filled the room. “Y-you’re so beautiful” Dave muttered and he looked into your eyes. “You’re so pretty davie” You couldn’t help but cry out as you reached down to play with yourself rubbing small gentle circles on your clit and slowly grinding down against him.

He whimpered and you felt his arms wrap around you, holding you in place. You could feel the tension in his body, the excitement building as he felt you against his body. You leaned down to kiss him gently, your lips meeting his in a gentle, tender embrace. You were addicted to the feeling of him inside you, the way he held you, the way he moaned your name. The pressure was building and you knew that you were about to cum you were trying to hold off trying to make this last for as long as you could. “Dave-I’m gonna cum--“ You cried out.

“I-f-fuck” Dave stuttered out as he felt you squeeze around him as you reached your climax, your body shaking with the intensity of the orgasm. Dave was groaning deep in his throat, his hips moving up and down as he came as well. You felt like you were one, a single unit, moving together in a synchronized dance of pleasure as he came deep in you.

Dave whimpered as you rode out your high against him, he felt himself growing overstimulated, he reached for your hips and kept a firm hold on you to keep you from moving, his body was shaking and sweat dripped from his forehead.

“I love you,” you murmured, your voice laced with affection.

“I love you too, baby,” Dave replied, a tender smile on his lips. With a gentle motion, he lifted himself and drew you in for a sweet, lingering kiss.

Releasing yourself from the embrace, you let out a soft sigh of contentment as you reclined against the bed, Dave at your side. He seemed to shift, a hint of nervousness tainting his usual bashful demeanor. “So, uh, how did I do? Was it okay?” His cheeks flushed a shade of crimson that rivaled a tomato’s hue.

“You were amazing.”

[itsnesss]

hello! could you write a hwang junho x reader where he finds out that they were asked to join the games? like he discovers the card and freaks out over it? 🫡

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 | hwang jun-ho × fem!reader

summary | the request

warnings | fluff, emotional content, themes of concern and vulnerability, soft romantic moments, mentions of risk and danger

word count | 1.7 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

The sound of the television is a distant murmur as you get lost in your thoughts. The card weighs on you, but something inside you urges you to ignore the warnings. The desire to change, to escape the monotony of your life, is stronger than any doubt. The opportunity is there, within your reach, and you know you could take it. But what if something goes wrong? The doubt consumes you.

Suddenly, you hear a noise coming from the kitchen. You know it’s him, Jun-ho.

You wonder what he's doing around here, but you don't have time to think too much about it. You’ve barely noticed him until now, but there's something strange about his presence in the last few days. He watches you constantly, as if he's waiting for something to happen.

You hear his footsteps approaching, and when he enters the room, his gaze goes directly to the coffee table where, unknowingly, the card has been left visible. The tension in the air is palpable. You don’t dare move it; you don’t want him to ask, but he does.

"What is this?" he says, his voice so low you can barely hear it. His eyes fix on the card, but his hands stay at his sides, as if he’s avoiding touching it.

"Where did you get this from? Who gave it to you?" His voice hardens, but there's also a kind of desperation you hadn’t noticed before.

Your heart skips a beat. You know you’ve left it in plain sight by mistake, but you didn’t expect him to react like this. Something’s not right, and his gaze makes that clear. The way his jaw tightens and the worry in his eyes makes you hesitate for a moment. You question if you really know what you’re about to do.

"You don’t have to worry about it," you respond, trying to downplay it, but your voice trembles. You don’t even believe yourself. You’re trying to act strong, but you know deep down that something feels vulnerable.

"Yes, yes, I have to worry," he responds firmly, stepping a little closer. The anxiety in his expression is palpable, as if he’s about to explode. "This is not a game. You don’t know what’s behind that card. You’re getting into something you can’t control."

You, however, can’t let him influence you. There’s something inside you telling you that this is your chance, that you can’t let it slip away so easily. Life has been dragging you through the same routine, and this could be the change you’ve been needing. Why not try it? If you could escape all this, maybe you could finally feel free, maybe you could be something else, something different.

"I don’t understand why you care so much," you say with a forced smile, trying to brush off the situation. You don’t want him to see how affected you are by his gaze, by his concern. You need to have control, at least a little. "I’m not a child, I can take care of myself."

The silence between the two of you grows dense. He looks at you as if he’s trying to read what’s going on in your mind, but finally, he steps toward you and, with a deep sigh, takes your hands in his. His fingers, warm and firm, make you feel a small knot in your stomach. It’s strange how such a simple physical touch can make your thoughts dissolve, how suddenly you feel so vulnerable.

"I’m just asking for myself," he says softly, his voice much gentler now, but full of an emotion you can’t quite identify. His expression is laden with sincerity, something you’ve never seen from him before. "Don’t do it. Promise me. I don’t want you to go into that, I don’t want to lose you."

His eyes lock with yours, and in that moment, you feel something change in the air. It’s as if, for an instant, the rest of the world disappears, and it’s just you and him, in that small bubble of silence. His plea resonates in your mind, and for the first time, you wonder if you’re making the right decision. His concern is palpable, and for a moment, you question if maybe he knows something you don’t understand yet. It’s so hard to comprehend why he cares so much, why now it seems like the only right option is to follow his advice.

And the worst part is that, for the first time, you doubt your own desires.

"If you need money, I’ll help you," he adds with an unexpected softness, as if he’s willing to do anything to keep you from making that decision. As if it’s not just an attempt to stop you from entering the game, but a genuine desire to protect you, to offer you something better than that risk. "Just promise me. Please."

He says it with such tenderness that you almost crumble. His words, so sincere, pierce you like a knife, and for a moment, you forget about the card, the game, everything that had drawn you to that decision. It’s just him, his gaze, and that glimmer of hope that seems to want to reach you.

It’s strange how, in that instant, everything that had been noise and chaos in your head becomes quiet. You feel the weight of his plea in the air, the vulnerability of his confession, as if he’s offering you his trust without reservation. Why does he care so much about what you think? Why is he so desperate to save you?

You remain silent for a moment, looking into his eyes. You feel the weight of the card in your pocket, but now, in his presence, it doesn’t seem as tempting as it did before. The game, the opportunity, all seem insignificant compared to what you’re feeling now, as you look at him. It’s not just that he’s asking you to stay away from danger; it’s as if, in some way, he’s asking you to believe in him, to believe in something beyond what you want. And the worst part is that it’s becoming hard not to believe.

Without thinking, you step a little closer to him, almost as if it were a reflex, and before you can process it, he kisses you. It’s a soft kiss, full of an unexpected tenderness, as if he’s putting all his hope into that gesture, as if he’s asking you to understand him without words. The kiss is short, but it speaks volumes, and when he pulls away, your hearts beat together, intertwined in a connection you didn’t expect, but somehow, you understand. He’s reached you in a way you didn’t know you needed.

"Promise me," he says softly, as if he already knows he’s gotten to your heart, as if he’s already gotten what he wanted.

You remain silent for a moment, struggling with your own thoughts. The card is still there, close to you, but now, in his presence, you can’t ignore what really matters. His concern, his sweetness, his sincerity... all of that makes you question what you once desired with such fervor.

Finally, you take a deep breath, as if letting go of everything you’ve been holding inside. You look Jun-ho in the eyes, and with a sigh, you feel the weight on your chest lighten.

"I promise," you respond finally, your voice barely audible, but full of certainty. And for the first time in a long time, you feel that the most important decision you’ve made is the right one.

[gothcsz]

First Sight | Frankie Morales x Black F!Reader | ~3.5k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Two strangers discover they’ve been swapping movies through a communal space, each leaving a note in return until curiosity forces a meeting.

Tags: meet cute kinda i think, drug use (smoking weed), the movie swap box is definitely inspired by little free library, reader is a woman of color yet everyone is encouraged to read, pwp, smut, lust at first sight vibes, thigh fucking!, spanking, unprotected p in v, face riding, lil bit of dirty talk, pull out method strikes again, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: helloooo this is my submission for @jolapeno's dear-uary challenge (i know i'm late pls...) so thank you jo for hosting! such a fun idea! 🖤 okay so i'm not usually a meet cute person but i wanted to challenge myself by writing it, which is why this took me forever to finish! i'm still a little iffy about the results and frankie's characterization—but fuck it, we ball! gotta start somewhere! shoutout to @mandaloriankait for reading over this as well when it was still in its early stages lmfao ummm i hope you guys enjoy and let me know what you think! 🖤

Francisco stands at the edge of his uncle’s property, staring at the house he now owns. The old man had lived like a ghost in his final years—ex-military (like himself), a recluse, barely seen except for maybe an occasional grocery run.

Now that he’s passed, the place is Frankie’s problem.

He planned to sell it, take the cash, and move on. But after really assessing it, taking in the sturdy bones of its structure, covered in grime and dust but still holding strong, he changed his mind. Maybe fixing it up would be good for him. 

Lord fuckin’ knows he needs something to get his mind right after all the shit he’s been through.

So that’s what he devotes his time to. He takes many trips to the local hardware store, flips through home improvement magazines to find tricks to make the process easier. On occasion, one of the guys will drop by to lend a hand, but for the most part it’s just been him. 

It also helps that the neighborhood is quiet, houses spaced out just enough to offer privacy but close enough that it isn’t completely isolated. A large pond stretches out, shared by the community, and it’s the kind of place that could feel like home, if he lets it.

Needing a break from the endless cleaning and repairs, he decides to go for a walk. The nicotine-laced weed dulls the edge of old cravings, a quiet battle he fights every day, choosing this over the harsher habits he’s trying to kick.

He wanders without aim, hands tucked in his pockets, the low hum of insects filling the gaps in silence. Something catches his eye as he approaches the end of the street—a small structure, half-concealed beneath the spill of a streetlamp.

Curious, he ambles closer. The old newspaper stand has been given new life, converted into a makeshift movie and book swap. Inside, a careful arrangement of DVDs and dog-eared paperbacks wait to be discovered. His fingers trace over the spines, skimming titles until he stops on one—Blade Runner.

As he pulls it out, a green post-it note, scrawled in neat, looping handwriting, flutters to the ground.

Always a bittersweet watch (I cried this last time) but it’s a comfort movie of mine. Also helps that Harrison Ford is a hunk!

His brows raise in amusement, as if weighing the personality behind the words. He pockets the note and takes the movie home.

Later that night, he’s sprawled on his couch, half-buried in old blankets, takeout on the coffee table as the film plays. He watches as Deckard moves through the neon-drenched streets, the melancholic score settling into his bones.

He doesn’t cry, obviously, but he does walk away from this viewing with something different than when he had watched it back on base years ago with the rest of the other lost twenty something year olds in his cohort.

By morning, he’s still thinking about the movie and the note along with it. On impulse, he plucks one of the carpenter pencils from his toolbelt, tapping it against the counter before messily scrawling his reply on the corner of a random sheet of his notepad.

The movie/book trade idea had been something you created back in high school—before the cynicism of adulthood had shattered your rose colored glasses.

Now, after financial setbacks had dragged you back to your childhood home, bringing it back felt like the kind of mindless distraction you needed. Something to keep your hands busy (even if temporarily) when your brain wouldn’t shut up about how shitty things have been lately.

Most people just stream whatever they want now, so this is pretty useless, but you don’t get hung up on that.

There is something nice about the physicality of it. Of leaving something you enjoy behind for a stranger to find and potentially be into as well. So, you revamped the idea and set it up in a spot where it wouldn’t be totally ignored, hoping maybe someone out there would get as much out of it as you used to.

You check in on it one afternoon, expecting to see everything exactly where you left it. Instead, you find empty spaces where movies had been. A book was gone too.

Your heart skips, just a little. For the first time in a while, something doesn’t feel like a total waste of time.

You spot a note haphazardly taped to the cover of the Blade Runner DVD case.

Didn’t cry, but I respect the existential crisis. Also think I agree with the Harrison Ford statement.

A grin pulls at your lips, eyeing the messy handwriting. Someone was actually playing along.

Over the next few days, the exchanges continue. Each time the stranger returns a movie, they leave a note and a film of their own. It is exhilarating for no reason, getting to know someone in this way.

Disagree with your take, bad movie all around, but I see where you’re coming from.

At least you aren’t an asshole about it like everyone else…

…Didn’t expect to be into period dramas, but this hit different. You have decent taste.

I do have decent taste, thanks for noticing!

It became an obsession—checking the box first thing in the morning, wondering what he’d taken next, what he’d written.

Who was he? What did he look like? Most of the neighborhood was made up of older residents, so the idea of someone more your age participating in this felt strangely intimate, almost like a secret conversation no one else knew about.

You never ask for a name or anything, neither does he. It’s more fun this way. The animosity of it, but still, you can’t help but wonder what he is really like. Was it possible to crush on someone like this? Were you actually down this bad?

You finally meet him one night.

Movie in hand, he stands beneath the golden hue of the streetlight. Strong jaw, high cheekbones, full lips that look almost too pretty for someone as rugged as him, framed by a patchy beard. His worn t-shirt clings to his broad chest and toned arms, the fabric stretched just right, hinting at the solid muscle beneath.

His cap sits low, his dark curls peeking out along the edges.

Your gaze drags over him, drinking him in. His eyes meet yours and the lust you feel in that moment threatens to disorient you.

“Hello,” his raspy voice breaks the silence first, also shameless in the way he checks you out.

“Hey.”

For a moment, neither of you move as the tension simmers, absentmindedly taking a step towards each other.

He shifts, rubbing a hand along his jaw. “You the one leaving those notes?”

“Depends,” you tease, tilting your head. “You the one writing back?”

His grin widens just slightly, a lopsided thing that sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy. “Guilty.”

You cross your arms, attempting to play it cool. “I was starting to think I was talking to old man Paul or something.”

He lets out a quiet chuckle at the fact that you’ve named his now dead uncle. “Close enough. I’m his nephew, Francisco—call me Frankie.” He extends his hand to shake yours and you feel yourself getting hot all over from the simple, normal fucking interaction, giving him your name in return.

His hands are so big.

“Nephew? I didn’t know he had family.”

“Not really a family man. He passed away a few weeks ago and I was the lucky one he left his house to.”

You’re about to express your condolences, but it’s like he can feel it coming before the words even form on your lips. “Don’t—it’s fine. I hate that pity shit.”

You laugh, a little nervously, though his brown eyes seem to settle your nerves. 

“Well, Frankie,” you say his name, as if testing it out, familiarizing your mouth with it. “Thanks for playing along with this,” you motion vaguely to the swap box.

“I like it. Keeps me entertained while I fix up the place...” He exhales, glancing at the smaller structure before looking back at you. “It’s weird, though. Feels like I already know you.”

You nod, feeling the same. It should be strange, standing here at night flirting with a man you really don’t know… but it isn’t. 

He lifts the DVD in his hand. Heat—classic crime thriller. “I was gonna watch this tonight.”

The invitation hovers, your tongue flicking over your lips in anticipation.

“You in?”

A smarter version of you might have hesitated. Might have thought about the risks, the potential awkwardness. But standing here with Frankie watching you like he already knows what your answer is, hesitation isn’t an option.

You grin. “Sure, why not.”

Things escalate fast.

You’re sitting on the couch, the low hum of the movie playing in the background, the two of you exchanging quiet comments between drags of the joint he so effortlessly rolled.

The space between you shrinks. His fingers graze your thigh, intentional but unhurried.

You don’t remember who moves first. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s him. But your bodies are pressed together, mouths hungry, hands wandering. His cap gets flicked off, curls spilling into your fingers as you tug him closer, inhaling the scent of smoke and tasting the candy he’d been snacking on.

The movie is forgotten. The joint smolders in the ashtray. You straddle his lap, rolling your hips down, and he groans against your mouth, gripping your waist.

Somewhere between deep drags of each other’s kisses and the slow, filthy grind of your pussy against bulge, he requests, “Let me taste you...” Biting at your lower lip, kneading your ass.

You’re not about to object to a man willingly wanting to go down on you. Nodding, you both quickly undress each other, your want for him only increasing with each layer that gets shed.

Now you’re here. Your thighs bracket his jaw, the arm of the couch supporting you as you sink down into the urgent heat of his mouth. The first slow, wet drag of his tongue at your slit makes you moan pathetically. 

His fingers dig into your hips, pulling you down like he wants this—like he needs this.

The scratch of his scruff against your sensitive skin makes it all the better. He’s not gentle—he’s messy, hungry, eating you out like it’s all he’s been thinking about since laying his eyes on you. His tongue flicks, circles, then flattens as he drags it up through your slick folds, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right.

Your head tips back, a broken cry slipping out.

“God, you’re so good at this,” you gasp, rolling your hips against his talented mouth.

Frankie groans in response, the vibration of it sending sparks up your spine. His nose presses right where you need it, and you swear you see stars when he starts moving his head with you, matching your rhythm, letting you ride his face.

Your fingers tighten in his curls, tugging hard. He grunts as one of his hands slides lower, wrapping around his leaking cock. He strokes himself in time with his tongue working you over, his other hand gripping your ass, spreading you wider to get a better taste of all of you.

You don’t even realize how desperate you sound, whimpering… pleading. Your grinding then shifts as his tongue goes taut and you start bouncing softly against his jaw, your hips swiveling in ways you didn’t even know you could move, your body instinctively chasing after his mouth.

He doesn’t let up. If anything, he gets more into it as you do, his tongue fucking into you before moving back to your clit, his swollen lips working magic, sucking, teasing, wrecking you.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

Your words melt into a strangled whine as your orgasm crashes into you, your whole body shaking while you come apart on his tongue. Frankie doesn’t stop—he eats you through it, his grip on your hips tightening as you ride out every last wave of your orgasm.

Then—smack.

Your eyes fly open as his palm connects with your ass, the sting mixing with the aftershocks in the best way possible. He does it again, harder this time, a smirk tugging at his lips when you jolt.

The sting of each spank feels so fucking good that you start sobbing, damn near pulling the hair out of his scalp when he harshly sucks on your clit.

He’s been holding himself back from finishing in his fist, but suffocating between your thighs while hearing your pretty noises nearly undoes him.

Continuing to stave off his own release, he grips the girthy base of cock tightly. He needs more. Needs to feel the walls of your pussy squelching around him, pulling him in deeper.

And from the way you’re looking down at him, mouth parted, eyes shining with satisfaction, he knows you need the same damn thing.

He maneuvers out from under you quickly and efficiently, his dexterous training being put to use, pushing your upper half flat into the old couch while your hips remain in the air, thighs pressed together.

Francisco slides the fat tip of his cock through the swollen lips of your pussy, getting himself wet, groaning deep in his chest before pressing his heated dick at your silky thighs, the lubrication of your juices making it easy for him to slip between them, the pressure against his cock having him curse beneath his breath.

“So fuckin’ soft.”

His left hand crosses at your lower back to grab at your right hip while the other lands a harsh smack to your ass. You whimper, but the sound is muffled from how your face is buried into the cushions.

He soothes over the sting with his palm before gripping tight again, using the leverage to thrust between your thighs, the thick weight of his cock teasing you with every stroke, your clit puffy and dripping, needing to feel him inside you.

“Put in, Frankie, please,” you whimper, the squeeze at your thighs causing your cunt to clench around nothing, pushing more of your slick out, pussy drooling for him.

He grunts, pressing a firm hand to your lower back, arching you deeper, adjusting the angle. He spreads you enough to give himself room to line himself up.

“So eager for this dick,” he taunts, swirling the head of his cock at your clit before tapping it repeatedly, the evidence of your horniness clinging to him in a sticky web with every smack.

Frankie teases you by running it up the seam of your pussy, notching it at your fluttering and needy hole before pulling out and repeating the action, driving you crazy. “You always put out this fast?”

You grind back against him, pushing onto your elbows, voice breathy but flirty. “Could ask you the same thing.”

He doesn’t reply, a smug smile on his lips as he finally gives it to you, sinking into the wet cavern of your cunt, groaning out a Fuuuuuck as your pussy stretches around the intrusion of his cock.

You try to moan, to say something, but no sound comes out—just a desperate gasp, eyes falling shut, fingers clawing at the rough couch fabric as he fills you completely.

He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, savoring every squeeze, every tremble. His thrusts start slow, deep, rolling his hips just right, pulling out almost entirely before pressing back in, making you feel every thick inch.

“Fuck, you feel so goddamn good.”

The heat of his body blankets yours as he lowers himself, his weight pressing you deeper into the couch. His mouth is everywhere—kissing up your spine, nipping at your shoulder, his mustache scraping against your oversensitive skin. When he bites down you whine, your cunt clenching tight around him.

His thrusts speed up a notch, somehow getting deeper and harder—grinding into you just right, making your breath stutter.

“Yes—yes—right there,” you sob, turning your head to look at him… or well, try to look at him. Your eyes are glazed over with thick tears of euphoria, barely able to make anything out but you can feel him everywhere. His breath fanning against your face, a small amount of spit stuttering out as he grunts, burying himself over and over inside your tight, wet pussy.

Your nails dig into the old, tacky couch, trying to keep yourself somewhat grounded as he screws the thoughts right out of your brain.

It’s everything you’ve needed. Life has been fucking you over relentlessly as of late, it’s about damn time you finally get a pounding that’s actually worth it. 

Frankie groans against your ear as he keeps up the brutal pace. “Pretty movie girl likes it deep, huh?” You could honestly get off by just the sound of his raspy voice. “Shit, never had it like this before, have you?”

You shake your head—not out of denial, but because fuck, he’s right. Nothing has ever felt this good.

His lips brush over your cheek and then he’s kissing you sloppily, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as the pleasure at your pussy blooms again, your second orgasm creeping up fast under the weight of his praise, his cock hitting all the right spots, stretching you wide.

Frankie growls into the kiss, pulling back just enough to watch your face as he ruins you.

“Gonna make you come on my dick,” he mutters, gripping your chin, making sure you’re looking at him while he fucks into that one spot that devistates you. “And you’re gonna take every fuckin’ bit of it.”

And God—you will. You want to.

Because you already know this is the type of sex you’ll be feeling for days.

A few more relentless thrusts, and you’re done for. Your body shakes beneath him, muscles seizing, wails and sobs absorbed by the cushion your cheek is pressed into.

“Shhh just like that, doin’ so good—shit this pussy is amazing.”

Frankie holds you down, his weight keeping you exactly where he wants you. His grip shifts to the armrest, fingers curling tight, using the leverage to piston into you rougher. The couch jerks across the hardwood floor with each thrust, the force of it sending shockwaves up your spine.

The end credits song plays somewhere in the background, barely audible over the obscene sounds of your fucking.

His breathing gets ragged, his rhythm faltering as he chases his own high. He pulls out abruptly, chest heaving, and licks the tips of his fingers before spreading your pussy open, angling his cock right at your slick, swollen cunt.

Hot ropes of cum spill from his slit, milky and thick, painting your used flesh, dripping down onto the couch beneath you. The sight is filthy, so fucking erotic it makes his cock throb in his fist.

He groans at the mess, at the way his release pools against the cleft of your clit. He pushes inside again before either of you can think, his cum and yours mixing as he fucks into you, more fervently this time, dragging out the pleasure until his cock begins to soften.

You’re too spent to do anything but take it, too blissed out to care. All you know is that you want this again. Over and over and over...

“Damn,” Frankie chuckles, still breathless, his curls damp with sweat. His hands move lazily over your body, tracing the curve of your spine, your waist, your thighs, before he leans over to grab his discarded gray tee.

He doesn’t think twice before using it to clean you up, wiping between your legs with a casual ease.

You hum in response, floating somewhere between the high of the weed and the sex. You could crash right here, stretched out on his couch, and be perfectly content.

“You good?” The hot edge of lust has barely cooled when he’s touching you again, stroking his big, warm hand up and down your back.

You don’t nod, just manage a lazy, “Mhm… just need a second.”

He smirks and a wink is thrown in your direction before he stands, sliding his sweatpants on and fixing the couch to its original position before disappearing into the halfway renovated kitchen.

You stretch your limbs, pulling your clothes back on with no real rush. Your body is warm, loose. When Frankie returns, he hands you a glass of water, and you thank him softly, realizing how parched you are when you down the whole thing in one go.

“We didn’t finish the movie,” he muses, lounging back on the couch like he hadn’t just given you the best sex of your life.

“Bummer,” you tease, looking at him over your shoulder.

His gaze flickers from the screen to you, a glint in his dark eyes catching in the glow of the TV.

“You could stay the night,” he offers smoothly. “We could watch somethin’ else… maybe fuck some more too.”

His head tilts slightly, curls messy and inviting. The broad expanse of his naked chest gleams, rising and falling with steady, easy breaths. And then there’s the soft bulge in his sweats, evidence that he’s not nearly as spent as he looks.

Your mouth damn near waters.

You narrow your gaze at him, playful, challenging. Frankie mirrors the expression, watching, waiting…

You both move at the same time.

[izzih22]

Do you think you could write a fic where after Azzi and Paige start dating Azzi gets insecure about her body because she is like Strong and Solid but she doesn’t feel very feminine or delicate like some of Paige’s past hookups or whatever

And obviously Paige will comfort and be like wtf you’re literally the most beautiful princess I’ve ever laid eyes on?

Thanks :)))

Beauty and Strength

Note: I kinda ate with this I think also it’s longer than usual so you’re welcome😂😂 But also thank you again for 1,000 followers!!

Warning: Kinda smutty

Paige found her in the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror.

Azzi was wearing one of Paige’s old Team USA shirts the long-sleeved navy one that fit her snug across the shoulders but fell loose and low everywhere else. Her legs were bare, hair still damp from the shower, and she was staring at herself in a way Paige recognized immediately.

It wasn’t just checking her reflection. It was the kind of staring that came with too much thinking. Heavy silence. The quiet unraveling of confidence not all at once, but just enough to make her look smaller.

Which was rare.

Because Azzi wasn’t the kind of girl who shrank.

She was solid. She was strength and calm, soft-spoken and grounded a force, even when she didn’t mean to be. She was the kind of person people trusted without knowing why. She walked into a room and slowed everything down without trying.

But right now, Paige could tell something had settled in her chest.

She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around Azzi’s waist from behind her chin fitting perfectly against Azzi’s damp shoulder.

“What’s going on, baby?”

Azzi hesitated. “Nothing. I’m good.”

Paige kissed her bare shoulder, slow and warm.

“Try again.”

Azzi sighed softly, not moving. “I was just looking at myself.”

Paige didn’t speak. Just stayed still, holding her close, letting Azzi lead.

“I don’t feel… delicate,” Azzi said finally. “I don’t feel like the girls people think of when they say ‘feminine.’ I feel strong. Like I’m made to hold weight. Like I could carry a team on my back. And I know that’s not a bad thing. But sometimes, I look at my body and wonder… is this what you want?”

Paige blinked, her hands tightening slightly on Azzi’s waist. “Wait — are you saying you think I’d rather be with someone more… delicate… than you?”

Azzi didn’t answer.

And that silence said everything.

Paige gently turned her around until they were face-to-face. Azzi’s eyes were still soft big and a little too glossy but she didn’t flinch when Paige stepped in, just rested her hands against Paige’s hoodie, fingers curling in the fabric.

“Az,” Paige said, lowering her voice. “You are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. You always have been.”

Azzi gave her a small, tired smile. “You’re biased.”

Paige smirked. “Damn right I am. Biased because I’ve been in love with you since we were sixteen. Since that first day at Team USA, when you were the quietest one in the gym, but somehow the loudest person in my head.”

Azzi huffed a laugh, even though her eyes were still glassy.

“I remember just staring at you,” Paige went on, soft and steady. “You were sitting on the bench, pulling your knee sleeve up like it was nothing, and I swear to God I forgot what words were.”

Azzi shook her head, blushing a little.

“I’ve been yours since then,” Paige said. “I just needed you to catch up.”

Azzi finally looked up and met her eyes.

“I don’t need you to be delicate, Azzi. I’ve never needed that. You’re strong but you’re also the softest person I know. You care about everyone. You leave notes in my bag before games. You remember how I take my coffee even when I don’t. You laugh with your whole face.”

Paige reached up, brushing her fingers gently along Azzi’s jaw.

“You don’t have to be anyone else. You’re already the girl. The only one. My person. The reason I sleep better at night. The reason I play better. The reason I actually learned how to take care of someone who matters.”

Azzi leaned in, forehead against Paige’s chest now letting Paige hold her completely.

And Paige did wrapping her arms tight around her girl, a little taller, a little broader, but somehow still the one clinging for dear life.

“You’re not just enough,” Paige whispered. “You’re everything. Strong, sweet, so damn funny when you don’t even mean to be. You’re the girl who makes me want to do everything better.”

Azzi stayed quiet, letting the words wash over her, letting her body melt into Paige’s warmth.

“I don’t want anyone softer,” Paige said, kissing her temple. “I want you. The real you. The strong one. The one who always picks me up when I’m being a baby. The one who could probably squat me if she wanted.”

Azzi smiled against her. “Probably?”

Paige chuckled. “Okay, definitely. But you let me think I’m stronger, and I appreciate that.”

“You are,” Azzi said softly.

Paige pulled back just enough to look at her. “Maybe a little. But you’re the reason I stay grounded. You’re the reason I breathe easier.”

Azzi leaned in and kissed her slow, warm, the kind of kiss that said thank you without needing words.

When they pulled back, Paige pressed her forehead to Azzi’s again and whispered, “You’re my girl. My princess. The most beautiful one in the whole world. And if I have to remind you every single day, I will.”

“You already do,” Azzi whispered.

“Good,” Paige murmured. “Then let me remind you one more time.”

She pulled Azzi back into her arms easily, securely holding her like something cherished. Azzi’s smaller frame tucked perfectly against her, strong arms wrapped around Paige’s waist, and the soft rhythm of her breathing finally starting to slow.

And in Paige’s arms Azzi didn’t have to feel like she was lacking anything.

She was soft. She was solid. She was Paige’s.

Always had been.

⸻

Azzi stirred slowly as sunlight crept through the curtains. She was warm skin against soft sheets, Paige’s body curled protectively behind her, one arm draped across her waist.

She felt kissed, held, and safe.

Then Paige moved slow, purposeful and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her neck.

Azzi hummed, barely awake. “Paige?”

“Mmhm,” Paige murmured, voice still rough with sleep. “You’re awake?”

“Barely.”

“Perfect.”

Paige shifted, her hand sliding over Azzi’s stomach, holding her closer, and then… her lips began to move again. Not just one kiss. A trail of them. Featherlight and deliberate. Down her neck. Across her shoulder.

“I want you to lie here and just let me love you,” Paige whispered, her voice quiet and steady.

Azzi smiled faintly. “That’s what you’re doing?”

“No,” Paige said softly. “That was sleeping. This is… worship.”

She rolled Azzi gently onto her back, leaning over her with slow reverence, blue eyes locked onto hers.

“I need to show you something,” Paige murmured, brushing Azzi’s curls off her forehead. “I need you to see what I see.”

Azzi blinked, still hazy.

Paige pressed a kiss to her forehead, then her cheek, then the tip of her nose.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered. “But not just the kind people say because you smile pretty or your hair is perfect — though both are true. You’re beautiful in the kind of way that makes time stop. You’re beautiful in the kind of way that makes me forget who I am unless I’m touching you.”

Her hands pushed up the hem of Azzi’s shirt slow, careful, asking without words.

Azzi let her, let Paige lift the shirt over her head and toss it aside, baring her to the morning light.

Paige’s breath caught.

“You don’t even know,” she whispered, fingers trailing over the line of Azzi’s collarbone, across her chest, down to her stomach. “What this body does to me. What you do to me.”

She kissed Azzi’s shoulder again then lower, to the swell of her chest, murmuring between each kiss.

“This strength,” kiss. “This heart,” kiss. “This skin.”

Azzi trembled under her, already flushed. “Paige…”

But Paige was just getting started.

“You talked about feeling strong but not feminine,” she murmured, mouth now trailing kisses down the center of Azzi’s stomach. “But you have no idea how soft you are to me.”

Her hand slid along Azzi’s side, thumb brushing her ribs. “You make me want to be better. Be gentle. That’s what you do to me. You make me slow down. You make me feel.”

Azzi swallowed hard, her hands resting on Paige’s shoulders, eyes locked onto her like she was trying not to come apart.

“You’re strong, yeah,” Paige whispered, mouth moving lower, her words like prayer. “But strength can be feminine. Strength is feminine. You’re proof of that every time you laugh, every time you love me with those hands that could crush a defender’s chest but hold my face like I’m something precious.”

Azzi’s breath hitched, her legs shifting instinctively as Paige’s lips grazed the inside of her thigh.

“Paige…”

Her voice cracked, shaky, raw.

But Paige only kissed her again, soft and slow and open-mouthed now, until Azzi’s fingers curled in the sheets, her body arching into her touch.

“I love this,” Paige whispered against her skin. “I love you. This body. These legs. These hips. This stomach.”

Her hands moved with the words, mapping her out again like she had all the time in the world.

“You are so feminine, Az. So gentle. So warm. You don’t even have to try.”

Azzi let out a shaky, broken sound a mix between a gasp and a sob and Paige immediately slowed, kissing her inner thigh again, anchoring her.

“I’ve got you,” Paige whispered. “I’m right here.”

Azzi met her eyes, wide and glassy. “You make me feel… so seen.”

Paige crawled back up, kissed her again lips soft, hands steady.

“You are seen. Every inch. Every part. Not just your strength. Not just your play. I see you when you’re sleepy and laughing, when you tuck your feet under me on the couch, when you hold my face after I miss a free throw and tell me I’m still your favorite. That’s softness, Az. That’s you.”

Azzi didn’t respond.

She just pulled Paige into a kiss so deep it stole both their breath.

And when Paige’s hand slid between them, finding skin that was already warm and wanting, Azzi didn’t flinch she opened. Completely. Pulled Paige closer. Let herself fall apart under the hands and mouth and voice of the girl who’d loved her from the very beginning.

Paige took her time. Touched like she was memorizing. Spoke like every word was carved in gold.

And Azzi soft, strong, hers let her.

⸻

Paige could feel it the second Azzi let go.

It wasn’t just the way her body arched or the soft sounds she made though those, God, those would be burned into Paige’s memory forever.

It was something deeper.

It was the way Azzi opened. Slowly. Carefully. Like someone learning how to breathe again. Like someone who’d spent too long holding herself in.

And Paige was there to catch every piece.

She had Azzi laid out beneath her, shirt long gone, skin warm and flushed. Azzi’s curls were sticking to her cheek, her thighs shaking, her breath already uneven.

And she was gorgeous.

Not just hot. Not just strong. Not just impressive.

She was achingly, heart-breakingly, world-shatteringly beautiful.

Paige kissed her stomach slowly, then rested her cheek against it, her hand spreading over Azzi’s hip to anchor her there.

“I wish you could see what I see right now,” Paige whispered.

Azzi blinked down at her, eyes half-lidded, dazed. “I do.”

“No,” Paige said softly, looking up. “You hear me. But you don’t feel it yet. Not the way I do. Not the way I see you.”

She crawled back up, slow, kissing every inch of Azzi’s chest her collarbones, the dip beneath her throat, the side of her neck. Azzi gasped when Paige nipped gently at the sensitive skin there.

“Every part of you,” Paige said, dragging her fingers up Azzi’s ribs, “was built to be loved. And I’m the luckiest person alive that I get to be the one to do it.”

Azzi let out a soft, shaky breath. “Paige…”

Paige cupped her face, leaned in close enough that their noses brushed. “I need you to feel how beautiful you are. Not just believe me. I need it to live in your body. In your bones.”

She kissed her slow, deep the kind of kiss that makes your chest ache, the kind that feels like home and heaven and truth.

And then Paige pulled back just enough to whisper, “Can I show you?”

Azzi nodded wide-eyed, breathless. “Yes.”

That one word was all Paige needed.

She moved lower, settling between Azzi’s thighs, kissing along the soft skin there like she’d waited her whole life for it. Azzi’s legs trembled, and Paige anchored her again with both hands one on her hip, the other stroking gentle circles along her thigh.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” Paige whispered. “You’ve got all this power in you. And then you smile, and I forget how to stand up straight.”

Azzi let out a weak, breathy laugh but it cracked halfway through. Paige looked up, saw the way Azzi’s chest was rising too fast, her lips parted, her hands clutching the blanket beside her.

“You’re already close,” Paige murmured. “You don’t even need much. Just me.”

Azzi nodded again quick, desperate, wrecked already. “Please.”

Paige kissed the inside of her thigh again. “Say it.”

“Please,” Azzi whispered again. “Please, Paige. I need you.”

“You have me,” Paige promised. “You’ve always had me.”

And then she gave it to her. Slow, deep, thorough.

Her mouth moved with intention, not just to make Azzi fall apart — but to build her back up. Paige kissed like she was putting her back together, like every stroke of her tongue, every press of her lips was writing something back into Azzi’s body.

You are beautiful.

You are soft.

You are enough.

Paige could feel the moment it hit when Azzi broke.

It wasn’t just her moan, or the arch of her back, or the sob that tore from her throat.

It was the way she cried.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, her body completely undone, legs trembling, hands searching for something to hold.

Paige was already there, crawling back up, pulling Azzi into her lap, wrapping her arms around her.

“I’ve got you,” Paige whispered. “Let it out, baby. I’ve got you.”

Azzi buried her face in Paige’s neck, still shaking, still crying, still feeling everything.

“You’re so beautiful,” Paige whispered into her hair. “I’m never gonna stop telling you. Not ever. Not until you know it. Not until you feel it everywhere.”

Azzi clung to her, breath hitching, and whispered so softly Paige almost didn’t catch it:

“I believe you.”

Paige froze.

Azzi pulled back, just enough to look her in the eyes. Her cheeks were wet. Her mouth swollen. Her whole body bare and open and glowing.

“I believe you,” she whispered again. “I feel it. All of it.”

Paige cupped her face with both hands, kissed her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. “Good. Because it’s true. It’s always been true.”

Azzi didn’t even answer. She just kissed her back, deep and slow, like gratitude and surrender and love had all wrapped themselves into one unstoppable feeling.

And Paige held her. Let her stay on top, let her body melt against hers, let her sob until the tension turned to laughter, until the tears turned to kisses, until Azzi whispered over and over and over again:

“I love you. I love you. I love you.”

And Paige?

She whispered back:

“I know. I feel it. I’ve always felt it.”

[pinkolve]

MDNI !!!

Your First Time With: Spencer Reid

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂☆

Summary: You finally tell your boyfriend your biggest secret after a hasty make-out session. Smut ensues...

Genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT, fluffy smut

CW: SMUTTTT, have I mentioned smut?, first person point of view, use of ‘me’ and ‘I’, spencer reid x fem!reader, semi-dramatic reader, (because I'm dramatic and can't help but channel that into my fics) virgin!reader, possible inaccurate depictions of sex, squirting, vocal spencer reid my beloved!!!

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: Please have mercy on me, I am horrible at writing smut. That said, I hope you enjoy anyways!!!

His lips are very eager against my own. His tongue moving along with mine like a dance. I can hear the wet sound of our lips every time we pull away slightly. He pulled me into his lap, each of my legs on either side of him. I couldn’t bring myself to sit all my weight down on him even though we’d been kissing for nearly fifteen minutes. I move my hips forward as I feel myself get wetter just from his touch alone. As I roll forward I can feel his bulge rub against my core. I gasp before pulling away. I’m practically heaving, trying to catch my breath.

“I’m…Sorry.” My voice is filled with terror. “I’m gonna-” I hesitate. “I have to go.” I pull myself up off of him quickly, grabbing my bag from next to his couch.

“Y/N?” He questions, his voice worried. I start walking to the door without looking at him. Right as my hand reaches the doorknob his hand grabs my wrist, pulling me back slightly. I don’t turn to meet his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I just have to go.” I try to pull away but he drags me back, turning me around to face him. He puts his hands on both of my shoulders, trying to meet my eyes as I hide them behind my hair.

“Y/N, please. What’s wrong? Did I do something?” This makes me feel like an asshole.

“No, no! God, you’re fucking perfect! I’m just…I’m being stupid.” My bag falls from my shoulder with a loud thud. I bring my hands to cup my face and hide my embarrassment.

“Why do you think you’re stupid?” He sounds so confused.

“Because we’ve been going out for weeks now and I still haven’t told you that I-” I sigh. “I can’t even talk about it properly, I’m so stupid!” He pulls my hands away from my face and makes me look up at him. My face is red and my eyes are slightly wet from unshed tears.

“You’re what?” He asks, his voice serious.

“That…I’m a virgin.” I force a wave of tears back as I search his face for some kind of reaction. “I didn’t want to tell you because I already feel like I’m not good enough for you and…I thought this would ruin everything.” I look down again.

“Y/N.” His voice is rough and soft at the same time. “Look at me, please.” His hands cup my face as he looks at me. “That doesn’t matter to me. At all. I’m sorry if I somehow made it seem like it did.” He shook his head to himself. “I don’t care if you’re a virgin, I just want to be with you.” Tears fall from my eyes as I huff out a relieved sigh.

“I want to be with you too.” I breathe. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it for days.” My voice is only a whisper. He smiles softly before pushing his lips softly against mine. I reach my hand up to cup his on one of my cheeks. I wrap my arms around his neck slowly, deepening the kiss. He wraps his own around my waist, pulling me into him. I sigh as our tongues meet again. He pulls away to trail kisses down my jaw, then to my neck. I breath heavily the more he kisses me. He moves his kisses near the back of my neck behind my ear, nipping slightly. I let out a soft whimper at this. He pulls away, his breathing just as heavy as my own.

“Do you want to…Go to my bedroom?” He asks, his voice soft. I nod slowly, all words failing me. He grabs my hand gently and leads me to his room. He closes the door behind us and lightly pushes me against it, kissing my neck again. He makes his way down to my collar bone, trailing kisses across it as his hands roam up into my shirt.

“Spencer.” I whimper. He pulls away, looking at me and waiting for me to say something else. I point over to the bed. “Can we…?” He understands immediately and nods furiously.

“Yes, yes! Sorry.” He leads me over and we fall on the bed, his body caging me in against it. He continues to kiss my neck as his hands continue their way up my shirt. He pulls away and whispers against my lips. “May I?” He asks, tugging at the hem of my tank top.

“Yes.” I sigh. He helps me pull it over my head. I can see his eyes widen once he takes notice of the fact I’m not wearing a bra underneath. I bite my lip as he stares, worried for his response.

“God.” He practically groans. “You’re so perfect.” Before I have time to get flustered at his comment he leans in and takes one of my nipples in his mouth.

“Shit.” I gasp, surprised at the sudden action. He licks around it and I can hear soft slurps coming from his mouth as he sucks. I’m holding back my whimpers as much as possible. He softly scrapes his teeth along my breast and I moan out. “Spencer!” He pulls away to look at me.

“Too much?”

“Not enough.” I mutter, pulling him down to connect our lips. He moves his hand up my leg and grips my inner thigh from under my skirt. He slowly glides it up further until he’s almost exactly where I want him to be. I softly moan a little ‘mhm’ as we kiss, hoping he keeps moving up at my approval. He takes the hint and rubs his middle finger along my slit, feeling the dampness there. I gasp and pull away, surprised at the way it makes me feel. No matter how many times I’ve done the same thing to myself it never felt this good. Every part of me feels like it’s on fire. I feel like all of my limbs have electricity coursing through them.

“So wet already.” He groans, pulling his lips from mine. “This all for me?”

“Yes, Spence!” I gasp as his thumb finds my clit. My hand flies out to grip his shoulder.

“You alright, pretty girl?”

“Yes! Please, don’t stop!” I sigh, holding his arm like my life depends on it. Like if I let go, all of it would disappear like a dream. He pushes his thumb harshly into my clit through my underwear, rubbing slow circles. I tilt my head back against the pillow, biting my lips to hide my embarrassingly loud moans.

“Can I take these off?”

“Yes, god yes.” I huff, opening my eyes as I watch him pull my underwear down my legs, never looking away from my eyes. I hold my breath as I wait to see his reaction to my bare body. He stares for a few moments and I can see his breath hitch.

“Fuck.” He breathes. He looks back up and meets my gaze. I reach out and push my hands under his shirt.

“Your turn.” I mumble. He wastes no time in ripping his shirt from off his body. This time I stare, admiring his lean body. There’s some muscle adorning his torso from years of field work. I let my hand roam along his stomach. His breathing is heavy as he watches my hand go down to his belt. I tug on the buckle and look at him with puppy dog eyes. “Please.” He pulls the buckle from the hole in his belt and tears the whole thing out of the loops on his jeans. He unzips them and pulls them off with his boxers, throwing them down to the floor. I can’t seem to pull my eyes away from his hard length. Staring at the size of it, watching a small bead of precum leak from his head.

“Hey.” He whispers, pulling me from my trance. “You okay?”

“I will be if you hurry up and fuck me.” I sigh. He chuckles and smirks.

“Needy are we?”

“You have no idea.” I groan. He chuckles again before reaching over to his bedside table and pulling a condom from the drawer. He rips it open with his teeth and I can practically feel myself get impossibly wetter. I watch him roll it over himself before he looks back up at me.

“You sure?”

“Yes! Please, Spence!” He runs the tip of his cock through my folds, collecting all my arousal. He softly pushes himself in and I can’t help but whimper at the stretch. “Jesus, fuck.” He pushes in a little more before pausing and waiting for me to adjust properly. My pussy practically sucks him in as he pushes further before bottoming out. “Shit.” I whine. “So fucking deep.” My knuckles turn white as I grip the sheets.

“You alright?”

“Yes, move, please.” I beg. “Need it.” I look at him and his blown out pupils. He moves slowly, pulling and pushing his hips against my own. I whimper loudly, covering my mouth with my hand. He quickly reaches up and pulls it away.

“Wanna hear you.” He grunts. “Sound so pretty.” He gives a harder thrust, making me cry out. “There you go, pretty girl.” He growls. He lets his head fall into the crook of his neck, grunting and moaning softly in my ear.

“Feel s’good, Spence.” I babble, already a complete mess for him. His thrusts have sped up, driving into me deeper. He pulls my legs up and folds them into me, my skirt bunching up at my waist. “Fuck!” I scream, his cock pushing into me even deeper, hitting that special spot inside me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I can hear the squelching of my pussy around his cock.

“So fucking good.” He groans in my ear. “So fucking good to me.” He bites my neck to hold back a loud growl. I dig my hand into his hair, pulling it slightly. He reaches a hand down to rub my clit.

“Shit!” I yell. “Fuck! Gonna cum too fast!” I warn, trying to push his hand away.

“Cum for me sweetheart, I wanna feel it.” I moan at his words, feeling a familiar coil in my belly.

“Spence! Stop, feels weird!” I whine, feeling like I’m gonna pee everywhere. I knew what was going to happen, even though it’s never happened to me personally. I really didn’t want to mess up his sheets, but he really didn’t seem to care.

“Come on baby, give it to me.” He rubs my clit faster and the coil in my belly snaps. I scream as wetness spills from me, coating my thighs and his sheets. “That’s it.” He groans, his thrusts getting sloppy. “So fucking perfect, shit.” He thrusts a few more times before spilling inside the condom. I can feel his cock twitch inside me. I stroke his hair as he tries to catch his breath. I whimper a little before speaking.

“We need to do that again.” He laughs into my neck, kissing it softly.

“That can be arranged.” I smile.

[happyyyandcrazyyy]

matching bracelets (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: when (y/n) buys kaz a bracelet she does so as a joke, she knows he’ll never actually wear it. imagine her surprise when she sees it dangling around his wrist.

based on the prompt: person A gets person B a friendship bracelet, expecting person B to never wear it, but when it’s given to them person B puts it on and is rarely seen with it off.

warnings: mentions of blood and torture (not explicit, briefly mentioned)

kaz taglist: @the-tpd-bau @ellievickstar @thestudiouswanderer | soc taglist: @ancientbeing10 (if you want to be added or removed from the taglist just dm me!)

a/n: guess who's back after a year of being mia!! i've been working on a lot of fics, but inspiration just hasn't been there, so i'm going slow, i don't like to force myself to write if i don't feel like it. anywaysss, i hope you enjoy this one! it was such a fun ride to write :)

Jesper opens the door with a loud bang, strutting into the Slat with his head held high and a slight jump in his step. He’s whistling good-naturedly, his left hand twirling a pistol and his right hand holding a rumpled piece of paper.

(Y/N)’s right hand— which had immediately reached for the pocket knife in her boot at the tumultuous noise— retreats back to her side. She relaxes, letting her shoulders sag and briefly looking down to make the final correction on a contract Kaz had her look over, left hand holding the pen and swiftly moving over the paper.

Jesper makes his way towards her, still whistling. She follows him from the corner of her eye, a slight smirk taking over her features. He’s in a good mood, the kind of mood he’s only ever in when the Gods are in his favor and he manages to miraculously not gamble away all his money. It’s not something that happens often.

“Did you win some?” she asks, already knowing the answer but enjoying the way the Sharpshooter preens under the attention. Jesper, very much in character and to (Y/N)’s delight, twirls around and does a ridiculous dance before taking a small bow.

“Baby, I won a whole lot.”

She huffs out a laugh, leaning back as she watches him place the pistol in its respective holster before plopping down on the chair by her right side and tossing her a small bag.

(Y/N) catches it smoothly, reflexes as sharp as always.

She doesn’t need to open the sack to know there’s kruge in there; the sound of coins jiggling against each other is a dead giveaway.

Jesper winks, a teasing smile on his lips. He tips his chair back, feet on top of the table, “Because you’re my favorite.”

It’s really because he owes her more kruge than he’ll ever be able to repay, but (Y/N) plays along. She’s never cared much about money, anyways.

“You sure do know how to charm a lady,” she smirks.

“I’m good at charming gents, too.”

“Versatile.”

“You know me.”

(Y/N) smiles, softer around the edges this time, something reserved only for her closest friends. She’s about to being correcting another contact— she has twelve to go through, all because she’d been bored and had decided annoying Kaz would be a great way to spend her time, he obviously hadn’t agreed —when Jesper slides over the piece of paper he’d been holding in his right hand. In the time he’d made his way towards her he’d somehow managed to crumple it completely.

She takes it, half curious, half willing to do anything to procrastinate revising and correcting those stupid documents.

“Brought this for you, too. I’ve got the feeling you’re going to enjoy this much more than the money.”

Her eyebrows furrow with curiosity as she slowly opens up the paper.

Ink contrasts the yellowish hue of the paper. Her own face greets her, drawn by hand, but fairly accurate.

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

Wanted dead or alive.

1,000 kruge.

She can’t help the snicker that falls from her lips

Jesper is right. This is better, much better.

“Can’t believe it’s only a thousand this time,” she huffs, a small pout on her lips. “I must be losing my touch.”

Jesper snorts at that.

(Because she hasn’t lost her touch, not even a little, and they both know it. Just yesterday she’d managed to get vital information out of a Black Tip member with a single touch and a minimal amount of bloodshed. Three days before that she’d disposed of a rival gang member who’d been speaking too freely and she’d made sure his body would never be found. Two weeks prior to that Kaz had sent her to steal a miniature stature and she’d done it without a hitch, forging an identical copy in less than five days. No, she still very much has it.)

“I might have to go overboard next time,” she muses quietly to herself, “do something that will raise the bounty to at least two thousand five hundred.”

She traces the outline of her name, biting down a smile when Jesper snorts.

“You’re insane,” the Sharpshooter deadpans, the fondness in his tone almost tangible.

(Y/N) smiles wickedly at him, “So they say.”

Marbles is what they’ve nicknamed her around the Barrel. They say she’s lost them all. And it must be true, she must be out of her mind, because having a bounty on your head in Ketterdam is nothing less than a death sentence. It means having the most ruthless assassins coming after you, all looking for a way to make fast money. It’s living with the constant fear of someone sneaking up on you and slicing your throat, of having your food poisoned, of being choked to death in your sleep, of having your closest friends betray you as a means to survive. But to (Y/N), who has been part of the city’s underworld since before being able to formulate words, who has had any sort of ability to feel fear beaten out of her, this is nothing but one of the most amazing sources of entertainment. It keeps her on her toes, brings an adrenaline rush that does not compare to anything else. She must be crazy because any sane person would be paralyzed in fear, running for their lives, and yet all she can feel is the comforting thrill of being in mortal danger. (And, yes, it is comforting. She was raised to be a weapon, trained to withstand any form of torture; having Death peering over her shoulder is something she’s comfortable with, something she’s used to, something that soothes her). Besides, even if she wasn’t deadly confident in her own abilities (which she very much is), and even if she was able to feel terror overtaking her limbs (which she doesn’t think she’ll ever feel again), the title she holds would be enough to keep her relatively safe; she is Kaz’s right hand, and no one dares touch something that belongs to Dirtyhands.

(Y/N) stares at the poster for a little while longer— they got her nose wrong, made it too pointy —before smirking to herself. She knows how this will all go down, has seen it played out a few dozen times before (this is a regular occurrence, after all, a bounty is placed on her head every couple of months, whenever she loses her temper and murders someone who was deemed untouchable, or steals something much too valuable for her blood-stained hands). So, yes, she knows how this will go; the bounty will stay up for a couple of weeks, long enough for a few to dare try to kill her, and then it’ll be removed by whoever placed it once they realize it’s futile, once they see how everyone who even dares breathe too close to her winds up dead. She hopes the assassination attempts are entertaining, she hopes whoever dares come after her head gives her a good fight, if only to keep things interesting. It’s been a while since she’s had some unrestrained fun.

(Kaz keeps her on a tight rein, knows better than to let her run around freely. To say things can get out of hand when she’s left to her own devices would be an understatement.)

“Again?”

The voice comes from behind her, and (Y/N) doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is, she heard his steps since before he even walked into the room. (It’s easy to know when it’s Kaz, he subconsciously places more weight on his left leg to keep the right one from aching, it makes his footsteps distinctive.) Still, she angles her head to meet his eyes. He’s leaning over her chair, cold eyes watching the bounty poster with disdain.

He’s never said it but (Y/N) knows that he doesn’t appreciate her life being imperiled. She is, in a way, an extension of him, and therefore any threats to her he sees as direct threats to him. Dirtyhands doesn’t take it well to being threatened.

“It’s okay, boss,” Jesper calls out. He’s still tipping his chair back, now playing with his guns. (Y/N) is kind of tempted to lean forward and kick one of the chair’s wooden legs, just to watch him struggle, possibly even fall. But Jesper’s known her long enough to realize when she’s on the verge of becoming a nuisance because his eyes narrow playfully and he lets the chair’s weight drop forward, “I wouldn’t worry too much.”

From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) can see the way Kaz’s face morphs. It’s almost indistinguishable, but she notices it. She thinks she would be able to spot the most minimal change in Kaz, she’s known him long enough for that. (Y/N) watches in amusement as he opens his mouth, no doubt to argue that he isn’t worrying at all, because Gods forbid he ever outwardly cared about anyone, but Jesper beats him to the punch and keeps going, “Heard some of Pekka’s Lions talking ‘bout how they’re not even going to try to come after her this time.”

“How boring,” she mutters to herself in disappointment, reaching for her glass of whisky. She’d meant for the comment to go unheard but Jesper’s snicker tells her that she wasn’t successful.

She takes a chug as Jesper points an accusatory finger at her and smirks, “That’s all on you, Marbles.”

At her bewildered look, he elaborates, “Two of them said something about not wanting to meet the same fate as the Razorgull guy from a couple of months ago—” (Y/N) smirks at that. The guy had deserved it. He hadn’t just tried to kill her, but also grope her. Murder she could understand, respect even, but touching someone else without their consent? No, she drew the line there. She’d had him swallow his own testicles; it’d seemed fitting enough. “—and the other one said that even if you hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t come close, not with you being Kaz’s right hand,” Jesper pauses for a second, a smug smile appearing on his lips, “and his best friend.”

Their reaction is instantaneous; Kaz goes rigid at the words and a smirk takes over (Y/N)’s features.

Oh, if the night didn’t just suddenly get better.

She glances up at her best friend, only to find him already glaring daggers at Jesper, who shrugs helplessly and innocently says, “Just telling it like I heard it, boss.” The flicker of amusement in his eyes reveals that he’s very much aware of just how much ammunition he’s provided (Y/N) with.

(Y/N)’s smirk becomes wider and gains a teasing edge when Kaz looks down to meet her eyes. His eyes harden, explicitly telling her to not utter a single word. Sadly for him, she has never been one to follow the rules, and Kaz must notice she’s not about to obey because his face morphs slightly, just enough to show the most minimum amount of discomfort. He cringes just the tiniest bit, bracing himself.

He knows her too well.

“You hear that?” she asks him, tone light and filled with amusement, “We’re best friends!”

“We are not,” Kaz tenses his jaw as he replies. He backs away from her, as if creating physical space between them will somehow stop the words from leaving her mouth and making their way towards him. As if distance could make her less of an bother.

(Y/N) fake gasps, clutching the skin over her heart in the most dramatic manner, “You wound me deeply, Kazzy.”

Jesper snorts, coughing to try to drown the laughter. She might be the only one who doesn’t get a knife to the jugular when calling him that.

Kaz’s eyes snap toward the Sharpshooter and the look must be deadly because Jesper quiets down immediately and tries his best to evade the boss’s glare. Kaz’s gaze then shifts towards (Y/N) and she perks up at the way his eyes harden even further in annoyance. He’s told her a million times to drop that ‘ridiculously stupid’ nickname and she’s decided she never will, not when it drives him to this point of exasperation.

(She’s a thrill chaser, you see. That’s what happens when you’ve seen just about everything and lived twice as much; few things get your heart pumping. And getting on Kaz’s nerves? That’s always exciting. (Y/N) never knows what to expect of him. The Bastard of the Barrel is unpredictable in a way that’s just delightful.)

“If you call me that one more time—”

“What are you gonna do? You can’t possibly try to hurt me. Best friends don’t do that to each other,” she mocks.

His eyebrow twitches, her grin stretches.

Oh, she’s going to have a field day with this one.

It’s obvious that Kaz knows he’s not winning this discussion because he walks forward, snatches the revised contracts and makes his way back to where he came from.

“Get those done before tomorrow afternoon.”

Boring. She was expecting more banter.

(Y/N) turns around to watch him leave, unable to stop herself from throwing a sarcastic, “Sure thing, bestie.” She does her best to sweeten the last word in a way that she knows will infuriate Kaz.

He freezes.

Bingo.

Even from afar, (Y/N) can see the way he tightens the grip on his cane. She’s thoroughly disappointed when he doesn’t throw a dagger her way. That would’ve been exciting. He takes another route, one she should’ve seen coming.

“I’ve got seven more files that need to be corrected. Collect them when you’re done with those.”

The corner of her lips tugs upwards slightly. There’s something thrilling about playing this game with Kaz, of seeing how much one of them can push before the other yields. He’s skilled and she enjoys the competition.

She ignores his order, “Goodnight, Kazzy.”

He slams the door on his way out, the only visible sign that she managed to get on his nerves. That’s mildly entertaining. Causing even the slightest slip of Kaz’s control over his temper is a success in her books.

“You’re out of your mind,” Jesper informs her.

She raises her glass of whisky at him and winks.

And that’s how it begins, as a joke. (Y/N) refers to Kaz as her best friend on every given chance. His reactions never disappoint.

There’s a lot of death threats;

(“Don’t mind him, bestie here is always grumpy.”

Clenched jaw, an exasperated sigh. “I will murder you.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Kazzy.”

There’s a knife thrown her way. (Y/N) catches it with ease, whistling good-naturedly. She smirks when she catches the look of annoyance in Kaz’s face.)

and a lot of not so kind words thrown her way.

(“I get special best friend privileges, right?”

“You get tolerated,” Kaz mutters, “barely.”

“That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. Now tell me you love me.”

There’s that Brekker glare, one that would send anyone to an early grave. (Y/N) just smiles sweetly.

“Get out.”

“Whatever makes you happy, best friend.”

She cackles as she closes the door behind her, the curses Kaz is sending her way loud enough for her to hear.)

All in all, (Y/N) is as happy as can be. Having the time of her life, really. It’s not often that she finds something that makes Kaz fume. He plays the game too, of course. He has her going over financial documents and legal contracts on her free time, knowing just how much she hates the bureaucracy, and he gives her the household chores she despises the most. Still, (Y/N) doesn’t complain. She does everything with a smug smile on her face. The annoyance that flashes through Kaz’s face makes it all worth it.

The bracelet isn’t something she plans for, it really isn’t, but the Saints place the opportunity right in front of her and who is she but a mere mortal that must obey the signs evidently laid by otherworldly deities (or whatever bullshit those religious fanatics preach).

(Y/N) inspects the wristlets in her hand. They’re black and rough, made of broken-down nets that fishermen dispose of near the pier when the material has worn down beyond repair and is no longer useful. The little girl who had sold it to her couldn’t have been older than seven, and yet the design was more than decent. (Y/N) had offered three kruge for it, much more than it was worth. The child had looked delighted, had thanked her profusely as she’d placed the coins inside her worn-down shoes.

Oh, (Y/N) cannot wait to see Kaz’s face.

“What’s that?” Jesper asks as she meets up with him, eying the bracelets with a gleam of interest. He twirls his guns absentmindedly, missing the way some of the fishermen glance at him with distrust.

“Oh, you know, just some matching bracelets for me and my best friend.”

Jesper snickers, shaking his head and proceeding to let out a low whistle.

“This might be his breaking point.”

“Wouldn’t that be delightful.”

“You’re insane, Marbles.”

She gives him a wicked smile accompanied by a wink. She’s about to retort when she catches sight of a shadow on the corner of her eye. She recognizes it immediately as her target. Shopping, as fun as it had been, wasn’t the reason she and Jesper were waiting by the pier. They’ve got orders. She has people to torture and interrogate and dispose of— preferably in a quiet manner —and Jesper is Kaz’s way of making sure she’s got her back covered. (Not that she needs backup, but whatever, she has tried arguing with Kaz about it and it’s the one thing he won’t relent on, the one matter she’s accepted she won't ever win. Kaz doesn't play when it comes to her safety.).

“If you’re kind enough to hold these for me,” she places the bracelets on Jesper’s unoccupied hand, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

They make it back to the Slat before sunrise. (Y/N) had been quick and efficient, as she always was, and Jesper had been a quiet and solid shadow, as he always was.

“I assume it all went according to plan,” the Bastard asks when he hears their steps coming into his office. It’s late, or rather extremely early in the morning, and yet (Y/N) isn’t surprised by Kaz’s presence. He rarely sleeps.

“It went without a hitch, boss,” Jesper responds, resting against the doorframe.

(Y/N) hesitates for a split second, her memory providing a brief flashback to the interrogation she’d done, to three little words the man had let slip out: they’re coming for you.

A warning or maybe a promise.

Thrilling, either way. It wasn’t often that she was verbally threatened.

At the time, she’d dismissed the words, too filled with bloodlust to pay them any mind, but now, with a clear mind and a steady heartbeat, she suddenly remembers her face plastered on paper all over Ketterdam and wonders if the words might be related to the bounty on her head.

Oh, she hopes so. That would prove to be fun.

They’re coming for you. Good. Let them try.

She nods her head in agreement with Jesper’s words. Kaz nods in approval and then jerks his chin Jesper’s way, a clear sign of dismissal. The Sharpshooter never walks into Kaz’s office after missions like this. He’s an escort, a babysitter of sorts, merely Kaz’s way of making sure she heads his way instead of making a beeline for her bed.

(Y/N) sticks her tongue out at him and Jesper blows her a kiss in response.

Lucky bastard. It’s always her that has to stay up to report. And she hates to admit it, but she’s tired, she can feel the exhaustion begin to creep on her bones and settle in. She has been up for more than thirty-seven hours at this point, and she can feel it catching up to her. Still, she knows that Kaz prefers to hear details when the information is fresh on her mind, when she can provide as much detail as possible, so she pushes through for him. She just has to wait a little while longer before crawling into her bed and passing out for the next twelve hours.

“Marbles comes bearing gifts by the way,” is the last thing the Sharpshooters says before exiting.

A smirk takes over her features, sleep, exhaustion and the new information briefly forgotten.

Kaz is going to hate it.

Lovely.

Kaz seems to sense, probably by the wicked amusement on her face, that whatever it is it’s not something he’s going to enjoy. His face twists into a scowl.

“Out with it, then.”

She pulls out the dark bracelet from her pocket as she walks towards Kaz, dangling it in front of his face when she’s close enough.

Jesper had handed them back on the way home, tossing them over as soon as she’d wiped the blood off her hands. He hadn’t said a word, but (Y/N) knew that the action had meant to snap her out of the weird haze that clouded her mind after every mission, where adrenaline still coursed through her body and all she could think about was bloodshed, fingers itching to kill and maim and fight.

(It was a thing, the haze. When taking lives there was nothing but calmness and bloodthirst, the restlessness that always lingered beneath her skin subsiding as soon as a weapon was placed in her hand and orders were given. And as soon as the mission was done, as soon as the target was neutralized and she’d efficiently fulfilled her orders, fogginess followed. Her mind became clouded, as if somewhat trapped in a loop of violence, every nerve on edge and ready for any threat to emerge.

She was brought up as a killing machine, a child soldier, the best out of all the assassins produced by the Silent Blades, her father’s pride. She was ruthless, wretched, or at least those had been the words used to describe her when she’d been a child. She supposed the dissociative state she slipped into was normal when considering her upbringing, some sort of psychological shield that kept her from going insane.

She never spoke about it, but the Crows somehow knew. They often eased her out of it, knowing full well that when trapped in that state she had not an ounce of thought and only muscle memory to rely on, which made her infinitely more lethal.)

Jesper’s actions had worked like a charm. With something else to do with her hands, the fogginess had ruptured. She’d absentmindedly tied one of the bracelets on her own wrist, fingers playing with the edges of the other.

It’s that bracelet, the one on her arm, that Kaz glances at now. It’s brief, but for a split second the scowl etched on his face softens and something that she can’t quite catch passes through his eyes. It’s gone before (Y/N) can even begin to process it.

“Best friends have to have matching bracelets, don’t they?” And if she wonders about it later, she’ll blame it on the exhaustion, but the words come out softer than she intends them to. A jest, but not any less truthful.

Kaz’s face morphs and she gets a fleeting glimpse at that flicker in his eyes again. His scowl melts into something a tad bit gentler, the look contrasted by the aggressiveness with which he snatches the bracelet from her hand, “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” He means that and his tone has enough bite to make her cackle.

Amusing.

Placing her hands on her back pockets and shrugging, she responds, “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Kaz snorts, “Go take a bath.” He dismisses her, turning around and making his way to his desk, “Reports can wait until you don’t look half dead.”

That’s unexpected.

(Y/N) raises her eyebrows, “You’re being nice.” It isn’t often that Kaz forgoes a report after a mission. He might’ve been more touched by the gift than he’s letting on.

“It’s for my own sake,” he retorts, not turning around, “you just stink and it’s making me nauseous.”

She does have a lingering smell of blood and sea water.

“Everything in this damned place stinks,” she responds. I know you’re lying, she’s saying, I know you’re being kind.

“Get out.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” (Y/N) mocks, walking out of his office.

She sleeps a full day after that, everyone knowing better than to bother her unless they want to lose to their head, and when she reports to Kaz the next morning the three words she’d heard from the man slip her mind. (Y/N) doesn’t remember them until a few weeks later when she’s tied to the ceiling by her wrists, face bleeding.

Now, she must admit, she’s impressed. No one had ever tried kidnapping before. There’d been more attempts on her life than she could even count; stabs resulting in blood being shed, never one drop of hers, poison that she had either swallowed down like a champ or identified before a single lick of it touched her tongue, because being raised an assassin meant she’d been trained in the art of toxins and she’d built up tolerance to pretty much every substance in existence, and that one time they’d tried to shot at her, which only resulted in (Y/N) stealing Jesper’s gun and placing a bullet right between the perpetrator’s eyebrows. All in good fun. Kidnapping was new, but only because those who had attempted on her life had never tried joining forces, all of them wishing to keep the financial reward for themselves.

Torturing, that was new, too.

She could endure, of course she could, she’d been trained for this. That did not mean she’d missed it.

The poster had stated she was wanted dead or alive and it was clear that the man in front of her wanted to take his time. It was personal, she could tell by the brunt of his hits and the delicate precision of his cuts. Had she been anyone else, she would’ve been begging for it to stop, but (Y/N) was a Silent Blade, even if she’d left the organization and that life behind, and she would never break.

The only reason she was in this situation was because the assailants had gotten the upper hand. They’d used one of (Y/N)’s street urchins— a little girl with piggy tails and two missing teeth, one of the ones who gathered information for (Y/N) and traded it for food and shelter —as leverage. And time had apparently made her soft because she’d hesitated. The brief second of doubt had been everything they’d needed.

Them subduing her didn’t mean she’d gone down without a fight. There’d been five of them in the beginning. Only three remained. She’d plucked one guy’s eye out, going deep enough to sever the optic nerve and cause brain damage, and she’d ripped the other’s ear with her teeth before slitting his throat. She’d managed to stab one of the three men remaining with a dagger before being injected with some unknown serum. It hadn’t knocked her out, not the way it was supposed to if the incredulous look on her kidnapper’s face was any indication, but it had drugged her enough to allow them to overpower her.

And now here she was, slowly bleeding out.

“I intent on handing your corpse to them and claiming the reward.” He’s been quiet for so long that (Y/N) had almost forgotten his presence. She doesn’t raise her head, only looks up. It’s hard to do so when her right eye is swollen shut. “But they never specified the conditions it had to be in.”

The man has his back towards her, fingers running through a box of tools. He’s used almost all of them on her by this point. Amateur. A skilled torturer knows to go slow, to drag it out, to choose a weapon and stick to it until the person is weeping and screaming.

“It was my brother that you killed.”

That sparks her interest, a smirk taking over her bloodied lips. She looks at him, dead in the eye.

“Which one?” she taunts.

The sound of her voice, still strong despite the blood loss, startles him. He freezes for a split second, hand over a wooden baseball bat.

“What?”

She snickers, blood dripping into the floor. “I’ve killed a lot of men, darling.” The way he seethes, fury filling his features, amuses her. “So which one was your brother?”

“You had him swallow his own testicles.”

“Oh, him,” she nods her head in appreciation. “Can’t say I regret it.”

Now he’s fuming, hand shaking so badly he almost loses the grip on the bat. If (Y/N) looks close enough she can see the resemblance. Same brown hair, same nose, same crazy look in their eyes.

“I’ll make you regret it.”

“You can certainly try,” she concedes mockingly. Because, honestly, there’s nothing he can do to her that she hasn’t already withstood.

There’s a raging roar and then a burst of pain. A hit to her abdomen, which no doubt bruised a rib, and then two to her back. But it’s okay, she thinks to herself as she wheezes and coughs, trying to regain air in her lungs, she knows how to play this game and how to win it. Keep him talking, keep him angry, let him think he has the upper hand, keep him from noticing how she’s preparing to break free.

“I wonder…” he murmurs, bat dragging behind him. “You’re not particularly remarkable.” She scoffs as he begins circling her, a tactic supposed to drive the prisoner into panic at the lack of vision of their assailant. Her heart doesn’t stutter. She’s trained to identify people and objects by sound not sight. She knows precisely where he is, even if she can’t see him. “So, what makes you interesting enough for the Bastard to keep so close?”

She grins, feral and with bloodstained teeth.

“Why don’t you come closer and I’ll show you?”

His face does not change but his step falters. “You cannot believe me stupid enough to fall for that.”

“You were stupid enough to tie my wrists with handcuffs,” is all she replies before dislocating her own thumbs and releasing herself from the shackles.

She hits the floor hard, body swaying for a second. Her hands are numb, nerve endings frayed. It hits her, now that she has to keep herself upright, just how much blood she’s lost. The edges of her vision blur.

There’s a cut on her thigh, it bleeds heavily. Her back is all flayed skin. Breathing is hard.

It doesn’t matter. She only needs four fingers and half a mind to hold and use a dagger. She shakes the dizziness off.

He comes at her, but she’s expecting that. Sidestepping him is easy, kicking him in the back as he passes by even more so.

“You’re not much without your friends and a syringe full of drugs, are you?” she stumbles a little as she taunts him. Time is not on her side, she knows this. He’s cut deep in her arms and legs, no major artery touched, but with precision to give her a slow and prolonged death. She’s been steadily bleeding for hours.

(Y/N) has to end this. Soon.

He comes for her again, and she dodges, punching him right in the gut. He feigns left and she moves away, noticing too late the fist that impacts with the right side of her face. Despite the pain, she manages to stomp his toes and slam her knee against his balls.

That does it.

A high whimper leaves his mouth and as he struggles for air, she backs up. Keeping her eyes on him, her right arm reaches back to the toolbox. She knows what she’s grasped as soon as her fingers graze it.

“Say hi to your brother for me.”

The scalpel lodges itself right on his carotid artery.

“Nice,” she mumbles in delirium as she hears him choke to death. It’d been a majestic throw.

The adrenaline is gone in a second. (Y/N) stumbles backwards, barely aware of all the tools scattering around in the floor. She lets herself rest against the wall, slowly sitting down on the floor.

She’s going to die.

It doesn’t matter that she’s managed to get rid of that poor excuse of a man. She’s too injured. She knows.

(Y/N) isn’t scared. She’s tangled with Death for a long time, and as cold begins to creep in and the edges of her vision blacken, it feels like welcoming an old friend. It feels like getting what she has always had coming for her.

The tips of her fingers begin to tingle, her body’s desperate effort at keeping her heart pumping. Her ears are ringing, hard enough that when shouts begin all that she can hear are muffled sounds.

Then someone’s touching her face. She greets the warmth.

“Fuck,” she hears as she tumbles forward, her forehead landing on a collarbone. Jesper grasps the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. At least, she thinks it’s him. Her brain feels mushy, but her nose has never failed her, and it smells like gunpowder and mint.

She’s laid down on the ground gently, probably to inspect her injuries before moving her.

“You’re going to be okay,” the Sharpshooter reassures her, but his voice is trembling. He’s scared. She must look worse than she feels, and she feels like she’s been attacked by a group of Heartrenders.

She wants to speak, to tell him it’s okay, but opening her mouth feels like an impossible task.

“Save your energy.” That’s Kaz. His voice is steady, but she can feel the underlying tension, the worry in his words. “You are not dying tonight.” And he says it with so much conviction, like he would hold her soul with his own hands to keep it anchored to her body, like he would keep her heart beating with pure willpower.

Her eyes look for him, but she catches sight of something else entirely.

“You’re wearing it.”

She must make no sense, words slurred, but Kaz understands. His whispered words are the last thing she hears before slipping out of consciousness.

“How couldn’t I?”

Then there’s nothing. She loses track of time. She comes back to her body from time to time, able to hear words but incapable of pinpointing the speaker. She’s floating, but there’s pain and aching.

“…too much blood, I don’t know…”

“…keep her alive.”

“I am trying!”

“Don’t try, do it.”

“…punctured lung, broken ribs…”

“…don’t know how she’s still alive.”

When she comes to the first thing that she feels is blinding pain. Everything hurts. Her muscles complain as she sits up. She clenches her jaw to keep the tears at bay. The worst is already over, she will not cry.

“Don’t move,” (Y/N) freezes at the command, her head snapping towards the voice. “Nina stitched you back together, I doubt she would be very happy to see all her hard work ruined.”

She gently eases herself back on the bed, fingertips running over her bandaged stomach. She can feel the edges of the stitches poking through it. It must’ve been bad, then, if she required stitches to keep the wound together. Usually, she’s a fast healer, a result of all the training she’d gone through.

“How long?” Her voice is raspy after not being used. Her throat hurts, which might be related to the way she was choked to the verge of unconsciousness several times while held hostage.

“Four nights.”

Bad then.

(Y/N) can feel Kaz’s eyes on her, assessing. She meets his stare, and it’s when she’s looking at him that a vague memory comes back.

Her eyes drift down to his wrist.

The twin bracelet to her own, the one she keeps tightly wrapped around her wrist, as if part of her own skin, greets her.

“You are wearing it.”

Kaz frowns in confusion, until he follows her line of sight. He looks away, hand clenching and unclenching over the head of his cane.

“Even after almost dying you’re still insufferable,” he responds.

But when he looks back at her, (Y/N) can see everything in his eyes.

How could I not, he’d said, and he’d meant it. If friendship was something that could bloom in a wretched place like Ketterdam, Kaz was her best friend and she was his, even if they’d never discussed it, even if they would never admit it. You’re the steady order to my unrelenting chaos, she thought to herself, someone I would follow to the end of the world.

He nods, as if reading her mind and agreeing with her.

“Rest.” That’s an order, one she has no intention of disobeying.

“Sure thing,” she responds as Kaz makes his way towards the door, “bestie.”

(Y/N) can feel the amusement in his words, “Absolutely insufferable.”

She smirks, toying with the ends of the bracelet’s strings.

(Y/N) never takes it off. Neither does Kaz.

[azrielbrainrot]

In the Face of Your Love

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: A love confession wasn't in Azriel's plans for the day.

Warnings: a tiny bit of angst

Word Count: 1,3k

Notes: In the face of writer's block I bring you another quick little story (that actually took me entirely too long to write). Hope you enjoy!

No matter how hard he tried Azriel couldn't remember the last time he had been in this situation. That's not to say he had never been confessed to before of course, that was far from the truth, but he didn't quite remember what to do in such a situation.

It didn't help that you were his friend, and because of it, someone he hadn't ever considered as anything more. If it were anyone else, he would probably be searching for the words to let them down as gently as possible, but looking into your expectant eyes, he can't help but wonder why exactly he had never thought about it before.

You were exceedingly beautiful and kind, remarkably intelligent and hard-working. You took care of your friends and helped them to the best of your abilities, always offering them a shoulder to cry on. Even though you weren't a fighter, Azriel was time and time again reminded of just how strong and fearless you were. You were perfect in his eyes, one of the best people he had ever gotten the pleasure of meeting in his centuries of life. He knew all of this as your friend, so how come he never looked deeper into the connection you shared?

Azriel knew it was partly, or mostly really, because of his lack of luck when it came to such things. Spending centuries in love with the same person, out of habit more than anything, pushing away everyone that threatened to make him feel anything of consequence gave him a long list of detachment issues unsurprisingly, and when he thought he could have something special with the middle Archeron sister after finally moving on from Mor only for it to blow up in his face before it even started, he was forced to take a good look at himself and his actions, and upon realizing that he was in no way ready for a relationship even though he felt desperate for it, Azriel came to conclusion that it was best to focus on his work and his friends, and leave such glittering dreams behind him.

That had been almost a decade ago, before he even met you. For the first time since then, he finds himself thinking of what it would be like to wake up next to someone, share his thoughts and dreams with that person, have someone to hold him through the hard times and take care of them in kind. For the first time in years, Azriel wonders if he could deserve someone's love after all.

His hesitation seems to start weighing on your excitement, pretty eyes moving to watch the ground as a heavy breath escapes you, not bearing the sight of his wide hazel eyes anymore. When you look up at him again a bitter smile is etched on your face, one that makes Azriel’s chest feel heavy and constricted.

“You don't have to say anything. I just wanted you to know, it felt like it was eating me alive keeping it to myself.” The humorless laugh you let out brings a furrow to his brows, but you keep going before he finds the right words. “I hope I'm not making things weird between us, nothing really has to change-”

“Wait,” Azriel finds himself calling out when he notices you taking a step back, away from him.

Unfortunately he stays quiet a second too long after and you end up taking yet another step back, your next words even more heartbreaking than before. “It's okay, Az. You really don't have to comfort me.”

“I don't want to comfort you.”

“Oh.”

He grabs onto your arm gently when you go to turn around, intent on walking to the door this time, cursing himself when he notices the wetness gathering in your eyelids.

“Please don't go,” he begs, staring into your eyes, hoping his will show you a glimpse at all the emotions swirling around in his heart, maybe you could make better sense of them than him. “I'm not good with words and I'm even worse with my feelings, but I can try to explain myself if you just give me a moment. Please.”

“Alright.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, your body letting go of most of the tension as you watch him. He drops his hold on you and offers you a small, grateful smile.

“You caught me off guard, I never noticed your feelings for me weren't entirely platonic,” he starts carefully, eyes flickering down towards your hand, wondering for a moment if holding it in his would be too much, too unfair to you.

“Some Spymaster,” you tease him back, a breathy chuckle escaping him and releasing the tension from his body, his hand reaching down to hold yours.

“I gave up on love a long time ago, long before I met you. Things have never worked out for me, partly for my own faults, making me think I just wasn't meant for these things.” The frown that settles over your face makes his heart skip a beat. Cute, it was cute, adorable even. Gods, how had he been so blind? “So, you see, I never stopped to wonder if we could have a relationship beyond our friendship even though I cherish your presence in my life immensely.”

“And now?”

“Now I'm thinking back on all our time spent together, the times we laughed and cried together, the times you cared for me and I cared for you.” This time he's the one to move, except he's taking a step closer to you, the distance feeling too big now. “I'm wondering what it would be like to come home to you every day, to hold you in my arms at night, to take you to every restaurant and bakery shop you talked about, to hold your hand in mine whenever I want.” Azriel squeezes your hand softly, your smile widening at the gesture. His other hand reaches for your cheek, cupping it delicately before continuing in a hushed tone, “Now I'm thinking I really want to know what your lips taste like.”

“Az,” you breathe out, eyes falling on his lips. He leans down and pecks your cheek softly, taking a step back to look into your eyes.

“If you still mean what you said…”

“Of course I do.” It's your turn to squeeze his hand, tugging on it to pull him back closer to you, he finds it extremely hard to resist you, but he wants to do things right.

“Then I want to invite you for dinner tonight,” he says, a weight he didn't realize was there before lifting off his chest when you nod immediately. “I think we should take things slow, for both of our sakes, and I don't want to promise you anything, the last thing I want to do is hurt you, but I want to try. I want to know what it's like to feel loved and give it back in kind.”

Your face lights up, smiling up at him with an intensity that threatens to blind him. Familiar dark thoughts start swirling in his mind, telling him how he would only snuff it out of you, but he does his best to tamper them down.

Azriel knew he loved you, that much was never up for discussion, and when comparing the love he had for you to the love he held for his brothers or the rest of his family, he can only feel disbelief that he had never questioned it. He would never do anything to hurt you, he would give his life for you without question, and was ready to face his fears and faults head-on if it would make him worthy of being by your side.

“It's a date then?”

He smiles even wider, his face hurting with the unfamiliarity of it, bringing your interlocked hands up to his face and dropping a kiss on the back of your hand, heart fluttering in his chest.

“It's a date.”

[monzabee]

Hi!!! I know you're in Turkey, and therefore obviously can't work on requests, but I thought I should put on in for when you get the chance to write!!

I've been so hooked on the nanny series with hotch, and even more with the way you write his feelings!! I want to request something for it. Maybe she takes a day off, which is already pretty unusual for her, and is kinda secretive an vague about what it is. I'm imagining her going on a date and hotch somehow finding out about it and I just want to read all about his reaction.

Obviously if this isn't an idea you're super into, no worries! I look forward too reading more of your writing :)

- H

too late, too soon - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: you’re left wondering about your boss’ feelings towards you. unfortunately for you, aaron isn’t exactly an open book. 

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: they finally realize they are in love! jealous aaron! sad reader! not a happy ending i'm not gonna lie to you, angst galore 

Author's Note: hellooo!! this was very fun for me to work on and it feels so good to be working on some requests after coming back! this is a shameless reminder that my requests are still open! thank you so much for your request and i hope you like it!

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

You've realized that the work-life balance of a nanny is rather non-existent after the first few months you’ve spent with the Hotchners. Not that you’re particularly complaining, of course. Jack is probably the nicest kid to ever exist, and Aaron is... well, he is Aaron.  

So, when you tell Aaron you’ll be taking the day off, you notice the small furrow in his brow, the way his hand tightens slightly around his coffee mug. 

“Is everything alright?” he asks, voice even. 

“Yeah, of course. Just... taking a little time for myself,” you say, offering what you hope is a casual shrug. You don't mention the coffee date you’ve agreed to—mostly because saying it aloud feels strange, and you don’t know how you’d tell him in the first place.  

You thought he’d make a move after the way he looked at you at the gala. Or after you literally shared a bed after having a fight. Or better yet, after you looked after him when he was at the hospital last month.  

But nope. Zilch. Nada.  

So now you’re here, fumbling for casual lies, pretending you don’t care, pretending the tiny crack in Aaron’s professional façade doesn't make your heart pound louder in your ears. 

“Of course,” he says after a moment, nodding tightly. "You deserve it." 

You wonder if you’re imagining the strain in his voice. Maybe you want to hear it too badly. 

You leave early the next morning, feeling oddly guilty for stepping out. You tell yourself it’s normal — you’re allowed to have a life outside of this house, outside of Jack and Aaron and all the complicated feelings simmering beneath your skin. And a coffee date isn’t a date in the first place. It’s in the middle of the day, so in your mind, you’re not even going out on a date ‘date’. If anything, it’s just you testing the waters... and trying so desperately to get your mind off your very emotionally constipated boss.  

Still, you check your phone twice before the date even begins, half-expecting a text you have no reason to hope for. 

Lo and behold, it doesn’t come. 

You shove your phone back into your bag and force yourself to focus. The guy — Mark? Matt? — is sweet enough. He’s charming in a way that feels almost too easy, too practiced, but you let yourself laugh at his jokes and sip your coffee and pretend like you don’t feel like you’re waiting for someone else. Someone, who you’d consider the most stubborn man on this earth, but heart wants what it wants, you suppose. He's kind, easy to talk to, and you do your best to focus on the conversation instead of wondering what Jack’s having for dinner or if Aaron remembered Jack’s favorite bedtime story. 

What you don't know is that you’re not the only one at that café. 

Aaron hadn’t meant to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t even realized how close he was until he heard your laugh — soft and familiar, threading into him like muscle memory. 

He's frozen on the sidewalk, briefcase in hand, watching you from across the street through the window. The man you’re with leans in slightly, laughing at something you’ve said, and Aaron feels an unfamiliar prickle of jealousy claw up his spine. 

You look... happy. 

He should be happy for you. 

He should leave. 

Instead, he stands there too long, the scene burning into the backs of his eyelids even after he forces himself to turn away. And because he is a masochist, his eyes choose to focus on the way your hand brushes against your date’s across the small table—a fleeting, innocent touch—but it’s enough to make his chest tighten painfully. He tries to make himself believe that it is for the best when he’s walking to his car.  

He tells himself he doesn’t care. 

He tells himself you deserve someone who isn’t him. 

He tells himself that letting you go is the right thing. 

But the truth is, none of that is true. Because he knows you don’t deserve someone with all his baggage—but he knows you don’t deserve coffee dates either. You deserve more. And God help him; Aaron wants so badly to be the one to give it to you. 

He grips the steering wheel tighter when he gets into his car, his knuckles whitening. He sits there for a moment, head falling back against the seat, eyes closing briefly as if he can somehow will away the ache in his chest. 

But he can’t. 

Because no matter how hard he tries to convince himself otherwise, the truth remains: he is already hopelessly, irreversibly in love with you. 

There’s a strange ache in your chest as you walk back home later that afternoon, the late sunlight catching on the sidewalk, making everything feel a little too bright and a little too sharp at the same time. You tell yourself it’s just the awkwardness of ending the date—Mark (Matt?) had asked if you wanted to do it again, and you’d said you’d think about it. Which was polite speak for no, and you both knew it. 

You tell yourself it’s normal to feel a little hollow after putting yourself out there, after trying so hard to feel something for someone else when you obviously have feelings for one named Aaron Hotchner.  

You don’t tell yourself the truth. 

You don’t tell yourself that you’d spent half the date wishing you were sitting across from someone else entirely. That you’d thought about the way Aaron listens when you talk, the way his mouth softens when he smiles at Jack, the way his voice always dips low when he says your name. 

By the time you reach the house, your feet are dragging, heart heavier than when you left. You find the door locked—not unusual—but the soft sound of footsteps in the kitchen draws you in. Aaron stands there, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up, like he’s been pacing. He looks up the second you step inside, and for a moment, the air feels too thick to breathe. 

��Hey,” you say, voice catching slightly, and it almost makes you wince. It’s not natural, the rigid way you stand at the entrance. If this was any other day, you’d make a smart remark about how he looks with his sleeves rolled up, he’d give you one of the looks he has reserved for you, you’d flirt with him—shamelessly, and secretly hope that he feels the same way towards you that you do for him.  

“Hey,” he replies, but it's rougher, lower. Like he's been thinking about what to say for a while and still doesn’t know how to start. He doesn't move, and neither do you. The silence stretches just long enough to be uncomfortable. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but Aaron beats you to it. “I saw you today.” 

Your breath catches, just for a second. You don't know what you expected him to say — certainly not that. “You... you did?” you ask, your voice small, uncertain, and very out of character. 

He nods once, tightly. His hands flex at his sides, like he wants to reach for you and knows he shouldn’t. “You should go on more dates,” he says, each word slow, deliberate, as if he’s forcing them out one by one. “You deserve to be with someone who can give you everything you want. Someone who doesn't carry around... everything that I do.” 

You blink, feeling the burn of unshed tears. “Aaron—” 

He cuts you off, gentle but firm. “I’m serious. You’re young, you’re smart, you’re incredible with Jack. You shouldn’t...” His jaw tightens. “You shouldn't wait around for someone like me.” 

“Since when do you get to decide that for me?” The words splinter inside you, sharp and cruel even though you know he thinks he’s being kind. Even though you can see the truth of it written all over his face—the longing, the ache, the way he can’t quite meet your eyes because if he does, he’ll break. “So what? I should go date other people? Sure, do you also want me to tell you about the dates as well? Maybe you’d like details.”  

The muscle in his jaw jumps. For a moment, he says nothing. Just looks at you like you’ve ripped something out of him and he’s trying to piece it back together without falling apart. “That’s not what I meant,” he finally says, voice tight, low, strained in a way you’ve never heard before. 

“No?” You challenge, stepping closer before you can talk yourself out of it. Your heart is pounding, your hands shaking, but you keep going. “Because from where I’m standing, it sure as hell sounds like you’re pushing me away and expecting me to just smile and thank you for it.” 

He exhales, sharp and broken, like he’s holding back something he doesn't trust himself to say. “I’m not good for you,” he says roughly. “I want you. God, I want you so much it terrifies me. But I can't be what you need. I have Jack. I have this job. I have all this baggage—” 

“Oh, trust me, I know,” you interrupt fiercely, voice rising. “I know all of that, Aaron. And I still—” You stop, chest heaving, the words threatening to burst free, terrifying in their honesty. “And I still want you.” 

For the first time, he meets your eyes fully. “I can’t lose you,” he says, so softly you barely catch it. “If I have you… and something happens… I couldn’t survive it. I’m already—” He breaks off, a pained breath leaving him.  

“You are a coward, Mister Hotchner,” you emphasize despite the shaking in your voice and all the aching burn you feel in your chest, despite how much you love him—God, you love him—and how badly you want to just fall into his arms and let this all be easy. 

“I’m not good for you,” he says roughly. “I want you. God, I—” He cuts himself off, like even admitting that much is dangerous. 

You stare at him, your heart aching so fiercely it feels like your chest might cave in. For a second, you wonder if you should fight it—if you should close the distance between you, say the thing that's burning on the tip of your tongue. But something in his face stops you. 

It’s not hesitation. It’s resignation. 

He’s already made up his mind. 

And maybe... maybe you should too. So you swallow hard, the weight of everything crushing you down. “I know you think you're protecting me,” you say quietly. “But you’re not. You’re just hurting both of us.” 

You pull in a shaking breath, forcing yourself to smile—a small, sad thing that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I should go check on Jack.” 

He nods, once, tightly, like it’s physically painful to let you walk away. His hands clench at his sides like he’s fighting every instinct to call you back. But he doesn’t. 

And you don't look back when you leave the room. Because if you do, you know you’ll break. 

[darnell-la]

Darkceo!logan and employer!fem-reader when he's using his power to control her fully as employer and plaything💯

pairing: dark!boss!logan howlett x employ!reader

warnings: controlling, unprofessional, threats, choking, hair pulling, sexual harassment, high power, forced creampie, rough sex, marking, baby trapping, etc.

note: I’ll be Logan’s slut coworker anytime.

follow our Instagram @ darnell.la so we can start posting random videos, photos, edits, and memes of the people we write about!

———

“Logan, I can’t stay after hours to help the kids in detention. I’ve got work to do myself,” y/n said after the man called her in his office. This was his third time within a week, making her stay back.

“Well, I’ve got paperwork, and need someone to watch the kids when I’m not looking,” the man fixed his glasses before looking back at the computer he was typing on.

“You’re in the same room as them — I’m sure they’re not gonna up and leave,” y/n tried convincing the man to let her go, but that wasn’t happening, just like the other nights.

“When I tell something once, I expect you to listen, y/n. Don’t make me tell you again,” the man had looked up at the girl.

Y/n stood in the middle of the man’s office, wanting to fight for some kind of break, but last time he had scared her into staying.

“Yes, sir,” the young lady said before turning around and walking off. She could see the smirk on the older man after her sentence. He owned her, and she had no one to go to and tell.

“Y/n, stay back — We need to talk,” Logan said after y/n dismissed detention for the kids. Some laughed as others ran out, ready to do whatever teenage mutants did at this time of night.

“Mister Howlett, I really need to get to my own work-“ she tried saying. “Don’t start,” the man cut her off at the end of her sentence. The way he always looked over his glasses, made her shut up in an instant.

The class was finally empty. Logan stood outside of the door, waiting for all of his students to leave before closing and locking his classroom door.

“You’re the best teacher I’ve got, y/n, but your attitude — It ain’t pretty,” Logan finally turned around, eyes burning into hers. She didn’t want to get fired. She’s done everything he’s asked, but she could feel something coming.

“Ima need you to work after hours right here with me. Confused it a mild punishment for your recent behaviors,” he said, confusing the girls.

“Mister Howlett, I’ve donen’t everything you’ve asked me to for days. If I don’t get my own work done, I can fall behind. The stress isn’t good for teaching,” she tried telling the man.

Logan walked toward the girl, letting her talk for once until he stood right before her.

“I know you love this job, y/n, but you will lose it if you don’t obey me,” the man said. Obey? “Logan, this isn’t some kind of joke. I can’t be around you all day and night for no reason. I have papers myself,” y/n tried standing her ground, but it was hard. His gaze intimidated her.

“Then take ‘em down here for now on. Don’t argue with me anymore,” the man looked down at her as she rolled her eyes. He didn’t like that.

“Look-“ Logan said as his hand raised, gripping the girl's neck out of nowhere. “I don’t know who the fuck told you, you can act a certain way towards me — But I’d advise you to cut that shit out,” he said.

When the girl didn’t give a response and just looked up at the man, he dragged her until her body was pinned against the cold thick wooden walls.

“You think I’m a joke, Bub? I’ll fire you right now. I don’t give a fuck how important you are to my school. I’ll fire you and throw you out tonight,” the man threatened as his body pressed against her.

“So as I said, cut the fuckin’ attitude, before I do it for you,” another threat was made. “You can’t just-“ y/n tried saying. “I can’t just what? Hm!?” Gripped her neck tighter, waiting for her to tell him what he couldn’t do with her.

“Y-You can’t just do this, Logan. I have a job to do, just like you, and you’re getting in my way. Y-You’re distracting me,” she finally said.

She had been trying to tell the man for weeks now, but every time, he’d threaten the woman’s job. It was unprofessional of him shaking up in her room one night, and telling her she needed to come to her rooms at times and work. She didn’t know what the man's problem was, and she was scared to ask.

“Oh, I’m distracting?” He asked in a low voice which slightly came out as a growl. He couldn’t help but smirk and scan the young lady. She looked so good like this.

“Maybe I am too — Those lips aren’t very easy to ignore,” he said, face coming close to hers. Once his hot breath hit her skin, her heart dropped and reality hit her. This man has been hitting on her…

“M-Mister Howlett,” the girl spoke, earning a groan from the man. “Yes, princes?” He asked as one knee moved in between her leg, pushing until he grazed her clothes folds.

Y/n regretted listening to the man when he demanded her to look more professional by wearing skirts and dressed to teach.

“T-This is unprofessional,” she said, instantly making the man laugh as he tilted his head back. “God, you’re so fuckin’ dumb. Lucky me, I like ‘em that way,” the man said before he slowly leaned at her neck.

The young girl whined softly, her heart rate raising as her boss sucked on her neck. “L-Logan,” she pushed at his shoulders softly, but what would that do? He was stronger and wanted this.

The man growled in her neck, loving the way his name rolled from her tongue. “L-Logan, stop this,” y/n pushed harder at the man’s shoulders, but all he did was laugh at her skin.

Y/n’s eyes filled with tears as she noticed her cunt throb on his thigh. She was growing wet as well, and she knew he knew that.

After Logan realized how much she was leaking, he pulled her off of the wall by her hair, pulling her over to his desk. “Be a good coworker, and spread for me,” the man pushed her down onto his desk, almost breaking it.

“Ow, Logan,” the girl whined. He loved how venerable she was. The girl wasn’t a mutant, so she knew he was too strong for her. He loved the power he had over her as a mutant and boss.

Y/n repeatedly begged the man to let her go, telling him she’d do whatever he wanted from now on with no attitude, but all he said was “Ima get that anyway,”.

Logan pulled the girl's tight dress up, eyes filling with darkness as he saw her wet spot. “Fuckin’ slut got wet on the job,” the spat before ripping them off clean.

“P-Please, Logan,” y/n begged again, legs already shaking from the fear in her body. She’s never been with a mutant, and having her boss be the first, isn’t professional of her. She can’t do this.

“Don’t worry, Bub — Gonna fill this cunt right up. Give her what she needs,” he made up his own thoughts on what y/n wanted as he pulled himself out, stroking until he felt pre cum leak from his tip.

Logan knew the young lady wasn’t on birth control. He made her sign work papers, having that down as one of the questions. She didn’t think of it at first because she just wanted a job. A normal job, but now she knows it’s not so normal.

Logan forcefully pushed at the girl's entrance, making her grip his table. He was huge, and he hadn’t even filled her to the brim yet.

“L-Logan, please!” She begged as tears slipped from her eyes. The man groaned as he slipped into her walls, feeling the instant warmth and grip. “Fuck,” he couldn’t keep in. He’s been waiting on this for a while.

L-Logan,” the girl's cracked voice filled the room as he pushed all the way into her. She felt full. She felt pain. She felt pleasure. He knew she liked this deep down.

“Ah huh, baby — You like it?” He asked as he slowly pulled back before pushing back in. Y/n’s body went stiff at the length he was. He was too deep, and he loved it.

“T-Too much, Logan,” she cried low, gripping his desk harder. “I know, Bub, but whose fault was that for not being nicer to me? I would’ve trained you with my fingers, but you’ve been pissin’ me off lately,” Logan leaned over y/n, rubbing at her cheeks.

“Got me so fuckin’ angry, but all I could think about if fuckin’ it out. All out, into you,” the snap on his hips made the girl yelp. “So, you’re gonna lay here, and fuckin’ take it — professionally,”

Logan couldn’t help himself. He tugged on the girl's hair and gripped the side of her waist, pulling her into every hard thrust he could give. He knew the screws on the table were loosening, but he’ll fix it later.

“Can’t walk around here this tight and think I don’t want a taste, baby. Gonna be havin’ this cunt whenever I want, and however I want from now on,”

Y/n’s cunt was finally stretched and wet, good enough for Logan to slip into her with ease, but still rough enough to punish her. He neared to use the power he had over her, and he was.

“For now on, you’re in my room. Don’t need you unsupervised when you’re this tight,” the sounds of y/n’s juice filled the room as he talked. She couldn’t control her system. She was leaking worse than before. “And leave the panties alone. Need ease access in what’s mine,”

The girl's cunt throbbed at his words, not knowing why, but she knew she was fucked. If she tried telling anyone she didn’t want this after knowing the knot in her stomach getting harder to hold, they’d laugh in her face.

“Petty girls gonna cum, hm? Well, that ain’t so professional of you, ain’t it? Tellin’ me how unprofessional I am, but you’re about to cum on my jeans like the whore of the night,”

Y/n tried holding herself back, angry that he read her like a book, but she soon failed. She came all over his lower body, making the sounds of his thrust louder and more sloppy.

“That’s it, baby — Cum in my cock, and I might give you a raise,” he chuckled as he felt himself eat close. Y/n felt horrible. She clenched around the man after he mentioned a raise. That could only mean she was fine with this, as long as she got paid.

“Gonna have to save after the baby forms in your stomach. Can’t have my pretty girl workin’ too hard,” a whine left the girl's mouth. A very sexual moan that made him know she wanted this. Deep down, she couldn’t hide it. She couldn’t hide how good he was fucking the life out of her.

“That’s it, baby — Keep moaning like that, and Ima put a village in this sweet cunt,” the man said between his teeth, now slamming into her. His thrust was brutal, knowing the wind and trapped moans from her mouth any time his pelvis slapped her ass.

“Fuck, yes, baby. Grip me — Grip me and show me you want it,” the man's cock twitched in her walls, warning her, he was close. Before he could say another teasing sentence, he was cut off by his groans as he filled the girl up.

He spilled in her for what felt like hours, pushing his cock deeper into her cunt to make sure one of them would be a winner.

[mulloey]

Okok, can I request Seonghwa with:

daddy kink

Omorashi

Idol x fan

"You know what to call me"

Also, HAPPY 2K!!! We are sososo up❤️❤️ You're like my favorite writer ever, I feel so safe here. This is so exciting

right here, on me

dom!seonghwa x sub!fan!reader

warnings: subspace, seonghwa babies you majorly, omorashi (pee), slight dubcon for that part bc it’s not shown to have prior discussion n u don’t have time to decide how u feel abt it but u love it in the end!! and all the other warnings in the prompts <3

part of my 2k event.

nootttttt edited so some of the writing is sloppy kind of!! i rly just wanna challenge myself w these to write as much as possible and get everyone’s requests done so i can start on my series hehe

—

“He’s looking at you, you know.”

You’re not sure if you believe your friend, nor if you even want to—but that Seonghwa’s eyes have been fixed on your section of the audience for the majority of the fansign is a fact no one can deny. That much of his focus seems to be on you specifically? That’s a little more ambiguous.

It certainly feels like it, though; like the heavy gaze that always seems to wander in your direction is, well, wandering in your direction. Not your friend’s. Not the girls beside you. You.

The way your skin heats up like it’s been set alight certainly lends to that conclusion. The staff member that approaches you after the show, eyes darting around as if to check no one’s looking before quietly asking you to come backstage, practically writes it in stone.

They take you to a dressing room; empty, quiet, a staging area both in the literal sense and for whatever the hell is about to happen; whatever the reason you’ve been called back here. The door opens behind you, then clicks shut. The voice comes low and familiar.

“Hello.”

You freeze, a shiver rushing down your spine. That voice. That—

It’s him. You know it before you turn around; knew it, in a way, even before he made his presence known. He smiles at you; kind, disarming. Gentle but intense.

“Thank you for coming back here,” he says. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

Your mouth opens, closes, stunned. You don’t even have the brainpower to freak out right now, let alone voice your thoughts in any coherent way. All you can do is stand there, dumbfounded, until a few of them come for you.

“You?” You whisper. “It was— you asked for me?”

“I did,” he says. “I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course.” More than okay, really; a thousand fantasies come to life would be a better way of putting it. But he doesn’t need to know that.

The look on his face, though; the small curve of his lips, tells you he already does.

“What’s your name?” He asks. You say it quietly; uncertainly, as though this is a question you could somehow get wrong, and he hums. Repeats it softly like it’s something sacred. “It’s beautiful,” he says. “You’re beautiful.”

It takes a moment to register—that Seonghwa, the Seonghwa who’s lived in your phone, behind a screen, in keychains on your bags for years, is talking to you. And looking, you think, like he wants to do a lot more than that. Fuck. You duck your head; heat creeps up your neck. “Thank you,” you mutter.

“So shy,” he smiles. You swear he almost sounds like he’s cooing. “Are you like this with everyone, or just me?”

“Everyone,” you admit. “But not this much. You’re just—well. You.”

“That’s okay,” he says. “I think it’s sweet.”

“You do?”

He hums, affirmative, eyes gleaming a little. “I don’t usually do this,” he continues. “Asking people backstage. Never have, actually. But you’re so lovely, I’d be remiss if I didn’t take the opportunity.”

You look up, finally meeting his eyes properly; they’re gentle, soft as they always are, but there’s something else in there too. You don’t know what it is, don’t know if you want to right now, but it hits you deep. Square in your stomach like a perfect shot.

“The opportunity?” You ask.

He nods. He looks a little nervous too now, like he’s forcing his words out as much as you are. “If you’d let me, I’d like to get to know you a little more.”

You blink. “Really?”

You don’t know if you believe him—I mean, this has to be a joke, right? Some kind of misguided prank; an awful dare for an episode of a particularly cruel reality show? Surely there’s cameras somewhere, or a giggling presenter hidden around a corner—there must be.

It certainly can’t be real. Your idol, your bias, can’t possibly be standing in front of you, calling you beautiful and saying he wants to get to know you a little more. That just doesn’t happen. Not in real life.

No one jumps out, though. No cameras peer around the corner. And the way he’s looking at you—soft, sincere, possessive, even—doesn’t feel like acting.

“Really,” he says. He laughs a little, like he can’t believe he’s doing this either. “I promise I’m serious. I know it’s unbelievable, I just— I’ve never been so interested in someone so quickly before. There’s just something about you. Will you let me take you out somewhere?”

The answer is instant and almost embarrassingly obvious. Still you take a second to think it over; a few small moments to assure yourself this is real and happening and rational and you are absolutely not dreaming or falling victim to some incredibly elaborate trick.

Only when you’re absolutely certain that it’s really him, and not a secret twin or an incredibly well-made roboti, do you finally nod your agreement.

“Okay.”

—

8.13pm.

you: met someone at the fansign. i’ll be back later, i’ll lyk

bestie: hello?? what????? who the hell did you meet? bestie: someone in the audience?? none of the male atiny were handsome enough for you to run away like that. i was looking too so i know

you: not atiny!! staff. i’ll explain later. i’ll text you, alr? it should only be a few hours. i’ll be back tonight, ly

bestie: love you too! be safe!!!

you: always am <33

10.47pm.

you: i won’t be back tonight

bestie: ???!!!,!/&&//&/&2

—

“Are you sure about this?”

Seonghwa’s touch is light, hesitant, like he’s not really sure what to do with you; can’t quite believe you want him to do anything at all. Which is comforting, you suppose, given that you feel the exact same; disbelieving and desperate and terrified all at once. It’s nice to know you’re not completely alone, too; that you don’t have to pretend to match a confidence he hasn’t quite solidified either.

Why he doesn’t seem to think you would want him, though, is another mystery entirely.

“I’m sure,” you whisper. Your voice wobbles a little, just enough to make his lips quirk in amusement; fondness, even. “Please. I want this.”

His face has softened now, nothing but warmth—but something else in him, some hidden part, seems to shift in the opposite direction; eyes darkened, narrowed, focused. His breathing has deepened now, too; strained a little as he takes you in.

You’ve never been looked at like this before—like he’s simultaneously terrified of breaking you and desperate to be the one that gets to.

“You’re perfect,” he mumbles. “You can be good for me, can’t you?”

God, that hits you deep. His voice—low, focused, gentle authority—and the way he takes control. Speaks to you the way you’ve been aching for years to be spoken to, and doing it like it’s second nature. “Of course.”

“Good,” he nods; swallows. “If you can…if you can. I’ll keep you.”

Oh, fuck. You so desperately want to be kept by Seonghwa. You want it so much that you don’t care to wonder what exactly being kept by him might mean. It sounds exciting and thrilling and close to him, and right now, like this, that’s enough.

He’ll take care of you. He said it himself. You just have to be good.

“I’d be a terrible person if I didn’t warn you,” he says. “I’m not…I don’t like to share. I don’t let go of things once I’ve claimed them, not unless they want me to.”

Your breathing stutters. Every hair is standing on its end; skin flushed, electric, hot to the touch. Body aching with need. What the hell is he doing to you?

“Is that what you want?” You ask, quietly. “To claim me?”

“It is. If you’ll let me.”

“I will.”

He’s silent for a moment, staring you down like he doesn’t quite believe you. You know why, you think, and you don’t blame him. You gather all the nerves remaining and use them to lift your gaze, staring into his eyes with as much courage and confidence as you’ve ever been able to muster.

“I’m not just doing this because of who you are,” you say. “If that’s what you’re worried about. You’re not an idol to me now. You’re you, just you. That’s what I want.”

He seems to relax a little. “You’re good at reading people,” he smiles. “You’re certain? I know it might be—well, I mean, given how we met—”

“That’s not relevant to me,” you say softly. “That’s a hundred lifetimes ago. This is now. I want you now.”

“Fuck.” You see tension leave his body, posture relaxing like a weight’s been lifted and it makes your heart twinge a little. You’d never really thought about this side of fame; never considered that with everyone he meets he’d have to wonder whether they like him for the idol or for the man. Especially meeting you the way he did; sure, it was a fansign, and he chose to approach you, but still. He shouldn’t have to wonder at all.

It must weigh on him. You’re glad you seem to have lifted that weight a little.

“You’re perfect,” he says. “I swear to god, I’m gonna keep you.”

“Please.”

“Come here.”

He sits himself down on the couch, legs spread; you’re pulled down with him to straddle his lap and he lets his hips buck up without subtlety; lets them grind and hump against your clothed pussy like he’s been starved of it.

“I want you to ride me,” he says, straight to the point. “And I want you to call me daddy. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” Fuck, how did he know about your thing for that name; the dumb, pliant side of you it unlocks that’s desperate to please? Or are you just that in sync already?

He raises an eyebrow, expectant as he pulls you down, rubbing you against himself. “Yes, what?” He asks. “You know what to call me.”

You flush a little, creeping up your neck; already you feel so tiny and submissive with him that it’s almost scary.

Would be scary, if it didn’t feel so safe.

“Daddy,” you mumble.

His smile widens into a grin. It makes his eyes sparkle in the low light, expression scheming as his grip tightens on your waist, fingers digging into the tender flesh.

Fuck. What have you gotten yourself into?

—

Exactly what you’ve dreamed of, is the answer. Seonghwa is big; long and thick and beautiful and already leaking when he pulls it out, but he pushes into you without pain or resistance, as though you’d been specifically moulded for each other. His voice is low, praises hushed, whispered, a visceral grunt of desire.

He seems to start to lose control right around when you do.

You don’t notice it at first, the feeling; there’s too much going on, too many feelings in every part of your body for you to pick up on it until it’s too intense to ignore; pressing against you and screaming for attention every time his dick pushes deeper. Your face is flushed, neck heating up with embarrassment and your voice is tiny and shamed as you speak up.

“Daddy—”

“Hm?”

“I gotta…” His hips buck upwards again, purposefully, it has to be; pressing harder against your bladder and it takes everything not to whimper—or to give in. He does it again, harder, like he somehow knows what you’re going to say and is delighting in making you squirm over it. “I gotta pee, daddy, please.”

“You do?”

There’s no judgement in his tone, no annoyance, but it makes you shrink in embarrassment all the same. In frustration. You don’t want to stop—and you definitely don’t want to make him stop. “M’sorry,” you mumble. “I really gotta, daddy.”

He keeps bouncing you; up and down in a gentle rhythm that feels anything but. His voice is soft, cooing when he speaks. “Poor thing.”

The pity in his voice almost feels genuine, almost feels like relief—except he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even slow. Just keeps going like you’d said nothing at all.

“Daddy,” you whine. “I’m serious.”

“I know you’re serious,” he says. “You can hold it,” His tone is mild; dismissive, like he can’t even feel the way you’re squirming and wriggling on his lap—hasn’t noticed how hard you’re trying not to break. He pulls you back downwards, dick pressed in as far as it will go and you choke out a sob; pressure still building to the point of pain. “Come on baby, you’re a big girl, aren’t you? Big girls don’t piss themselves, do they?”

“No,” you breathe. “But—I just—”

“You just what?” He asks, crooning. “Hm? Daddy told you what to do, baby. That’s all you need to think about, obeying me. Go on now. Bounce for me, honey.”

You know you’re crying now, tears thick and hot on your cheeks but you do as he says, obey as he says; moving your body up and down on his dick even as it, as he, pushes you closer and closer to the edge. Holding yourself together even as he seems on a personal mission to break you.

He sees your efforts; runs gentle fingers across your face and cradles your head with all the tenderness of a small child. “That’s it,” he hums. “Hold it for me, baby. Make daddy proud.”

He speeds up again, pushing deeper and harder with each thrust; a particularly hard one makes the first crack appear and you throw yourself further into his arms with a sob, head buried in the crook of his neck as he keeps fucking up into you. He coos, all tenderness even as he goes harder; gets rougher and nastier and meaner. It’s a stark contrast between the two; the gentle hands that soothe you as you cry and the way he splits you open, fucking you full and making the tears come faster as he does so.

You can’t hold it anymore. You can’t.

“Daddy,” you sob—almost wailing. “Daddy, please- can’t- gonna—”

“Sh,” he soothes. “Okay baby, it’s okay. Daddy’s not cruel. Daddy’ll let you go, go on.”

Your mouth opens again, about to sob out your thanks as you make to push yourself off of him—and then his arm tightens around your waist. The hand that cradles your hair suddenly grips it, holding you in place. And he keeps fucking you; harder, stronger.

You’re not going anywhere.

“Daddy, wh—”

“Go on,” he says. “You needed to pee, you can pee, baby.”

“Daddy,” you whine. “Let me- bathroom—”

He laughs, low and fond like you’ve said something stupid. “No, baby,” he smiles. “Daddy’s not finished with you yet. You need to piss, you’ll do it on my cock. Right where daddy can enjoy it.”

Oh, fuck. Fuck.

You’ve never done that before—well, of course you haven’t, you’ve not done all that much of any of this; but you’ve never even thought about it, either. Pissing on him, releasing onto his lap with his dick stuffed deep in your pussy.

You don’t have time to think about it; to feel embarrassed or to decide if you even do feel embarrassed—the second he tells you to, the second you have his permission, your body releases without your mind’s assent; control lost the moment he allows it. It comes out warm, fast, such a relief it makes you sob louder and harder against his neck.

“That’s it, angel,” he coos. “You let go for me, daddy’s got you. Piss all over this dick like my nasty little baby.”

He fucks you through it, hips bucking and stuttering and you can tell he’s losing control even before he does; before he cries out, pulling you closer; cursing and almost wailing through his own orgasm.

You must have passed out at some point; the sensations and the force of his release and everything going on in your head and on your skin pushing you past your breaking point. When you come to you’re in his arms, tucked up in bed between soft, clean sheets. He’s running his hands across your face like it’s his most precious gem.

“Hey, angel,” he smiles down at you. “How do you feel?”

“Good,” you mumble. “Really good, Seonghwa.”

“That’s good,” he says. “That’s wonderful. I’m definitely gonna keep you.”

—

note: thank u so much for that sweet message too btw!! such an honour to be a safe space for u and ur fav writer!!! i hope this lives up to your expectations <3

[hqfanaticism]

Mobei-Jun was dying, bleeding out in an alley from a gunshot wound to the abdomen courtesy of the Huan Hua gang in an attempt to sever the line of succession of the Northern Desert gang.

He blinked blearily, vision hazy. He heard light footsteps and tried in vain to move but before he could he heard a gasp.

The footsteps halted. Then started up again slowly, coming towards him.

“Oh god, oh god, are you dead? Did I just find a dead body?”

Mobei-Jun opened his eyes and shifted his head slightly to look at the man standing above him.

An angel, he thought dazedly. A heavenly being who had deigned to come down to him.

The man had round cheeks and wide, honey eyes, sun kissed skin and warm brown hair.

He looked like warmth and softness, everything that Mobei-Jun’s life has never contained.

He smiled slightly and Mobei-Jun’s heart lurched.

“Oh, you’re alive! You need to get to a hospital, you’re bleeding so much. Wait, is that…? Shit, is that a gunshot? Oh god, what did I just get myself into?”

The man’s anxious chatter slowly faded as Mobei-Jun lost his tenuous grip on consciousness.

He supposed he should be grateful to see an angel before his death.

—-

When Mobei-Jun next awoke, it was to the steady sound of a heart monitor and an ache in his abdomen.

And the soft sound of someone’s breath next to him.

He forced his eyes open, trying to gather the will to move, to deal with whatever he would be met with-

Only to find the angel.

He was tapping at his phone, intensely focused. Mobei-Jun noticed how old the phone looked, with a cracked screen and a case held together with duct tape.

The man glanced up and froze.

“You’re awake!”

Mobei-Jun blinked.

“Do you know how hard it was to get you into a taxi and to a hospital? You’re needlessly big, ah! Who needs all those muscles? You’re so heavy! And I didn’t know your name and you didn’t have any ID on you. The nurses looked at me like they thought I did something to you! But then I think they took a second look and realized you could kill me with one finger and decided it couldn’t have been me. Which! Is a good thing, but also kind of an insult.”

Mobei-Jun stared at the man, enamored with the expressions that flitted across his face in quick succession, charmed by his nervous chattering.

“Mobei-Jun.”

The man stopped talking when Mobei-Jun spoke, blinking at him with confusion.

Cute.

“My name. Mobei-Jun.”

“Oh. Mobei-Jun. Nice to meet you?” He seemed a little unsure of that statement. “I’m Shang Qinghua.”

Shang Qinghua. Mobei-Jun could feel the name being etched into his heart.

“Um, I guess I should go now. I only stayed because I didn’t want to leave you to wake up alone. But you seem okay now.”

“No!”

“No? You’re not okay?” Shang Qinghua looked worried and glanced around like he was looking for a nurse to call.

“No, don’t go.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay. I guess I can stay a little longer. I have to leave eventually though. I have work in the morning.”

Mobei-Jun relaxed for the moment.

Shang Qinghua called a nurse and watched anxiously as Mobei-Jun was examined. He looked away with pink cheeks when the nurse exposed Mobei-Jun’s torso to check on his wound.

Once she had ensured the wound’s dressing was clean and gave Mobei-Jun a dose of pain medication, she bustled away.

Shang Qinghua flittered about nervously after the nurse left, seeming unsure what to do.

“What were you typing?” Mobei-Jun asked.

“What?”

“Earlier. On your phone.”

“Oh, uh, I’m a writer. Not full time, I have a day job. But I’ve published a novel online that’s pretty popular. I was writing the next chapter.”

“What is the story about?”

Shang Qinghua came alive as he talked about his story, the nervousness falling away, his energy diverting into a clear passion for his work.

Mobei-Jun stared, drinking in the sight. Shang Qinghua was so invested in sharing his story that he didn’t seem to notice until several minutes had passed. When he did finally notice, his words slowed, then trailed off.

“Um. Do I have something on my face?”

Mobei-Jun blinked. He almost said no until he realized he could take advantage of the question.

“Yes.” He lifted his hand and cupped Shang Qinghua’s cheek, stroking his thumb against it. He marveled at how big his hand was in comparison to Shang Qinghua. His hand nearly covered from his cheek to the back of his head.

Shang Qinghua stared at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks, frozen in place. Mobei-Jun left his hand there for a few long moments before dropping his arm.

“There. Gone.”

Shang Qinghua lifted a hand and brushed his fingers against the cheek that Mobei-Jun had just touched. “Thanks,” he said in a dazed voice.

Mobei-Jin’s eyes were starting to get heavy, the pain medication making him sleepy. He struggled to keep them open but Shang Qinghua noticed.

“I really should go. You need to sleep. Do you need me to call anyone for you?”

Mobei-Jun shook his head.

“Then, I’ll just-“

“Wait. Your number. Give me your number before you go.”

Shang Qinghua looked a bit bewildered but acquiesced. After he gave Mobei-Jun his number, he stood and gave Mobei-Jun a nervous smile.

“I hope you get better soon,” he said. Then he headed to the door, paused in the threshold to give Mobei-Jun one last look over his shoulder, and disappeared out the room.

Mobei-Jun saved his number under the contact name “Wife.” That is what who Shang Qinghua would be to him eventually, even if he didn’t know it yet.

He would make sure that his angel would be his.

(AN: After this, MBJ starts low-key stalking SQH. SQH notices that someone is stalking him when he finds a new phone sitting on his nightstand. He realizes it’s Mobei-Jun when he sees Mobej-Jin’s number is the only one already saved to the phone. Rather than seeing it as the giant red flag it is, SQH is charmed and immediately texts MBJ with his new phone. They’re both super unhinging about each other (like in canon lol) and SQH ends up moving in with MBJ within a couple of months, quits his day job, and becomes a full time author (and sugar baby).

I might write the rest someday because I LOVE moshang being unhinged about each other lol)

[ladybyakuya]

IS WHAT LOVE IS ? | GEN NARUMI.

+cw.— omegaverse au ( alpha!male x beta!reader ) + roommates au + college / university au, gen narumi x f!reader, fast burn ( we don't appreciate it enough ), world building, angst & hurt, smut, mentions of alcohol, bullying, blood and physical injuries.

+syn.— When college got busy with upcoming internships, classes became hectic, sleep schedule got fucked up and exam stress piled on: gen narumi sought blissful comfort in your presence. However, the same can not be said about you.

+wc. —5k ( dw I think I'll often talk about this in my main.) 

+playlist. — affection by between friends \ no love in L.A by dutch melrose \ fire by jvke \ is this what love is by wasia project.

+notes. — one of my favourite things to get things done by challenging myself so please be kind to me if you feel my writing is little off or not fitting my general pattern. thank you, enjoy reading. | redirect to blog navigation.

+tags. — into the omegaverse collab by @goxjo + other tags : @sukirichi @to-eden @stunie @interstellar-inn

[ one. ]

"We should fuck,"  Narumi announces walking into the dorm room half-clad in the towel and boxers freshly showered, clusters of hair falling onto his face, wet and aromatic opening the door with a bang. Still, it failed to startle you like it generally does. His arm is still holding the door open as you try immersing yourself more into the university website that is spread open on your laptop attracting a fair amount of attention. A barely visible deft amongst his eyebrows arises as his presence remains unbeknownst to you even after he clears his throat. Are beta's senses that dull? 

You take the bluetooth earphones off your ears. "Did you say something?" you pose the question as if you are aware of his presence just now. 

Letting his fingers skim through his wet hair he grumbles, "We should fuck," with pinnable irritation in his voice not that you would know why he is being cranky. 

It is your turn to be silent. Your eyes switch over to the calendar hanging on the wall right beside him. It is still two weeks for Gen before he starts to show the bare minimum signs of an approaching rut. Besides, he has never been this ridiculous. "Did the summer heat finally take your sanity?" you exclaim with a scoff returning the annoyance right back at him but respectable enough to look at him as you spoke. Your phone chimes followed by a vibration and Narumi is forced to cover one of his ears with the arm that has been holding the door all the while; his other ear suffers the damage.

"How many times did I tell you to tone it down a few notches?" He gets inside finally closing the door. All you could spare for response is nothing but a glance of unease. Who is he to tell you what to do and what not? You put your notebooks and a few things in your bag as his whistle finally blows off. "It's been two years already. when are you going to finally give in to my alpha charms, huh? I know that you are no strangers to the modern ideas of mating. I mean you are quite active so why don't we just celebrate the last year of graduation being fuck buddies rather than just roommates?"  You roll your eyes when you are still facing his back to him. You turn around to tuck your hair behind your ears making the bluetooth earphones visible. Holding up your fisted right wrist in his direction you tap on the watch two times and fist out your palm with all five fingers and Narumi just squits his eyes. Before he could make full sense of what you are conveying, you are already out of the door and Narumi knows better than anyone that you love listening to music at high volumes without interruption. Maybe you do so because you are a beta or you are sad or annoyed about something. It couldn't be him, could it? Sometimes when the surroundings get too quiet and you are listening to music he can hear what song it is. 

Not that he is a fan of your music taste but he has rather expressed in preposterous ways to exhibit his distaste for your tastes, likes, and dislikes, sometimes even unasked for one and you were fine with it. You were fine with his obnoxious, rude, and rough behavior. Even in his class, he has a hard time getting along with his batchmates. Every once in a while he would come up with bloody knuckles or a bleeding nose, scratches in his face sometimes and you would have no other choice but to tend to his wounds. You never bothered to ask how he got hurt or why he hurt others and he never decided to divulge. Being at the top of the university has prevented him from getting expelled. The professors are fed up with him but are willing to put up with him only because he is sincere in his studies. And, he is surprisingly good at it given his nature. Sharing a room for almost more than two years with an alpha like Gen Narumi is not a cakewalk, especially for a beta like you. Even before moving into the dorm room, you knew that you would either be paired with an omega or an alpha. You knew what you were getting into and with the advancement of medicinal chemistry cohabitation with other species of your kind has become easier than before yet the primal urges never really fade, do they? After all, what is more dangerous than an unmated alpha? 

You check the time. You are so early for someone who has an interview for the first time. You sit with the other candidates without a slice of panic in your body. Thanks to Gen for nuking your attention into something that you would never expect in nightmares or another universe. Like what the fuck was that? What kind of question was that? Was that even a question? As for a fact, an alpha's desire is too innate to ignore. And with the amount of patience stored in Gen Narumi's body if anything was possible it would have happened in the first few months of college year. Wait a minute! is he finally asking you out after trying to hide it for almost two years? If yes, that would certainly explain why one time he gave you cologne on your birthday which would complement his scent too. Not only that, it would surely explain how he snuggles to you during movie nights, or on liquid nights he would almost spoon you when his ruts were approaching he was too broke to buy video games. But at the same time, you can not completely claim those actions as an act of pursuit of seeking a potential mate in you since it was just an extremely rare occurrence. 

You remember the time when both of you just came from an exam semester party being too drunk, high, and happy to change or freshen up. Both of you just passed out on the nearest bed to the door of the room and you swear you felt a graze of something sharp upon the nook of your neck. But you swiped that thought at the back of your mind thinking it as a dream or some bad alcoholic effect. That night you woke up with Narumi in your bed sleeping like a log, a loud log to be specific. You have always given him space during his ruts since it works better that way; rather than arguing to come to a truce. That's how you have always been. That's how betas had to be. You would always find him buried under a futon with bloodshot with a game controller in his hand, and a lot of junk food packets all around the room yet you chose to give him space because that is how you avoid alphas like him; the more you indulge with him, the greater the chances to be under his target radar. 

"Y/N L/N is next. Be prepared." the mic announces breaking the pensive silence and your reverie of thoughts for a mere blinking moment.

On the first day when you moved in you clearly stated that you would file a complaint if he ever tried to scent you, mark you during his ruts. He just joked saying, "So, it's okay when I'm not in a rut?" but you would not budge or answer him so he mentioned in a sing-songy tone, "Oh don't worry. Betas are hard to influence. You should know that darling.  Plus, you are not exactly my type." with a smug so loud on his face that you wished you could throw something at his face but engaging with him would give him a crack to widen the gulf, explore and test waters. . .you know better than that. But since unlike other alphas, he listened to it, he abided by it, he sustained it—- well tried to or he was just poking the bear for fun. He often does that when he is out of video games. 

That is how you have always maintained a boundary between him and you. 

Gen Narumi finds it impenetrable. You think all the things he does, he does it out of respect which is not exactly true. There is respect but just a pinch. Sharing a room with a beta wouldn't be too bad. That's what he thought when he came to know about you. He did mention in his admission form that he would not like an omega as his roommate but he did not expect it to be beta. It could have been an alpha or a zeta, someone either loud or too mute. Mediocrity has always been a foreign concept to him. And what's up with "do not scent me or mark me." as if he would be interested in such things. He is not like other alphas. Some alphas spend their ruts giving in to their urges while some take suppressants. Gen Narumi belongs to neither of them. He spends his ruts eating junk and playing video games. works both ways actually. It has always been like that since he was expressed as alpha in society. What would he do to a beta? or that's what he thought. 

This morning when he said, well, suggested that you and him should fuck he was possessed perhaps. Why on earth would he say that? It does not make any sense because never in two years he has thought or even looked at you with a splotch of romance. Most of the alphas in his batch have already found a mate or maybe were forced to. He might be the only unmated alpha in this university which is why lesser potential omegas approach him. An unmated alpha is always seen under the lens of threat. And, if they came to know how he spends his ruts, they would not even acknowledge him as an alpha. At the start of the college year, he would often end up bullied by other alphas because of that. The last thing he wants to do is to use his pheromones on others. Why would he waste it on others? He doesn't exactly know for what or whom he is saving it. He would come to the room late whenever he got into a fight. One time he was so tired of all the bullying that he did not even try to defend himself or scare them away. By the time he reached the dorm room,  he was too hurt to breathe properly. That night Gen Narumi came to know that even a beta can calm an alpha, and nurse them into good health if needed. He was too hurt to protest or say anything, all he could do was to imbibe your scent while you were taking care of him. Even betas have a smell. Did you do that on purpose? release pheromonic signals to calm him? Would it be so hard to believe if he were to say that most alphas took their roommates as mates? He can certainly try, at the very least he will get a good laugh out of your reaction. If you did that on purpose he has a chance to show other alphas that he is actually an alpha not that he cares what they say but since you showed your interest in him in a puzzled way he would certainly try to match your level. wouldn't this be a win-win situation if he fucked you? For you, for him, and others as well; it certainly would. That's right. This morning you did not pay enough attention to him so he will say it again just so he can reject you. That's what an exceptional alpha would do. He is exceptionally good at gaming and studies though so he can not see why he should let this opportunity slip through his hands like sand.

You open the door with the help of keys while holding your bag in one hand and your cell phone in the other. Gen does not leave his seat to hold the door rather graces you a glance and goes back to whatever he is doing. 

“Yeah. I’ll definitely call you back, Hoshina-san.” you disconnect the call and Gen’s eyes are on you. He does not look away so you took it as a cue to explain something, anything. He just needs some info to be fed so that he does not start again. “Hoshina Soshiro is gonna be my supervisor if I get the job. The interview wasn’t so bad but I don’t wanna get my hopes up. He is one of the best and doing an internship under his guidance would be a great start. ”

“Stay away from that guy,” Gen grumbles looking back at his desk. It is unusually neat today. Not to mention his futon bed is folded and kept on his bed in a side enough that one can sleep peacefully without any problem. You would have said something to him if your attention did not keep faltering . . .Gen rolls his revolving chair in your direction, one of his legs is touching the wheels of the chair while the other is stretched creating a huge gap. His left-hand travels under his t-shirt and it hooks on his right shoulder.  "we should fuck," he declares, inept and inert.

"oh god! Not again" you let out a groan and sit on the bed near to you. Your head is in hands not because of what he said or what he did, not even because your patience is thinning with each tick of the clock enough to not to put up with this anymore but because of what is about to come out of his mouth the next.

"So, you heard me the first time ?" he barks while leaving his chair. You just wave your hand nonchalantly in a gesture to dismiss him but he locks his hands in his chest taking a stern stance in front of you.

You tilt up your head looking him in the eye, "You know Gen we shouldn't do this," your elbows rest on your thighs as you start to scratch your index finger with the other.

"don't you mean can't? you can't do this?" Is he serious? Isn’t he joking? Oh God. Why isn’t he joking like he generally does? Maybe a reaction would keep him quiet but what kind? A yes? A no? Or a laugh?

"you know better than others that I can fuck, literally too sometimes." You exclaim hoping to judge if this is really serious or just some sort of prank. If the latter, then it's not funny. If the former, then you might have to consider moving out. You get up from his bed to grab towels and bathroom needs."Why do you ask?"

"I don't know. Maybe I need to prove to someone that I'm an alpha." Gen regrets saying that. Your hands have stopped as you look at him which rarely happens. You never do one thing at a time. Fuck! You’re still looking at him. Gen unlocks one of his hands and scratches his jaw. 

"well, you chose a very wrong person to fuck, to prove then. I despise alphas. I would be much happier if you weren't one," That’s a little harsh, even from you. 

"as if a beta like you could get me hard." You keep the shampoo and conditioner bottle on the desk with much greater force than needed. Here it comes. . .Oh okay.

"Well, have you been with Beta before?" Gen tries to dodge the bullet because this is not the direction of conversation he wants to go. "that's exactly my point-" 

"an omega?" you pause and take a few steps towards him "An alpha?"  

“Wha—t? What’re — you talking — about?” Gen blabbers. He does not step away as you come closer but he has the urge to do so.

"god. Please find someone else to lose your virginity." You turn around the moment you finish deciphering his goal. Gen starts to growl underneath everything that comes out of his mouth now. "me being an alpha won't affect you being a beta if we were to fuck. and I don't wanna hurt an omega or alpha—His patience is thinning out too. This really isn’t the way he wanted this to go.

"But you'd hurt me?"

"That's not what I meant,"

"Are you a virgin, Gen Narumi?"

"Yes—I mean no." He glitches and now he can not look at you.

"Which is it?"

". . ." 

"I'm too tired to think about it now," you express with an exasperated sigh walking towards the bathroom.

"Is that a yes?"

"maybe be,"

"forget it." His tone is too sharp, demanding for someone who was begging you to fuck.

"What?" You stop before entering the bathroom and turn your head to him. "forget it" He repeats. You tilt your head, "But you just said. . ." you are starting to understand what this is really about. He does not want to fuck you neither want to lose his virginity or whatever he is trying to protect. It is his alpha ego acting up. He wants you to say yes so that he can reject you so that it strokes his alpha-nature. That’s it.

Your face distorts in disdain in his dense thought process.

Gen Narumi squints his eyes and then blinks. When he opens his eyes you are in front of him. You push him onto the nearest bed, your bed, and sit on his lap, legs folded and creating a dip on the mattress under the pressure of it, thighs grazing his pelvis.

"what're you doing?" Gen gasps as you let your palms touch his chest. He is gonna explode. His heart is beating so fast. You can feel it. Oh My God. You didn’t think this through.

"Well, let's see if a beta can get you hard or not." 

You undress your top. You are not an omega. There is no stench. But your scent is so muted that he has to either influence you to emit some or get closer to inhale. The first option is a no-no because he would not like to anger you while you are on his lap. So, he has to get closer. Wait, closer than this? The smell from that night threatens his senses and memory. Before the realization fully hits his brain, his hand moves in your direction but you stop him. Did you do something wrong? Both hands are now aligned with his. You notice how your hands are different from his. His fingers are rough and raw. Yours are at least, well-maintained. You slowly interlace his fingers with yours folding his hands at the back. He could easily swat you away but he is not doing that. You lean into his face and he does not move away so you take that as a yes to lick from his collarbones up to his chin and immediately pull away. 

Narumi’s eyes are closed, head still tilted. Without giving him a moment of reprieve you let your lips graze on his, just barely, and pull away just a little, wet yours and thereby skimming at his bottom lip in the process. He opens his eyes, slowly looks at you, and then your lips. He is breathing like a tired puppy. He inclines, perhaps for a kiss but you sway your head giving him access to the side of your neck. As you graze your cheek against his jaw, his hands that are still at the back are held by you but it is slowly getting lithe as you feel his lips on your shoulders, hot tongue on your skin, and then a sharp graze of his fang from your shoulder up to the back of your ear. You tip your head down for a moment feeling goosebumps arise on your skin barely allowing him any moments of reprieve, only permitting a rare moment to breathe. You watch Narumi intently, unafraid to make things awkward, but Narumi is too distracted by his inner crisis to notice the amused stare mere centimeters from his face; studying him.

The tip of your tongue curls slowly but forcefully, tracing the plump of your bottom lip before sliding across Gen’s own and trailing the roof of his mouth. Eyes watching intently. Controlled. Curious. Amused. But then you abruptly pull away, lips shiny and wet. Before Narumi can ask why, your lips curl in on themselves, hiding a smug smile. It looks like you can’t catch your breath — like if you do, you will erupt into laughter. But a lopsided grin finally breaks free, tugging at your lips, when your eyes flash down to Narumi’s torso and back up.

Narumi freezes, heart, hammering in his ribs.

He’s hard.

“That was fast,” You smirk — and you stand. “I’m going to shower now.” you release your grip from his hands and get off his lap.  Gen watches you go into the bathroom and looks down at his boner biting his bottom lip; a click of his tongue follows as he checks the time. It is too late to go out now.

when you come out of the shower he is not there. A part of you worries if he got into a fight or something or maybe he is with his big hot alpha friends bragging about how he turned you down. You hit the bed with a thud, exhaustion creeping up from your toe to head, slowly. You do not give a damn what he says about you to other alphas or anyone in general. A beta will always have to watch out for themselves. They can not rely upon anyone, not even their kind because most betas are dumb enough to mingle with alphas and get turned into omega with or without consent.

Look what fate landed upon your mother when she took an alpha as her mate. You let out a wry chuckle. Sleep seems like a foreign land somewhere in heaven.

[ two. ]

It has been two days since Narumi left. Some of his batchmates have started to ask you during recess and breaks between classes. You answered them the same thing every time. “I don’t know.” or “he didn’t tell me before going.” or “How should I know? I’m not his mate who can sense it. Go find his mate.” or “he didn’t take his phone. So I don’t know.” truly it had not bothered you until Professor Shinomiya showed up at your doorstep asking for his whereabouts. You politely and patiently answered him the same very thing that you have been telling anyone who asked about Narumi. For a hated unmated alpha he sure is popular.

On the third day, late at night, there is a knock on your door. You go and open without hesitation. Narumi enters wearing the same clothing he wore the last time you saw him, only a little fade. His hair is wet and it is not raining outside so he comes back after going missing for two days, freshly showered. Bloodshot eyes, hair messed up, and mayhem all over his body.

“Welcome back.” You say but Gen does not say anything but goes straight to his study desk. He has a test coming up. Professor Shinimiya said that so you would contact him if you had the means. Your day-to-day notebook is on his study table, under the stack of his books, and guess what? That is exactly what you need the most right now because without it you would not be able to work on your applications and resumes. It has all the details and info you. The moment you touch the stack of books, Narumi’s hands are over yours.

“Are you—-? Where were you ?” You ask and For the first time in your life, you feel that something inside you went missing. When did that happen?

Gen stands up but you do not scoot away as he closes the gap between him and you. That’s what he likes about you. You were never afraid of him. You never considered him as a threat like others. Now, that he is closer you can smell several mixes of strong musky aromas. It is odd. You have been close to him before, but never once knew his scent. Is he in a rut?  Or did something bad happen? Did he. . .? Was he attacked by a gang of omegas or alphas? It makes your stomach turn thinking about whatever the probable reason for such a state as his. 

“Oh? You can tell?” There is a few inches gap between his face and yours. His palm is still intact on yours. The grip is lithe yet you don’t move your hand away.

“Gen? What? OH. God.” You had to swallow since tears threatened your eyes. “Are you okay?” A trembling whisper is all it takes for him to finally say something.

“Leave.”

“What?”

“Just leave for a few days. Go to some friend’s house or something,” He is still sitting, his eyes are on the open book now but his hand is still over yours.

“Why? What did I do?” You ask trying to move away your hand but in a swift moment, he grabs your wrist and pulls you closer as he stands up. 

“I’m — in a rut. So, I need you to stay away from me.”

“But — I’m a beta. You don’t need to worry.”

That is funny. It is because of you that he is such a shipwreck now. It was your pheromones that fucked him up. It was you who calmed him with scents when he came home injured. It was you who had no control over pheromones when drunk. It was you all along and despite that, he can not bring himself to hate you. Why can’t he hate you when he wants to? He even took a whole bunch of suprresants before coming back here. Gen laughs at your naive sentiment so blaring that you take a few steps back but he yanks you back to himself, a little too forceful than he intended to be resulting in you on top of him sprawled on the cold floor.

“Ohh? Why do you think I rub my fangs against your neck? You don’t think I do that for fun, do you?” You are still trying to get away from his grip but he is strong. He is stronger than you have known all these two years. “Are you too dumb to know that if I bite and knot you enough times you will turn into an o—

Thwack!

Narumi’s head is tilted away from yours. The exposed side of his cheek is red, his ears are thrumming and he has to force himself to keep his eyes open. Fuck. You’re strong. That was one hell of a slap.

“I know that. I’ve known that all my life. You don’t need to tell me that,” you yell looking down at his t-shirt. A cry is at the brink when you see a few drops of water fall on his top.  You try your best not to fall apart in front of him but it is just too much. Hearing such a thing what your mother went through and then slowly becoming a victim of it is nothing but a slow poison. You refuse to live the life your mother led. You refuse to owe your existence to an alpha. 

Narumi’s lips form a crescent but it is quickly clouded when your body starts to shake. You cover your face as you start to crumble like Rome in front of him. 

Folding his legs he sits up. His hands rest on the floor to support himself as he whispers, “Hey, stop crying.”  His voice is calm, pupils back to normal, not red anymore. “Please” He insists. “I’d hate to use my pheromones on you, especially now” 

You slowly look up wiping off your tears with your hand.

“Tell me y/n have I ever used my pheromones on you?” 

“No. Never.” Your hands fall on his chest. “But I still hate you. Why would you say something like that?” You stifle a sob and continue. “I know. I’ve never opened up to you—-” Your voice turns up, anger laced underneath. “But never did you. You think I don’t know—- that alphas bully you? Oh please! I know better than anyone what an alpha’s beating looks like.” You inhale a long breath, “I mean I have known that my entire life. I’ve seen my mother all my life— and I can’t see someone else getting hurt because of me . . . your voice breaks into a cry again and you inhale so as not to cry anymore but what good that would do now that he has seen the core of vulnerability in you that was tucked inside carefully with layer upon layer.

“Well,” Narumi starts to speak. “Save me then. Save me from this torment.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Narumi jocks down to meet your gaze. “Be my God and I will be your devotee.”

You try to get on your feet. Gen’s eyes follow you, each of your movements until you are standing on your own. He is still sitting on the floor in the same stance, laid back and amused.  He is sure you will say no. He has done this before. Back then you thought he was speaking out of delirium but that night when you saved his life he felt like he found a God to worship. He remembers saying, “I think I love you, Y/N L/N.” and you scoffed at him saying in no world an alpha like you would feel that about a beta like you when there is a bevy of omegas around him.

“Okay.” You murmur.

Gen’s mouth is parted. His eyes are big in surprise. “But just so you know, I’m hard to please,” you mumble with a sniff getting out of the room to make a call.

[juliettejwnewinesa]

bro ur smut fics actually make me giggle and kick my feet AUGHHH

i was wondering if you could do a sub beomseok one?? 😇

like yk how he started hanging around his other group of 'friends' near the end of s1 and started acting all cocky and different around others? well like HEAR ME OUT.. what if he was a brat and got put in his place by dom reader...

(and maybe she overstimulates him while riding and gets jealous and like yk does that thing where she makes him say he's hers 🤗...)

im sorry if this request is complicated but like ur writing is literally so fire man 🥹🥹🫶🏻 ILY

TITLE: Fall In Line PAIRING: Sub!Beomseok x Dom!Reader RATING: 🔞 Explicit WORD COUNT: ~5.2k TAGS: Brat!Beomseok, dom!reader, power play, jealousy, overstimulation, riding, marking, possessiveness, brat-taming, praise and degradation, cock-dumbed Beomseok, whimpering, creampie, claiming kink, "say you're mine," soft corruption

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

Fall In Line

He’d been acting different lately.

You saw it in the way he walked—like the world owed him something. In the way he laughed louder now, sharper, too showy. And most of all in the way he started hanging around those fake, cocky friends of his—dudes who talked too much, looked too hard, and acted like they owned whatever room they walked into.

And Beomseok? He played along. Played it way too well.

Like he forgot what he sounded like when he was begging you to let him cum. Like he forgot who turned him into a mess behind closed doors. Like he forgot who he belonged to.

So tonight, when he showed up at your door with that same boyish smirk, you didn’t waste time. You let him in. Let him kiss your neck and call you pretty. Let him act smug—just enough to let it boil.

Then you pushed him onto your bed and said, “Strip. Now.”

He blinked like he wasn’t sure he heard you right. So you repeated it, slower.

“Take your clothes off, Beomseok. Or I’ll rip them off myself.”

And just like that—his fake confidence cracked.

You were already on top of him, straddling his hips, grinding slow against the curve of his cock. He was hard—way too fast. His skin flushed, his mouth open, and that stupid little brat smirk was long gone.

“Not so cocky now, huh?” you purred, leaning down until your lips ghosted his ear. “What happened to the tough guy act?”

“I-I didn’t—” he stuttered, hands gripping the sheets because you’d already told him he wasn’t allowed to touch you. “I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

You rolled your hips, slow and cruel, just enough pressure to make him gasp but not enough to give him anything real. He whimpered, eyes squeezing shut.

“Y-You were jealous,” he mumbled. “You saw me with them…”

“And you liked that?” Your nails dragged down his chest, making him shiver. “Liked pretending you weren’t mine?”

He didn’t answer fast enough.

You slapped the inside of his thigh. Not hard. But enough.

“Answer.”

“N-No!” he cried. “I didn’t—I just— I just wanted—"

“What, attention? A little power? Thought you could act like a brat out there and still get off like my good boy in here?”

His face turned red, and his hips bucked without permission. Pathetic.

You smiled. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll remind you how this works.”

He was already dripping by the time you finally let him inside—his cock twitching, tip flushed and wet, the kind of hard that came from desperation, not control.

You sank down on him slow. Torturously slow.

And Beomseok moaned.

Loud. Shameful. The kind of sound that made your jealousy curl even deeper into your gut.

He gripped the sheets like a lifeline. “F-Fuck, you’re s-so—”

“Say it.”

He blinked up at you, dazed. “W-What…?”

You snapped your hips forward, making him cry out. His toes curled.

“Say you’re mine.”

“I-I am—!”

You tightened around him.

“All the way. Say it like you mean it.”

“I’m yours!” he cried, tears starting to prick at the corners of his eyes. “I’m yours, I’m yours, I swear—!”

You grabbed his jaw, forced him to look up at you while you rode him harder now, his cock hitting deep every time your hips slammed down.

“Say it again. Loud. For everyone you were trying to impress.”

“I’M YOURS—!” His voice cracked, a broken moan tangled in the words.

“Damn right,” you growled, and clenched around him just to hear him whimper.

He was close already. Way too close. You could feel it in the way his thighs shook beneath you, in the whine trapped in his throat.

“D-Don’t stop, please—please—”

“Oh, you think I’m letting you cum that fast?” You leaned forward, dragging your hips in tight, dizzying circles. “Not after you’ve been acting like a slut for everyone else’s attention.”

He looked up at you with wide, watery eyes. “I-I wasn’t—!”

“You were.” You ground down, hard. “And now you’re gonna cum again and again until you forget their names.”

He whimpered. “I-I can’t—”

You tightened around him. “You will.”

The first orgasm hit him like a wave. Violent. Shaky. His voice cracked with the moan that tore from his chest as he came deep inside you, hips twitching under you uncontrollably.

But you didn’t stop.

Didn’t even slow down.

He whimpered immediately, trying to squirm, but your hands pinned him down, and you just kept riding him, slick and full.

“Too much, too much—!”

“Too bad.”

You leaned down and bit his neck, hard enough to leave marks. Your tongue soothed the bruise after.

“You wanted to act like a man,” you whispered against his skin. “But you’re just my pretty little toy.”

And then he came again. Just from your voice. Just from being used.

By the third round, he was wrecked.

Tears running down his cheeks. Cock twitching pathetically inside you. The words spilling from his lips barely made sense anymore.

“Y-Yours… only yours, please, n-noona—!”

You smiled, wicked and sweet, dragging your nails down his chest again.

“That’s right, baby. That’s more like it.”

You leaned in and kissed him, tongue slipping into his mouth while you fucked him slow now, deep, rhythmic rolls of your hips that had him shaking.

“Next time you try and play tough in front of your little friends…” You tugged his hair back, watching him pant under you. “Remember how easily I break you.”

[starlightandfairies]

Ahhh your writing is just perfect! ❤️ I dare for another idea hehe 🫶🏼 just maybe something where you're dating but you get incredibly jealous as Katherine appears back in town and you know of their past. So you think it would be better to step back for a while but Elijah notices immediately and misses you as you not show up at any occurrence. He later finds you at the Grill, talking with the Salvatores about that topic and Elijah eavesdropped the whole conversation, finally realizing what's wrong with you and feeling bad for this to happen, as he only has eyes and feelings towards you. Then one night he invites you over to his house and tells you about his feelings and that you don't have to worry about Katherine as she's long forgotten to him and he proves that to you that night? ☺️ Ugh I love cute and fluffy Elijah !

Description: With Katherine back in town, knowing Elijah's past with Katherine brings some unwanted shades of jealousy to the reader. 

Warnings: she/her pronouns, fluff, swearing

*Requests are open, please send through as many requests as you want, check my character list and requesting rules.*

Thank you for both of your lovely requests! I hope you also enjoy this one and thank you as well for your kind words!

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Last name, POV = Point of view, F/fs = favourite flowers

Word Count: 1,279

First Person's POV 

Elijah and I currently sat in my favourite café, it was normally very quiet and once again today was one of those days. Elijah stared at me with admiration, he held my hand softly in his, rested small kisses on my knuckles and whispered words of devotion. 

"I'm just going to run to the bathroom." Elijah nodded, resting another kiss on my hand and finally let me go off to the bathroom, I did what I needed to do and finally came back out. I stopped in my tracks, seeing a brunette talking to Elijah, he looked less than impressed, he looked pissed and I could only assume what that meant. 

"Katherine." I simply stated, choosing to sit beside Elijah instead of across from him, the woman forced a smile to her lips the resting bitch look not fading from her eyes. I could feel this twinge of hurt and jealousy invading my being. Katherine took it upon herself to sit down and join us, Elijah let go of my hand and the once gentle and tender look that decorated his features was long gone. 

"What was your name again...?" 

"Y/n" I answered, hating the way she stared at Elijah, I knew of their past as Elijah had been quite open about his past relationships. Katherine nodded, shrugging and turned her attention to Elijah. I grabbed my things, kissed his cheek and pushed myself up to leave. 

"Bonnie wanted me to do something, I'll see you later." Elijah nodded, staring at me for a moment, I walked out before anything could be said and made my way to Bonnie's house. I asked Bonnie to do a spell, something that would allow me to go under the radar and not be found by Elijah considering that I would be distancing myself from the love of my life to conceal the ugly green monster. 

I had been cancelling dates, vague answers over the phone and would leave quickly with some bullshit excuse if Elijah appeared out of the blue. I could tell he could sense something was, I didn't want to mention that something was wrong and he hadn't questioned my actions. 

Elijah's POV 

Something was wrong with Y/n I couldm't place my finger on what it was, I couldn't understand what had happened and why she decided to almost disappear. I was missing her dearly, I missed seeing her smile, I missed her silly little jokes and her ability to make all my world seem so much better against all the issues going down. I missed her little rambles she would go on, the point is that I miss her and I don't know how to bring her back to me. 

I had finally been able to catch the trail and follow her around, see if I could understand what was going on and it took me to the Grill. I stood near the bar, blending into the ground and proceeded to listen in on her conversation with the Salvatore brothers. 

"I know it's silly of me but I can't help but be jealous." 

"Come on, you know that the noble fossil wouldn't cheat on you." Damon remarked, a clear roll of the eyes that made Y/n whack him lightly. 

"I being serious Damon! I know he has history with Katherine, when he was human he loved Tatia and then he found Katherine. What if her coming back brings back the feelings? I can't stand the idea of him leaving me for her and I don't want that to happen."

"Y/n have you tried speaking with Elijah? You know he'd hear you out and he'll be respectful of what you're going through." I let out a breath, I clenched my eyes shut, hating in myself for not reading the signs. If I knew sooner I would've done everything in my power to reassure Y/n that the only person my heart sings for is her. 

"He's a 1000+ year old vampire, he has more important things than dealing with my petty feelings." 

"Y/n listen here. Elijah worships the ground you walk on, he wouldn't think any less of you for worring about Katherine. We all know what Katherine is like and you have every reason to be worrying about it." Damon's response seemed to freeze her in her place. 

"Thank you..." 

Four nights later, I invited Y/n to come over, I will admit I was surprised when she agreed. We journed to my bedroom, she placed herself on the bed, fiddled with her hands and I took this as an opportunity to shut down the feelings of doubt and jealousy. 

"Y/n the other night, I overheard you speaking to the Salvatores about what's been going on..." She buried her face in her  hands, looking ashamed and worried about what I could possibly say. I sat beside her, took her hand and cupped her face in my other hand to ensure she met my eyes. 

"I understand your worries completely. I understand and I want you to know, that Katherine does not matter to me. She hasn't for 500 years. All I care about is you, no one else matters to me, just you. I love you with all my heart, I love your smile and your little jokes. I love when you leave me a note with a little picture, I worship the ground you walk on and I will go to hell back to prove that I love you as much as I do. I am awfully sorry that you haven't felt as if you could speak to me and I feel awful that this happened. But please, my love... know that I would never ever dream of breaking your heart and leaving you alone. You have my word, I promise you that I won't let the devil of a woman try and break us apart because she is long forgetten." 

She took a few breaths, Y/n moved closer to me, rested a kiss upon my forehead and took a moment before finding the courage to speak. 

"I am sorry, I'm sorry that I didn't come to you, I'm sorry I didn't allow you to know what was going on. It was fair of me to shut you out when you haven't done anything to warrent it. Please forgive me." 

"There's nothing to apologise or forgive for. My love, let me prove to you my undying and everlasting love for you." Her shy little smile brought a smile to my lips, I cupped her face in my hands, bringing her in for a kiss and listened to her hum as I brought her into my arms for an embrace, Y/n took a moment to breathe and whispers softly into my ear. 

"i love you, Elijah. I love you more than you'll ever know." 

"I love you more my love." 

First Person's POV 

Late into the night, we lay in each other's arms, Elijah and I lay naked under the blankets. My headed rest on his chest, he took my hand away lying across him and brought my hand to rest a sweet and longing kiss against my palm. The action was enough to keep my smile stuck on my lips and it was enough for me to snuggle in closer to him with my hand resting in his and his tender eyes continuing to made me feel incredibly loved and devoted to.