#i need to know where to get like. 1 (one) long sleeve dress with a looong flowing skirt and billowy sleeves

[angeliccss]

Home-Spun: Stitch by Stitch

Pairing: Lilia Calderu/Reader

Words: 2.5k

Chapter: 1/?

Summary: Lilia teaches you to sew, guiding your hands with quiet care. Between crooked stitches and whispered spells, love takes shape—soft, slow, and spellbound.

Warnings: Domestic fluff, Established Relationship, Sewing Lessons, Reader is head over heels, Sicilian.

AO3

You wake to the quiet rhythm of thread pulling through cloth, a steady sound like breathing. Somewhere on your left, Lilia is already at her worktable, bathed in the golden hush of early light. Her sewing needle glints with each precise motion, her shoulders loose, her expression soft with focus.

You stay still for a moment, watching her. She’s wearing one of her older blouses, sleeves rolled to her elbows, a pair of spectacles sliding low on her nose. She looks so peaceful there—like she belongs to the morning itself.

“Mm,” she murmurs without looking up. “Sei sveglia, tesoru miu?” Her voice is low, warm.

Are you awake, my darling?

You smile, stretching a little under the quilt she stitched herself. “Barely.” She finally turns, her eyes crinkling with affection. “Come here, baby. I’ve been sewing for an hour and missing you for just as long.”

The words wrap around you like honey. You pad over barefoot, drawn to her like always. You place a kiss on her crown, breathing in the scent of rosemary and old cotton.

“I like watching you sew,” you admit, leaning on the table beside her. Lilia hums, her fingers pausing just long enough to squeeze yours. “Then sit with me, amore.”

Lilia hums as she works, something old and wordless, the kind of tune that lives in a woman’s bones more than her memory. Her fingers move with practiced ease, the needle slipping in and out of the fabric in quick, perfect stitches. She doesn’t even need to look. Her hands know the rhythm by heart.

The room smells like lavender and rosemary, sun-warmed cotton and dried rose petals. Herbs hang from the ceiling in tidy bundles—sage, thyme, a few sprigs of rue. Sunlight spills through the lace curtains in soft patches, catching on the floating dust and turning it gold. Along one wall, a row of half-finished dresses sways gently, like ghosts waiting to be stitched into something real.

You sit down beside her, as close as you can get without climbing into her lap—not that she’d mind. Lilia always makes space for you, always tilts toward your gravity. Her thigh brushes against yours under the table, and you lean into the warmth of her without thinking.

She smiles without looking up. “You’re always so touchy in the morning,” she murmurs, fond. “Like a little cat, curling up wherever it’s warm.” You grin. “Only where it smells like you.”

She laughs, low and rich, and her fingers pause just long enough to rest against your wrist. “Ti vogghiu beni, caru. You know that, se?”

I love you, darling

The words settle low in your chest, warm and steady. You nod, too full to speak.

Lilia lifts the needle again, still humming as she stitches. You watch her hands, fascinated. She sews like she breathes—easily, gracefully, without fuss. Every movement is confident. Every stitch, perfect. She’s so beautiful like this, so capable, so utterly her.

You sigh, softly. “I always wanted to learn how to sew. But no one ever taught me.” Lilia doesn’t stop sewing, but you feel her attention shift. “No one?” she murmurs.

You shake your head. “Not really. My mother always meant to, but she was always too busy. And then I got older, and it felt silly to ask. Like I missed my chance.”

She hums again, but this time it’s thoughtful. Her needle stills. She sets it down gently in the pincushion and turns fully to face you.

“I’ll teach you,” she says gently, brushing her knuckles over your cheek. “It’s never too late to learn. And you’ll never be silly for wanting to make something with your own hands.”

You meet her gaze. “Would you really teach me?” She smiles—slow, bright, and a little mischievous. “Of course, amore. We’ll start with threading the needle.”

You take the needle and thread from her, determined to do it right. You’ve seen her do it so many times—how hard can it be?

But the thread bends instead of slipping through. You try again. Miss. Your fingers are too clumsy, the eye too small. The more you focus, the more it seems to evade you, like it’s mocking your effort.

You huff a little under your breath, embarrassed. “Okay, maybe it’s… a little harder than it looks.” Lilia doesn’t tease. She just hums and sets her sewing aside completely. “Come here,” she says, tugging gently at your waist. “Sit with me.”

Before you can protest, she’s pulled you into her lap with practiced ease, wrapping one arm around your middle. Her legs are warm beneath yours, her breath soft against your neck.

“You don’t have to—” you start, but she’s already settling you into place, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “Shh,” she says, voice amused and quiet. “Let me help.”

Her hands find yours—steady, sure—and she guides your fingers to hold the needle just so. Then she takes the thread and shows you the trick: how to pinch it close to the tip, how to steady your hand, how to breathe.

“Don’t rush it,” she murmurs. “It’s not a race. Just let it happen.”

You feel the warmth of her breath against your skin, the slow rhythm of her chest behind yours. With her hands around yours, the motion feels easier—like her calm is catching. You try again. This time, the thread slips through.

“There,” she says, pleased. “See? You’re already learning.” You glance back at her, and her eyes are so close, her smile so soft, you feel warmth bloom in your chest.

“I like this,” you say, a little breathless. She kisses your temple, her hand still resting over yours. “Me too.”

Once the thread is through, Lilia reaches around you and guides your hands to the fabric. She lays a small scrap across your lap—nothing fancy, just soft muslin, already marked with a faint line for you to follow.

“We’ll start with a running stitch,” she murmurs, her voice low against your ear. “Simple. In and out, like waves lapping on the shore.”

Her fingers curl over yours again, guiding the needle through the cloth. She moves slowly, letting you feel the rhythm—how much pressure to use, where to angle the point, how to keep the tension smooth and even. You mimic her, halting at first, but she never rushes you. “You’ll get the feel of it,” she says. “It’s all muscle memory in time.”

As you work, Lilia stays close, her arms around you in a loose embrace, one hand occasionally reaching to adjust the fabric or steady your wrist. She hums now and then, or offers small encouragements in that low, honeyed voice you adore.

“Did you know,” she begins, her lips just at the curve of your cheek, “witches used to hide charms in the hems of their clothes?” You pause mid-stitch, glancing at her. “Really?”

She nods, smile curling. “Little knots for protection. Threads blessed by moonlight. Even tiny herbs, sewn into the lining of cloaks. Sewing wasn’t just domestic—it was spellwork. Power hidden in plain sight.”

You listen, enchanted, imagining a line of wise women stitching quiet magic into skirts and sleeves. Lilia’s voice makes it easy to picture. She makes everything feel sacred. “That’s beautiful,” you murmur. “So are you,” she says, so casually it takes you a beat to feel the flush rise in your cheeks.

You’re just returning your focus to the cloth when she reaches up, almost without thinking, and brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers linger for a heartbeat, and then—before you can say anything—she presses a kiss to your cheek. Soft. Certain. Your hands still again. You can feel the shape of her smile against your skin. “I like teaching you,” she whispers. “You make everything feel new again.”

By the end of the lesson, your stitches are far from perfect—some are too long, others too tight, and a few wander stubbornly off the guide line altogether. But they’re yours. You made them.

Lilia runs a finger along the row of uneven stitches, smiling like she’s never seen anything more precious. “Beautiful,” she says. You huff a little. “They’re a mess.”

“They’re yours,” she replies. “And I’m proud of you.”

You’re still in her lap, still tucked close in the warm circle of her arms. Her hand rests lightly on your knee, the other still holding the fabric you practiced on. Your fingers are red from gripping the needle, and your shoulders ache a little from leaning, but you feel… peaceful. Settled.

You look down at your clumsy line of stitches and then at her—so calm, so sure—and something quiet settles deep in your chest.

This is what home feels like.

After a while, Lilia picks up the piece she’d been working on earlier. You recognize it now—a soft blouse in a color you once said reminded you of spring after rain. She hums as she threads her needle again, comfortable and unhurried, and you stay exactly where you are, still in her lap, cheek resting against her shoulder.

As she sews, she begins to mumble under her breath. Low, familiar sounds. You can’t make out most of the words, but you recognize the cadence—Sicilian, soft and rhythmic, like a lullaby or a prayer.

You don’t interrupt. You just listen, letting the sound of her voice and the gentle pull of thread lull you deeper into the moment.

You know she sews more than just fabric. Lilia always said stitches could carry intention. And you can feel it now, in the way her fingers move just a little slower, more careful. In the way she knots the thread three times, whispering something you can’t quite catch.

She’s sewing something for you—not just with care, but with purpose. You know her well enough to guess: small protective charms stitched into the seams, blessings worked into every hem and fold. You don’t ask. You don’t need to. You just watch her, your heart full.

The needle glides. Her voice hums. And the little room glows with golden light, the scent of herbs, and the quiet, unspoken kind of love that doesn’t need to be named.

Eventually, Lilia lifts her head, blinking as if waking from a dream. Her needle pauses mid-stitch. “Come,” she says softly, giving your hip a little tap. “Up. I need to fit this on you properly before I finish the sleeves.”

You groan, only half teasing. “But your lap is warm.” She laughs, bright and fond, and cups your jaw with one hand. “You’re such a spoiled thing.”

“Says the one spoiling me.”

Still, you rise, stretching a little before letting her help you slip the blouse over your head. The fabric is cool against your skin, soft and just the right weight. It already feels like something meant for you. Lilia steps in close, smoothing it down over your shoulders, adjusting the seams, tugging gently at the hem.

She circles you slowly, her fingers always touching—measuring, checking, lingering. She tugs a pin from the cushion at her wrist and carefully folds the fabric at your side.

As she works, she speaks, voice low and steady.

“I stitched a few things into the seams,” she says. “Nothing too strong, just… small charms. A thread for safety. One for courage.” She looks up and smiles softly. “One to make you feel loved, always.”

Your breath catches. “You did that?”

“Of course.” Her hands pause at your waist, resting gently. “Even if I’m not there, I want something to be.” You’re quiet for a moment, throat thick. “That’s… really beautiful.”

She shrugs, gentle. “It’s old magic. The kind women have always done with their hands. Quiet. Intentional.” She leans in and adds, with a conspiratorial smile, “And it works best when stitched into things meant for someone you love.”

The word hangs there—love—but she says it so easily, so matter-of-fact, like it’s just the truth. And it is.

You blink at her, soft and overwhelmed. “What were you mumbling, while you were sewing?” She chuckles. “A mix of things. Some spells, yes. Some measurements. And some… nonsense.”

“Nonsense?” She steps back to admire the fit of the blouse, then moves forward to adjust the collar.

“Things like, this will look so pretty on her, or her shoulders are so sweet it’s unfair, or I hope she smiles when she wears it.” She flicks her fingers lightly under your chin. “Talking to the cloth. Talking to you, even if you didn’t hear it.”

You can’t help it—you smile. “I did hear it,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “I just didn’t know what it meant.”

Lilia smooths a hand over your arm, her touch slow and reverent. “It meant I love you,” she says. “That’s all it ever means.”

And you stand there in the soft glow of morning, wrapped in the blouse she made for you—stitched with spells, with care, with every unspoken word she didn’t know how to say aloud—feeling more seen than you ever have before.

Lilia gives a satisfied little hum and steps back. “Almost perfect. Just a few more stitches.”

She reaches for the hem, fingers brushing your waist, and carefully helps you out of the blouse. Her touch is gentle, reverent, and even though you’re standing in just your nightgown now, there’s nothing rushed or coy about it. Just care.

Once the fabric is off, she pats her lap again. “Back, bella mia. I work better with you close.” You don’t hesitate.

She settles you into her lap like you belong there—which, at this point, you’re sure you do. You curl into her, cheek brushing her collarbone, and watch as her fingers move swiftly through the final stitches.

The room is quiet now, sunlight slipping warm and drowsy across the floor. Her sewing needle flashes in the light, quick and sure, and you can feel the calm in her chest, steady beneath your back.

When she ties off the last thread, she lifts the blouse with both hands and speaks something soft under her breath—Sicilian again, but slower this time, more focused. The words carry weight. Not just habit, but purpose.

You tilt your head. “Another spell?”

“Mmm.” She nods, her voice honey-sweet. “Just a little one. For grace. For joy.” Then she runs her fingers gently along the blouse’s collar and says, almost dreamily, “Quantu ti pari bedda, amuri meu.”

You blink. “What does that mean?”

She laughs softly, tucking the blouse into your hands like a secret. “Ah… I forget you don’t speak Sicilian, stellina. I keep talking to you like you do.”

“Well?” you press, grinning.

Lilia brushes her knuckles under your chin, her eyes warm, full of something tender and a little amused. “It means, ‘How pretty you’ll look, my love.’”

You melt a little, holding the blouse tighter. “Maybe you should teach me.” Her smile widens, slow and knowing. “Maybe I will.”

You smile so wide it almost aches. She leans in and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose—light, dotting touches like punctuation.

“Go put it on,” she says softly. “Let me see the spell finished.”

[spamlets]

im currently staying in an area where there’s a large amount of muslims and i desperately need to know where muslim women buy their dresses, i keep seeing them with the prettiest, dreamiest flowy dresses ever 😭💞💕💞

i can never find the type of dress i want because all the areas near me never sell the type of clothes im looking for, but if there’s a specific place to buy that type of dress (long, modest, flowy, and fit for everyday wear) i want to know!!

(maybe im not looking in the right places but the only dresses ive been able to find in regular stores are made extremely cheaply and/or have a deep v-neck and/or aren’t made with a fabric/cut that can accommodate my bust size etc etc )

[pbpressure]

ballin' | p.b

"bet i get you wet now, bet i make you sweat now"

pairing: paige bueckers x fem!reader

warnings: smut, fluff, them being down bad for one another, jealousy(?), fingering, thigh riding, a little dirty talk, i think that's all lmao

word count: 4k-ish (sorry i'm a sucker for pwp)

summary: you and your beautiful girlfriend finally have the time to dedicate a night out to yourselves...or something like that.

author’s note: hi! this is my first fic about paige and it's been marinating for a while but ima stop acting scary and let y'all have it. this could technically read as a part 1...i have more written but it was getting pretty long so i found that the ending on this was a good stopping point. but, let me know if y'all want the rest! i tried my best to proof read so if i missed anything i'm giving it to god. enjoy! (if you hate it don't tell me)

date night was always long awaited for you and paige. between school for the both of you and the season underway for her, there was little time to dedicate to yourselves for something like a dinner reservation. undoubtedly it was understood that making time for one another was necessary and of course it came in many other forms, but this, an entire night to yourselves to do anything your hearts desired was so hard to squeeze in. until now.

excitedly texting your friends with your final outfit choice and starting your makeup way before you even needed to so it could be perfect, you were more than ready to get out of the house. paige had stepped out a bit ago to “get gas” and you anticipated at the very least being ready before she got back. you hadn’t seen her before she left with you cooped up in front of your vanity getting ready, but you could only assume that she looked as gorgeous as always.

finalizing your makeup with a lip combo you scurried to the closet where your dress hung. a backless halter neck mini dress, simple in your eyes. of course you loved it enough to wear it out, but not as much as paige loved it on you. the first time you tried it on for her some time ago you could’ve sworn you saw her drool a bit. her eyes immediately blown out, a smirk painting her lips as she tried to get her hands on you. there was no denying that it quickly became one of her favorite things she had ever seen you in so it was perfect for tonight.

you slipped into the dress, grabbing shoes to match and spritzed some perfume on before attempting to get some pictures to post later. before you could get more than a few flicks of yourself in the mirror you heard the jingle of keys unlocking the door. giggling in the mirror like a schoolgirl, you do a once over of yourself and walk out of your room to meet paige at the door.

when you see her you feel your heart skip a beat and you honestly have to resist the urge to moan a little. she’s got on some mascara to make her eyes pop, her hair falling over her shoulders in waves. she’s dressed in a short sleeved button down and a crop top that fits her frame perfectly. her jeans sit on her hips in just the right spot to show off her toned abdomen and her newest pair of sneakers. oh, and of course all of her jewelry catches the light perfectly.

to finish the look off she holds a bouquet of roses.

you don’t know if you want to giggle, cry, or drop to your knees to give her some of the best head she's ever known in her 23 years of life.

“baby, what’s with these?” you break the silence, creeping towards her with the biggest smile on your face. she extends an arm to wrap around your waist pulling you in for a hug after handing you the flowers.

“just a lil sumn for my princess. you knew i wasn’t gonna step to you empty handed, when have i ever?” she taunts, placing a kiss on the crown of your head as you pull back from the hug, quickly placing another right on your lips.

the kiss is sweet, just a peck at first. but when you both lean in for another you can’t help but slowly slide your flower free hand up the front of her body to then rest on the back of her neck. moaning into the kiss when you feel her tongue slide between your lips to meet your own, you feel warmth flood the pit of your stomach. her hands are low on your waist, one making its way to your ass causing you to gasp a bit as she smirks into the kiss.

you pull back first, holding eye contact with your girlfriend as she is very clearly stifling a laugh.

“thank you for the flowers paige, they’re beautiful” you whisper into the few centimeters of space between your lips and hers, your eyes glossed over as you look up at her.

“beautiful like you baby. it was only fitting.” she replies with a wink as you reluctantly pull away, still holding onto paige at the waistband of her pants.

“you’re so corny.” you mutter, still a little wrapped up in the kiss

“and you’re clearly in love with that," she retorts, "but you really do look beautiful baby, do a spin for me?" her voice a little lower this time, dropping one of her hands down to grab your own waiting for you to oblige, and of course you do.

she lets out a whistle, hissing after it. clearly you've got her right where you want her and this dress was a great choice.

"let's get out of here while we still can because part of me wants to bend you over right here and say fuck the dinner."

"paige!" you say with a giggle, finally separating yourself from her to grab your purse and phone.

she's waiting for you at the door with the goofiest smile on her face as you manage to pass her and make your way to the car without another word. she opens the door for you and waits for you to situate yourself inside before closing it and walking around to her side.

while she’s getting in the car you can’t help but stare. she always looked good, that was a no brainer. but maybe it was the thought of having her all to yourself tonight that had your mind going crazy. you’re analyzing her from head to toe several times over before you realize you’re squeezing your thighs together for some sort of relief. she stops at a red light, almost feeling your eyes on the side of her head before she turns to you.

“what are you staring at?” she asks with the raise of an eyebrow, making direct eye contact with you.

your mouth is still agape for a second before you can figure out something to say.

“you. you look good. i mean, you always do but right now i’m just thinking about how i have you all to myself tonight.” you respond, looking away from her as the light turns green.

“wowww..you have such a way with words baby, thank you” she chuckles, placing a hand gingerly on your knee to squeeze. your eyes are on her hand as it creeps up your leg until it’s on your thigh, heavy and now partially under your dress. she never takes her eyes off the road but you know she can feel the heat radiating off of you.

you don’t even realize you're at the restaurant until the car stops and is put into park. her hand is gone before you can process anything at all and she is out of the driver's seat and on the way to retrieve you from your spot in the passenger seat. she sweetly grabs your hand, basically dragging you from your dirty thoughts.

dinner is officially the farthest thing from your mind right now.

the restaurant is perfect. it’s dimly lit and not too crowded, a hostess greets you at the front.

as paige gives a name for your reservation you catch her eyes drifting over your girlfriend’s frame more than once. of course to your understanding paige is paying her no mind but her staring is becoming a problem and you have yet to even watch her pull up said reservation.

you clear your throat once and you assume she takes a hint. her cheeks flush before she mutters a quick,

”right this way.”

as you follow behind her and are led to a table you feel paige’s lips next to your ear, “if you can behave so we can enjoy ourselves here, then we can enjoy each other even more when we get home.”

scoffing, you place your hand over hers that’s resting on your hip, “yeah well as long as she gets it together i’ll have no problem behaving.” you turn your head and respond hastily without losing stride.

you’re sat at a table and quickly order a glass of wine before you can gauge the entire menu, almost opting for the entire bottle.

the situation with the hostess is nearly forgotten, as you and paige start a bit of small talk about how school and work are for you and how the season is going for her. how you’ve been managing a balance of things and how she’s been getting along with new teammates and such. then you catch another glance of the woman from earlier out of the corner of your eye and your thoughts are scattered. you hadn’t intended to snap, whether it had been at her or at paige. your girlfriend was always being watched, sought after, talked to. she’s paige bueckers, of course people would stare. at the end of the day you were the only person that mattered to her and she had made that abundantly clear since the first day you'd met.

it’s not a big deal. paige seems fine, just leave it be.

“what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours?” your thoughts are once again interrupted.

you hadn’t even realized you’d be thinking about this shit for that long. paige had finished her story about what happened at practice and just watched your mind wander off for god knows how long.

“sorry baby, i didn’t mean to zone out," you pause before continuing, figuring that there was no point in trying to lie.

"i just wanted to make sure you knew that earlier i wasn’t upset or anything. i did get a little snappy but i'm sorry, it’s not a big deal.” you ramble, looking off to the side at the end of your sentence to avoid her eyes.

“baby, it’s okay if it did bother you. but you know i’m not worried about anybody except you, right?” she starts, reaching across the table to grab your hand.

“of course. i’m okay babe don’t worry, i’m sorry for even bringing it up, tonight is about us and us only.” you respond, interlocking your fingers with hers and bringing her hand to your lips.

“you know you can bring up anything to me at any given time. that’s what relationships are about,” your gaze softens even more as you nod.

her voice drops a bit lower ensuring that only the two of you can hear, “and to dead any of your concerns i wasn’t even aware that i was being looked at until you said something, i was too focused on how good your looks ass in that dress and thinking about what i’m gonna do to you when i finally get you out of it.” she finishes.

you close your mouth, forgetting whatever snarky reply you'd been thinking of as heat creeps up your neck. both of your eyebrows raise in minimal shock. her expression immediately mimics yours before she can continue.

“you thought you could walk out of the house in that and i wouldn’t immediately be itching to take it off of you?” paige says, gaze drifting down towards your cleavage before finding your eyes again.

“no. that was the plan.” you say, raising your second glass of wine to your lips your tone a bit sultry.

“perfect.” she responds, before your moment is interrupted with your food finally arriving

the previous conversation is long gone as you dive nose first into your plate of pasta and also another story from paige about the team and their silly competitive games after practice. the rest of dinner went exactly how you’d hoped. no interruptions. just you and your beautiful baby over a nice meal and a little conversation.

two more glasses of wine down and you’re just as tipsy as could be. you’re focused on what paige is saying until you're not. your eyes momentarily find her lips the way they move while she’s speaking, how she occasionally licks them between a sentence or two before continuing, the heat between your legs quick to return.

you’re waiting for the bill when you get an idea. uncrossing your legs and extending your right one until the toe of your pump is met with her calf, you watch her facial expression falter. you sensually drag your foot up and down until she stops talking.

“didn’t i say behave?”

“baby, i don’t know what you’re talking about?” you taunt nonchalantly.

she notices what you’re trying to do and decides to play your game.

after placing her card down with the bill she's reaching towards your ankle that is now near her knee. her touch gentle, causing goosebumps to arise on the freshly shaved skin of your legs. nodding to the waiter that grabs the check, her attention is back on you. holding piercing eye contact with you she lightly draws foreign shapes on the parts of your outstrechted leg that she can reach.

"alright, that's enough." you say lowly with a playful roll of your eyes, attempting to pull your leg back down to the ground. she quickly strengthens her hold on you, raising her brow again.

"is it?"

before either of you can say anything else the waiter comes back with the check and a receipt, you use the shift of paige's attention to return your foot to the ground.

she scribbles down a signature and tip before quickly making her way to her feet, waiting for you to stand. taking your hand in her own she leads you out of the restaurant and to the car.

before she opens the door for you she mounts you to it with a hand on your hip, towering over you. you reach out to bring her head down to your own until you’re eye level.

“i want you so bad,” you almost moan, taking her free hand in your own and sighing desperately when she leans back standing at her full height.

“i can tell baby, you can’t keep your hands to yourself.” she responds, placing one of her legs between both of yours, smirking when your head falls back against the car door.

paige chuckles a bit before pulling your body towards hers so she can open the door and get you into the car.

the car ride back is comfortable. full of tension, but comfortable nonetheless. paige’s hand back on your thigh, you’re still tipsy as hell, taking photos and videos of yourself to distract from the throbbing between your legs.

when you get home you can’t even wait for paige to open the door for you before you’re out of the car and on the way your front door.

“hey, you know i don’t like when you do that.” she calls out from behind you with a frown as you’re trying to force your keys in the lock, fumbling a bit when you feel her body heat behind you. she cages you in, quick to press her front into your back placing hot kisses onto your neck as her hands are feeling you up.

you finally unlock the door and let yourselves in, careful not to disconnect yourself from paige. she shuts and locks the door behind you both.

“okay let’s make a deal, i’ll never open the car door for myself again if we have sex right now.” you say, throwing your purse and keys to the side as you turn in her arms to face her.

“deal,” she groans as her hands make their way underneath your dress, just to discover that the entire night you’ve been prancing around with no panties on.

“surpriseeee.” you drag out in a whisper leaving sloppy kisses all over her skin that’s gradually exposed as her shirt starts to fall off her shoulders.

she places one hand on your neck forcing your lips onto hers. it’s messy but clearly neither of your care. soon you’re backed against a wall. her other hand slides up your leg and under your dress, two fingers firmly pressed to your clit causing your jaw to fall open in a silent moan.

“should i fuck you right here? you just couldn’t wait to have me, maybe i bend you over now? hmm?” she mutters against your lips, applying more pressure to your cunt slowly tracing figure eights there until she feels more of your arousal leave you and leak into the palm of her hand.

“whatever you want—fuck, just do something..please” you pant, groaning as you feel two of her slender fingers enter you like clockwork. you’ve been wet since you laid eyes on her three hours ago and now several wine glasses deep you can’t help but feel like you’re already about to cum.

the moan you let out sounds borderline pornographic.

“miss impatient...you look so pretty like this baby. i’ve barely done anything and you’re gushing into my hand.”

“mmh–only get like this for you”

“i know. but you’re gonna ruin your pretty dress. the dress you wore all for me huh? just couldn't wait to have all of my attention?” she rasps into your ear, almost in a mocking tone while her fingers pump into you skillfully.

“yes baby, all for you– FUCK!” you try to keep up but she quickly curls her fingers inside of you, hitting that spongy spot almost immediately.

“we’re just getting started, you gonna cum already?”

paige teases, watching your eyes roll back and your mouth open in a silent moan while she speeds up the thrusts of her fingers if humanly possible.

“mmm—i’ve w-wanted you since you walked in here holding fucking flowers.”

“i know mama”

“please baby, don't stop i’m so close” you let out in a string of whines, hand grabbing onto her shoulder for support as you hook your leg around her hip.

“let go, make a mess on me baby you know that’s what i want.” she whispers, messily mouthing your nipples through your dress, licking a line up the valley of your chest to the underside of your jaw, leaving a wet kiss there.

“FUCK PAIGE–“ you manage to let out before you feel that familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach and your eyes starting to roll back into your head.

“i know baby, i know” she shushes you.

your first orgasm of the night crashes over embarrassingly quick. you’re rambling words that don’t even make any sense, them falling deaf to your ears. paige is with you the entire time you ride out your high, leaving hot kisses over any inch of exposed skin her lips can find and whispering praise into your ear.

there’s a heartbeat worth of silence and then you pry your eyes open and almost cum again when you catch sight of your girlfriend. her lips puffy from all the kissing, a slight sheen of sweat across her face and chest, and her eyes hazy.

your eyes drift down to the few fingers that were just inside you and in record speed you reach down to bring them up to your own lips, tasting yourself.

paige lets out a groan, her head lulling to the side as she watches you intently as you carefully suck your release from each of her fingers.

before you can think of anything to say she’s got both her hands under you as she lifts you up. you let out a yelp and a slight giggle, still spent from how hard you came.

paige carries you up the stairs and to your bedroom before placing you on the bed. as she stands over you and begins taking off your heels for you there’s a glint in her eyes.

“you’re really beautiful, you know that?” you mutter softly, never breaking eye contact as she throws your shoes aside and leans down, both her hands on the sides of your head, chain catching your eye as it dangles directly in front of your face.

“have you seen yourself? i had to try real hard not to lay you down in the backseat before we came home.“

taking her by surprise you wrap your legs around her and flip the two of you until you’re sat atop her lap, one of her thighs between yours. she’s got a look of shock on her face but one of her hands immediately lands on your thigh, the other resting on your hip.

“you’re wearing too many clothes paige..” you whisper, starting to peel her shirt off her arms completely. you sigh when the only thing separating her upper half from your view is a teenie black crop top.

you lean down for a kiss, using two fingers to pinch one of her nipples. you take charge, your head turned slightly to the side as your tongue slides between her lips. she moans into your mouth as her hand comes down hard on your ass grabbing a handful of the same spot that she smacked. it's your turn to moan.

you don’t even realize the way that you’ve begun grinding down against the rough denim of her jeans. she immediately noticed, helping you guide your hips over her flexed thigh as you whimper pathetically. your head thrown back.

"look at you baby. just using me to get yourself off, so fucked out you can barely hold your head up," paige utters.

ironically enough this makes you bring your head up and lock eyes with her again, a slight smirk on your lips. using every little bit of composure you have left you slow the motions of your hips.

“paige, earlier when i said it didn’t matter that you were being eye fucked by that hostess i lied. honestly…i was a little pissed at first. but then i thought about how i’d have you under me just like this at the end of the night.”

you change the angle of your other leg so your knee is placed right against her clit, then you start rocking back and forth with a little more intent, determined to get her off like this.

“fuck,” paige hisses, her head thrown back into the pillows. sucking on one of her fingers she pulls the top of your dress to the side to play with your tits.

you whine and bite your lip, holding eye contact with her as she’s fondling you.

“now i just wanna fuck you until i pass out. because nobody else will ever get the chance.”

“fuck" she groans, "baby nothing is stopping you."

this flips a switch in your head. placing your hand over hers that was on your tit you lean down to kiss her, never stopping your knees assault on her bundle of nerves. at this point you’re both a little spent, paige whimpering against your lips as she gets closer to her release.

“you gonna cum for me paige? you wanna give me that? i waited for this all night” you pant into her mouth, your own clit too sensitive by now from your previous orgasm.

“yes—f-fuck, i’m so close baby. you’re riding me so good i could cum just looking at you”

knowing that even when she was on the edge of her own orgasm she would never rob you of some praise pushes you closer to your own release.

freezing for a second you bring two fingers up to your lips and wet them as she watches. finally unzipping her pants and slipping your hand into her underwear you press onto her clit firmly, making tight circles shortly after.

"you're so wet baby...i guess you really do love this dress?" you tease, her head immediately thrown back into the pillows underneath her.

“shit—babe, i’m gonna cum” paige rasps out, not expecting to feel your fingers.

“give it to me. please?” you whisper in her ear.

she loses it. her chest heaving, legs moving underneath you. her hands tight in their gasps on your hips as she grinds up into your fingers, chasing the rest of her high. you leave hot kisses on her neck, sucking on her ear just a little until you feel her breathing become even underneath you.

you pull back to check on her and see she’s already looking at you.

“we're not even close to done. strip.”

[eoieopda]

triple-dog dare | lsm

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario. 

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

pairing: lee seokmin x reader summary: when you're left off the guest list to seokmin's parent's thirtieth anniversary party, you're content to keep your questions to yourself and stay home. seokmin, on the other hand, is not content. in fact, he pulls the one card he knows will always win. au: childhood best friends to lovers genre: fluff, angst, smut type: one-shot rating: 18+ only. minors do not have my consent to interact. wc: 13k cw: pov switches, complicated sibling dynamics (seokmin’s), there is in fact one (1) bed, halmonis gone wild, stupid childhood nicknames, fingering (v), oral sex (m receiving), multiple orgasms, implied penetrative sex (p in v). reader notes: afab, uses she/her pronouns, wears a dress/heels to the party, is implicitly an only child. the setting is intentionally ambiguous, so she's not implicitly korean and/or asian. there are no descriptions of body shape/size, complexion, etc. a/n: thank you to the incomparable @daechwitatamic for beta-ing this! it's been a long damn time since i've written anything, so this might not have seen the light of day without jo, the hype-man. on that note, i suck at summaries; just read the fic, lmao. svt masterlist. svt permanent taglist. multi permanent taglist.

For being the walking disaster that he is, there have been shockingly few moments in Lee Seokmin’s life where he’s needed to shove his oversized foot into his oversized mouth.

Prior to the incident at your apartment, the last time he’d embarrassed himself like this was when he’d asked his oldest sister, Soyeon, in earnest whether or not she was pregnant, only to learn that she was just bloated; and he’s just an ass.

To your credit, you’re far from cruel when he slips up, but that almost makes it worse. You visibly deflate when he asks his well-intentioned but ill-fated question, rather than letting him have it the way his two siblings would have done.

The day in question went like this:

He asked, “Did you reserve your room yet for the 31st? If not, we can double up. It’ll be a lot cheaper.”

And you blinked, stunned like you’d been slapped. “Have I what?”

It dawned on you both at that moment that, for whatever reason, his parents’ thirtieth anniversary party was in fact news to you. Two things then happened at once: you tried to hide your surprise and the twinge of pain that comes with being excluded; and he racked his stupid brain to find any explanation for why you had to feel either one of those things.

The best option he found was to gently toss his middle sister, Seonmi, under the metaphorical bus. 

“Seonmi’s been working on something special for them. You know how she gets,” he waved dismissively. “So obsessed with finding the perfect napkins — ” He wiggled his fingers for emphasis. “— and creating custom cocktails, that she misses the forest for the trees.”

You didn’t look convinced. Likewise, you didn’t look any less uncomfortable.

Fuck.

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” To drive his point home, he reached from his spot on your couch to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “I have a plus-one, so it’s not like it’ll be a logistical problem. You belong there as much as we do.”

And he meant it, wholeheartedly. 

All his life, the running joke has been that Soonyi and Minseok Lee have four kids: two biological daughters, a younger son, and his otherwise unrelated twin, who spent more time sleeping on his top bunk than in her own home next door. 

The way he saw it — and the way he’s sure his parents would see it — is that no family gathering is complete without you. That’s a hill he’d die on if need be.

You shifted in your seat, which caused his hand to slip off your knee, whether or not you meant for it to happen. Glancing uneasily out your window, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth, mumbling, “I don’t know…”

Seokmin frowned. You didn’t see it, though, and therefore weren’t moved by it. Instead, you cycled through your anxious thoughts at high velocity. If he was still touching you, he’d be worried that your sparking brain might catch him on fire.

“What if it’s not a mistake? I mean, what if it’s a couples thing?” 

He couldn’t even classify these questions as rhetorical because he wasn’t meant to hear them in the first place. Though you asked out loud, each one of them was for your ears only. From his half of the couch — miles away — his frown deepened, unbeknownst to you.

“You know, Seonmi follows me on Instagram; she’d know that Kai and I broke up a few months ago. Maybe she doesn’t want me to feel awkward? Even if I went, and I didn’t feel weird about that, her expecting it to be weird might make it weird, right?”

Fuck.

You’d spiral all day if Seokmin didn’t stop you. As much as he loves how thoughtful you are, he knows better than most that you have a tendency to take it too far, inflicting that relentless consideration on yourself until it wounds. 

“Bambi.”

The sternness of his tone surprised both of you, so much so that when you snapped to look at him, both of you froze. Your moon-sized eyes were further proof that your childhood nickname still rings true to date, although your being the deer made him the oncoming car in this scenario. 

He didn’t love that analogy.

Recovering quickly, he pulled the Ace from his sleeve: the surefire way for one of you to get the other onboard:

“I triple-dog dare you to come with me.”

Begrudgingly, you’d conceded, just like Seokmin hoped you would. You sat with him while he figured out travel plans to the mountain resort, helped him visualize what the hell he needed to wear to an event like this. When the time came, you sent him half the cost for the room he booked, even though he repeatedly insisted that you didn’t need to chip in.

Now, that unsolicited sum sits untouched in his Venmo balance. You sit next to him on the night train out of town.

Sit, he thinks, is a bit of an understatement. You’re barely upright, so exhausted from your work day that his shoulder and side are bearing most of your weight. His arm went from tingling to numb an hour ago, but Seokmin doesn’t mind. There isn’t a burden he wouldn’t carry for you, up to and including you yourself.

Besides, he’s not worse off for being left to his own devices. In fact, he keeps himself thoroughly entertained by taking selfies of the pair of you. The aftermath will stay securely in his camera roll — largely because you’d kill him if you saw how squishy your face is, pressed against his coat, or how your little pout trembles slightly, almost as if you’re trying to talk through your sleep — but he still finds it worth the risk. This mochi-cheeked version of you is one of his favorites.

When Seokmin has amassed enough silly photos to comprise a dossier, he tucks his phone back into his pocket with a self-satisfied smile. You’re still out cold, so you don’t stir at his subtle movements or the sound of the concession trolley rattling your way down the aisle.

The girl manning said trolley is significantly outweighed by the thing itself. She hardly looks old enough to have graduated high school, he figures, and he can’t imagine how it is that she’s working at this hour — or how she got stuck doing this job, when it takes all she’s got to maneuver the giant metal contraption through all the train cars.

“Anything, sir?” She asks politely, albeit slightly out-of-breath. 

Even though she’s speaking to him, her gaze is directed squarely at his hat, leading him to believe that she may also be too shy for her job. Nonetheless, it’s been two entire hours since his dinner, and he’s on the brink of starving to death, so he coughs up a few bills in exchange for several different snacks. 

She could do him the kindness of assuming his massive pile of food is for sharing, but she doesn’t. She gestures to you and whispers, “Anything for your —?”

Seokmin intercepts the question, knowing exactly where it’s headed: in the same direction as the million others like it that he’s heard over the years. 

“— parole officer?” He supplies with a smile, “No, this nap is fueled by a lot of crab rangoon. She’ll be out for the duration, I fear.”

Both halves of his response seem to stun her, which means he has to cover his inevitable laugh with a fake cough. 

This bit of yours will truly never get old, although the implications that prompt it did a long time ago. It was a stroke of genius on your part, dodging inaccurate references to your relationship status by offering up something too absurd to converse around.

“You two make such a cute couple,” an Uber driver once told you.

“He’s not in a relationship,” you’d politely corrected him. “He’s in witness protection. I’m duty-bound to keep him and his identity safe.”

The silence turns awkward, so Seokmin thanks the girl and gives her a smile he hopes says, “you’re allowed to run away from me now; I won’t take it personally.” She bows her head a little too eagerly, then skitters off with a grimace, like she pulled something in her neck.

Alone again with you, he wiggles gently upright in his seat so that you can rest more comfortably against his pectoral, rather than his shoulder bone. Even though you’re still asleep, Seokmin swears he hears a quiet mmpfh, as if you’re expressing gratitude. He bites his lips to keep from smiling, knowing that smiling in your proximity is one step away from laughter: the only thing you’ve never been able to sleep through.

Instead of giving into the urge, he murmurs, “You should get paid royalties whenever we use that joke. Being as smart as you are should pay off.”

Now, he knows he’s not simply hearing things because you’re just barely loud enough to overcome your own mumbling. 

“Agreed,” you sigh on an exhale before slipping to sleep off again.

“Well?” 

There are two beats between his first question and his next: the unfilled gap you’ve left in the conversation and the cab’s trunk shutting firmly. “‘s that cool with you?”

Seokmin stares at you, staring at him. His expression is soft, like your lack of responsiveness is something to be fond of, rather than annoyed by. It’s unexpectant, too, leaving the door wide open.

You blink. “Sorry — I — What did you say?” 

Hitting him when he least expects it, you shift your suitcase from your dominant hand so you can gesture properly to the bright, poorly crocheted bucket hat flopping over his forehead. “It’s a bit hard to hear you. That hat is so loud.”

His quizzically raised eyebrows drop in an instant. Likewise, that airy smile of his flattens into a straight line. 

Bullseye.

“Is it me that you hate?” He asks, tone dead serious as he points his finger towards his own chest. “Or is it the very concept of whimsy?”

You’re too busy biting back a grin to protest when, without being asked, Seokmin reaches out and takes the handle of your suitcase into his own hand, as well as the garment bag you’d draped over your arm. Before turning away to abscond with both sets of luggage in addition to his own, he shoots you an incredulous look. It dissolves entirely before his face even disappears from view. 

“This is an objectively delightful hat,” he mutters, nonetheless, in furtherance of the bit.

He spots a member of hotel staff standing on the sidewalk directly outside the hotel’s double doors and pleads his case to them. “She made me this hat, you know,” he announces, gesturing back to you with a nod.

The valet’s uniform hat casts a shadow under the lamplight, but it doesn’t do enough to hide the expression on their face. It is abundantly clear — even in the dark — that they didn’t hear a single word Seokmin said before he offered up that bit of trivia, seemingly apropos of nothing. They muster up a customer-service smile that doesn’t reach their eyes and tell him it’s a wonderful hat. Meanwhile, you roll your eyes from behind because nothing either of them just said is true.

That hat is the byproduct of delusions of grandeur and innumerable skeins of color-conflicting yarn. You made it for yourself, believing that you were the kind of cute and kitschy person who could pull it off; and inconsolable weeping Christ, were you wrong. It was — no, is — your greatest fiber arts failure.

Frankenstein’s floral monster would be in a secondhand shop somewhere if you’d had any say in the matter. It isn’t because you didn’t. Seokmin “rescued” it from the “to donate” pile on your bedroom floor. Since then, he’s worn it at every — public — opportunity, season be damned.

Admittedly, he’s exactly the kind of cute and kitschy person who can pull it off, but you’ve decided out of sheer pettiness to keep that appraisal to yourself.

You take your time catching up to him, both because his long legs make it hard to keep pace; and because the room is reserved under his name. After all, he’s the welcomed guest, not the reluctant party-crasher. The receptionist is already handing him a white keycard when you finally reach the desk. Seokmin holds it up between his index and middle fingers, closed-eye grin sparkling in a matching shade of ivory.

Though the journey up to your shared room is long, the real trip is being confined to an elevator with mirrors for walls. 

No matter how hard you try to avert your eyes, you manage to keep finding some new, horrible angle of your stale, post-train state. It’s torture. Three versions of you stare back with deep, dark undereye circles; and all you can think about is how dull your complexion is — especially in comparison to Seokmin, who may as well be bioluminescent with the way he glows from the inside out.

It’s joy, you know, his primary state of being and something he radiates like no other. He’s happy to be here, happy that you’re here, and happy to be happy. Whether or not he means it to be, it’s infectious. Now, you feel yourself starting to smile, too.

Despite your quiet observation, you must have missed him looking at you. Seemingly out of nowhere, he carefully sets down your belongings, raises his now-empty hand, and cups the right side of your jaw. Unaware that you’ve frozen solid, he swipes his thumb carefully over your cheek, tilting his own head to the side and frowning.

“I got you bad, huh?”

You blink.

“The zipper on my coat,” he explains, laughing. “Looks like it took a bite out of you when you used me as a pillow on the train.”

For reasons you can’t possibly explain, the only word to roll off your tongue is a sheepish, “Sorry.”

For a second, Seokmin is just as confused as you are about whether you’re needlessly apologizing to him or his coat. He chuckles quietly at how easily distracted you both are, then he gets back to the point: “Does it hurt?”

“No.” 

Your response comes unnaturally quick. Your pulse does, too, when you finally make eye contact with him. After clearing your throat, you give him a half-hearted smile, ignoring whatever medical event you seem to be experiencing. “I didn’t know it was there until now.”

He hums in acknowledgment, then rescinds his hand. You watch in silence while he re-encumbers himself with your luggage and turns back to face the elevator doors, which open almost immediately.

Seokmin steps out easily, like the weight of your respective burdens doesn’t mean a thing. “I’d say this way, please, but I’ve already forgotten the room number,” he admits with a sheepish laugh. “The keycard’s in my pocket.”

You take his cue and reach into the front, right pocket of his coat for the keycard. As soon as you see the room number, you snort.

“You booked room number 218 because that’s your birthday, and then… what? You forgot your own birthday?” 

“I’m deeply flawed.” He sighs, put-upon. “Now, let’s go, Bambi. It feels like you packed a week’s worth of bricks.”

There’s no time to point out that you never asked him to carry your suitcase or bag for you in the first place. Likewise, there’s no opportunity to ask exactly how many bricks is a week’s worth. He’s on the move again before you can blink, energy evident in each step regardless of how late it is.

Once again, you follow Seokmin’s lead. Despite the signage, which is clearly visible on the wall, he walks confidently in the wrong direction, prompting you to grab him gently by the elbow and steer him the opposite way. His smile doesn’t falter; he plays it off as if he was just testing how closely you’re paying attention. 

It takes several turns down several additional hallways before the pair of you reach your target. When you come to room 218, you tap the keycard against the reader, causing the lock to click open. You turn the handle, push the door open into the room, and step awkwardly out of the way so your personal bellhop can get by.

“This is what I was trying to tell you when you so viciously insulted my favorite accessory.” Seokmin nods his head towards the center of the room. “All of the rooms Seonmi included in the reservation block have a king-sized bed — singular. The rooms outside the block are criminally overpriced for ski season.”

It’s far from the first time you’ve doubled up, so you shrug. “Just like old times, right? Like, when you thought your house was haunted, and you forced your way into the top bunk with me?”

“First of all,” he says as he sets both of your suitcases down and places one hand on his hip, the other pointing at you. “We were six.”

After locking the door behind you, you toe off your shoes, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “What’s your second point?”

“It was haunted —” He insists. Then his stern expression melts into something smug, the way it always does when he’s about to blatantly rewrite history. “— and you asked me to come up there because you were scared.”

A laugh slips out of you automatically, but you selflessly decide to let him have this. Crossing to him, you pat him on the bicep, patronizingly simpering all the while, “You are the brave one.”

Even though you’re both cowards, and he knows it, he pockets this little victory with a pleased hum and a grin.

Turning away from him, you make a beeline for the closet area near the door. There, you shuck off your coat and hang it up, out of the way. While you do, Seokmin passes you both your garment bag and his. From there, the pair of you work in efficient silence: you, pulling your respective formal wear from their bags and smoothing out any wrinkles; him, tucking away your extensive collection of toiletries in the bathroom.

When everything is in its place, you turn back around and notice for the first time how beautiful the room actually is. Though the shades of the floor-to-ceiling windows are almost completely drawn, the snow-covered mountains are at least partially visible through the gap in fabric. If you had the time, you’d spend all day tomorrow sitting on the forest green, velvet chaise directly in front of the window, staring at frosty peaks so massive, they feel close enough to touch.

To your right, an electric fireplace heats the room, while a portrait-framed television hovers on the wall above the mantle, flipping through famous artworks as a screensaver. In between flashes of Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Klimt’s The Kiss, you catch a glimpse of Seokmin’s smile reflecting on the black screen.

Awestruck, you turn to him and sigh, “Don’t let me get used to this.”

He jerks his thumb to his right, gesturing towards the bathroom. “Don’t judge me if I steal one of the bathrobes. They’re probably more expensive than half the shit in my apartment.”

“I won’t, but they’ll bill you for it when they figure it out,” you warn him. “On that note, do you need to shower or anything before I start my skincare side quest?”

Seokmin shakes his head, causing the crocheted abomination to flop. “All yours. My hair’ll get weird if I don’t deal with it tomorrow before we head out.”

And with that mental image of his insurmountable cowlick, you quickly grab your pajamas and shuffle off towards the bathroom.

The first few seconds after you close the door are spent gawking at the insanely intricate, geometric tile pattern in the walk-in shower. Thinking of how much time it must’ve taken to lay each one of them, you set to work on your own tedious task: your ten-step regimen of cleansers, toners, serums, and moisturizers. Seokmin says otherwise, but you don’t think any of them truly make a difference. As stupid as you know it is, the routine itself is therapeutic, even if your skin is no more bouncy and glowy than it was before.

When it’s all said and done, you emerge from the bathroom to find your best friend stretched out on the half of the bed nearest the door with his eyes fixed on his phone screen. It’s the side of the room he always chooses, claiming that it’s to protect you from any intruders, but you know the truth: he’s too much of a freeze baby to sleep near the window, and he knows you like it cold.

“Feeling refreshed?” He mumbles to the best of his ability; his sweatshirt hood is pulled up and drawn so tightly that it squishes his cheeks and chin, restricting his movement.

Chuckling quietly as you go, you pad over to your half of the bed and slip under the comforter. Like a moth to a flame, the other occupant sends his last text, tosses his phone to the side, and scoots closer to you, eager to siphon whatever extra body heat he can. His head winds up on your shoulder, while your cheek rests against the top of his head.

“Before you tell me that I look it, I’d encourage you to stare long into the abyss that is my under-eye circles.”

When he laughs, it’s merely a puff of air from his nose. “You never look as tired as you feel,” he says distractedly, fiddling with the drawstrings of his hoodie. “Pretty miraculous, given how little sleep you get.”

That comment warms you up so thoroughly, you wonder if he can feel it. Then, you wonder if that was the point. You intend to tease him for that, but then it dawns on you how fidgety he’s being. It’s rare for him.

“You okay, Thumper?”

It feels silly, using that nickname after so long. Your clumsiness stuck around for the ride, continuing Bambi into perpetuity; but he grew out of his companion name when he hit puberty, and his giant feet were suddenly proportional to the rest of him. 

He’s certainly no bunny, nor is he a child, but the low ebb of anxiety rolling off of him reminds you of the scared little neighbor boy you used to know. It fits, even if it is silly.

At first, Seokmin begins his explanation without peeling his gaze off his restless fingers. “Apparently, Seungcheol and Mingyu are in town.”  Then, his eyes slowly lift up to find you peering down at him. “They want to meet up to go snowboarding before we leave.”

Ah.

There it is: the top-secret look in his eye that only you can decipher. The one he’s been practicing for years, at your insistence, for moments like this, when he needs to be talked into something. When he needs to be brave and avoid missing out on something he’d love, solely because it freaks him out.

You respond the same way you always have; the way you once pinky-promised you always would: “I triple-dog dare you.”

He sighs deeply, neither fully resigned nor relieved, but then he nods. His head knocks slightly against your shoulder as he does. “I’ll do it.”

And that’s that; it’s settled.

Or so you think.

A beat passes in silence, until Seokmin suddenly pipes up again, “But you’re going to have to hold my hand on the chair lift, or I’ll pass out and fall to my death.”

“Deal.” 

You grab his hand now in consideration of your promise and scratch affectionately at his palm. Surprisingly, his thoughts haven’t made him clammy. His skin is even softer than usual, likely due to the expensive hotel lotion he’s undoubtedly now harboring in his suitcase. Tongue firmly in cheek, you look at him sideways. 

“Just — leave the hat in your suitcase, okay? The snow will be blinding enough.”

Seokmin’s been dressed and ready for at least thirty minutes, but you’re still standing exactly where you have been for the last forty-five. Face pinched, you turn this way and that in front of the mirror, smoothing fabric that’s already wrinkle-free, apparently for the hell of it.

“I’m oh-for-three.” Your exasperated sigh is punctuated by your bare, right foot stomping on the carpet. It doesn’t make the impact you likely hope it will, at least sonically. It does, however, speak volumes about how close to the ledge you are.

“All of them looked good,” he says earnestly. “I think this one is my favorite, though, if that means anything.”

Apparently, this is the wrong answer. Your wild-eyed gaze lifts from your own reflection until you’re staring him dead in the eye through the mirror.

“Why did I even pack this?” You ask, “Do you see this?”

Suddenly, you lift a manicured hand to point at your neckline, from which he’d admittedly been averting his eyes. “This is too much cleavage for a family function, isn’t it?”

As quickly as you glanced at him in the first place, you go right back to fussing with your dress, thankfully missing the way he swallows thickly.

Fuck, now he’s staring — but you’re the one that made him look in the first place — and he can feel heat rising to his ears, a dead giveaway. His sudden silence does enough to communicate his struggle. He has no idea how to respond without vaulting over the boundaries of your friendship.

Is it hot in here?

Deciding to rely on his usual tactic, he jokes his way out.

“If you think I’ll ever side against tiddie…” He forces a grimace, shaking his head gravely. “Then you really don’t know me at all.”

You laugh loudly, and whatever one-sided tension filled the room snaps like a twig. Better still, the smile you give him stays on your face while you reassess your dress. Seokmin takes it as a personal victory that you commit to his choice, rather than cycle back through your options for the second time. 

While this means that you’ll both be able to hit the open bar sooner rather than later, the biggest upside is that he no longer has to keep excusing himself to the bathroom so you can change again, and again, and again.

You finish up quickly, tossing on jewelry, and then turn to him. His shoulder keeps you steady while you slip into your devilishly high heels. Seokmin pays them little mind now, however; his attention is drawn to the accessories you’ve chosen. Sure, they match perfectly with the rest of your outfit, but that’s not what strikes him. It’s the fact that everything you’ve picked was gifted to you by his parents at one point or another.

Unable to stop himself, he reaches out and gently taps on one of your dangling earrings. “Eighteenth birthday,” he muses to himself. 

Then, both his gaze and his hand lower to your necklace. He skims his fingertip along the delicate, gold chain, inadvertently making you freeze up. “Christmas 2019?”

You shake your head slightly, though it barely counts as movement.

“Ah,” Seokmin corrects himself. “2020.”

Sensing that he’s somehow made you uncomfortable, he reels himself back in and clears his throat. “Shall we?” He asks, furnishing you with a bent arm to loop yours through.

You take his cue, link your arm to his, and sigh, “I suppose we shall.”

The walk to the elevator is quiet, in that neither one of you says a thing. Seokmin can hear the gears in your head turning, though, without any conversation to drown them out. 

You step inside that glorified, mirrored box; and for a few minutes, he lets you work through the thing he knows ruined your sleep last night. That is, until he hears your breathing come a little quicker than usual.

“Hey.” 

It was supposed to be a jumping off point. He was going to go from there and reiterate that you belong here with him. The plan was to reassure you for as long as it takes to get you to believe it, but you look up at him almost helplessly, and his Etch-a-Sketch brain is wiped clean in an instant.

The very best he can do is smile and offer a single word: “Hi.”

“Hi,” you whisper back, eyes twinkling. 

Your plagued frown curves slightly back in the right direction. The creeping shroud of doom lightens, if only a little bit.

“That’ll do, pig.” You swat his arm, but he says it again, emphatically, “That’ll do.”

Halfway through you scolding him for quoting Babe at a time like this, the elevator door reopens, ready to regurgitate the pair of you out onto the ballroom level. 

Unlike the lobby, which sits only one floor below, this floor looks like it was ripped straight from the pages of a fantasy novel. Everywhere he turns, there’s something new — and vaguely elven — to look at. Fairy lights hang in perfectly spaced arches from the lofted ceiling, delicately illuminating the exposed, wooden beams above. The chandeliers — plural — are crafted out of antlers of some kind, cutting between rugged and highly refined.

As stunning as it all is, Seokmin’s mind snags on a single conclusion. You’re the one who voices it, though, much to his surprise.

“This is the most Seonmi thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” you whisper to him, all without taking your eyes off the extravagance in front of you. “Is this a dress rehearsal for her wedding next year?”

He bites down on his lips hard to keep his laughter to himself. Of course, you’re dead on. Nothing about this space feels like his parents, who are supposed to be the sole focus of this entire event. He already found it odd that they agreed to such a big to-do in the first place — especially when it would require their loved ones to go out of their way, literally and financially — but this is….

“Am I being petty, or is this kind of… selfish?”

Petty, no. 

Psychic? Probably.

“You’re right, and you should say it.” Seokmin nods and withdraws his arm from yours so that he can drape it properly around your shoulder. “This way to the beer, please. We’ll need it.”

Merely four steps in the direction to the bar, and a screech rings out from somewhere neither of you can locate. In fact, Seokmin’s head is turned the opposite way when someone launches themself at you, damn near ripping you from his hold.

“Oh, my god! I knew you’d come!”

Soyeon’s relief in seeing you is palpable. Seokmin can practically feel his bones being crushed as she hugs you tight, swaying from side to side. He catches a glimpse of your expression, which barely peeks through the curtain of his oldest sister’s hair; you’re far happier now than you were in the elevator.

His sister kisses the side of your head. “I missed you so fucking much. I love my residency program, but I hate how far away it keeps me.”

A solid minute passes by like this. When it starts to get unbearable, Seokmin clears his throat, hoping to remind his sister that she hasn’t seen him in months, either; and he’s also standing right here.

Instead of greeting him, Soyeon shoots you a wry smile. “Who is he today? A fugitive you’re harboring?”

In tandem, the two of you appraise him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes. See, this he didn’t miss: being both of his sisters’ least favorite younger sibling.

“Oh, no, though I can see why you think that.” You shake your head, then reach out to pat his shoulder patronizingly. “If anyone asks, this is a foreign diplomat, and I’m the interpreter he can’t understand a word without. Best not say hi to him; he won’t know what you’re saying.”

Soyeon nods, though Seokmin wonders if she truly  gets what you’re trying to achieve. Not quite, he realizes a moment later. Instead, she covers his chin with her hand so she can squeeze both his cheeks at once.

“He’s adorable,” she coos. “Doesn’t look old enough or mature enough for diplomacy, though.”

Seokmin rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be doctors, can we?”

Again, in tandem, all eyes on him widen with feigned shock. Between overlapping gasps of “he does understand!” and “someone’s been studying!”, he shakes off his sister’s touch and scowls.

“If you’re going to keep bullying me, can you at least do it at the bar? That way, I can numb my suffering with booze.”

At this, Soyeon drops the charade and pulls him into a hug like a vice grip. She holds him so tightly that his vision starts to get spotty. It’s not until he gently pats her back, begging for air, that she lets him go.

“I missed you too, Thumper,” she swears, prompting you to snicker.

Now, he’s annoyed for a completely different reason — one that makes even less sense to him. That nickname hasn’t bothered him in the last decade, so it shouldn’t now. Then again, the only person who’s called him Thumper since middle school is you.

The rules are different for you, if they exist at all.

“And I promise to catch up with you later, but I’ve got five thousand questions for Bambi, and the answers aren’t half as juicy with you around.”

Just like that, his plus-one is subtracted.

As much as you love Soyeon, she’s no Seokmin. With him, talking is easy; he never rushes to fill silences, doesn’t steer the conversation with a white-knuckled grip. 

On the contrary, his oldest sister comes forward with a pickaxe, smashing through small talk while she mines for the wild stories she thinks she’s missed out on since moving away.

You don’t blame her, really. If you spent all your hours in a hospital, only sleeping in the lulls between other people’s trauma, you’d probably become just as intense — the human equivalent of a cracked-open fire hydrant — in the search for closeness, too.

In the thirty minutes you sit with her, you brief her on all the cliffhangers you’d left her with the last time you saw her.

Yes, you’re still stuck with your lease in the same apartment; and the old lady next door still regularly sets off the building’s fire alarm by accident.

No, you decided not to stay with Kai and haven’t spoken since the breakup; he needed more of your time and energy than you wanted to sacrifice for him.

No, Seokmin still hasn’t gone out with anyone that you know of in months. In fact, it’s been so long since either of you have touched on this topic, especially compared to how little time he and the last girl were together, that you can’t even remember her name. 

Beyond that first, limited fact, you keep your mouth shut about the rest. It’s not your business to share; and it wouldn’t kill her to ask Seokmin about himself for once.

The longer you spend with her, the more frustrated you find yourself getting, although you keep this fact to yourself, too. Soyeon and Seonmi have both spent their lives fussing about Seokmin, talking about him like he’s some helpless baby, without doing much to get to know him.

That’s it.

If you were at all confident that Soyeon would take the initiative, you’d let her find all of this out on her own. She won’t, you know, but maybe it’ll sink in if she hears it from you.

“Seokmin’s doing really well, now that you mention it,” you offer, though she barely mentioned him in the first place. “He got promoted last month; he’s now lead architect on that massive commercial lot downtown. Apparently, it’s still a secret, whatever it is they’re putting there. Must be something special.”

Seokmin is something special, you all but yell inside your head.

Soyeon’s eyes brighten. 

Nobody loves secrets quite like she does. You wait for the barrage, anticipating all the questions to which you’ll have to respond with “seriously, I don’t know,” but they don’t come.

Instead, she puts her drink back on its coaster, reaches out, and squeezes your wrist with her slightly chilled hand. “I’m grateful that he’s always had you, Bambi. If he didn’t, I don’t know if he’d lean in to opportunities like that.”

The look on her face tells you she means it. Maybe that’s what makes your stomach sour: that she can sit there, hearing of Seokmin’s accomplishments, and still find a way not to credit him for them.

Anger ignites inside of you. The flames lick up your esophagus, ready to explode, and you suck in a breath with every intention of letting her burn.

But then an arm slinks around your waist. Seokmin’s head bumps slightly against yours until you’re cheek to cheek.

“I hope I’m interrupting something.”

For a second, you think his slight tipsiness caused him to misspeak. Tilting your head to the side the best you can, you look at him out of the corner of your eye and catch his very subtle wink.

Soyeon opens her mouth, but Seokmin makes his wish a reality.

“Sorry, sis,” Seokmin says, entirely unapologetically. “I just found out that the band takes requests; and I’ll be goddamned if Bambi and I don’t show you clowns the meaning of dance.”

It takes no encouragement whatsoever for you to slip off your stool, get to your feet, and inch your way closer to his side. Then, like a starting gun was fired, the two of you bolt clumsily away from the bar, with you shouting “sorry!” over your shoulder as you go.

Your heels skid against the dance floor when you finally reach it, but Seokmin steadies you before you can eat shit in front of god and everyone.

“You’re way too expressive, you know that?” The fact that he’s out-of-breath doesn’t keep him from laughing. “I could’ve seen that grumpy turtle face of yours from space.”

Unintentionally, you prove his point, drawing your eyebrows together and frowning. “I do not —”

“— Also, I lied,” he interrupts yet again.

This, coupled with the everything else going on, leaves you too stunned to speak.

“This band is all trot, all the time. They don’t take requests — trust me, I tried — but if you stay here with me long enough, we can kill two birds with one stone.”

Seokmin doesn’t wait for you to answer because he knows it’s a yes. He doesn’t wait for you to assume your position, either, and instead holds your left hand in his right before placing your right on his left shoulder. This close, you feel the urge to tell him how handsome he looks with his hair parted off his forehead. You don’t, however.

The music swells behind you. Seokmin leads, and you follow, swaying slowly and moving across the floor.

“Two birds?” You remember to ask, one eyebrow arched.

His right arm lifts. “Spin,” he whispers. You step under his arm, then twirl. While you’re facing the opposite direction, he continues, “There. Do you see it?”

“Oh, my god.”

You do.

The bar stool you were just occupying is now filled by Seokmin’s great-uncle, Hajoon, while his new and much younger girlfriend, Yunhee, hovers near his shoulder. Even from this distance, you can see the look of abject distress on Soyeon’s face, totally unhidden by her attempt to seem engaged.

You return to your position in front of Seokmin, your hand accidentally landing on his bicep, rather than his shoulder. Flustered by the deceptive bulk there, you immediately scoot your palm back to where it belongs.

He leans in so that only you can hear him. It doesn’t feel necessary at all, given how loud the band’s horn section is, but you don’t recoil this time. 

“They had me trapped over by the appetizers,” he explains, low voice making you shiver involuntarily. “Every time he started a story with when I was your age, I wanted to point out that Yunhee hadn’t been born yet.”

You can’t help the laugh that erupts out of you and therefore can’t pull your head away from Seokmin’s ear in time to save him. Instead of wincing or complaining, he looks at you and breaks into laughter of his own as soon as your eyes meet. The effect doubles, and before you know it, both of you are teary-eyed.

“How the hell did you get away from him?”

It’s a feat you've never once managed. Uncle Hajoon’s inability to read a room is equal parts due to his horrible hearing and his tendency to never stop talking. Even if he did leave space in the conversation for you to excuse yourself, you’d never successfully get the message across.

Seokmin lifts his arm again but not for you. He takes his leave to spin himself, simpering as he goes, “That’s where Yunhee came in handy, actually. I didn’t know she had it in her, but she’s not as much of a dud as we initially thought.”

“Oh?”

“She told him that I should be able to dance with my girlfriend, and he shouldn’t keep me any longer.” He shrugs. “It didn’t seem like the time to correct her.”

All the heat in your body goes straight to your cheeks. Nonetheless, you attribute it to the dancing and choke out, “No royalties for me, then.”

“Not this time.” Seokmin shakes his head. “I said that Soyeon was trying to catch up with everyone and would love to hear his stories.”

You bite back a grin. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

“Maybe.” He smiles with every single one of his teeth. “But you’re free.”

“Surprisingly so. I haven’t felt the Eye of Sauron on me at all yet.” Just in case your statement serves as a jinx, you glance around the room for Seonmi. The tension you’ve been keeping in each one of your muscles slackens when, once again, your radar is blip-free.

“Dinner was supposed to start ten minutes ago. If I had to guess, she’s either leaving a scathing Yelp review or personally waterboarding the chef as we speak.”

“Both at the same time,” you counter, earning a wry smile. “She inherited your mom’s self-assuredness. If she believes she can, she will.”

After the pair of you dance through two more songs, the band breaks, and the hotel’s battalion of waiters come in, bearing domed, silver trays. Seokmin takes off in a hurry for your assigned table in the far corner of the ballroom, so famished that he barely remembers to tug you along behind him.

Through the meal and all its complimentary wine pairings, you do your best to focus on the conversation. Seokmin introduced you to the few people sitting with you that you haven’t had the occasion to meet yet. While he does what comes naturally to him, charming them with ease, you struggle for the first time to pay attention to him.

A few tables over, Seonmi sits down with her fiancé, joining the company of her parents; Soyeon and her date are there, too, leaving Seokmin out by design. Like an insane person, you can only watch her, rather than Seokmin’s blatant theft of bites from your plate. She laughs at whatever jokes her mother cracks, but you’d recognize that look of veiled angst anywhere. She isn’t happy, you realize. You can’t avoid the feeling that you’re the reason why she isn’t.

Time passes, somehow too quickly and too slowly. The plates are emptied, then cleared away by the wait staff — except for your half-empty glass, which is your third. Much like the other guests at your table, the joyful buzz you’d been feeling so far leaves, too.

All that’s left is you, Seokmin, and that ominous, storm cloud you can’t seem to shake.

“You’ll probably feel better if you talk to her.”

He’s always more observant than you give him credit for. You snap out of your zoned-out stare across the room in order to look at him. You frown. “I doubt it. She already looks pissed. Me parading my presence here despite her isn’t going to help anything.”

“Bambi,” Seokmin sighs, not impatient but gentle. “She’s not exactly warm, but she has always liked you. There’s literally no reason why she wouldn’t be happy to see you —”

You open your mouth to argue.

“— that happened over twenty years ago, and you really need to stop feeling guilty about it —”

You close your mouth, cross your arms self-consciously, and sink in your seat. Despite yourself, you glance over at him and catch the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t need to say the words out loud for you to hear them.

It’s either the unspoken dare, his reassuring, soft-eyed smile, or all the blasted merlot that does you in. You’re not sure which of the three was the coup de grâce, and as you slink off towards her table, you realize it doesn’t matter. For one reason or another, you’ve decided that fear isn’t going to get the better of you this time.

Seonmi somehow senses you coming. Even without the band underscoring your movement, your timid steps across the mahogany parquet should’ve been impossible for anyone to pick up on. 

Must be an older sister thing, you think, being doomed to keep a perpetual eye on others. 

She doesn’t say anything when you slip into the chair next to her, which doesn’t bode well but isn’t a deal breaker, in and of itself. The important thing is that she doesn’t get up to leave. You tell yourself that this is a good sign. The knot in your stomach begs to differ, however.

Say something.

Say anything.

“Everything’s… lovely, Seonmi, seriously.” You gesture around you, smiling, but she only gives you a cursory look. “You’ve really outdone yourself with this one.”

Seonmi takes a sip of her cocktail — something bitter, the petty voice in your head assumes — and lets the corner of her mouth rise slightly. If it’s the closest thing you’ll get to a smile, you’ll take it. She hasn’t granted you a proper one in the decades since you got gum in her favorite Barbie’s hair.

“Thanks, kid,” she sighs, setting the drink back down on her personalized, cardboard coaster.

You can’t remember the last time she called you “Bambi”, let alone your real name. Just like Seokmin, you’ve always been a child to her. Apparently, you always will be, no matter what you do.

Her grip around the glass remains rigid, not unlike her overall posture. Condensation weeps under and around her manicured fingers, uninhibited. You watch those droplets soak through the coaster’s design, darkening her parents’ initials and wedding date, while you mull over whose turn it is to talk.

Ultimately, as is usually the case, Seonmi makes this decision for you. Without so much as a glance at you out of the corner of her eye, she muses, “It was a lot of work, getting all the details ironed out.”

You pick up on the subtext immediately. One of those details would’ve been the guest list; another, the invitations. Seokmin assumed it was all an accident and said as much to you no fewer than a hundred times, but this little comment from his sister blows his assurances to smithereens. 

Your exclusion wasn’t an accident at all.

Suddenly, somehow, the room is twenty degrees colder. You shoot a panicked glance over to where Seokmin was just sitting, wanting nothing more than to slink back to his warmth with your tail between your legs; but he’s not where you left him. In fact, he’s nowhere to be found.

Fuck.

“Ah,” is the best you can do.

And then the two of you sit awkwardly in silence while the seconds age in dog years.

You should’ve brought a drink over with you so you’d have something to do with your hands. Or your phone — except you left it on its charger, you idiot — or a time machine, so you can revoke your bullshit decision to walk over here in the first —

“He deserves that, don’t you think?”

The combined suddenness of her voice and the switch in topics makes you jolt ever so slightly. You try to pass it off, to pretend that you’re simply adjusting the skirt of your dress, but your efforts go unnoticed. Seonmi is too busy pointing casually ahead, drawing your focus to the center of the dance floor.

Like absolutely no one else is watching, Mr. Lee twirls around his laughing wife, his heart-shaped smile beaming so brightly that it almost hurts your eyes. The love of his life has to hold one of her hands over her mouth to keep her laughter from bursting out; the other hand is raised with the rest of that arm, allowing her husband to spin himself underneath. When he’s halfway through, she surprises him, drops her arm down, and embraces him fully, giggling all the while.

It almost makes you tear up — Mr. Lee’s unabashed, silly love, and how much it reminds you of his spitting-image of a son; the way Seokmin’s mother’s eyes sparkle in the same blissful, radiant way his do. Maybe the same can’t be said for his older sisters, but it’s abundantly clear where Seokmin came from. It’s even clearer where he should end up.

“Yes,” you breathe, and it almost sounds like a laugh because of course, he does. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Is that really a question?”

No, you realize too late, it’s bait.

Without batting an eye, she counters, “Is it really so hard for you to let him have that?”

Seonmi turns her head to look you dead in the eye. Confusingly, despite her words, there’s nothing in her tone or gaze that reads like malice. If anything, the slight furrow of her brow shouts concern.

Your mind is spinning too fast to keep up with. Whatever her next move is, you’re too dizzy now to see it coming and too disoriented to follow it. With the knot in your stomach tightening further, you stammer, “Is — what?”

“God,” Seonmi drops her face into her hands. “You don’t get it, do you?”

A fish on dry land, all you seem to know how to do is open and close your mouth. You may not be literally flailing, but with the state your mind is in, you may as well start.

“Seokmin loves love.” 

She says each of these words slowly, like she’s trying to hammer each nail through a thick skull. 

“It’s the one thing he’s wanted most since he was a kid, yet I can count on one hand the number of short-term relationships he’s been in. He doesn’t ever bring anyone home to meet us; he doesn’t bring anyone to weddings, or parties, or holidays; he just brings you.”

Of course, you’ve been right there through all of his situationships. He’s always scant on details when they end — and you’ve never pressed for any — but you know better than anyone that nothing has stuck long-term. 

You’ve never thought about how odd this really is, but with Seonmi spelling it out for you now, you can’t come up with a single, good reason why someone as objectively incredible as Seokmin can’t make these things work — or why, even as you rack your brain, the only constant you can find in his life is you.

She glares now, as if she’s daring you to speak; as if you’ve got anything she’d deem worth adding. The bulldozer revs up again, whether you’re ready or not: “You’ve always been the only person he saves space for, whether or not there’s a place for you, and he has no room left in his life for someone to love him like that —” 

Seonmi points again to her parents, who are circling slowly on the dance floor, talking softly to one another. 

“So, what is it? Do you truly not see what he’s missing, or are you choosing not to because you like his attention?”

Your eyes burn with tears, but you can’t let them fall, and you can’t wrap your head around why that is. 

Who are you hiding them from: Seonmi or yourself?

The longer she stares at you, the muddier it gets. You don’t want her to be right. You don’t want to be the kind of person she’s describing; but there’s something awful whispering in the back of your mind, saying that you might be. 

You’ve left every relationship you’ve been in, telling everyone who asks in the aftermath that you like being on your own better. But that’s bullshit. It’s not your own company that you keep when you’re single; it Seokmin’s. 

He makes sure that you never spend a day feeling alone, that he’s always available over the phone in the rare times he’s not physically with you. As his best friend, he treats you better than every single one of your exes ever has. Like you’re worth more than anyone else will credit you.

What kind of friend are you if you feel relieved whenever his relationships expire?

Seonmi’s hand drops, landing half-heartedly clenched on the tabletop. Just the same, her voice drops until it’s almost a whisper. 

“I am begging you,” she pleads, eyes narrowing desperately as they search yours. “If you don’t want him, someone else will. Please just —  get the hell out of their way.”

By the time you reach the elevator, all you’re left with is a blur. You’ve already forgotten how the conversation ended, or which one of you was the first to get up. If she said anything else to you, it was drowned out by your own hammering pulse and a looping chorus of voices validating your biggest fear, stating in no uncertain terms that you don’t belong.

You’re shaking when you reach your floor. Heels clicking under unsteady footsteps, you make for room 218; and as you go, you shove your hand into the well-concealed pocket of your dress for the keycard Seokmin forgot to grab himself on the way out earlier.

He’s certainly not in the room when you finally step inside, although you have no clue where he’s gone. It’s for the best. The door closes behind you, and with no one to see it happen, you burst into tears.

All rational thought flies out the window, shaken off by the tornado of utter confusion tearing through your brain. You grab your suitcase, needing nothing more than to be anywhere else, and begin haphazardly throwing your things back inside of it.

Why did you still come with him, knowing it wouldn’t end well? It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve told him no; he would’ve listened if you truly meant it.

If you didn’t mean it when you initially tried to squirrel your way out of this, why not? Was it just your friend asking sincerely that won you over without a fight; or was it because you knew, deep down, it’d hurt to see him bring someone else?

Why would it hurt?

The answer to that will crack the foundation of everything the two of you have built, but only if you admit it to yourself. It can’t threaten you if you don’t say it out loud, don’t make it real.

So, you won’t. 

You’ll bury it deeply enough to forget about, repour the concrete, and tiptoe through the rest of your life with your best friend still at your side.

That is, if your friendship survives the weekend — rather, your sudden departure from it — at all.

“Halmoni, it’s time to go back to your hotel, okay?” 

He coos this, as if he’s pleading with a toddler at bedtime, because that’s exactly what it feels like to wrangle the drunk, 80-year-old clinging to his arm.

Physically, she needs to hold onto Seokmin to keep herself steady. Mentally, she’s ready to run and has made several attempts to do just that when she thinks his guard is down. It’s no wonder the hotel staff cornered him and begged him for help; she’s too wily for those who don’t know her.

The manager had at least done him the courtesy of hailing a cab. It sits out front, warm and waiting, while he shepherds his grandmother through the lobby.

“— and another thing!” She slurs.

There is never not another thing. She shouldn’t bother concluding her sentences in the first place; she’s never done talking.

“I told your sister — I said, Sunny —”

Seonmi, he dares to presume, although he doesn’t dare to correct her.

“— you can’t have stuff like this —” She gestures animatedly, albeit vaguely around her. “— in places like this and expect retirees to pay for it! I said — oh, what did I say? — Ah, I said, ‘find me the cheapest motel in the area, or I’ll be staying in your room with you’ —”

Her kitten heels hit the brick outside with an angry thwump.

Seokmin can’t help himself. “She didn’t go for that?”

“No!” His grandmother squawks. 

The driver sees the ball of a woman wobbling his way and quickly exits the cab, skirts around it, and flings the back door open for her. 

“I can’t imagine why, halmoni,” he lies through his teeth, which shine down on her in his best, least sincere smile. “You’re a blast in a glass.”

She roars with laughter, even while two grown adults work together to pour her into the backseat without bumping her head on the doorframe. “Glast in a blass!”

“Exactly. Can you —?”

He gives up before he finishes voicing his request; it’s no use. Instead, he bends down to hug her and finagles the buckle of her seatbelt while she’s too distracted to fight him off. That click is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, after the clunk of the door shutting her in.

By the time Seokmin turns to the cab driver, his grandmother is fully slumped in her seat, pilled peacoat rising and falling with every wine-laced breath.

“I am so sorry.” He sighs, which devolves into a sheepish laugh, and fishes all of the cash out of his pocket. No tip could possibly cover the emotional toll of this ordeal, so he does his best and gives the driver everything he has.

The driver’s eyes widen. Seokmin gets the impression that he doesn’t quite understand the task he’s undertaking. 

Poor bastard.

Seokmin continues, “My grandfather is at the inn already; he didn’t feel well enough to come here, but he’ll be ready to get her inside once you drop her off.”

“Sounds easy enough.” The driver smiles and holds out his hand to shake. 

Seokmin reciprocates, and he declines to explain just how wrong that assessment is. He thanks the man and chirps a quick goodbye to his grandmother before rushing back inside.

Walking into the ballroom, he hopes to find you and Seonmi laughing about whatever misunderstanding had gotten in your way before. At the very least, he expects you to still be sitting next to each other at the same table. That would be good enough, he thinks; he could assist in repairing the situation from there.

The problem, it seems, is beyond his help. Neither one of you occupies the same table. If his quick scan tells him anything, you’re not even in the same room.

No matter which way he turns, he can’t spot you. His sister, on the other hand, is near the far corner, having what looks like a nightmarish conversation with their parents. There are approximately five billion things Seokmin would rather do than get in the middle of that, but you don’t have your phone on you, and he has no other way to find out where you went.

Above the heads of the two women, Seokmin’s father catches sight of his approach. They lock eyes; there’s something insane in his father’s gaze. The older man shakes his head, mouthing “no.”

Seokmin stops short, raises his hands with the palms up to get across his confusion, and mouths back, “Bambi?”

In response, his father extends a single finger and points upwards. He then makes a shooing motion with his hand. His wife and daughter are so engrossed in their argument that neither of them catches the pantomime or Seokmin’s quick exit, back the way he came.

On the elevator ride upstairs, Seokmin worries. The most likely explanation is that you went to find your phone so that you could find him – but you haven’t texted or called him in the time he’s been looking for you, so he supposes it isn’t likely after all. 

Maybe, he thinks, the wine caught up to you. You’re not as strong a drinker as you think you are. While he walks down the hallway to room 218, he steels himself. Even though you both hate it, he’s ready to hold your hair if he walks in and finds you with your head in the toilet. That dress looks too good on you not to be expensive; he’d rather talk you out of your embarrassment tomorrow than have you shell out for dry-cleaning.

You didn’t deadbolt the door behind you, which strikes him as odd. In fact, you didn’t even close it properly; it isn’t latched. All he has to do is tap on it for the door to open.

“Bambi?” He calls out before stepping inside entirely, thinking it’s only decent to confirm in advance that he’s not an intruder. “Sorry for disappearing. I had to pour my grandmother into a cab – it was exactly as awful as it sounds.”

The faint rustling sound he hears isn’t coming from the bathroom, which is both dark and unoccupied. Part of him wants to take this as a good sign, but the rest of him wonders if he’s walking in on a burglary. That flicker of fear is followed by a stupid sense of validation: 

You always laugh at him when he cites this as his reason for choosing the bed closest to the door; you claim it’s statistically unlikely. Finally being able to say “I told you so” after a robbery wouldn’t make either of your belongings magically reappear, of course. That said, it might make him feel a little better.

But the figure rooting through your suitcase isn’t a bandit at all. It’s you with your coat on.

“Um,” he starts, unintentionally startling you. “What is….” 

His question peters out when you look up at him. There are broken mascara tracks down your cheeks, as if you tried to wipe them off without actually looking at them. Above them, your wide eyes are wet, like you’re seconds away from crying all over again. Even worse, you’re trembling.

Seokmin’s only instinct is to reach for you. Before he can wrap his arms around you, you jerk away from him. “Please don’t.”

So, he stops, though he doesn’t understand why. This is quite literally the only time in your life that you’ve pushed him away.

“What’s going on?” Ideally, he’d project calm at a time like this. He just sounds desperate. “What happened with Seonmi?”

“She — um, she didn’t — It wasn’t that bad; I’m just… You know how sensitive I get when I drink wine.”

Like a switch flips, a half-hearted smile takes over the bottom half of your face. It’s not real; if it was, your eyes would light up and crinkle at the corners. Whatever that look is, it’s bullshit.

Seokmin gestures to your suitcase, where everything you brought with you has been unceremoniously shoved. “Sensitive enough to, what, run away? No. I’m not buying it. She said something — or did something — to make you this upset. Bambi, what happened?”

His urgency is selfish, he knows it. Seonmi’s always been way too intuitive for her own good. There’s no way she hasn’t noticed the way he looks at you when you aren’t looking; how god-awful he is at acting platonic.

He tries — has been trying, for a long time now — to shake these feelings off because he knows you’re not emotionally available. Because he knows who he’s supposed to be for you, and how devastating it would be if he threw your friendship away.

That devastation is right in front of him now; and it’ll  push you out of his life forever if he doesn’t shut it down. He has to get in front of it.

You strike first, though. “Seokmin, why didn’t you bring anyone else?”

There are two ways for him to interpret that question: with the emphasis on anyone, meaning not you; or as an escape route. For your sake, he chooses the latter.

“She gave me a plus-one, not a plus-two,” he says softly.

Despite his tone, it must hit you like a punch. You nod curtly, once. “Got it. Basic math. Thanks, Seokmin; that was never my strongest subject.”

Foot, meet mouth.

You immediately set back to work, reaching for the lid of your suitcase to close and zip. Before he thinks once, let alone twice, his hand darts out and flattens against the mesh inner pocket on the top, preventing you from doing so.

“No.” He shakes his head firmly. “Not happening.”

You don’t scowl at him the way he expects, nor do you even stop to look at him. It’s far worse than that; your eyes start swimming, focused helplessly on your suitcase. 

When you speak, your voice cracks. “I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I knew that this invitation shit wasn’t an accident; I knew I wasn’t welcome to —”

“— You came anyway.” Seokmin doesn’t mean to snap at you, but the point is moot. Softening at the edges, he quickly continues, “And I’m glad that you did because I don’t want to be here with ‘anyone else’.”

It’s not the whole truth, so it may as well be a lie. You know him too well for him to get away with it; it was stupid of him to try. Your head turns, and the slight narrow of your eyes says it all.

I triple-dog dare you to tell me the truth.

This fork in the road has two dead ends. His only options are to do just that or double down and lie straight to your face, while you see straight through him. Either option pulls the pin, he figures, so it’s no longer a question of who gets hurt; it’s who gets hurt worse.

Seokmin jumps on the grenade.

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!”

It comes out too loudly, startling you. In a way, it’s angry, too. He wishes could project that anger onto Seonmi for starting shit, as usual, but the person he’s maddest at is himself for putting you both in this position.

For the first time ever, he can’t decipher the expression on your face. He’d shove his foot into his mouth to try and keep himself quiet, but his adrenaline is firing on all cylinders, and he can’t seem to stop shouting.

“And I’m really fucking sorry to say it because I know you don’t want to hear it, not from me or anyone else. So, you can leave, alright? I’m not going to stop you.”

The force of the surprise almost knocks the air out of him, so quick that Seokmin can’t process what’s happening until his back is flush to the wall behind him — until your hands, flat against his white button-up, curl to grip the fabric, and you kiss him so hard that he sees stars.

You’re surprised too, it seems. When you pull away, chest heaving, you freeze in the same way he does. Eyes searching the other’s, unsure of what to do now that twenty-plus years’ worth of boundaries have been blown to bits.

You whisper, “Are you still sorry?”

Of the five million feelings swelling inside of him — fear, kind of; joy, yes; fucked up by your blown-out pupils, definitely — regret isn’t one of them.

Actually…

He cups your face in his hands like water from a spring, drinks down the sight of you in this new and perfect light. “I’m only sorry that it took me this long to tell you,” he confesses before kissing you back twice as hard.

You’d ask Seokmin to pinch you and prove to you that you’re not dreaming, but the fear you feel at the thought of waking up is too overwhelming. 

Even if it wasn’t, he can’t help you, can he? 

His hands are far too busy.

Your pretty dress is long gone now, having been shucked off and tossed somewhere out of sight. In its place, it’s Seokmin’s body that now drapes over yours, warm in touch and tone, like molten gold. 

His middle and marriage fingers curl inside you, working you up again; and all you can do is cling desperately to his hair, whimper, and wait for the fall.

“I take back what I said earlier,” he murmurs between nips and kisses at your neck.

You can’t ask him to elaborate. You’re too close to careening over the edge for the second time tonight; too busy babbling fucking nonsense.

His simper against your throat reverberates all the way down, lights up your every nerve in tandem like a switchboard. “Only an idiot would tell you to be less expressive.”

The pad of his thumb swirls over your clit; its movement synchronizes with his middle finger inside of you, targeting your weak spot. He presses down on that spongy patch of nerves, and your hips buck involuntarily, a hallmark of your body begging for you while your words fail.

“You were right, though.” 

You summon all your concentration. “I’m always right,” you counter. Seokmin pulls his mouth away from the underside of your jaw just to look at you pointedly. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

He picks up the pace of his ministrations, pulling no punches. You’re teetering on the ledge with no real ability to lift your own neck; your head crashes back against the pillow as you wail, clenching and gushing around his fingers.

“I do know how sensitive you get,” he snickers before slipping his fingers from you and sweeping down to kiss you sweetly.

The ringing in your ears has barely subsided, but you’ve decided not to take anymore of his teasing laying down. Slipping your fingers from his hair, you move your hands to his shoulders; and with whatever muscle control you still maintain, you flip him off of you, onto his back.

“How long —” 

You climb over his lap and straddle him, placing your palms flat against his chest. It’s as much a show of dominance as it is a carefully disguised trick for balance. 

“— have you been waiting to say that?”

Caught red handed, Seokmin shoots you that trademark, heart-shaped smile. His cheeks were already flushed from the effort he just expended on you; that perfect pink only deepens when he blushes and laughs, “What, you think I can’t come up with killer lines in the heat of the moment?”

You scratch your nails gently down the lines of his abdominal muscles. “Nope,” you purr.

Sitting up on his elbows, Seokmin tilts his head to the side and narrows his dark eyes at you. You’re nowhere near used to seeing him look at you like this, like you’re something to be devoured. The feeling of being wanted so badly makes your stomach flip.

“Give me some credit, won’t you?” He asks, voice low. “You’re a knockout; you’re naked in front of me for the first time; and it’s a miracle I can talk at all when I feel this concussed.”

When you lean in, he licks his lips expectantly. You’re close enough to kiss him, of course, but you stop a few millimeters shy of your mark and watch him fight the urge to pout. His eyes search yours, almost pleadingly.

“Is that why you’re still not naked?”

Seokmin’s next move is to reach for the black briefs he’s still got on, but you stop him, encircling each of his wrists with your hands.

“Ah, ah, ah,” you tut with a patronizing shake of your head. “You’re fired. I’m in control now.”

If the little sigh he lets out is any indication, he is very much on board with your self-promotion.

He takes your cue and reels himself in, allowing you to move further down his body, your fingertips hooking under his elastic waistband and tugging as you go. When his length finally springs free, you duck your head to take him into your mouth, beyond eager to feel his weight on your tongue.

“Oh, my god,” he groans, eyelids fluttering, while you swirl your tongue around his head. “Feels s-so —”

The rest of his sentence gets stuck in his throat; you take what you can of him down your own throat, working whatever remains with your hand. 

Seokmin wants so badly to watch, you know he does, but he’s sensitive, too. His head tips back, eyes closed and mouth hanging open.

It’s messy, the spit dribbling down your chin and the sound brought forth by the suction of your mouth around him. The obscenity of it all spurs you on. Nothing inspires you quite like Seokmin’s breathy whines and low moans, though. Above all else, it’s his reaction to you that slicks the inside of your thighs.

You’d give him the ending he deserves, right down the back of your throat, but you feel his fingertips graze your shoulder, beckoning you to look up at him.

Voice rough, he pleads, “Come here.”

With his steadying hands on you, you move back into your original position with your bent knees on either side of him. You immediately spot the indent his teeth have left on his lower lip, which is now slightly swollen. Delicately, you brush your thumb over the mark. “Oh, you’re a goner.”

Seokmin looks at you pointedly. Though you tease, you’re even worse off: drunk on the taste of him, as much as the sight of him underneath you, wanting you just as badly.

“Alright, alright,” you concede. “I am, too.” 

The hand you use to wave dismissively at him then reaches down between your thighs, fingers wrapping around his cock and lining it up with your entrance.

“But I’m taking you down with me.”

And you do.

So thoroughly that you barely recall him staggering off to the bathroom when all is said and done, the wash cloth he returns with to clean you up, or the way you slump into his waiting arms before promptly falling asleep.

You sleep so soundly, in fact, that you don’t stir when the sun blares through the open curtains. Likewise, when Seokmin carefully maneuvers himself out of the tangle of your limbs and places your head on a real pillow instead, you’re none the wiser.

What finally gets to you is the thwack of the expensive, hotel-issued shampoo clattering against the floor of the shower, echoing off the tile like a sonic boom. You sit bolt upright in bed, staring bleary-eyed in the direction of the bathroom. 

As if on cue, Seokmin pokes his head out of the doorway to see if you managed to sleep through the noise. Damp hair splays over his forehead, hanging just as loosely as his lazily-knotted bathrobe. If you weren’t still too sleepy to function, you’d love nothing more than to grab him by that tie and drag him back to bed.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Bambi,” he coos, though his mouth is full of both toothpaste and a toothbrush in a distinctly greener shade of blue than usual.

You merely point at his mouth with a half-powered look of distress, otherwise unable to put your suspicion into words. He doesn’t get it; he glances down at his chest, looking for what he assumes is a stray glob of paste.

When you finally do speak, it’s a prayer: “Please tell me that’s not mine.”

Seokmin blinks at you, then down his nose at the toothbrush he’s using. He cocks his head to the side, opens his mouth to assure you it isn’t, and finally, when the realization makes his eyes widen, he groans.

You wail, “Noooooo!”

Memories of your last trip together clash before your mind — specifically, attempting to navigate a drug store in a foreign language while you shopped for the replacement toothbrush Seokmin is currently holding.

Ears bright red with embarrassment, he ducks back into the bathroom. Immediately, you hear a rush of water from the tap, which nearly drowns out his feeble cry of “I’m sorry!”

“I know it’s an honest mistake, but how do you make it twice?” 

You collapse back onto the pillows and bury your face in your palms; and you stay that way, even when you hear him padding softly over to you. The mattress shifts under his weight as he makes his way, one knee at a time, until you feel him looming over you. His hands reach out and gently pull yours from your face.

Before you can get any ideas, Seokmin flattens himself on top of you; a weighted blanket, smelling like vanilla and spearmint. He folds his arms across your chest and props his chin up on the top of his right wrist, bright eyes sparkling as he peers up at you.

Suddenly, you find it very difficult to be annoyed with him. The worst part is that none of this is by design. He always just looks at you this way, not to get out of trouble but because you’re you.

Your hand reaches out of its own accord and brushes the remaining damp strands off his forehead. When your touch lingers, Seokmin leans into it, warming your palm with his cheek.

“Hey,” you say, after failing to come up with anything better.

He beams. “Hi.”

“Why are we awake at this hour?”

That smile of his evaporates slowly, giving way to a grimace you’ve seen before. “Seungcheol and Mingyu want to meet up at the ski lodge before the post-brunch crowd gets there,” he explains. “And I told my parents we’d get breakfast with them first, since yesterday was… well, mostly a disaster.”

“And it will conveniently provide you with time to think of a way out of snowboarding?” You chuckle quietly and pat his cheek.

Seokmin shakes his head firmly, then stretches his neck enough to kiss you.

“No,” he mumbles defiantly against your lips. “I never back down from a triple-dog dare.”

[submattsmxmmy]

roughdom!stepbro!chris x bratty!stepsis!reader

🖤 content warning: 🖤 smut, heavy step sibling kink, degradation/praise, dirty talk, thigh riding, unprotected sex, dick riding

🖤 summary: 🖤 when you find out that chris has a date, you find yourself getting incredibly jealous, so you do everything you can to keep him from going

hiiii it's @ariestrxsh ! this is my second account. if you're not into the whole stepcest thing, do not read further ! if you're my mom, god, or chris sturniolo, do not read further !

dividers by: @/strangergraphics

holdyourbreath

chapters: | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

"Holy shit. You actually look nice for once!" You jeered at the rare sight of your stepbrother in a long-sleeved black button-down and matching slacks as you walked past him room. "Yeah, don't get used to it," Chris retorted back, cuffing his sleeves. Your gaze lingered on his long, thin fingers and the prominent veins in his hands as he adjusted his tie, tightening it around his neck.

"Where are you going?" You wondered, leaning up against his doorframe in a white tank top and silky pajama bottoms. You couldn't take your eyes off him, warmth pooling between your thighs. You'd never seen him get dressed up like this, and the two of you had been to a funeral together.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Chris smirked, dodging your question as he peered at his reflection in the mirror. "What are you being so secretive for? Just tell me," you replied, taking a few steps closer to him. He ignored you.

You caught a whiff of something that had notes of cedar and some kind of spice you vaguely recognized. You tugged on his black tie to pull him closer to you, pressing your nose up against his collar. "Chris. Are you wearing cologne?" You asked him, furrowing your brow. It really wasn't like him to put any effort into his appearance, never mind his scent.

"I'm going on a date, alright? Now, can you scram and let me finish getting ready?" Chris waved you away, smoothing out his tie. "So, when you fuck me, you wear your sweaty shirt you played basketball in, and when you're trying to fuck another girl, you get dressed up all nice, huh?" You sneered, shoving him. There was a bit of real anger behind it.

"Woah. Who said anything about me fucking her? This is our first date," Chris told you, defensively throwing up his arms. "So, you're going on a date, and you don't even know if you're gonna get laid!?" You asked, raising your voice.

You didn't know what hurt worse - the idea of Chris fucking another woman or the idea of him going on a romantic date with another woman. You felt your heart sink as you imagined him holding the door open for her, paying for her dinner, and kissing her goodnight.

"C'mon. Don't get all weird on me," Chris sighed, rolling his eyes. "Do I know her?" You asked, crossing your arms and praying that the answer was no. His lips curled into a shit-eating grin, "maybe."

"Chris. Please. Answer me. Do I know her? Please tell me it isn't one of my friends," you whined, tugging on his sleeve and begging for answers. "Don't worry about it, huh? What's it matter if you know her or not? What do you care?" He snarked back, knowing his vague answers were driving you crazy.

"Chris.. don't go," you begged, pushing him onto his bed and climbing on top of him to straddle his thigh. "Are you trying to get me to fuck you before my date?" He smirked at you as you started to loosen his tie. "Not before. Instead of," you giggled, starting to unbutton his dress shirt.

"You're such a little fuckin' slut. You know that? What am I supposed to tell my date when I show up late to pick her up? That I needed to give my stepsister some first?" Chris snarled at you, grabbing your hands to keep you from tugging at his buttons.

"Tell her you can't make it tonight. Please, please, please," you whispered, taking his earlobe between your teeth and gently nibbling on it as you rolled your hips forward, grinding against his leg. "Don't go. I need you."

Your begging sent blood rushing below Chris' waist. It was getting harder and harder for him to resist you. He peered over your shoulder at the reflection of you two in his full-length mirror. "I've gotta leave soon. You can't do this to me right now," Chris protested, but he was smiling to himself, watching the way your ass poked out of the bottom of your silky shorts.

You could feel his cock growing hard beneath you and beginning to struggle against the tight black fabric. "Are you sure you want me to stop?" You purred, pulling your tank top off over your head. His eyes dropped to your breasts, his expression softening as he admired them.

"I have to leav-" Chris repeated, but you cut him off, pressing your lips against his, your tongue begging for entrance into his mouth as you rubbed up against his leg like a dog in heat, your drooling cunt soaking through your shorts. "You don't get to put on this sexy outfit and tease me, and then go fuck some other bitch," you whined into his mouth, your voice laced with envy.

"You're so hot when you're jealous," he whispered to you. "I'm not jealous," you denied his accusation. "Mhmm," he hummed in a dismissive tone that let you know he didn't believe you one bit.

You unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way, placing your palms against his chest and feeling his heart thump away at a faster pace. "You're actin' like such a slut right now. Really need it that bad, huh?" Chris muttered under his breath, starting to slip his arms out of his button up. "No. The tie and the shirt stay on," you replied, stopping him from taking his clothes off the rest of the way.

He smirked and let out a small chuckle. "What? Y'like the way I look in a suit?" He wondered aloud, moving his hands to your waist. "I fucking love it. You have no idea how much it's turning me on right now," you whispered into his ear before you started trailing kisses down his jawline towards his neck, your hands lingering on his rapidly rising and falling chest as you continued grinding against him.

"Fuck. You're ruining my slacks, ya little slut," Chris growled, staring down at the wet spot you left on his thigh from riding it. "What are you gonna do about it?" You cooed, giving him a cheeky smile as you grabbed his bulge that was straining against them.

"I'm gonna fuck you senseless. You're practically beggin' for it. Take these fuckin' things off," Chris rasped, looking intensely into your eyes and tugging at the waistband of your shorts. You stood up and slipped out of the last of your clothing.

Chris watched in awe, pulling his aching cock out of his pants as your panties fell to the floor around your ankles before you stepped out of them. "C'mon. Come ride your stepbrother's cock," Chris demanded, stroking himself as he smirked at you and getting himself fully hard. You watched the way his hand pumped over his swollen tip, a bit of precum pooling at his slit.

"You're so fucking disgusting," you replied, climbing on top of him to straddle him again. "You're the disgusting one," Chris started to say as he lined himself up with your entrance, "because I think you fuckin' like it when I say shit like tha - oh my god," he groaned as your pussy engulfed his tip.

And you did. You couldn't get enough of the way Chris talked to you - degrading you, telling you what to do, reminding you that he was your stepmom's son. You loved how wrong it all was, and so did he.

He let out a relieved sigh as you slid down his length, watching the way it disappeared into you in the reflection. He admired the way you started to arch your back as your walls fluttered around him, stretching around him and sucking him in.

His hands traveled to your tits, his thumbs brushing against your stiffening nipples before he pinched them. You squealed in delight. He leaned in, taking your supple breast into his mouth as his blue eyes stared up at you. "Oh, Chris. Feels so good," you moaned, tossing your head back as his tongue flitted around on your sensitive nipples, suckling on them.

You grabbed onto his tie to stabilize yourself as you started bouncing up and down on him. He let out a guttural moan with your tit still in his mouth, the vibrations of his pink lips adding to the sensation. The two of you were already panting, fucked out expressions on each of your faces as you both chased your sweet relief.

He released your tit from his mouth with a small pop from all the suction he'd created. Chris' hands slowly slithered down the small of your back, wandering to your ass as he watched it jiggle in the mirror every time you came down on his cock with all of your body weight. His fingertips gently glided over your warm skin, making you shudder under his touch.

"Filthy little slut. Ya take it so fuckin' well," he growled as he delivered a harsh smack on your left cheek while you were riding him, causing you to arch your back again and call his name out in pleasure. He loved how reactive you were. He delivered another powerful slap. And another.

His hands firmly gripped your ass, and he started bouncing you up and down on his length a little faster. You could feel every vein, every ridge, and every subtle twitch of his perfect cock as he drove it in and out of you.

His glazed over blue eyes were locked on yours, his brows pinched together, and his pouty lips parted in a look of pure ecstasy. You started to exaggerate the movement of your hips, massaging his cock with your velvety walls. "Fuck," he moaned in satisfaction as you rhythmically grinded on him.

Your knees were growing weak, and your quads were aching, but the way Chris looked at you, his expression saturated in pleasure with a slight look of desperation in his eyes, motivated you to keep going. "Good girl.. don't stop.." He whispered, his gaze locked on yours.

He reached up and gently caressed your face, the pad of his thumb making slow circles on your cheek before he brushed up against your bottom lip. "So fuckin' pretty when you're on the edge like that," Chris purred, recognizing how close you were getting.

You parted your lips, taking his thumb into your mouth. Chris let out a soft moan as he felt your tongue swirl around it, pushing it in further. You sucked on his thumb for a few minutes, sending waves of pleasure through his body and straight to his cock.

Chris slipped his thumb out of your mouth and gripped your hips tightly, holding you in place while he pounded into you from beneath you. "Chris," you hissed through your teeth as he slammed into your cervix over and over, bottoming out in you and bringing you each closer to the edge as you slumped into him.

"Can't.. take it.. gonna cum," you whimpered, clenching your thighs around his waist as the knot in your stomach threatened to snap. You wrapped your arms around his neck, digging your nails into his back through his black button up as you bit down on his shoulder. "I love having such a slut for a stepsister," he cooed into your ear. "Gonna cum for me like the little slut you are?"

"Oh, my god! Chris!" You practically shouted, your whole body trembling. The two of you finished in unison, your cunt clenching around his throbbing cock, milking him for all he was worth as he pumped you full of his load. He peered into the mirror as you coated his cock in your fluids, watching the way the mixture dripped down his shaft.

You threw your head back again, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your whole body tightened. Your orgasm hit you like a series of cascading waves, nearly knocking you down and pulling you into the undertow. Dopamine coursed through your body, pleasure flooding your system as you climaxed.

As you came down, your riding slowed to a halt. Chris breathlessly chuckled into your ear, helping you off of him. As you stood to your feet, your knees wobbling, his cum spilled out of you and dribbled onto his spent cock and the crotch of his slacks. "Shit," he whispered, peering down at the mess as he reached for a dirty shirt to clean it up with.

"Oops. I guess you can't wear these on your date tonight after all," you smugly stated, pulling your shorts and your tank top back on as you glanced down at the cum stain on the front. "I'm not going on a date," Chris responded, tucking himself away and rising to his feet.

You threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. "Thank you, thank you, thank you. Thank you for agreeing to stay home with me," you replied, refusing to loosen your grip on him. "No, I mean. There never was a date to begin with," he admitted, a smirk playing on the corner of his mouth.

"What!?" You asked, releasing him from your grasp as you glared at him. "I lied. I just wanted to see your reaction if you thought I was going on a date. You like me," he accused you, narrowing his perfect blue eyes at you.

"What? No, I don't. You're just a good lay. That's all," you nonchalantly shrugged, rolling your eyes. "You were begging me not to go. I don't think I've ever seen you so desperate," he teased you. "Fuck you," you snarled, pressing your finger firmly into his chest. "You're fucked up for playing with my feelings like that."

"And you're fucked up for begging your stepbrother to fuck you," he smugly responded, raising an eyebrow and grinning devilishly at you. "Fuck, if I had any idea how you'd react, I would've put that stupid suit on sooner."

[scarluna]

KNOCKOUT (001)

⸺ ݂ ํ Synopsis : ꣒

Y/N is a depressed, closed off, anxious and insecure plus-sized girl. She does not believe she deserves love nor anything good in her life. However by destiny, she meets Jungkook. A fighter, a biker and a guy that changes the way she sees the world.

⸺ ݂ ํ Characters : ꣒ Jeon Jungkook x Y/N

⸺ ݂ ํ Chapters: 1/?

⸺ ݂ ํ Trigger warnings : ꣒ mature language, mental health problems, depression, su!c!d1l thoughts, fatph0bia, illegal substances, smoking, anxiety, body dysmorphia, maladaptive daydreaming, making out, traumas

⸺ ݂ ํ Other warnings : ꣒ grammatical errors.

⸺ ݂ ํ Author's Note: ꣒ So, again, I am back at it. Completely fictional.

I don’t look in mirrors if I can help it.

I glance—never stare. I avoid reflections like they’re landmines, each one threatening to detonate everything I’ve worked so hard to bury.

I pull my hoodie tighter around myself as I walk down the hall of my apartment building. Even though it’s warm out, I keep it on. I always keep it on. Oversized, black, long-sleeved—my version of armor. Fabric that hides the parts of me I hate the most.

Which is basically all of me.

My thighs touch when I walk. My arms jiggle when I reach for things. My stomach… don’t get me started. Every inch of me feels wrong, and no matter how many times people say things like "beauty comes in all sizes," I can still hear the laughter from the girls in middle school locker rooms. I can still feel their eyes on me. Judging. Mocking.

I learned early that boys only look at girls like me when it's a joke—or a dare. So, I don’t let them. I keep my head down, earphones in, and move like I’m invisible.

It’s safer that way.

I fake normal better than most. Smiles when I’m supposed to. Laughs at the right moments. I even let my mom believe I’m doing "so much better" lately.

She wouldn’t notice either way. She’s too busy.

She works fifteen hours a day and answers my texts with thumbs up emojis or, if I’m lucky, a "K." I get it. She’s trying to keep us afloat. But sometimes I think she works that much so she doesn’t have to come home.

Can’t say I blame her.

My dad is... well, he’s usually passed out almost every time I visit them. His breath smells like cheap whiskey and bad decisions. He tells me I’m beautiful sometimes—slurred, half-sincere—but only after his third drink. And the next morning he doesn’t remember saying anything at all.

I hate that I still want him to mean it.

No one knows how I eat in secret. How I wait until everyone’s asleep to tiptoe into the kitchen and stuff myself until I can barely breathe. Chips, cereal, cookies—whatever I can find. It’s not even about the food. It’s about silence. About filling something inside me that always feels empty.

Then comes the shame. The guilt. The promise to do better tomorrow.

Tomorrow never comes.

People think being fat is a choice. Like I woke up and decided to hate myself. Like I don’t already know what every calorie means. Like I haven’t stood in dressing rooms, numb and silent, while my mom said, “You just need a little more discipline.”

If she only knew.

But she doesn’t. No one does.

And that’s how I survive. By hiding the real me. By locking away every ugly thought and pretending I'm okay. It’s exhausting—but I’m good at it.

I finally curled up In my bed, wrapped in the same blanket I’ve had since high school—frayed at the edges, soft from too many washes. The TV was on, playing some show I’ve already watched three times over. Something comforting. Familiar. The kind where characters have perfect lives, perfect friends, and perfect bodies. The kind where no one ever breaks down crying because they can’t zip up their jeans.

I mindlessly shove popcorn into my mouth, even though I’m not really hungry. I just need something to do with my hands. That, and I don’t know how to exist in silence.

Outside, life moves. People laugh, date, go out for coffee and brunch and spin class. I watch it all through the filtered lens of social media, like I’m peeking through a window at a party I wasn’t invited to.

But the truth is... I don’t want to go.

Not really.

Being outside is exhausting. People are exhausting. The stares, the judgment—even the polite ones, the forced smiles, the awkward glances that say "I see you, but I don’t want to."

I’d rather sit here, in the stillness of my own space, where no one expects anything from me. Where I don’t have to suck in my stomach or pull down my shirt every time I stand up.

Unless she visits.

My best friend, Vicky. The only one who’s ever stuck around long enough to see all my ugly truths and not run for the hills. Unfortunately she lives two hours away. We talk every day tho—text, memes, random voice notes that trail off mid-sentence because we always know what the other means. But when she visits? That’s when I pretend, just for a night, that I’m someone else.

Someone better.

We’ll pour a glass of cheap wine and sit on the floor like we’re still seventeen. She’ll blast music we used to love and I’ll let my hair down, throw on a slightly-too-tight dress I usually hide in the back of my closet, and for a few hours, I’ll play the part.

I’ll laugh too loud. I’ll talk too fast. I’ll flirt with the mirror and call myself a bad bitch even though I don’t believe a word of it.

It’s not real, but it’s fun to pretend.

Sometimes we go out—to a bar or a lounge or some half-dead pub that plays throwbacks—and I’ll catch a man looking my way. And for a second, I’ll feel like maybe... maybe this time is different.

But it never is.

They smile. Then hesitate. Then give me mixed signals that make my head spin. One moment, it’s flirty texts and compliments. The next, it’s radio silence or a sudden ghosting like I imagined the whole thing.

I used to blame myself. Still do, if I’m being honest.

Maybe I’m not pretty enough. Maybe they didn’t like how my body looked up close. Maybe they thought I was fun—until they realized I came with baggage.

They say I’m “hard to read,” but they never bother to learn the language.

Now, I don’t expect anything. I don’t chase, and I definitely don’t hope. Hope is a cruel thing when you’ve been fed disappointment your whole life.

So I stay here.

Buried in the comfort of my bed. With my blanket and my snacks and my fake little world where I don’t have to feel like a mistake.

And honestly?

Sometimes, it feels like the only place I truly belong.

Some nights, the silence feels like it’s screaming.

Tonight is one of those nights.

The TV is still on, playing something meaningless. Just noise to drown out the thoughts. But it doesn’t work. It never really does. The thoughts always find their way back in—slipping through the cracks like cold air under a door.

I don’t even know when I started crying. My eyes just feel heavy, and my chest aches like I’ve been holding my breath for hours.

I sit there, knees hugged to my chest, tears rolling quietly, silently. Because that’s the only way I know how to break down—alone. Always alone.

I wish I could explain this feeling. This tightness. This numb, dull throb of sadness that doesn’t go away. It’s not just about my body, though that’s a part of it. It’s the loneliness. The kind that makes the world feel like it’s moving on without you. Like you’re stuck behind glass, watching everyone else live while you just... exist.

People talk about love like it’s this magical thing. Like it just happens. Eye contact across a room. Sparks. Butterflies. Hands brushing and souls colliding.

I’ve never had that. I don’t even know what it feels like to be touched by someone who wanted to stay. Who wanted me. Not some idea of me. Not some mask I wear to get through the day. The real me.

And God—don’t even get me started on sex.

Everyone acts like it’s supposed to be this beautiful thing. Passionate. Intimate. But for me? It feels terrifying. Not just because of my body—though that fear is always there, a weight pressing down on me—but because letting someone that close means showing them everything I try so hard to hide. The scars. The stretch marks. The parts of me I can’t fix.

The parts of me I’ve learned to keep locked up.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m even capable of being loved. Like maybe I was born with something missing. Or maybe I’m too much. Too broken. Too guarded. Too something.

Would anyone ever actually stay, if they saw all of me?

The depression makes it worse. It lies to me. Tells me I’m unworthy. That I’m hard to love. That I’m destined to always be someone’s maybe, someone’s almost. The girl who’s good for conversation but never good enough to hold.

And the worst part? Some days, I believe it.

I hate how much I crave affection, even though I’m terrified of it. I hate that I want someone to hold me and kiss my forehead and tell me I’m safe, but I wouldn’t know how to accept it if they did. My body would flinch, my mind would panic, and I’d probably ruin everything before it even began.

Because that’s what I do. I ruin things.

And then I cry about it in the dark, wondering what’s wrong with me.

I wrap the blanket tighter around me and bury my face in my arms. My tears come harder now, not quiet anymore. Ugly sobs that make my throat burn. I wish I could scream. I wish I could tear it all out of me—the pain, the shame, the fear.

I just want to be held. Not for how I look. Not for what I offer. But for who I am.

All of me.

Even the messy, haunted parts.

Even the parts I don’t know how to love myself.

But maybe that’s a lot to ask.

Maybe no one’s coming.

Maybe I’m all I’ll ever have.

-

Friday night.

The clock on my screen blinks 6:01 PM, and just like that, my shift ends.

Another day of smiling through gritted teeth, typing out canned responses to strangers who think “customer support” means “emotional punching bag.” My fingers are sore, my eyes ache, and I have exactly zero energy left to pretend to be a functioning adult.

I close my laptop and sigh, rolling my neck until it cracks. My apartment is dim, lit only by the fading orange glow of sunset bleeding through the blinds. I consider changing into pajamas and crawling under a blanket burrito-style. It’s what I usually do on Fridays. My little reward for surviving the week. Thank God I was a home office or else I’d be definitely drained at the office.

Then I hear it.

Knocking.

Sharp, insistent, like the sound of someone who knows you’re home.

I freeze. I’m not expecting anyone.

Another knock.

I drag myself to the door, hoodie still on, hair a mess, socks mismatched—classic me. I open it cautiously, peeking through the crack.

And there she is.

“Surprise, bitch,” Vicky grins, arms wide like she’s just delivered the winning lotto ticket.

Right behind her stands Trevor, tall and unbothered, holding a paper bag that smells suspiciously like garlic bread. He nods at me like we’ve just seen each other yesterday, even though it’s been months.

“What the hell—” I blink. “You guys didn’t tell me you were coming!”

“That’s what makes it a surprise,” Vicky smirks, pushing past me into the apartment like she owns the place. “Also, we know you’d say no if we warned you.”

She’s not wrong.

Trevor chuckles as he walks in behind her. “Hey, Y/N. We brought food. Don’t yell at us.”

I just shake my head, trying not to smile too hard. It’s impossible with these two.

Vicky and Trevor have been together for five years now. They met online—some obscure Reddit thread about mental health turned into DMs, which turned into phone calls, which turned into a weekend meetup that never really ended.

She’s a psychologist, whip-smart with a razor-sharp tongue and a heart of gold. He’s an IT guy, quiet and patient, the kind of man who listens more than he talks and somehow always knows when you need space... or a hug.

They’re that annoying kind of couple that actually works—the kind that finishes each other’s sentences and still giggles at inside jokes no one else gets. It’s weird seeing that kind of emotional intimacy up close. Beautiful, but also kind of brutal.

Because deep down, I want it.

That connection. That safety. That soft, quiet love that doesn’t disappear at the first sign of mess.

And it hurts—just a little—because a part of me still believes I’ll never have it.

“You’re staring again,” Vicky teases from the couch. “Are you mentally writing fanfiction about us?”

I roll my eyes, laughing despite the lump in my throat. “No, I’m just wondering how two socially awkward nerds made it work.”

Trevor winks. “Magic and memes.”

“And therapy,” Vicky adds, tossing a cushion at him. “Lots of therapy.”

We eat. We talk. We laugh—really laugh, the kind that makes your stomach hurt. For a moment, I forget about everything else. My body. My fears. My loneliness. It all fades under the glow of garlic knots and sarcastic banter.

Until Vicky suddenly looks at me with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“We’re going out,” she says.

I blink. “Out where?”

She stands, brushing crumbs off her jeans. “It’s a surprise.”

Trevor groans playfully. “God help us all.”

I hesitate. My instinct is to say no. I’m not dressed for “out.” I’m not mentally prepared. My anxiety starts bubbling up—but Vicky grabs my hand before I can retreat.

“Trust me,” she says, softer now. “You need this.”

I swallow hard, nod slowly, and let her pull me to my feet.

-

An hour later, we’re walking down a narrow alley lit by a single flickering bulb. The sound of bass and shouting grows louder with every step. The building looks like an abandoned warehouse, tagged up and half-broken—but there's a bouncer at the door and people going in like it's nothing.

“What is this?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“You’ll see,” Vicky smirks. “Just… keep an open mind.”

I glance at Trevor. He just shrugs and smiles, which tells me nothing.

We walk in—and the moment we do, the world shifts.

It’s hot. Loud. Electric. The air is thick with sweat, adrenaline, and tension. People crowd around a caged ring in the center of the room, shouting, cheering, drinks sloshing in their hands.

A fight is happening. An actual underground fight.

“What the hell, Vick?” I whisper, stunned.

The air hits me like a punch.

Heat. Sweat. Noise.

A crowd of bodies packed like sardines, all facing the makeshift cage in the center. The shouting is relentless, echoing off concrete walls, drowning out my thoughts. People are laughing, jeering, spilling drinks. Some are on tables. Some are barely dressed. Every part of it screams get out.

Vicky turns back and says over the noise, “Trust me. You need this. It’s good for your mental health.”

I shoot her a look. “You dragged me to a fight club for my mental health?”

She grins, unfazed. “You live in your head too much. This place? It pulls you out. It’s raw. Real. No filters. No fakeness. You just feel everything, whether you want to or not.”

I open my mouth to argue but the words stick. Because as chaotic as this place is, I can already feel the numbness cracking. Not in a good way—more like being ripped out of a too-warm blanket and thrown into a blizzard.

I tug my oversized hoodie tighter around myself, the sleeves swallowing my hands. My skin feels too exposed, like people are looking at me even when they aren’t. I’m not dressed for this. I’m not ready for this.

I did shower before we left, thank God. But even that small self-care win can’t calm the panic twisting in my gut now.

Overcrowded places make my skin crawl. I’ve never liked loud spaces, or too many people talking over each other, or being somewhere I can’t make a quick escape from.

It’s too much.

I scan the room, my eyes flicking from face to face. Most people here are loud, confident, half-drunk or fully fearless. Girls in tight dresses, guys in muscle shirts and tattoos, people laughing like this is a Friday night comedy show and not two men bleeding into the floor.

And then there’s me.

Tucked into the corner. Hiding. Heart racing. Wondering why the hell I agreed to this.

“Vick,” I say, leaning closer to her so she can hear me. “I don’t think I belong here.”

She turns, her face softer now. “You do. Just breathe.”

But how can I?

Every step into this place feels like walking deeper into someone else’s life. Someone who isn’t afraid. Someone who belongs in their skin. Not like me. I shrink without even realizing it—shoulders curling in, body trying to disappear into the folds of my hoodie. My safe zone.

I don’t want to be here.

I don’t want anyone to look at me.

But at the same time… some twisted part of me does.

Just once, I want to be the girl someone notices.

And I hate myself for it.

“Just give it a minute,” Trevor says gently, voice like a low anchor in the storm. “You might surprise yourself.”

But I don’t want to surprise myself. I want to be back home, curled up in silence, not vibrating from the bass of a place that smells like blood and beer.

Still—I don’t leave.

Because as much as I hate this, as much as I want to run, there’s something about this space that feels important. Like I’m on the edge of something.

Even if I don’t know what.

Suddenly, the crowd erupts louder than before—cheers, screams, a few scattered boos. Everyone turns their attention to the ring as a man climbs through the ropes.

A voice booms from the crackling speakers overhead, broken slightly by static but loud enough to cut through everything.

“In this corner, we got the reigning champ of the Southside pits… undefeated in seventeen fights, no tap-outs, no knockouts—only carnage. You know him. You fear him. Put your hands together for THIAAAGOOOOO!”

And that’s when I see him.

Thiago.

He steps fully into the ring—and my heart stalls.

He’s massive.

Tall—at least six foot five—built like a mountain, shoulders so broad they look like they could crush skulls. His skin is littered with scars, some healed into thick ridges, others fresher and angry red. A jagged one runs across his collarbone like a warning sign.

He’s bald, his head gleaming under the overhead lights, and his face—God, his face—it looks carved from stone. Cold, emotionless. A sharp jaw, a crooked nose that’s clearly been broken more than once, and dark eyes full of fury.

He’s not just a fighter. He looks like he’s made for war.

And he’s terrifying.

My stomach flips. My body stiffens. I take a half-step back without thinking.

“Holy fuck” I mutter, clutching my hoodie like it’s a shield. “This is insane. That guy looks like he eats souls for breakfast.”

Vicky doesn’t respond right away. She’s watching the ring with a curious glint in her eye. Trevor’s more stoic, but even he looks a little tense now.

Thiago circles the ring like a predator, chest rising slowly, eyes scanning the crowd like he’s daring someone to challenge him next. He radiates danger—pure, undiluted rage wrapped in muscle.

“He’s one of the best here,” Vicky finally says. “Or the worst, depending on how you look at it.”

“He looks like he could snap someone in half,” I whisper.

“He has,” Trevor says casually. Too casually.

My hands start to sweat.

Why are we here?

Why did Vicky think this was good for me?

My anxiety’s climbing fast. My heart won’t slow down, and my breath is catching in my throat. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong anywhere near people like him.

Just being in the same room as that kind of anger—raw, visible, unfiltered—it makes my skin crawl. It reminds me of my dad on a bad night. It reminds me of yelling behind closed doors. Of breaking things that don’t heal. Of fear you can’t explain to anyone.

I can’t tear my eyes away, though. Even as my body begs me to.

Because there’s something about him that feels like a mirror—sharpened, brutal, broken.

And maybe that’s the scariest part.

The referee’s voice cracks through the mic again, pulling the attention of the crowd back toward the entrance ramp. People around me start shifting with excitement—some chanting already, others leaning forward, trying to get a better view.

“And in this corner…” the announcer growls with theatrical flair, “…the one you’ve been waiting for. The wildcard. The Ghost of the East Ring. He’s fast, he’s vicious, and he doesn’t say much—but when he moves, you listen. Give it up for—JUNGKOOK!”

The lights dim just slightly. Smoke—real or fake, I can’t tell—floods in at the entrance. Then he steps out.

And everything slows.

He’s smaller than Thiago, yeah. Not small, just… more compact. But somehow his presence fills the room in a different way. Controlled chaos. Stillness before a storm. His body is lean but powerful—tattooed arms flexing under the flickering warehouse lights as he casually rolls one shoulder, then the other.

A black wet mullet hangs across his forehead and brushes against the nape of his neck, damp with sweat or maybe water poured over him before walking out. His dark eyes flick across the crowd—slow, methodical—like he’s searching for something or someone specific.

When his gaze sweeps past me, I freeze.

He doesn’t pause. Doesn’t even notice me. But for a second, I feel… seen.

Then it’s gone.

He climbs into the ring like he’s done this a thousand times. Calm. Efficient. No flashy entrances or chest-beating bravado. Just quiet readiness.

Unlike Thiago—who still paces like a caged beast—Jungkook stands still in his corner, bouncing lightly on his feet, head down, breathing slow. Controlled. Poised.

A storm in waiting.

“What’s his deal?” I mutter, frowning as I watch him from under my hood.

Vicky grins. “That’s Jungkook. He doesn’t talk much, but he moves like poetry.”

Trevor nods. “He’s fast. Thiago hates him.”

“Why?”

“He can’t catch him,” Trevor says with a half-smile. “And when he tries, he gets hit. Hard.”

The bell hasn’t rung yet, but the energy in the room is shifting. The crowd is buzzing, already leaning forward in anticipation. Two men. Two energies. One unhinged rage, the other ice-cold focus.

And I’m standing there in the shadows, heart pounding, watching it unfold like it’s all some dream I don’t belong in.

But I can’t look away from Jungkook.

There’s something about him—quiet, deadly, beautiful in a way that shouldn’t belong in a place like this. Like he’s made of sharp edges and unspoken things.

And I have no idea why he’s making my chest feel like this.

The moment the bell rings, everything changes.

Jungkook and Thiago explode into motion at the same time, their bodies colliding with a sickening thud as the crowd roars around us. The sound is deafening, a mass of screaming voices and wild excitement. I can’t take my eyes off them. The chaos, the violence, the raw power—it feels like it’s coming at me in waves.

Thiago lunges first, furious and relentless. His fists are like battering rams, crashing into Jungkook’s body, and the crowd is losing it, egging Thiago on. The sound of flesh hitting flesh is sickening, and I feel a rush of unease—nausea swirling in my stomach.

But then, Jungkook moves.

It’s so fast, so fluid, that I barely register what happens until Thiago’s momentum is thrown off. Jungkook ducks under his next punch, a move so smooth it’s like watching someone glide through water. He weaves out of the way, and then, like a snake striking, his fist connects with Thiago’s jaw with a crack that echoes through the room.

Thiago stumbles back, and the crowd goes wild. Thiago roars in frustration, lunging again—but this time, Jungkook’s ready. His footwork is impeccable, always staying just out of reach, and every time Thiago throws a punch, Jungkook dodges it like he’s reading Thiago’s mind.

And then, in an instant—Jungkook moves in, faster than I can process. He shifts, gets in close, and with one sharp, devastating blow to Thiago’s midsection, he drives his opponent to the mat. The crowd gasps.

Thiago struggles to get back up, but it’s no use. Jungkook moves in again, his body like a machine, precision in every movement. With a calculated swing, Jungkook lands another hit—this one to Thiago’s head.

Thiago falls.

The crowd goes wild, a tidal wave of cheers and screams as Thiago is knocked out cold. Jungkook stands over him, chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. His nose is bloodied, but his eyes are laser-focused, scanning the crowd as he stands tall, shoulders heaving, sweat glistening across his skin. He’s breathless, but there’s no sign of slowing down.

The referee steps in, holding up Jungkook’s arm.

“Winner!” he shouts into the microphone, his voice drowned out by the roar of the crowd. “Jungkook!”

My breath catches in my throat as I watch Jungkook stand there, still and proud, despite the blood smeared across his face. He doesn’t celebrate like Thiago would have—no shout of triumph, no cocky grin. He just stands there, like this is exactly where he was meant to be.

I’m still frozen in place when the crowd starts to quiet down, and my eyes move to Vicky.

“How do you know these two?” I ask, still watching Jungkook as he wipes the blood from his nose, catching his breath. “You’ve been here before, right?”

Vicky glances at me, her eyes flashing with something I can’t quite place. “In my four years of studying psychology here? Yeah. I’ve been to this place three times. Every time, I’ve seen Jungkook win.”

My brow furrows. “Three times?”

Vicky shrugs, leaning in to make herself heard over the fading buzz of the crowd. “Jungkook doesn’t lose. Ever. And not just here, either. He’s been in the underground circuit for a while now. He doesn’t talk much, but the guy’s a machine. Everyone here knows that.”

I’m still staring at Jungkook. The blood on his face doesn’t make him look weak—it makes him look… stronger. Like the fight is a part of him, something embedded in his bones. The way he carries himself—the way he moves—it’s like there’s nothing in the world that could touch him.

He’s not just a fighter. He’s something else.

I try to push the feeling down, the one stirring in my chest, but it’s there. Something about him pulls at me.

“He’s scary,” I whisper, though the words don’t feel like they fit the way I’m feeling. It’s more than fear. It’s something like… awe. And maybe a little envy.

“Scary?” Vicky laughs. “Nah. He’s a fighter. And trust me, if you ever find yourself in his corner, you’ll know exactly why people respect him.”

I don’t answer. My mind is too wrapped up in the image of him standing in the ring—barely breathing, bloodied, but still unshaken.

I’m about to turn away and find a quiet corner to collect my thoughts when a sharp pang hits my stomach.

I can’t ignore it.

“Vicky…” I call out, trying to keep my voice steady. “Where’s the bathroom?”

Vicky doesn’t even look at me, still watching the ring as the crowd starts to thin. She gestures to the far side of the room, near the back exit. “Down that hall, last door on the left.”

I nod quickly and make my way through the maze of bodies and noise, feeling like I’m moving through a fog. I don’t care what’s going on around me—I just need to get some space, somewhere I can breathe and not feel so… exposed.

The hallway is dim, the walls dirty and covered in old graffiti. I find the door easily enough. But when I push it open, my stomach drops.

There’s no sign for male or female. Just a simple bathroom with no distinction.

Great.

I freeze for a moment, standing in the doorway. I can hear people in the bathroom—voices. Laughter. But I’m not sure if they’re men or women, and the last thing I want is to stumble into a situation where I’m forced to confront anything uncomfortable. I can feel my pulse thudding in my ears.

There’s a stall at the far end, empty.

Without thinking twice, I rush in, lock the door behind me, and press my back to the cool metal of the stall. The air feels thick again, like it’s closing in around me, and I force myself to take slow, steady breaths, in and out.

But it’s not enough.

The panic is rising—fast. My hands start to shake, my chest tightens. I try to block it out, but the air feels suffocating, too thick, too hot. I can hear the muffled sound of footsteps and the low murmur of voices from the other side of the bathroom.

Just breathe. It’s fine. You’re fine.

But I’m not.

The panic is already clawing at my throat when the door to the bathroom swings open. Two women walk in, their voices high-pitched and giggly. I bite my lip, forcing myself to stay as still as possible, praying they won’t notice me.

“Oh my God, did you see Jungkook out there?” One of them says, her voice dripping with excitement.

“Yesss!” the other responds, laughing. “I was like, wow—how is he so hot? Like, he’s got that whole dangerous vibe, you know?”

“Totally,” the first one giggles again. “I would literally do anything to be with him. I don’t care if he’s a fighter. He can take me down anytime.”

My stomach twists. I close my eyes, feeling the heat rush to my face. This is exactly what I hate. This feeling of being on the outside, the feeling of not being the one they’re talking about. Not being the one that someone notices.

“Can you imagine how good he must be in bed? I bet he’s rough,” the second woman whispers with a smirk. “Like, you know, he’s got that energy. He could probably have any girl he wants. Hell, he’s probably had every girl he’s ever looked at.”

My heart stops. My hands are trembling against the cold stall door, but I can’t bring myself to leave. I can’t seem to move. The words echo in my ears, over and over, and I want to scream.

Why does this bother me so much? Why does this hurt?

I can’t understand it.

I want to run out of here. I want to disappear. I want to get away from the laughing, the whispered thoughts about Jungkook, about how he’s someone they can have—someone they want.

For a second, I wonder if I’ll ever be wanted like that. If anyone will ever look at me the way these girls are looking at Jungkook.

Stop.

I breathe in deeply, trying to steady myself again. My fingers are cold and clammy as I grasp the edge of the toilet paper dispenser. The walls of the stall feel like they’re closing in on me, but I force myself to stay still. I have to. If I move, it’ll make everything worse.

The last thing I need is for them to hear my panic, my heavy breathing, my brokenness.

The girls continue talking, oblivious to me in my corner.

“God, I’m so jealous,” the first girl sighs, “but I bet I’d die if he even looked at me.”

“You think he’d go for a girl like us?” the second one snickers. “Doubt it. He’s probably all about the hot, fit girls. You know the type.”

The conversation continues as if I’m not even here, and I can feel the sting of their words, even though I try to push them down.

He doesn’t want girls like us.

The thought slips out before I can stop it.

I squeeze my eyes shut, but it doesn’t make the hurt go away.

I wait for what feels like forever, the girls’ laughter and giggling fading as they finally leave the bathroom. Their footsteps echo down the hallway, their voices growing softer with each step. The silence that follows feels too loud, too heavy.

I take a few more slow breaths, trying to steady myself. The panic is ebbing, though the tightness in my chest lingers. You’re okay. It’s over. Just get out of here.

I wipe my clammy hands on the sides of my jeans and push open the stall door. My legs feel weak, unsteady, as I step out into the dim hallway, my heart still hammering in my chest.

Just get to the door.

I make my way toward the exit, trying to ignore the lingering heaviness in my chest. But as I round the corner, I’m blindsided by a sharp collision.

“Oof!” The impact knocks the breath from my lungs. I stumble back, my phone slipping from my hand and hitting the floor with a hard thud.

I immediately bend down, scrambling to pick it up. My face flushes with embarrassment, my hands shaking as I retrieve the phone, fingers fumbling for a moment as I focus too much on my own awkwardness.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer, voice barely above a whisper as I stand up, still feeling the warmth of my cheeks. My eyes instinctively dart to the floor, avoiding any kind of eye contact. The last thing I need is for someone to see how flustered I am. Especially not after all those words in the bathroom, all those thoughts swimming in my mind.

Then I hear a low chuckle.

I freeze. My stomach lurches, the breath in my lungs catches.

No way.

I look up—and there he is.

Jungkook.

He’s standing in front of me, his presence almost overwhelming. He’s no longer in the fighting gear, but even in casual clothes, he still carries that intimidating aura. His shirt is loose, sleeves rolled up to show off his tattooed arms, and his black jeans sit low on his hips. His black mullet hangs a little messy, slightly wet from sweat or maybe water.

But what catches my attention first—what makes my stomach twist—is his face.

Bruises. Dark, angry purple bruises marking his cheekbone, a cut across his lip, and his nose—still swollen and bleeding slightly. The aftermath of the fight. But even with all that, there’s something so… captivating about him. Like a storm you can’t look away from.

I feel my heart pounding harder, my palms slick. Every insecurity I’ve ever had seems to slam into my chest all at once. Oh my God. I must look like a mess. No makeup, a baggy hoodie, messy hair. He’s so… perfectly put together—even with the bruises.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. I stand there, completely frozen, completely aware of how ridiculous I must look. I hate how much I want to hide.

“Are you okay?” Jungkook asks, his voice surprisingly soft considering the way he fights. His eyes—dark and unreadable—scan me for a second, waiting for a response. He tilts his head, an eyebrow quirking slightly as if waiting for me to speak.

For a moment, I can’t find my voice.

What the hell am I supposed to say to him?

“I—uh—yeah, I’m fine,” I stammer, cringing at how small my voice sounds. “Sorry about, um, bumping into you. I wasn’t looking where I was going…”

He chuckles again, this time a little quieter, almost like he’s amused by my awkwardness. “No problem.” His gaze shifts down to my phone in my hand, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes, like a silent understanding. “You should probably hold onto that better. Might break it next time.”

I nod quickly, biting my lip. “Yeah. I’ll, uh, be more careful.”

The silence stretches between us, and I can’t stop myself from feeling completely out of place. His mere presence—his proximity—feels like a weight on my chest. I want to say something more, something that doesn’t make me sound like an idiot, but the words are stuck in my throat.

What is he even doing here? My brain races. Why is he talking to me?

The bruises on his face, the way he carries himself, the intensity he exudes—everything about him screams confidence, while I can barely keep myself together.

“Hey,” he says again, his voice quieter this time, almost like he’s trying to make sure I’m not completely shut down. “You’re alright. You don’t have to apologize.”

I look up, meeting his eyes for the first time since I bumped into him, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe. His gaze is steady, almost piercing, and there’s something strangely gentle in the way he looks at me—like he’s trying to figure me out.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur again, my voice soft, barely audible. “I… didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”

He shakes his head slightly, a small, amused smirk curling on his lips. “No trouble. But if you’re gonna keep bumping into me, I might start thinking you’re doing it on purpose.”

My face burns. I can’t believe this is happening. He’s standing right in front of me, and I’m acting like I’ve never spoken to a guy in my life. I’m sure I look like a mess.

I look down again, hoping he won’t notice how flustered I am. But when I glance back up, I catch a glimmer of something in his eyes—a mix of curiosity and something else I can’t place.

“Well, I’ll make sure to avoid you next time,” I mumble, trying to force a smile, but it feels so awkward.

Jungkook doesn’t say anything right away, but his gaze softens just a fraction. “Don’t worry about it,” he replies simply, his voice steady, like he’s seen this kind of thing a thousand times.

And then, with a slight nod, he turns and walks past me, heading back toward the crowd, leaving me standing there in the dim hallway, my heart racing, my breath still shaky.

Did that really just happen?

Monday

The morning light hits different when you’ve had a whole weekend to forget the world. I wake up to the sharp trill of my alarm and the sun creeping through the blinds like it’s personally offended I’m still in bed.

Vicky and Trevor left late last night, their hugs lingering longer than usual. We spent the rest of the weekend curled up on my couch, talking about everything—really talking. The kind of conversations that make you feel both lighter and heavier at the same time. The ones that peel you open in a way that’s terrifying but necessary.

Vicky told me she’s worried about how I retreat when I’m hurting. Trevor said he thinks I deserve to stop living like I’m waiting for something to break. I didn’t say much. Just nodded a lot. Smiled at the right parts. I don’t know how to explain that sometimes, talking about the darkness makes it feel more real.

But it felt good.

Safe.

And now Monday feels like a slap.

I throw on my usual work-from-home uniform—baggy hoodie, leggings, messy bun—and log in just before my boss can ping me. My headset’s tangled, my coffee’s lukewarm, and the emails are already giving me hives.

By 10 a.m., I’ve mentally clocked out.

I’m rereading the same sentence for the third time when Katherine messages me.

Katherine (10:03 AM):

Hey! Got a sec to hop on a quick call?

Katherine is the kind of person who always has her camera on during Zoom meetings. Perfect hair. Perfect lighting. She once told me she drinks celery juice every morning. I pretend to like her but mostly because I’m afraid she’ll sense my existential dread through the screen and report me to HR.

I reply with a thumbs-up emoji and brace myself.

She starts with small talk—weather, client updates, a weird squirrel that got into her balcony. And then she says it.

“So, this is random,” she begins, her tone suddenly shifting. “But... you were at The Pit this weekend, right?”

I blink. “How do you know about that?”

She smiles like she’s trying to be casual. “One of my best friends is in that crowd. I used to go with her sometimes. Total chaos. Honestly, I thought you were more... I don’t know, library-core?”

I laugh awkwardly. “It was a surprise outing.”

“Ah. That explains it.” She leans closer to the camera like she’s about to deliver state secrets. “So listen… I’m telling you this as a friend, okay? Don’t get too caught up in Jungkook.”

My stomach flips.

I try to keep my expression neutral. “I’m not… I don’t even know him.”

“Yeah, well,” she says, “just in case. I’ve known him for a while. He runs with a rough crowd. Really rough. He’s not some tortured artist or romantic bad boy. He’s a fighter. Like, literally and metaphorically. The guy doesn’t let people close. And if he does? It never ends well.”

I swallow. “Okay…”

She shrugs, taking a sip from her green smoothie. “He’s rich, by the way. Like, crazy rich. Family money. Old money. The kind that hides skeletons behind designer walls. He’s rebelling against it, or whatever. But still—trust me, girls like us?” Her voice softens, almost sympathetically. “We don’t survive guys like him.”

I stare at the screen.

Katherine offers a smile like she’s just done me a favor. “Anyway. Just thought you should know. Back to work!”

The call ends.

And I sit there, headphones still on, heart pounding, trying to make sense of everything she just said.

Girls like us.

We don’t survive guys like him.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Because I already knew that.

But hearing it out loud?

It stings in a way I wasn’t ready for.

The call ends.

And it’s like the silence in my apartment changes shape—heavier, sharper, pressing in from all sides.

I stare at my screen, blinking at the spreadsheet I was supposed to be editing, but all I can see is his face again. Jungkook’s bruised jaw. His quiet stare. The way his voice was soft when he asked if I was okay.

I thought it meant something.

God, I’m so stupid.

Why did I even let myself feel anything at all? One second of attention from someone like him and I’m already spinning stories in my head. Already hoping. Already aching.

But he’s not a story.

He’s not the exception.

He’s a walking warning sign with pretty tattoos and a reputation I should’ve seen coming a mile away.

And me?

I’m the girl who doesn’t even look in mirrors.

The girl who flinches when someone raises their voice.

The girl who hides from kindness because it always turns into disappointment.

What the hell was I thinking?

I push my laptop away and curl in on myself, wrapping my hoodie tighter around my body like it might hold all the unraveling parts together.

It’s pathetic, how easily I fall back into this. This sadness. This hole. Like I never even tried to climb out.

My chest feels tight again. Like there’s not enough air in the room, not enough silence in the world to quiet the noise in my head. Katherine’s voice keeps looping:

“Girls like us… we don’t survive guys like him.”

She’s right.

Not just because he’s dangerous—but because I’m already drowning.

I don’t need someone like him lighting a fire next to the flood.

I’m barely surviving myself.

I can’t afford to let someone else in. Especially someone who could burn me just by standing too close. I’ve done that before—opened the door a crack and let someone walk in like they had a right to rearrange the furniture in my soul.

And when they left, they took everything I had with them.

I won’t survive that again.

I don’t care how soft his voice was. I don’t care how different he seemed. I don’t care about the way his eyes looked like they could hold secrets.

I’m not his mystery to solve.

I’m not some redemption arc.

I’m tired.

I just want to be left alone.

So I grab my phone, fingers trembling, and type out a message to Vicky.

me (11:21 AM):

hey. Can we talk later?

She replies almost instantly.

Vicky (11:22 AM):

of course. you okay?

me:

not really.

Vicky:

I’m here. whatever you need.

I drop the phone onto the bed and let myself cry.

Not the quiet, hidden kind this time—but the ugly sobs. The ones that shake my whole body. The ones that feel like mourning.

Because that’s what this is.

I’m mourning the version of me who thought, even for a second, that maybe someone like Jungkook could want someone like me.

But that girl doesn’t get to stay.

She was too hopeful.

Too naive.

And hope? It’s just another way to hurt yourself when you know better.

-

The apartment walls feel like they’re closing in again.

My chest is still heavy from crying, my eyes swollen and tired, but I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday. My stomach growls like it’s mocking me, like even it is tired of my emotions.

I don’t want to go outside. I really, really don’t.

But I don’t have the energy to argue with myself anymore.

So I throw on the armor—the same oversized black hoodie I’ve worn three days in a row, the one that swallows me whole. Baggy sweatpants that drag at the hem, sleeves covering my hands. Greasy hair scraped into a low, half-hearted bun. No makeup. Glasses on. Invisible mode activated.

If anyone looks at me, they’ll see nothing worth seeing.

Which is exactly the point.

The convenience store is just down the block. Two turns and I’m there. I don’t make eye contact with anyone. I keep my head low, shoulders hunched, heart pounding in my ears for no reason at all.

I grab a pre-made sandwich, a pack of chips, something sweet. Something to feel something. The cashier doesn’t say much. I pay and leave, crinkling plastic bag in one hand, the weight of my exhaustion in the other.

And then—

I hear it.

A low, throaty vrrrrmmmm.

A motorcycle.

It pulls up to the curb just as I step outside. Black. Shiny. Sleek. Yamaha. The kind of bike that looks fast even when it’s parked.

The rider is dressed in all black—black jeans, black hoodie, black gloves, black helmet. The mirrored visor reflects the late afternoon haze, faceless and quiet.

But somehow—somehow—he looks straight at me.

Not at the store. Not at the sidewalk.

At me.

I freeze.

My breath catches in my throat. My pulse spikes. No one sees me—no one is supposed to see me. Especially not like this. Especially not him.

Because I know.

I know it’s him.

Even before he moves, before he speaks—my bones recognize the tension, the quiet storm under the surface. My body flinches like it’s muscle memory.

I take a shaky step back. Then another. My fingers curl tighter around the plastic bag like it’ll protect me. I turn, heart in my throat, ready to bolt in the opposite direction.

But then—

“Hey!”

Just one word.

But it’s enough.

The voice is familiar—low, rough around the edges, quiet in that way that still demands attention. Not yelling. Not sharp. Just… deliberate.

And it comes from behind me.

I freeze mid-step.

My grip tightens on the bag, but I don’t turn around. My whole body tenses like I’m waiting for the ground to open and swallow me whole.

Please no. Please let me be wrong.

But then—

“You dropped this.”

I glance down. My receipt flutters on the pavement behind me.

I should keep walking. I want to keep walking.

But something in that voice… that calm, steady voice—it wraps around my ribs like wire and holds me still.

I turn, just a little.

And there he is.

Helmet off now. Tousled black hair clinging to his forehead, damp with sweat or wind. Dark eyes, unreadable. That same bruised jaw from the fight. That same calm chaos in the way he stands, like he’s always ready to run or punch something—but right now, he’s doing neither.

He holds out the receipt between two fingers, casual like he’s done nothing unusual.

I don’t take it.

I can’t move.

I just stare at him, half-hidden behind the oversized hoodie and fogged-up glasses, knowing full well there’s nothing about me worth noticing—but he still is.

His eyes linger for a second.

Not in a gross way.

Just… curious.

Like he’s trying to place me.

“You are familiar, didn’t we spoke this weekend after my fight?” he says, voice soft but certain.

I don’t answer.

I can’t.

He waits a second longer, like he’s giving me a chance to say something—to confirm or deny or at least react—but I just stand there, frozen in oversized fabric and fear.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he says after a moment, voice even lower now. Almost gentle. “You okay?”

Something in me cracks.

I shake my head—not to answer the question, but to shake off the moment. The whole thing. Him. This.

I take a shaky step back, then another, until I turn away again. This time, I do walk.

Fast.

He doesn’t follow.

But I can still feel his eyes on me.

And it hurts in a way I wasn’t ready for.

By the time I get back to my apartment, I’m sweating under my hoodie even though it’s barely 65 degrees out. My legs feel like they’re made of wet sand. I shut the door behind me, double lock it, and lean against it like maybe it’ll hold me up better than my spine currently can.

What the actual fuck just happened?

I drop the plastic bag on the kitchen counter and stare at it like it might answer me.

How the hell did he end up here?

What are the odds? No—seriously. Statistically. What are the goddamn odds that Jungkook, bruised, violent, beautiful Jungkook, the guy from the underground fight club with a face like a problem I’d never solve—what are the odds that he parks his sleek-ass murder-cycle right in front of my stupid corner store?

Does he live around here?

Does he live on my street?

Fucking hell.

My head spins. I kick off my shoes and shuffle toward my room like a zombie with trust issues. I don’t even bother with lunch. I just face-plant onto my bed and let out a strangled scream into my pillow.

Muffled, of course. Don’t want the neighbors to call someone.

My brain is already galloping down all the wrong roads.

What if he does live nearby? What if I see him again? What if he recognizes me next time, not just as “the girl from the fight” or “the hoodie gremlin who nearly dropped her sandwich,” but me—the real, fragile, overthinking version who wears pain like perfume and flinches when people care?

God, what if he saw through me already?

I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling.

And just like that, it begins.

The daydream.

The soft edges blur and shift, my breathing slows, and the version of reality I can actually tolerate starts to take shape.

In this one, I’m still me—but I’m her, too.

The cooler version. The one who didn’t flinch. Who took the receipt with a small smirk, thanked him, maybe even made a joke that made his bruised mouth curve into a smile.

Maybe he would’ve asked my name.

Maybe I would’ve told him.

Maybe we would’ve sat on the curb, talking about the way silence sometimes feels safer than words. Maybe he would’ve looked at me like I wasn’t invisible. Like I wasn’t too much or not enough or anything in between.

In this version, I’m magnetic. Mysterious. Someone he wants to chase.

Not someone who runs.

Not someone who hides.

But the fantasy falters the second my phone buzzes.

A calendar notification.

Break over. Back to work.

I blink, and the ceiling collapses.

The daydream dissolves like mist under a spotlight.

And I’m back here again.

Greasy hair. Unanswered emails. Sandwich still untouched on the counter.

I sit up with a groan and reach for my laptop, the screen lighting up with the cruel reminder that no matter how hard I try to disappear, the world still expects me to perform.

Because I don’t get to be the girl in the fantasy.

I just get to pretend I'm okay for eight more hours.

-

It’s been three days.

Three long, weirdly quiet days since that day outside the convenience store.

He didn’t follow me.

He didn’t try to talk to me again.

But I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

Or him.

Or the way his voice sounded when he said “hey” like it wasn’t a loaded word, like it didn’t feel like it cracked something open in my chest.

But today, I need air.

I’ve answered all my emails. Sat through two Zoom meetings where I didn’t say a word. Ate half a protein bar and convinced myself that counted as lunch. The weather’s decent. Grey sky, soft breeze. Not hot, not cold. The kind of weather that makes you feel invisible in a good way.

So I shower. Real clothes aren’t an option—my body still feels like a burden—but I pull on my cleanest hoodie and loose cargo pants. I throw on some concealer, smudge some eyeliner. Just enough to look… functional. Human-adjacent. Lip balm, not lipstick.

My comfort zone.

I pop a Red Bull from the fridge, grab my lighter and smokes, and head out.

The walk to the park is quiet. Familiar. It’s only a few blocks away—lined with sad little trees, apartment windows with peeling paint, and the occasional dog-walker tugging along a leash like it’s a lifeline.

By the time I get there, I’m already feeling a little lighter.

I head straight to the bench.

My bench.

The one facing the outdoor fitness area. It’s a concrete platform with metal bars and makeshift equipment—mostly used by shirtless guys trying to impress no one in particular. Usually, I avoid the place when it’s busy. But I’ve learned the timing.

Late afternoons on weekdays? It’s usually empty.

Quiet enough to breathe.

I sit down, crack the can open with a hiss, and take a long sip. The carbonation burns down my throat, sharp and sweet. I pull a cigarette from my sleeve and light it, the flame catching with a soft flick. First drag, and the world slows down.

My mind goes quiet.

For once.

I exhale smoke into the open air, let it drift above me, unfurling like a sigh I didn’t know I was holding.

And then—I see him.

At first, I don’t realize it’s him.

I just register movement.

Someone using the pull-up bar.

Shirtless. Muscled. Moving with a kind of effortlessness that makes my stomach flip.

I glance up, casual.

And freeze.

It’s him.

Jungkook.

His back is to me, muscles flexing as he pulls himself up again and again, like he’s chasing something only he can see. The tattoos on his arms are vivid under the dull light, ink curling down to his wrist in sharp, beautiful lines.

He drops down from the bar, hands on his hips, chest heaving with each breath.

He’s glowing with sweat.

And for a second—I forget how to exist.

He doesn’t see me.

Not yet.

I duck my head fast, pulling my hoodie slightly forward like it’s a curtain I can hide behind. I take another drag of my cigarette, hoping the smoke masks the sudden panic rising in my throat.

Why is he here?

Again?

Does he live around here? Was Katherine right?

Or is this just some twisted coincidence?

He wipes his face with the edge of his tank top, and I catch a glimpse of more tattoos on his ribs—black ink over golden skin—and I have to look away. My heart’s beating like I’ve done a line of adrenaline instead of just caffeine and smoke.

I shouldn't be looking.

He’s not for me.

He’s a storm in a human body. A fighter. A blur of danger and sharp edges.

And I’m just… this.

This hoodie.

This body.

This invisible mess on a park bench, pretending the world isn’t too much.

But even as I look away—

I can feel it.

That shift.

That pull.

And when I glance back, just once, just quick—

His eyes are on me.

Right on me.

Unmistakable.

Direct.

Not in a flirty, playful, hey-girl way.

No.

It’s deeper than that.

Like he remembers me.

Like he sees something he doesn’t quite understand.

I look away so fast I almost drop my Red Bull.

My fingers are shaking again.

What the fuck is happening?

Why does it feel like he’s always three steps ahead of where I want him to be?

[thatlotuscookie]

sung jinwoo x fem!reader (kinky hcs 1/2)

mdni, nsfw ahead. more jinwoo thirsts, can't get enough he's so sexy- for those in my inbox: im working on your requests!! this was getting long so here's part two: sung jinwoo kinky hcs 2/2 solo leveling masterlist

Dom and sub dynamics Jinwoo? A sub? Yeah right. This man REEKS of dominance, and he knows it. The way he commands in battle? That authority bleeds straight into the bedroom. He loves seeing you submit, watching you melt under his control. The moment you hesitate or disobey? Oh, he relishes in punishing you, pinning you down, making you beg, reminding you who’s in charge. But don’t get cocky thinking you can top him. Even when you’re on top, he’s still running the show. His grip on your hips? His deep, controlling thrusts? That possessive glare? You’re still nothing but his pretty little plaything, completely at his mercy.

You were on all fours, trembling, cheeks flushed, thighs slick from being edged for what felt like hours. Jinwoo stood behind you, dawned in a black buttoned dress shirt, sleeves rolled up like he was about to fucking work—and he was. "Arch your back more. That’s right. Let me see that perfect fucking ass." His hand came down with a sharp slap, making you yelp. "You follow my rules in this room, understand? I say when you come. I say how you come." He dragged his cock along your soaked slit but didn’t push in, just enough to make you sob. And the smirk on his face? Smug fucking bastard. You begged, voice cracking. And he leaned forward, whispering against your ear: "Good little thing. Obey me, and maybe I’ll let you cum tonight."

Breeding/pregnancy kink (You already know it) Jinwoo is possessive as hell, and nothing screams ownership more than filling you up with his seed. The thought of watching your belly swell with his child? Oh, fuck yes. That’s his mark, something no one else can ever erase. He loves the idea of you being completely dependent on him; needing his protection, his strength, his everything. And don’t even try to act like you’re not into it. He sees the way your body shivers when he growls about knocking you up. The way you tighten around him when he presses down on your stomach, whispering how good you’d look carrying his child. Yeah. You fucking love it, and he knows it.

He had your legs folded damn near to your chest, his cock buried so deep you SWORE he was rearranging your guts. "I’m going to knock you up tonight, darling. You hear me? You’re leaving this bed full of my fucking cum." His voice was low, primal. His eyes were locked on your face, watching every twitch and moan as he fucked into you harder, deeper, sloppier. His hands gripped your hips, bruising, possessive—like he could shove every last drop of his seed into you with sheer force. "You’re going to be so fucking full. I want you waddling around, dripping with me. Swollen and needy, knowing I did this to you." And when he came? He didn’t pull out. He thrusted harder, like he wanted to fuck the pregnancy into you right then and there.

Sensory derivation/blindfolds Jinwoo loves fucking with you. Taking away your sight? Your ability to predict what comes next? Oh, that’s a power trip he enjoys far too much. The way you whimper, every nerve heightened as his fingers ghost over your skin, barely touching you? He watches you squirm, desperate for more, but he won’t give it to you. Not yet. He’ll drag it out, teasing you with soft kisses before sinking his teeth into your skin. And when you’re finally begging for him? He’ll take you apart completely.

Your vision was gone—blacked out by the silk blindfold Jinwoo tied on you, his voice the only thing guiding you in the dark. You didn’t know where his mouth would land next—your collarbone? Your stomach? The inside of your thighs? Every breath, every whisper sent shivers down your spine. "Look at you. So fucking needy. So unsure. It's cute watching you squirm, wondering where I’ll touch next." And then—bam. His mouth latched onto your nipple, teeth grazing just enough to sting. You gasped, arching, completely at his mercy. He chuckled. "You’re adorable when you don’t know what’s coming. Keep whining like that, and I’ll make it even worse for you."

Edging and overstimulation (type SHIT??) Jinwoo is a cruel, merciless bastard when it comes to control. You think you get to come just because you want to? Absolutely not. He’ll edge you over and over again, watching the frustration twist your face into something pathetic and needy. He gets off on it—seeing you beg, your body shaking as you plead for release. But he’s not done until he decides you’ve had enough. And when he finally lets you go? Oh, you’d better prepare yourself. Because he’s not stopping at just one.

You’d already come twice. You were a sobbing, ruined mess, legs trembling, barely able to form a coherent word. Jinwoo? He wasn’t done. "One more." He growled as he shoved two fingers back into your soaked pussy, curling just right, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit like it owed him rent. You wailed, hips jerking, trying to move away—but he gripped your thigh and pinned you down like a wild animal. "You don’t fucking get to say no. Not until I say you’ve had enough. Come again, now." And when you screamed through your third, fourth, fifth orgasm, tears rolling down your cheeks? He just laughed, that cocky son of a bitch. "There’s my good little mess."

Marking and BRANDING Jinwoo wants people to know you’re his. Hickeys? Bites? Scratches? He doesn’t give a fuck if they’re visible. In fact, he wants them to be. You’ll be walking around with his teeth marks on your thighs, bruises on your hips from how tightly he held you down. Your lips? Swollen from how fucking deep he kissed you. You’re a walking testament to the fact that you belong to him and only him. And if anyone dares to look at you the wrong way? He’ll just have to SHOW them who you belong to.

You shouldn’t have worn that low-cut top out. That’s what started it. Jinwoo’s jealousy? Explosive. The moment you got home, he was on you. He shoved you against the wall, kissing you like an animal. His mouth latched onto your neck, sucking hard, biting until your skin turned purple and raw. "Wanna show off? Fine. I’ll give you something to show." He yanked your shirt down, exposing your chest, then sank his teeth right over your heart. Hickeys, bruises—every inch of you claimed. And when he finally finished marking you? He stepped back, admiring his artwork. "Next time you leave this house, everyone’s going to know you’re mine. Covered in my fucking brand."

[rik0shii]

lads guys headcanons

(zayne,sylus,xavier,rafayel,caleb)

warnings :fluff

request: yes

thank you for requesting, I'm new to doing those things so pls tell me if it wasn't to your liking or if it wasn't what you imagined so that I can fix it and get better !

Zayne

• Super punctual—if you have a date set for 1 PM, he’s already outside at 12:50, waiting in his car just so he can call you at the exact time.

• Kids adore him. He has that calm, safe aura that makes even the shyest child want to hold his hand.

• ASMR king—his whispery, soft-spoken voice could put anyone to sleep. If he ever recorded voice memos for you, they’d be the most soothing thing ever.

• After a long mission, he welcomes you with quiet reassurances, hugging you from behind and murmuring, “You did great today. I missed you.”

• Loves holding your hand, whether it’s a quick squeeze of reassurance or intertwining fingers while walking.

• Soft, sleepy smiles—the rare moments when he’s tired but still awake enough to look at you and grin lazily.

• Would totally tuck a blanket around you if you fell asleep on the couch.

Xavier

• Definitely the “I know a spot” guy. And when he shows you? It’s breathtaking—some secret rooftop, a hidden garden, a quiet overlook.

• Hand-holding and forehead kisses in those quiet places where it’s just the two of you.

• If you’re on a mission and he’s not with you, he refuses to sleep. He’ll pace, check his phone, stare at the ceiling—anything but rest.

• CLINGS when you return. Arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck, and a muffled, “Don’t ever leave me like that again.”

• Skilled with his fingers? Definitely means he can play the piano beautifully. Would learn your favorite song just to surprise you.

• Lowkey romantic in an effortless way. Always the guy to drape his jacket over you if you’re cold or tilt your chin up before a kiss.

Sylus

• Loves stargazing. If you ever go on a late-night drive, he’ll pull over just to sit on the hood of the car with you, pointing out constellations.

• Loves rainy days—the sound, the smell, the way it makes everything feel cozy. If it’s storming outside, he’s making hot drinks and pulling you onto the couch for a movie marathon.

• A big fan of sleepy cuddles. He’ll absentmindedly run his fingers through your hair while half-asleep.

• Writes little notes for you and leaves them in random places—inside books, on your mirror, tucked into your jacket pocket.

• Horrible at remembering dates but amazing at remembering tiny details—like the way you take your coffee or the song you hummed once three months ago.

• Unironically loves stuffed animals. If you ever give him one, he’ll pretend it’s no big deal, but you’ll definitely find it on his bed later.

Caleb

• Super protective but in a quiet way—he’ll walk on the side closest to the street, double-check locks before bed, and always notice when you seem off.

• Really good cook—if you’re having a bad day, expect a homemade meal that somehow tastes exactly like comfort.

• Loves fixing things for you. Broken zipper? He’s on it. Squeaky door? Fixed. Car won’t start? He’s already rolling up his sleeves.

• Acts grumpy but is secretly the softest. If you rest your head on his shoulder, he’ll pretend to sigh but won’t move an inch.

• Always warm. If you’re cold, he’ll just pull you into his side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

• Reads a lot. Might not admit it, but he totally has a favorite book and will casually reference it in conversation.

• Loves slow dancing in the kitchen. No music, just the sound of your breathing and his steady heartbeat.

Rafayel

• Absolute charmer—he can flirt like it’s second nature, but when it comes to real feelings, he gets a little shy.

• Knows how to dress. If you ever need help picking an outfit, he’ll make sure you look stunning.

• Sends voice memos instead of texts. His voice is too smooth not to be used.

• Great dancer—whether it’s a fancy ballroom-style twirl or a goofy little move in the kitchen, he makes everything feel fun.

• Gives the best compliments—not just about looks, but little things like, “I love how your eyes light up when you talk about something you love.”

• Cuddling expert. His hugs are always just the right amount of firm, warm, and lingering.

• Loves learning about you. Your favorite color? Noted. The way you like your tea? Memorized. A weird fact about something you love? He’ll bring it up just to see you smile.

[lulunothulu]

“So you think I’m hot?” Pt. 3

Tyler Owens x Reader

Summary: After nursing you to health, Tyler finally makes a move on you…and you may or may not want to accept it

Contents: some swearing, some blood, and LOTS of fluff

Word count: idk but I think it’s long 😂

Catch up here: Part 1!! Part 2!!

“Y/N!” You hear Kate call from outside. “Are you okay in there?”

You’d fallen asleep after Tyler brought you back to your hotel room. Did Tyler ever leave? If he did, you weren’t going to be able to open the door for Kate. You’re about to panic when you realize there’s something heavy on your stomach.

Not something…someone.

Fuck.

You turn to your left to find a sleeping Tyler cuddled up against you, an arm draped on your stomach the other under your head.

“Y/N, if you can’t get up let us know,” you hear Javi say. “We got an extra key from downstairs.”

FUCK.

“I’m fine!” You yell, startling Tyler but not waking him. “I have crutches but I’m just resting! You guys go on and get data from yesterday’s tornado.”

“Are you sure?” Kate asks.

“Yes!”

“Okay, well text us if you need anything,” you hear her say before their footsteps fade away.

You sigh, turning to Tyler who’s wide awake and smiling at you.

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” you say.

“So I’m a beauty now?” He teases.

“I swear to god Tyler it’s too early for this shit.” You smile.

Tyler only smiles at you, just staring.

“What?” You ask, propping yourself up on your elbows.

“Nothing,” he tells you, crossing his arms behind his head. His biceps bulge in the long-sleeved flannel, making your heart flutter.

Why did that make you wanna touch them?

Tyler notices the way you stare at him and smirks, pumping his bicep muscles in a playful manner. You clear your throat and begin to get off the bed, forgetting about your leg.

“Ow, fuck,” you seethe, your breath hitching in pain.

Tyler sits up in bed, scrambling to your side of the bed before squatting before you.

“Are you okay?” His green eyes searching yours for more signs of pain. “Do you need some pain killers?”

The way his hands hold your right leg makes you feel all tingly inside, the way he looks at you doesn’t help. He’s waiting for you to tell him what’s wrong, worry etched on his handsome face. Even the way his hair, normally styled to perfection, is now all messy seems to do things to you.

Warm and fuzzy feelings begin to form around your heart and you can feel the annoyance you once had for him, melt away.

It’s making you want to do something reckless.

“I’m fine, Tyler,” you tell him. “I forgot about my injury.”

His eyes calm, softening on you before he nods and sniffles.

“You’ve never called me by my first name,” he says softly.

“There’s a first time for everything.”

You stare at one another for a few seconds that feel like hours. The longer you stare, the more you realize how attracted to him you are.

Fuck this is gonna be a problem.

“Do you need me to help you change the bandages?” He asks, clearing the silence.

You nod, handing him the wrapping on the nightstand.

Very carefully, Tyler removes the bandage around your thigh. Concentration fills his facial expression, brows furrowed and tongue out. He stops when you suck in a breath, head jolting to face you.

“Sorry, it’s still kinda tender,” You apologetically tell him.

He smiles up at you before continuing with the dressing.

“So where are you from?” He asks.

You grit your teeth in pain before answering, “Originally, Chicago. I grew up in Tennessee though.”

“What brought you to Tennessee?” He continues.

You realize he’s trying to keep you distracted from the pain and flash him a thankful smile. “My parents wanted to reconnect with nature. They have a little ranch out there.”

“What got you into tornadoes?” He asks, now finishing up with the bandaging.

“There was a really bad tornado,” you whisper. “My family’s farm was destroyed. I think I was eight at the time.” You chuckle. “My Mom was screaming for me to get away from the windows but all I wanted to do was stare up at this beautiful tornado. It was so surreal, it looked like the one from the Wizard Of Oz.”

You smile at the memory. “Mom was so mad when I turned to her and said ‘Look mom, it’s so pretty’.”

Tyler chuckles, hands still on your thigh, lightly caressing the skin below the bandage.

“What about you?” You ask. “What got you into chasing?”

“When I was a kid, I was driving with my aunt,” he starts, smiling at his own memory. “This beautiful cyclone just crossed our path and I couldn’t help but stare. It was gorgeous.”

He laughs before looking down at your leg.

“I was so entranced by it, I didn’t realize my aunt was screaming bloody murder. She was absolutely terrified.”

“Where you?” You ask. “Terrified?”

He looks up at you, the sight of him still kneeling before you making you warm.

“I was.”

Without thinking, you lean forward, placing your hands on Tyler’s shoulders.

They’re warm, muscular.

You snake your hands up his neck, resting on either side of his face. You brush your thumbs on his cheeks and back to his ears, watching as Tyler’s eyes roll to the back of his head and his eyelids flutter.

You didn’t know what came over you to do that. You felt the urge to do it so you did it.

When his eyes open again, you smile at him. Genuinely and thankful.

“Thank you,” you start, whispering as if someone would hear you. “For helping me.”

Tyler leans forward, just inches from your lips. His head was tilted up, waiting for you to finish crossing the line you dangled right before him.

“You’re welcome, darling,” he whispers right back.

You open your legs, scooting forward to have him between you. Arms wrap around your waist as Tyler pulls you close, careful not to touch your bad leg. You hold on tightly, wrapping your arms around Tyler’s neck as he lifts you.

You’re so close now, you wanted to kiss him. This was nothing like you’d ever imagined. Never mind with him.

For the few months you’d known him, you wanted to strangle him. But maybe it was just your mind trying to make sure you don’t fall for him. After all, he was your type.

Tall, handsome, rugged, and absolutely annoyingly reckless.

“Tyler,” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“I would really like to kiss you,” you tell him truthfully.

“Me too.”

“But I’m in so much pain.”

He quickly says you down, still holding you by the waist. “I’m sorry.”

You smile, cupping his cheek in your hand. “Try again in a week when I’m healed.”

He smiles down at you, leaning close and kissing your cheek.

“Deal.”

A/N: Okay yes, I’m gonna have a part 4 bc they NEED to kiss 😂

Next part!!!

[mischiefmaker615]

Freak (1 of 2)

Summary: Infinity Stone mishap!

Rating: R

Song Request: Freak by Doja Cat

Requester: @Ellazaee (wattpad)

‘’again, I cant thank you enough for helping me out with this- money doesn’t exactly grow on trees’’ you laughed sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck while you followed along side Loki who continued to give you the tour.

He found your nervousness adorable, with how red your cheeks got and your almost uncontrollable laughter sometimes whenever you were around him. he had his nervous habits to, and he was sure you noticed them as well while he found himself rambling or over explaining when you clearly got the point at which room was which and its function.

Half the time, he would fall silent, in fear of saying something foolish and pushing you away. He didn’t wish to squash his chances at being your lover- he still was trying to figure out how to approach that situation; but he was absolutely not going to ruin this friendship.

You smiled while you busied your eyes elsewhere, noting how quiet he got and would mess with his hair pointlessly when his fingers got fidgety. Loki was your best friend, and you didn’t want to assume with how he had been acting the last few months that he had grown some attraction to you.. you didn’t want to give yourself that hope. So you told yourself you were content with how the two of you were now,.. it just seemed to get harder and harder lately, especially with how he dressed and acted in his leadership role. Sexy..

You would stare and tug at your sleeve mindlessly, hoping you wouldn’t already rip your new TVA uniform on the first day- but Loki being hot was prescribing that risk incredibly. Just friends.. and nothing more.. and you both didn’t even know the real feelings you had for each other.

‘’perhaps I could thank you over a cup of coffee? You’ve already done so much, even on top of your busy schedule and-‘’

‘’darling, you are a valued person in my life. Do not think that it is ever a bother or an inconvenience to my schedule when you are in need of aid.’’ Loki smiled, chancing a moment to look at you and his eyes may have lingered to long, having the both of you quickly look forward and clear your throats.

Gods.. did it sound like I friend-zoned her- ‘valued person in my life??’ Are you serious Loki! Come on.. think..

‘’Ah- and I’ll introduce you to more of the staff-‘’ Loki said quickly, hoping to find a way out from his awkward feeling by directing your way towards the computer desks, walking brickly while he glanced back at you excitedly. ‘’we have one special person here I know you could count on for anything-‘’

‘’okay..’’ you smiled, following behind quickly over to the crowded area of desks and computers.

Loki was standing next to a.. average, almost nerdy looking man who had his head damn near an inch of his computer screen and clearly absorbed in what he was doing without even noticing Loki on the other side.

‘’Casey?” Loki said, hinting his presence while you stood beside him.

‘’Casey.’’ He said a little dryer, clearly hating to repeat himself while he moved his jacket out of the way to place his hands on his hips.

‘’I think he’s in the middle of watching something..’’ you whisper while you leaned closer to Casey to look at the screen. Just as you swore you could hear something quite resembling a moan, Casey flinched and made you jump back by his quick movement, his arm having accidently swept some of the things on his desk, to the floor before you.

‘’oh shit- sorry! I don’t think I heard you- how long have you been there??” he said quickly with probably just as much nerves while he turned his computer chair to face you both.

‘’not to long, were we interrupting?” Loki asked casually while he glanced at the stuff on the floor between you both and the man fidgeting where he sat.

‘’no no- it’s just.. sometimes I take my breaks here rather than head to the break room and I catch up on my- oh it’s okay! I’ll get it!’’ he insisted while you had bent down to help pick up the small things that he had dropped.

‘’it’s okay, we’ll work on a better approach in the future.’’ You teased and picked up a few pens, a notebook and a glowing, small gold rock like thing. ‘’-what is this?” you asked while you raised your eyes to look at him, your whole body tensing to see that his eyes had been looking at your chest while you were kneeling down.

‘’it’s an infinity stone- paper weights, as we call them and er- use them..’’ Casey sheepishly laughed, his smile quickly wiping away from his face when his eyes reached your glaring ones and grabbed quickly for his things. ‘’s-sorry- I just- AH!’’ he yelped simultaneously with you, having grabbed for the gold stone next before it seemed to flash for merely a second and zap, causing both your hands to flinch away and his things fell back to the ground.

‘’oh for heaven’s sake-‘’ Loki huffed, eyes ripping away from trying to dissect what Casey had been watching and grabbed hold of the things on the floor.

Casey sat back in his chair, wide eyes while clutching his hand protectively and you having stood back up with a stumbling step.  

‘’are you alright?” Loki asked, giving you a quick glance before setting Casey’s things back on the desk, as if he hadn’t noticed what happened between the two of you.

‘’yes of course, perfectly fine.. shall we continue with.. the- er.. tour?” you asked, rubbing at your hand where it had been zapped while your eyes trailed off once they caught sight of Loki, lips parting as if mesmerized and dragging up his form to his awaiting- confusing eyes.

Casey sat tensely in his chair, almost waiting for you to kill him for having stared at your chest while Loki seemed preoccupied by turning quickly towards Casey after brushing his hands off together and clasping them behind his back.   

‘’that would be a good idea darling,’’ Loki noted while his gaze continued to bore into Casey. ‘’watch that Midgardian rubbish elsewhere, and mind where your vision decides to settle or you’ll find yourself without any.’’ He said almost to sharply, having apparently caught Casey’s wondering eyes and Casey quickly nodding with a quick spin of his chair to click away at a few tabs on his computer.

‘’yes sir- right away-‘’ he stuttered but already noticed Loki turning away while you stiffened to try to look normal as possible.

Loki wrapped an arm around your shoulder and ushered you away towards the halls. ‘’I’m really sorry about him- I promise he won’t be any trouble when you are working here, he’s in a whole other department anyway..’’ he explained while you let him lead.

You felt strange, your skin feeling tingly and warm- especially where Loki’s arm and hand was lingering to help guide your way. what had happened.. what was that zap.. and why the hell do these people have infinity stones handy like it’s normal? ‘’Loki i- I’m kinda feeling funny..’’ you admitted, a hand coming to your throbbing temple while Loki released you to turn your body by your shoulders to look at him.

‘’what do you mean- are you alright? Was it what happened back there?? I swear I will write a report on what he did the minute we-‘’

‘’no no it’s not that-‘’ you shook your head, fingers fiddling with themselves while you looked up shyly at Loki and felt your eyes widening at how he looked now.

He’s always been beautiful, cheekbones practically have been sculpted by angels but-.. every single inch of him seemed to have increased tremendously in.. attractiveness. He wasn’t even standing that close but his smell filled your senses like a drug, picking up pine and masculinity that had your eyes damn near fluttering shut. Your skin was warm, making you pull at your shirt collar and shift in place. His hands were slender, gentle on your shoulders and you resisted the urge to look at them and fantasize where else you’d like to feel them.

A throbbing had appeared between your legs, making you shift even more in place and embarrassingly made it almost look like you had an urgent need to use the restroom. You were so.. horny..

‘’darling- I think you should sit down a moment..’’ Loki said gently, his speech almost sounding like it was a little deeper and slower- much like in the movie scenes when someone had been drugged.

Drugged! No- it had to be the infinity stone.. which color was yellow again? Casey might have used it accidentally on you in his nervous wreck state- what had he been thinking about in that moment?

As your mind spun and tried coping with how your body began to increase in wants and needs, Loki had gently taken your hand and pulled you into the next room. It looked like a small meeting room, simple with a large table in the center and a couple chairs.

‘’alright darling, just sit right here and I can go fetch you a cup of water..’’ Loki offered, almost talking to you like you were a child while you felt yourself staring blankly forward and lowered yourself backward.

Loki quickly took your waist and last minute guided you to a chair before you had the chance to fall on your ass in your blank state. But no.. there was so much more going on..

‘’water would be.. nice..’’ you nodded, looking up at him from there you sat and your shoulders slumped, an almost sleepy smile came to your lips while your eyes remained half lidded.

Loki didn’t move for a moment, his brows furrowing in confusion and worry before his hand slowly rose to press against your forehead. ‘’..you seem warm.. would you like help taking off your jacket before I fetch the water?’’ he asked, his voice having gotten quiet and you could see he took a hard swallow when you began rubbing your legs together to try to relieve some of the pressure between them and your hands grasped the arms of the chair with white knuckles.

‘’its so hot in here..’’ you breathed, your eyes falling closed while you leaned forward in your chair. ‘’so.. bloody.. hot..’’ you whispered.

While your eyes were closed, your hands left the armrests slowly and rested at both your knees, traveling up your thighs before running up your waist, higher, then gripped your jacket in the middle of your chest. your thighs had slowly spread open as soon as your hands had left them before your head fell back and a sigh left your lips. Slowly you pulled the jacket apart, it falling down your shoulders and pooled at your waist- like one of those fancy wraps one would wear with a dress.

Your head lifted again, slowly.. everything slowly until you were looking back at Loki, opening your eyes to reveal how their color now held the same as the Infinity stone’s.

‘’ You want a good girl that does bad things to you?”

‘’P-Pardon?” Loki stuttered, blinking to finally come back to reality after being sucked into your seductive spell.

He had paused when you had moved, watching your hands glid and travel amongst yourself with numerous wants and wishes for it to be his own hands. His lips had parted, speech caught in his throat while you slowly had taken off the jacket and spread your legs. It was as if he were witnessing a lap dance- chair dance? Whatever it was, he knew it wasn’t you, something was clearly wrong- but the selfish part of him couldn’t bring himself to stop you until he saw your eye color.

Why were they- what happened.. what was happening??

You smirked, your mind lost and your body seemed to take over as your eyes dropped down to his bulge, seeing how it twitched while you looked back up at him. “I ain't afraid of a little pain..’’ you purred, watching how he shifted to relieve some of the pressure in his pants and rest on a hand against the table.

‘’Y/N this- I don’t know what’s going on here but.. clearly something happened..’’ he almost seemed to convince himself than you while the other hand rested on his hip and he took a breath to calm himself. ‘’your being very-‘’

‘’honest?” you challenged, a smirk came to your face when he looked at you once more and you shrugged, sitting back in the chair and crossing a leg over the other seductively. ‘’perhaps I’ve finally come to realize that I don’t wish to hide my true feelings for you Loki. I’ve had enough, and I know what I want. I’m done playing this game.’’ Your eyes began raking over his body. ‘’I know how you feel about me..’’

Loki’s cock twitched, a hand coming up to run through his hair while his fingers white knuckled the edge of the table he was leaning on. Gods she’s so beautiful.. so seductive.. he could smell how much you wanted him, and he was going crazy while he fought with himself to focus. ‘’Y/N..’’ he started, not exactly sure on what he wanted to say, but his eyes were on everything, but yours. ‘’we.. need to get you checked out..’’

You sighed, giving a light wave of your hand before you uncrossed your legs and sat straighter, hands coming to grip at your chest. ‘’so be it then.’’ You agreed before tearing your button down apart, buttons clicking to the floor while your chest exposed itself and pillowed in your lacey black bra.

‘’Y/N!- that’s not what I..’’ he trailed off, his eyes having caught sight of your chest and instantly gawked, his cock at full attention through his pants while he stood with his arms at his sides. ‘’gods.. your just..’’ he breathed but his words stopped as soon as you stood up, letting your shirt and jacket fall behind you while you seemed to slink over.

‘’This can go one of two ways..’’ you offered, hips swaying as you walked closer before your hands raised, coming to drape over his shoulders while his body stayed still, breath hitched and his eyes fell down to your cleavage. ‘’we could flip a coin. I could be your slave..’’ your voice got quieter with do-me-eyes and his instantly lifted to yours, almost widening at your offer while your hand trailed to grip his tie. ‘’or, I could tie you down and tease until you hate me.’’ You smirked, having walked backwards and he obediently followed until you sat yourself on the table.

You pulled him closer, your legs spread so he was standing in between them and you yanked him forward so his palms slapped flat onto the table on either side of your body. ‘’what’s it going to be Loki?” you purred. ‘’you going to spice up your life and come get a freak?”

‘’d-darling.. what has gotten into-‘’

‘’you could.’’ You flirted, raising a brow while a hand dropped to grip his belt.

His hand quickly went to rest on yours but he didn’t pull it away. ‘’g-gods what are you- fuck..’’ he groaned, your hand having left the belt to move down and rub him through his pants.

“Just wait until you get a taste..’’

‘’I..-‘’

Suddenly there was a zap, causing you to yelp with Loki immediately looking you over for injury, sitting up just enough for you to sit up and not headbutt him.

‘’what-.. what happ-‘’ you trailed off as your hand went to your forehead, rubbing slightly the throb away before blinking to clear your vision. Your eyes were back to normal, widening to see Loki an inch away from your face with just as widened eyes.

‘’yeah I knew my instincts were right- I fixed it.’’ Casey’s voice cut into the room, making Loki turn sharply to see him standing at the door with the Infinity stone proudly in his hand.

‘’what are you talking about??” Loki nearly barked, quickly moving his body between you both while you froze on the table.

‘’so a.. it must have sent her to a state of my mind- what I was watching must have been heavy in thought and it sent it over as a command to her when we both picked up the stone’’ Casey shrugged, his smile slowly fading to see Loki’s almost unreadable yet deadly look on his face.

‘’what were you watching?”

‘’-romantic movies..’’

Loki picked up on a lie that made him rotate his shoulders a bit and crack his neck, shaking it off before he cleared his throat. ‘’we’re going to have a long discussion tomorrow. Go home for the day.’’ He said carefully, earning a confused look from Casey until his eyes widened and he grew pale.

‘’ohhh- so sorry.. I’ll just.. yeah-‘’ the door shut quickly just as Loki tensed a muscle to lunge at him. he would have probably allowed himself to storm over if he hadn’t turned his eyes back to you and caught sight of your reddened cheeks, causing him to quickly turn his body so his back was to you.

‘’Y/N I’m sorry-‘’

‘’it wasn’t your doing..’’ you said quietly, sitting up a little and hugged yourself by the temperature in the room. ‘’I kind of had hints of what happened- I just didn’t do anything in time and.. well- I don’t exactly remember the rest.. but I can probably piece things together.’’

‘’I swear, if you want him fired, I can-‘’

‘’it all was an accident- but do talk to him about taking hints and his manners.’’ Your voice wasn’t angry. To be honest, you should be embarrassed, mortified, but perhaps that was the remnants of the stone’s power.. your confidence must be slowly fading away- and he saw you like this anyway. ‘’..did we?.. you know..’’

‘’no.’’ Loki said quietly, keeping his hands at his sides and his back to you. His eyes were closed, squeezed shut as he kicked himself for not having stopped himself from the beginning. ‘’….would you have been disappointed?” he whispered, his mouth faster than his ability to stop his thoughts and held his breath for your answer.

‘’..no.’’ you said and blushed. Perhaps there would be no better time than now.. you reached a hand out and placed it on his shoulder, a gentle nudge hinting for him to slowly turn around and he did, keeping his eyes raised and you stopped yourself from laughing. ‘’Loki, it’s okay.’’

Drawing in a breath, he looked back down, keeping his gaze on yours while you placed your other hand on his other shoulder. Your face was calm, which surprised him a lot and he felt his heart flutter by seeing the Y/N he knew.

‘’I didn’t exactly think it would happen this way.. but I’ve been hoping to tell you the truth that i.. have feelings for you.. I have for a long time.. and not just..’’ your eyes glanced down at yourself and bit your bottom lip, fingers clutching Loki’s shoulders more. ‘’sexually..’’

Loki’s hands were shaking, using all the power of the gods to stop himself from reaching forward while his heart fluttered and a smile tugged at his lips. ‘’gods Y/N.. I’ve been meaning to tell you the same thing..’’ he shifted a little, rubbing his hands on his pants upon realizing he was still standing between your legs. ‘’I wish it was under better circumstances.. but do know that you are the most beautiful creature I’ve laid my eyes on..’’ he whispered, making your own heart flutter and your cheeks reddened bashfully.

‘’what exactly happened.. earlier?” you asked sheepishly, not sure if you wanted to know.

Loki drew a breath, clearly the thought of Casey at the moment making him not so pleased while he looked towards the door. ‘’he must have knocked the stone off his desk and-‘’

‘’no..’’ you said quietly, a hand moving to his chin and turning him back to face you. ‘’after..’’

Loki’s cheeks went to a light hue of red, his hand raising slowly and took hold of yours, his movements always slow and ready to pause if you so much as uttered the word. By you maneuvering your hand to lace your fingers with his instead, had his body noticeably relax and an exhale released.

‘’well.. the stone was all based off honest.. and um.. apparently you were making quite the sinful offers and remarks i.. didn’t quite think you- you know.. I just never thought that-‘’

‘’you never thought I could be so.. bold?” you finished for him, blushing while he gave a gentle nod and a sheepishly look. ‘’when I am highly comfortable with someone, all walls drop and I am more.. well, comfortable.’’

Loki raised a brow a little. ‘’aren’t you comfortable with me from the amount of time of us knowing each other?”

‘’well yes but.. I mean sexually.. being highly comfortable with someone is one thing, but moving to the bedroom can have you back to being as shy as a school girl..’’ your eyes lifted and returned his own sheepish look. ‘’once the shy barrier is down.. I tend to.. take the lead on things..’’

Loki’s brows raised and you could have sworn you saw movement in his pants if you both weren’t in the middle of a staring match to withhold respect since you were almost naked. ‘’well.. I like you.. you like me, perhaps it’s something we could explore in the future, but I am more than ready for these baby steps.. if you’ll have me..’’ he whispered, taking hold of both your hands now in his and looked down at you lovingly while your thumbs rubbed against his skin.

‘’I will have you Loki, because I want you..’’ you bit your lip and glanced down at your hands. ‘’in every.. single.. way..’’

Loki’s grip tightened every so slightly as he watched you. ‘’..are you certain darling?” there was a hint of excitement in his voice and you confirmed the movement in his pants before you quickly moved your eyes up.

‘’well..’’ you glanced down at yourself and shyly smiled. ‘’we’re half way there..’’

PART TWO

Note: Sorry i did Casey dirty here, just needed a side character and he was the closest one in my reach LOL

~DM a song for your own Loki Musical Mischief one shot :D

Tag List: @foxherder13 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @fire-in-her-veinz @nervouseden @kathren1sky-blog @eleniblue @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @queenofstarsign85 @slytherinqueen4life @soulpiercing @westwindrhapsody @lulubelle814

[nevermorefanfics]

A LONG LOST LOVE

Pt.1 Pt.2

Pairing: Y/N x Klaus Mikaelson

Summary: You have been looked in a chest for 200 years. A chest Mikael trapped you in. One day the Scooby gang just accidentally manages to get the chest open, Asking you to go to a ball where your husband and the rest of your family is going to be...

Warnings ⚠️: Swearing, a little angst, fluff, mentions to sex, blood and spoilers (Kind of)

A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for choosing this fic! It's my first TVD one and I deeply hope you'll like it. If you want a pt.2 please like and comment! Btw just pretend that Astrid's just dead!

Prologue

Damon opened the chest before him. Bonnie had been able to destroy the invisible magical bonds that were tying it together, but it'd taken all her power and right now Elena was taking her upstairs to get some sleep.

"Just open it up already." Stefan or at least the Ripper said.

Damon rolled his eyes and slowly lifted off the top of the chest. Stefan stepped forward to see what was in there and for a moment he was mesmerized. In the chest law a woman who looked like she was sleeping. Her Y/h/c hair law outspread by her head and her clothes looked like they were from the 1800. Suddenly her eyes opened and a gasp for air sounded through the abandoned house.

________________________________________

You were awake. For the first time in so long you were awake. You could feel your heart beating eyes slowly opening and you could breath. Looking up, you saw two men, correction two vampires, presumably brother based on their looks. Suddenly you felt a hunger snap in your chest.

"Blood-I need blood..." You scream whispered. The taller of the men, threw you a blood bag, and as you slowly sat up to drink it you felt their eyes on you.

"Who are you?" The one with dark brown hair asked. Looking at you curiously.

"I'm Y/N Mikaelson, where the fuck did you guys find me?" You questioned them.

"Mikaelson? Are you Klaus and Rebekah's sister?" The taller one demanded you.

"Sister? God no, I'm Klaus's wife. You know where he is?" You asked them.

"We can't take you to him right now, we need more information, and we're not scared to force answers out of you." The brown hair threatened you. As you let out a low laughter and stood up, telling them.

"I am Y/N Mikaelson, first of my name. The only witch, vampire hybrid there is. I'm thousands of years old. How the fuck do you intend to 'force answers' out of me? You mimicked the brown haired voice by the threatening part.

"Look I'm sorry for my brother. I'm Damon this is Stefan. We just really need your help. The Mikaelsons are hosting a ball tonight. And our... Friend is going, no matter what we say. She wants to get more information about them, please just go and keep them distracted so that nothing happens to her and we'll leave you alone." The taller one, no Damon begged.

"Sure." You sighted.

_________________________________________

The dress: https://pin.it/73RwkmiWq

You were getting ready at the Salvatores hiding so that their 'Friend' wouldn't know about the plan. You'd chosen a long red beautiful dress with a slit that went far up your leg. As you put on your sleeves you heard a knock on your door and Damon stepped Inside.

"Well you look good, almost as good as me." He cockily told you as you rolled your eyes.

"You ready to go?" He asked. You nodded as an answer, applying the last of your makeup. He led you up to a fancy carriage and helped you up. The ride to the mansion was tense. Damon had filled you up on everything that had happened to them in the last year and no you weren't ashamed of your husband. He did what he did.

"Well look at that were fashionably late. Why don't I go inside and you'll come in in 5 minutes?" Damon wondered.

"Yeah sure." You answered him.

After waiting for a couple minutes you stepped out of the carriage and walked towards the mansion, your body stiff with nervousness. As the doors opened you felt everyone's eyes on you. You knew this was a vampire ball and most old and intelligent vampires knew who you were. A myth, a legend.

Everything seemed to stop when you locked eyes with Klaus who had seemed to be making a toast. A loud crash sounded through the ballroom when he dropped the glass in his hand and ran to you. Wrapping his arm about you, your lips met. It was a soft kiss, but with something in the background, a promise for more. When the two of you pulled apart, you saw Rebekah, your best friend walk towards you. You quickly pulled her in, even though Klaus wouldn't let go of your hand.

________________________________________

When the ball was finally over Klaus dragged you with him to his painting studio. Everywhere there were paintings of you and you felt your eyes tear up.

"Hey, don't cry love." He told you, wiping the tears of your face.

"We have so much to talk about." You sobbed.

"I think that can wait, love" he said pushing you against the wall and pressing his lips against yours.

[cassiesc0rner]

Impurities V

Synopsis: You're the new girl at East Highland High, your only goal is to get through school. Until you come across Nate Jacobs

Genre: angst, slight fluff

Pairing: Nate x fem!reader

Warnings: negative body-image, panic attack, manipulation, lying, jealousy, dark themes, violent behaviour, Nate talks about intimate stuff with Max, Nate is being really mean :/ Imk if I missed something

Song rec: praying - Isabel LaRosa | I wish you roses - Kali Uchis | mentally not here - Elita | Somewhat Damaged - NIN | Animal - Sir Chloe

WC: +9,5k

Other parts: previous part, next part

A/N: I know this one took a little longer than usual, but I fear the next updates will take a little longer too, since I’m a perfectionist and I don’t wanna do anything half assed and quick. This one is also really just angsty. :( but thank you guys in advance for reading, and for being so patient with me! ᥫ᭡

You were surprised when you got home and found your dad opening the door for you. It wasn't like he never opened the door for you before, but you were used to your mom being the only one who's home.

You didn't bother saying anything as you entered your home. He frowned for a moment when you walked past him, typing on your phone. He was surprised you didn't smile at him and greet him properly.

"Y/n?" he called out. You turned around and looked at him "What?" you asked nonchalantly. He looked at you completely bewildered, before he sighed "Where were you?" he asked with a frown.

Your eyes nearly jumped out of your skull "Excuse me... what did you say?" you asked, taking a few steps closer to him. "Did you just ask me where I was?" You scoffed in disbelief.

Your dad crossed his arms. "Yeah.. what's with the attitude?" he asked. "Oh, sorry, it's just.. you usually never ask me where I've been so..." You explained sarcastically, not sure if your parents were slowly losing their minds.

"I was outside with a friend." you added before taking your shoes off, and walking towards your room.

Your dad looked after you in confusion. He hadn't looked at you properly for the past few weeks, and he felt uneasy, seeing how different you dressed and behaved.

Earlier that day, he approached your mom and asked her, why you two got so quiet all of a sudden, and she told him about her concerns regarding you and Nate. At first, he thought she was just making a fuss over nothing again.

But after seeing you walk past him, looking nothing like his daughter, he became concerned as well. It wasn't just the short skirt and the way-too-tight top that threw him off; it was the fact that you suddenly looked like every highschool guy's fantasy.

If you were to ask a middle schooler what a girl looks like, they'd describe you: No body hair, long lashes, obsessed with pink and skirts.

You weren't like that before. You never wore skirts or bright, soft colours. You always wanted to look cool and dark, not soft and... feminine.

He shook his head in disbelief before he walked into the garden and lit his cigarette, worried about what you might've gotten yourself into.

And worrying about how he could get you out of it.

The next day you woke up feeling well-rested as your alarm rang at 11 AM. It was Saturday, and you and Nate had this unspoken rule of meeting up every Saturday.

He texted you that he'd pick you up at 1 PM, but he didn't tell you what you would be doing. You got up and chose one of your dresses for the day.

It was a vintage-style, pastel pink A-line dress, with a floral pattern and puffy short sleeves. You found the dress online one day and just had to order it.

You missed it sometimes, going shopping on your own and taking inspiration from your pinterest boards. Choosing your clothes yourself and not wearing what someone else wants you to wear.

You missed your pants, loose graphic tops and your comfortable sneakers. When you wore tighter fitting tops, you constantly felt the need to suck in your stomach, and sit straight to prevent any pesky rolls from appearing.

The worst part was, that you were absolutely sure Nate didn't notice your effort which pressured you even more, because he probably thought you simply looked like this all the time.

Eating with him was also something you couldn't enjoy as much anymore, because you got bloated after your meals sometimes. You trusted Nate with your life, but you just didn't want him to see you in any unflattering way ever.

You also obviously loved Nate, and his compliments, but you were so overwhelmed sometimes, because you were so focused on being perfect for him that you weren't able to pay attention to other things anymore.

You didn't want him to even think about looking at other girls, which he also barely did when you two were out together. But the words of your mother and Maddy made you feel so insecure.

If what they were saying was true, you should be concerned about Nate only liking you because of your style or appearance, but instead, you felt the need to impress him more and more every time, craving his approval.

You pushed the thoughts aside as you grabbed a fresh towel, your underwear, and your dress before you went to the bathroom to take a shower and shave, which was a part of your routine you had to get used to at first.

It wasn't like you never shaved before, but you definitely never took it as serious as now. You loved it when Nate would run his hands over your legs, or arms with this satisfied smile on his face before he would tell you how smooth and soft your skin feels.

After your morning routine, you sighed as you slid into the dress, before you brushed and blow-dried your hair.

When you left the bathroom and walked back towards your room, you were surprised to catch a glimpse of both of your parents in the kitchen. You were starting to get suspicious, since your dad usually would've been at work by now.

You brushed it off and walked into your room to do your make up. You usually didn't wear a lot of make up. You just made sure to accentuate your lashes, put on some tinted lip balm, and some concealer to hide any dark spots. Sometimes, you added a winged eyeliner, nothing too dramatic, which gave your eyes a more doll-like look.

Of course, you were aware of the fact that Nate loved that look on you; in his eyes it suited you perfectly.

Almost like you were his own personal doll.

You also put on a generous amount of your perfume, after noticing how much Nate loved it on you, and decided to stay in your room until he would call you to tell you he's there.

You used the time to think of something you could gift Nate. Sure, you planned the surprise party and you paid for a lot of the things already. But you felt obligated to buy him an extra present, simply because he bought you so many without a special occasion.

Before you could finish that thought however, the doorbell rang. You didn't bother to leave your room since you knew your mom ordered something a few days ago.

Until you heard his deep voice vibrating through the walls.

You quickly got up and nearly ran out of your room. You walked to the main hallway, spotting Nate, talking to your dad, with flowers in his hand. He was earlier than you expected.

You walked up to them until you reached Nate and nearly jumped into his arms. "Hey.." you whispered shyly as you smiled up at him, your eyes so full of love for him that he couldn't help but wonder if all of this was just an act.

If you also looked at Max that way.

"These are for you." he informed you with a small smile, as he handed you the bouquet of red roses. He bought them on his way to your place, mostly for you of course, but also in an attempt to make a good impression on your parents.

"Aw.. they're so beautiful thank you!" You exclaimed as a big smile made its way onto your face. You got on your tiptoes before pressing a kiss on his cheek.

"Is this the 'friend' you went out with yesterday?" your dad asked, causing your eyes to widen before you turned towards your dad "No.. I went to Mia's place yesterday." yeah sure "This.." you trailed off as your hand searched for Nate's "is my boyfriend." you announced.

Your dad nodded "Yeah.. we've talked before, right?" he asked and Nate forced a smile "Yeah..." Your dad chuckled "I would give you the 'don't you dare hurt my daughter' talk, but I'm sure my wife did that already."

Nate nodded slowly "Yeah.. she did." he sighed. "I'll bring her back tomorrow, if that's okay?" He added. Your dad hesitated for a moment before he nodded as well. "Alright, let's go." You said as you smiled up at Nate.

You handed the roses over to your dad "Can you put them in my vase for me?" you asked as you looked at him, and to his dismay, you weren't smiling at him the way you used to when you were younger.

Or the way you just smiled at Nate.

He nodded as he smiled down at you "Sure.. When are you going to be back tomorrow?" he asked as Nate opened the door, ready to leave as fast as possible. "Um.. I don't know?" you shrugged before you simply waved at him, which bothered your dad.

It bothered him because he knew that you didn't need him anymore. When you needed him he was at work, always, no exception. You must've been so lonely without him, just the thought of it made him feel awful.

It wasn't that he simply didn't care enough about you. He did, he just couldn't show it, because that meant he'd be vulnerable in front of his family.

And his dad didn't raise him like that.

As soon as the door closed behind you, your dad sighed in frustration "You know that this is your fault, right?" your mom taunted as she stood behind him.

Your dad turned around as he clenched his jaw "What was I supposed to do? Say 'no, don't ever talk to my daughter again'?" He angrily responded as he walked past her "That's not what I meant." She retorted calmly, as she watched him go into the kitchen.

When he didn't react, she shouted "You could've prevented all of this from happening, if you just would've been a real father."

He stopped in his tracks before he turned around, the flowers still in his hands as he approached your mom with heavy steps, causing her to take a step back in fear "Oh yeah?" he rumbled as he looked down at her "And what about you? Maybe if you did your job right, our daughter wouldn't cling to a guy like him."

She sighed before blinking up at him "What do you mean by that?" Your dad scoffed in disbelief "You know what I'm talking about. You and your fucking anxiety all the time... You raised a loner, and a weak one at that. Of course she's gonna run into the arms of the first person, who is nice to her for longer than just a week." he spat.

"It wasn't exactly easy to raise her alone, you know?" she defended herself "Jesus, you act like I did nothing for this family! Why do you think I'm constantly at work? So that you and her don't have to worry about money." he raised his voice, causing her to flinch.

He sighed as he recalled all the fights the two of them had, and how he would come into your room late at night, to tuck you into bed. That was one of the few interactions the two of you had when you were younger.

And you'd always complain about how your mom wouldn't let you go out with your 'friends', which caused them to think you were weird and a loner. Of course they weren’t real friends, but that alone made it even harder for you, to find actual people who you can trust and build a friendship with.

And whenever he tried to talk to your mom and tell her that she needed to get treatment for her anxiety, they would fight. Sometimes even until he had enough and just left, not coming home until the next day.

"Do me a favor," he said, pushing the roses into her hands, "put them in water and stop talking." he groaned, before leaving her behind to, once again, drive away and calm down.

Nate decided to take you to a pretty café today and you couldn't help but feel excited. Until you noticed that he was lost in thoughts for most of the car ride. He wasn't that talkative to begin with, but today was just different.

"And he suddenly asks me where I went when I got home yesterday, isn't that strange?" you said, looking at the menu, unsure which cake to choose. He nodded, narrowing his eyes at you without you noticing.

He wanted to ask you the same thing, but he knew you wouldn't tell him the truth "Yeah that's actually strange.. your family's strange in general though." Nate added.

He wondered what had gotten into your dad. At first, he didn't care that Nate wanted you to go to his party and sleep at his place, and then all of a sudden, he asks you where you went yesterday and when you’d be back home tomorrow?

He hoped he didn't have to take care of both of your parents. But he probably had to if your dad started to get in his way too.

But what was even more important right now was what you were doing with Max behind his back. And he was about to find out today, either you’ll tell him, or he will. "Nate?" he blinked before chuckling "Sorry.. I kind of zoned out."

You stroked his hand that was resting on the table, looking at him. "Is everything okay? You seem really distracted today." you frowned.

Nate shook his head dismissively "Yeah sure.. I'm just really stressed out at the moment.." you pouted in return "I'm sorry, is there something I can do? Do you wanna go home?" He shook his head again "No, let's order something and eat first."

You nodded as you continued to look at the list "I don't know which one to choose.." you groaned as your eyes flickered from one cake to another. "C'mon, let me choose for you." Nate offered as he looked at the menu, feeling some sense of control return to him.

"Yeah, please." you sighed. "I wanna get the cheesecake, but the strawberry one also looks really good." you explained. Nate nodded "Take the strawberry one." he demanded calmly.

You nodded before you started a new topic "Oh, by the way, what do you think of my new dress? I bought it recently.." you told him with a shy smile on your tinted lips. Nate furrowed his brows in return, realizing he hadn't complimented you today.

Did you feel neglected? Had this happened before? "Oh, you're right! I meant to ask you about it, since I've never seen you wear that before... You look absolutely gorgeous, as always." He smiled at you "How could I forget..." he mumbled more to himself than to you.

Maybe it did happen before and you felt like he's not paying attention to you anymore. Which definitely wasn't true at all, but you were insecure so what if you let your insecurities get the best of you?

That could be the only reason for you to even consider cheating on him with someone like Max.

After the short trip to the café nearby, you and Nate went straight home. His patience was running thin and he needed closure. You already noticed his mind was elsewhere, and he already planned on asking you about the situation once you were at his place.

As you entered Nate's home, Marsha greeted and approached you. "Hey, Sweetie." She exclaimed as she hugged you softly. "How did your mom take the news?" she asked.

You sighed "To be honest, not so well.. Haven't spoken to her in days." you admited with a sad smile. "Oh... that's not good. I guess she's not open to meeting up with me then?" She added "I didn't even get to ask her, because we had a pretty big fight." you admitted.

Marsha frowned "I'm sorry, Honey." just as she was about to say something else, Nate interrupted "We'll figure something out, I bet it's gonna be alright." you nodded in response "C'mon let's go upstairs." he added before he took your hand in his. You smiled friendly at Marsha before you followed him.

Once you two entered his room, Nate closed the door behind him, not moving from the spot.

Then you heard the click sound of the lock.

You turned around and looked at him, with this confused look which Nate usually found absolutely endearing. When he simply stared at you, you felt even smaller than you already were in his presence.

You chuckled nervously, unsure of what he was going to do next. Did he plan on having sex with you right away? Why else would he lock the door?

"Are you.. just gonna stand there?" You asked nervously. He chuckled drily before shaking his head "I'm just looking at you for a moment." he reasoned.

You approached him with a shy smile, before wrapping your arms around his waist and placing your head on his chest, releasing a content sigh as you did.

Usually Nate would smile in return or react in literally any way, but right now he decided to wait until you would let go of him. Right now he didn't like the way his your perfume clouded his senses, or the way his your bag sat so nicely on your shoulder.

Once you removed your arms and took a step back to look at him, Nate decided now's the moment. His back leaned against the door as he stared you down. "I need to ask you something." he announced. You frowned, before nodding and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Where were you yesterday?"

Your eyes widened. You didn't expect him to ask you that. You involuntarily swallowed as you playfully furrowed your brows "I was at Mia's, I told you." he chuckled again "I know what you told me." he said as he crossed his arms, an insincere smile on his face that sent a shiver down your spine.

You looked at the ground as you tried to think of something, anything you could say. "Y/n, where were you yesterday?" it was the same question, but his tone was sterner. You didn't dare to look at him, knowing he'd see how nervous you were.

Not like he couldn't tell already just by the way you stared at the ground. "I.. was at M-Mia's-" Nate groaned "No, you weren't." he interrupted "I know for a fact that you weren't." his voice dropped an octave, as he tried his best to control himself.

He took notice of the way your breathing picked up as you still didn't look at him. "Nate... Why are you asking me this?" you asked as you tried to calm down, and buy time to come up with something else you could tell Nate.

"Because you're lying to me, and I wanna know why." He reasoned. You couldn’t tell if he knew you were with Max, or if he talked to Mia and only knew that you weren't with her. All you knew was that he wasn't messing around. "Why do you think I'm lying to you?" you asked as you finally looked up at him.

You've never seen that look on his face before.

This dark, cold look that made your breath hitch in fear. "Do you think I'm stupid?" he suddenly asked, his voice void of any emotion. You quickly shook your head "No, of course not! I just... I don't know where this is coming from suddenly." you admitted.

Nate sighed "Y/n... I'm going to ask you this one last time and you better tell me the truth." he warned, "Where were you yesterday?" Your breathing got quicker again, not allowing you to focus. "I.. I wasn't at Mia's place..." you admited shakily.

Nate nodded "That's right, you weren't." his tone softened just slightly "Now tell me... who were you with yesterday?" You played with your fingers as you felt like your heart would stop any moment from now. "Nate... I-I can't tell you."

Nate clenched his jaw as he inhaled sharply. "I've always been honest with you, is it too much to ask you to do the same?" he asked drily "I don't... ask for much, you know? I'm willing to give you everything I can and all I want in return, is your honesty and most importantly, your loyalty."

You nodded as you tried to calm down again. "I love you, but I can't tell you, you really have to trust me with this." he scoffed "You want me to simply trust you, after you just lied to me?"

You nodded erratically "Are you scared of me?" You shook your head as you blinked rapidly. Of course you weren't scared of Nate, you’re sure he'd never hurt you. But he was so scary in this moment that you didn’t know how to handle it.

"Then why don't you tell me what's going on?" He asked, even more irritated than before. You sighed as you tried to come up with an excuse, so desperate to keep the party a secret for as long as possible. "Okay.. um.." you started as you suddenly got an idea.

"The thing is, I had an appointment yesterday and I didn't want to tell you because.." you trailed off once Nate scoffed "Stop fucking lying, Y/n!" he raised his voice at you, causing you to flinch as he started to lose his patience and his temper.

Nate gripped both of your arms firmly, but not tight enough to hurt you. You flinched once again as you looked up at him. "I know you met up with Max." you shook your head rapidly as you remembered Max's words.

"Please don't let Nate beat my ass if he finds out we went out alone."

Nate laughed in disbelief before his grip tightened on you, causing you to whimper in fear. "I saw you, okay? I saw you get out of his fucking car, so don't fucking lie to me!" he shouted.

You furrowed your brows in confusion. What did he mean by that? Did he see you get out of his car when you two went to the mall, or when he drove you home?

Was he.. waiting in front of your house? No, you were sure he wouldn't do that.

"You saw me get out of his car? Were you following me?" you asked in disbelief.

Shit.

Nate looked to the side for a moment to regain his composure "I meant, I saw you get into his car. Of course I didn't follow you, you never gave me a reason to." he said in a calmer tone this time "But when you're fucking lying to me, to meet up with another guy, I might have to do it, no?"

You looked to the ground again "Did he touch you?" you shook your head "Did you touch him?" you shook your head again. He wanted to believe you, but your desperate attempts to hide the truth really messed with him.

He swung you around, pushing your back into the wall and knocking your breath away in the process. Your looked at him like a deer in headlights, as you tried to process what was happening. You didn't even notice how quick you were breathing because you were so fixated on Nate.

"You don't get how serious this is, do you?" he gritted his teeth "I told you about Maddy and how she cheated on me and-and you... you meet up with Max, behind my fucking back.. I mean, you know how that looks, right?" he rambled.

You felt your vision starting to blur slightly as you looked up at Nate "N-Nate-" you whimpered, and he scoffed in return "I mean, what is it? Does he treat you better or did you just get bored of me?" He asked furiously.

You breathed even heavier as you tried to keep your tears inside. "I didn't cheat on you!" you raised your voice, but it came out shaky. Nate nodded sarcastically "You think I believe that after you lied to me?"

You sighed "I'm sorry for lying to you, but you can't actually think I-" Nate removed one hand from your arm, before delivering a punching to the wall next to your head, causing you to whimper and close your eyes. "Then just tell me what happened between you two!" he roared.

You shakily exhaled "Nate, please.. You're scaring me." you pleaded desperately, and all he did was clench his jaw "You told me you're not scared of me earlier, was that also a lie?" he retorted.

"I didn't cheat on you, I love you and I would never do something like that to you." you started again "You know... how long it took for me that day, to even be able to... get naked in front of you." you sobbed, feeling embarrassed as your mind went back to that day. "Do you really think, I'd just.. cheat on you with a boy I barely even know?" you sniffled.

Nate chuckled, unable to contain his bitterness "I mean who knows, maybe that was an act as well." He snarled.

Your heart broke into pieces, the weight of his words heavy on you. Not only because he didn't believe you, but because you struggled so much to allow him to get this close to you, to see everything of you and now he seemed to make fun of you.

You tried to break free from his grip as you were about to cry, and didn't want him to see. But Nate was obviously stronger, almost smiling as you thrashed in his grip. "What is it, am I right?" He taunted as his other hand returned to your arm.

You shook your head as your lip trembled, not daring to speak because you knew it would come out in sobs. "C'mon, tell me, are you angry because I'm right?" He asked again.

Nate didn't notice how far he went, not even when he heard your silent cries. To him, it seemed like a confession rather than a denial.

He was sure you were crying because he caught you.

You felt yourself getting more and more lightheaded, mostly because of your irregular breathing which resulted in a lack of oxygen. "I.. never cheated on you!" you raised your voice once again. "I met up with him, yes. But.. that doesn't mean I cheated." you tried to sound as coherent as you could in the current situation.

You gripped his arms as a tear rolled down your cheeks. "Let go of me!" you yelled, as you tried to break free once again. He frowned as he looked down at you, still convinced that you were in the wrong. He leaned in closer, as his eyes bored into yours, before he whispered "What were you doing in his car then?"

Nate was torn between his anger towards you for breaking his trust, and the twisted and dark part of him which reveled in your tears which slowly started to spill, knowing that he caused them.

You sighed before you looked into his dark eyes, your brows furrowed in anger "I planned a surprise with him, for your fucking birthday, okay?" you spat as tears continued to well up in your eyes.

Nate fell silent as his thoughts went back to the messages Max had sent you. It actually made sense, for the first time he actually felt like you told the truth.

His grip on you softened slightly, and you used the chance to remove his hands from your arms before you pushed him away and sank onto the floor.

He looked down at you "... Seriously?" he asked softly. You sobbed as you harshly opened your bag before your shaky hands tried their best to grab and unlock your phone. Tears rolled down your face, as you couldn't contain them anymore.

Once you unlocked it and opened Max's chat, you held it towards Nate "Take it!" you wailed. He slowly took your phone, reading through the chat as he felt his heart sink more and more with each message.

Some even showing how excited you were to ‘finally do something for your boyfriend’, since you felt like you weren't good enough after he always made you gifts and you never gave him anything back.

He could feel your love just through the texts you sent Max, and it made him want to throw the phone away and scream in agony. Not only because he was so wrong, but also because of how awful he treated you, his sweet girl, his everything.

You continued to cry and breathe heavily, as you felt your chest tighten more and more. You never expected Nate to push you, or talk to you like this. He never got this rough with you, not even when you were just friends.

It shattered the image you had of him.

"Fuck..." he breathed out before he closed your phone and rubbed his face in disbelief, looking down at you with regret in his eyes.

He crouched down next to where you cowered, next to his door. You hid your face behind your arms as you continued to cry and hyperventilate. You felt like everything you saw of Nate was an act that he put on, in order to lure you in.

He reached his hand out to stroke your arm. "I'm so sorry... fuck, I don't even know what to-" You slapped his hand away "Don't.. touch... me." you choked out.

Nate was taken aback, not used to you talking to him like that, or slapping his hand away for that matter. Under any other circumstances he would be pissed and try to assert his dominance over you.

Not like he wasn’t pissed already, but more at himself for losing control, and not at you. He was supposed to protect you and make you feel safe with him, not repeat his old mistakes.

Right now he just wanted to scoop you up, and hold you close when he noticed you were sobbing on his floor, completely scared and shaken.

He went too far, way too far.

He had to fix it, and he had to think quickly because everything depended on this moment. If he made one more wrong move, everything could shatter into pieces right now.

Your tears continued to fall, as you slowly tried to get up again. You were torn, because you wanted to leave, be alone and think about what just happened, and at the same time you needed someone who holds you and comforts you, before you actually break down again.

Once you stood on your shaky legs, you reached out, snatching your phone from his grasp. Without another glance his direction you took small steps towards the door, ready to unlock it and leave.

"What are you doing?" Nate panicked as he walked in front of you. You flinched at the sound of his voice, which caused him to frown, once he realized that you were actually scared of him.

But Nate would never let you leave like this.

Not only because he was actually scared to lose you right now, but mostly because he saw how shaky your legs were and how disturbed you looked. He couldn't let you leave alone like this, it was dangerous.

"I'm leaving.." you sniffled as you walked past him. He wanted to hug you and hold you close, but he was so scared to touch you. Almost afraid he'd break you or push you further away from him.

"Y/n, please, let me explain-" he stopped when you looked up at him, your eyes red and glassy, your make-up smudged and your cheeks stained with dark tears, a result of your mascara and eyeliner. You looked broken.

"Do you know... how fucking hard it was for me to trust you?" You asked as new tears were threatening to spill "I.. can't believe you actually considered.. that I put on an act in front of you. After everything I tried, to be.. perfect for you." you added. "I.. thought you were the only person in my life.. who would never hurt me!"

You suddenly broke down in tears, as the wall you so desperately tried to hold crumbled. Nate was taken aback when you raised your voice at him and cursed. He wasn't used to hearing you talk like that, and it made him realize even more how deeply upset you were.

"I know, and I'm so sorry.. I never should've said that, please, just let me hold you." he softly offered "I can tell that you're not okay right now, and I know that it's my fault, but I can assure you it's never gonna happen again."

He wanted to believe what he had just promised you, but he knew that another argument like this was bound to happen sometime. Either because you were too gullible around men, or because he was unable to keep the control he had over you.

Now that he’s seen you actually fight with him, he knew you weren’t going to stay as obedient as you were anymore. You actually talked back, defended yourself and stood your ground against him. Something he hadn’t considered up until this moment.

He took notice of how you gasped for air as you continued to cry. "Please let.. let me take care of you, yeah?" he carefully asked as he took a step closer "I'm not a monster, you don't have to be afraid of me.." he reminded you.

Once he was close enough, he carefully placed a hand on your shoulder in order to test if you'd push him away again. When you shuddered, he took a step closer and wrapped his arms around you, making sure to not hold you too tight, since you already seemed to be suffocating.

He's seen Maddy cry, he's seen Cassie cry, but nothing compared to seeing you cry. He hated himself for making you feel like this, and he hated himself even more for feeling a strange sense of satisfaction at your display of vulnerability earlier.

You just looked so pretty, even when you cried. "Shh.. it's okay, can you breathe with me?" He asked once he noticed you still hadn't calmed down. When you didn't respond and continued to gasp for air, he almost started to panic as well.

Nate couldn't understand how one confrontation was all it took for you to get a panic attack. But he was determined to regain control of you and the situation at hand.

In his eyes he had every right to assume you cheated on him, after you lied about going out with Max and after the messages he saw in the preview. But he also understood that you were upset, because his choice of words might’ve hurt you.

Not to mention, you planned this surprise for him because you loved him, and only him, and all he did was yell at you to tell him the truth, instead of simply trusting you in the first place.

Your heart pounded in your chest, as you tried to focus on anything but the overwhelming panic that consumed you. Your hands trembled uncontrollably, and you felt a wave of nausea hit you like a truck. The room seemed to spin, the walls closing in on you.

"Hey, look at me what's wrong?" he asked as his hands moved back to your shoulders. You looked up at him as you felt like your head was spinning. You weren't sure how to tell him what you needed, but you could see worry written all over his features.

"I.. I need to.. breathe.. fuck..." you croaked, panic visible on your features "I need air.." you added. Nate cursed under his breath as he realized you were actually having a full-blown panic attack. He had to distract you and calm you down, but he didn't know how.

He took a deep breath himself, as he closed his eyes, before opening them again "Y/N, please... breathe with me," he urged, his voice shaky yet soothing. "In through your nose, out through your mouth. Just follow my breath."

But his words barely registered in your mind, your thoughts racing too fast, too loud, to pay attention to anything. The mistrust, the fear of losing him, the shame of your perceived betrayal— it all pressed down on you, it nearly suffocated you.

Nate watched, helpless and horrified, as you cried in front of him. With each passing moment he saw the damage he had caused more and more, and it terrified him. He reached out again, more gently this time as he tried to comfort you.

Nate realized that mere words wouldn't be enough to undo the pain he had caused. He had to show you somehow, that he could be the person you needed. And he needed to gain control over the situation. Nate took another deep breath, trying to steady his own racing heart, and slowly moved closer to you.

He gently rubbed his thumbs over your shoulders, his touch light and hesitant. "Y/n, look at me," he said softly. "Focus on me, okay? Just on me." His voice was low and calming, a stark contrast to his earlier tone.

You hesitated, your vision still blurred with tears, but the sincerity in his voice made you look up. Nate's eyes were filled with regret and concern, completely different to the way he looked at you before.

"That's it," he whispered encouragingly, his thumb continued to brush your shoulder in a soothing rhythm. "Just keep looking at me. We're going to get through this together."

Nate took another deep breath, exaggerating the action to show you what he wanted you to do. "In through your nose, out through your mouth," he repeated, his eyes never leaving yours. "Just like this."

You tried to mimic his breathing, struggling at first but gradually falling into a more regular rhythm. Nate continued to guide you, his voice steady and reassuring. "Yeah just like that. Just keep breathing with me. It'll pass, I promise."

He gently reached for your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, in an attempt to ground you. "I'm here," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere... and I never meant to hurt you."

You sniffled as you nodded rapidly. "We'll talk about it and get through this, right?" he asked, needing your reassurance this time, to which you nodded again. "Everything's gonna be fine again, just breathe." he instructed.

Gradually, the panic began to go away, your breaths coming more evenly. Nate's steady presence, his genuine regret, and his undevided attention helped steady you, pulling you back from the edge.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice still shaky but more coherent. Nate nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. "I'll always be here for you. Always."

Nate knew that this was just the beginning of a long journey to rebuild what he had broken. But for now, he was focused on you, on making sure you were okay, and on showing you that he could be the man you needed right now.

He slowly pulled you into his arms, nearly clinging onto you as he sighed in relief "I love you so much.. don't ever forget that, yeah?" he pressed a tender kiss onto your head "I can't lose you.. That's why I got so angry. I shouldn't have said all those things.." he reasoned.

You nodded slowly as you inhaled his scent, which always made you feel so safe. You inhaled sharply one more time as you closed your eyes, feeling incredibly exhausted and lethargic, after your adrenaline level dropped back to normal.

Nate took notice of your physical state, sensing that you probably want to rest and feel comfortable again. He gently pulled back and cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the lingering tears. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?" he said softly, his voice filled with genuine affection.

You nodded slowly, too drained to argue or protest. Nate slowly removed the bag from your shoulder before placing it down next to the door. Then he led you to the bathroom, his arm wrapped around your waist.

Once inside, he carefully sat you down on the edge of his cabinet. He grabbed a washcloth and dampened it with warm water, then gently began wiping away the remains of your smudged makeup from your face. His touch was surprisingly gentle.

As he worked, he kept murmuring praises. "You're so beautiful... I never want to see you like that again. I'm here for you." His voice was soothing for your nerves, and you were starting to relax as you let him take care of you.

After he had cleaned your face, he slowly stood up from his crouching position before he left the room for a few seconds, and you hated how you already felt lonely.

He came back shortly after with one of his soft, oversized shirts in his hand. "Here, put this on. You'll feel more comfortable," he suggested, handing it to you. You took the shirt with a grateful nod, and slowly started to change, your movements shaky from exhaustion.

Nate averted his eyes respectfully, giving you a moment of privacy. Once you were dressed in his shirt, which smelled faintly of him and brought a sense of comfort, he helped you back to his bed.

You crawled under the covers, feeling the softness envelop you, and Nate slipped in next to you, unsure whether or not you wanted him to pull you close.

When you opened your eyes and looked at him like you were about to cry again, he scooted slightly closer, once you extended your arm and wrapped it around his waist, your body trembling ever so slightly.

He hated himself for feeling a sense of relief wash over him. He should feel awful for making you feel like this in the first place, and deep down he did, but he couldn't help but feel glad that you were clinging onto him.

He was scared he had lost you for a moment, but now he was more than sure that his small outburst pulled you closer to him.

He wrapped his arms around you securely, his warmth and steady heartbeat making you feel safe again. "I'm here, yeah? Just rest now," he whispered, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "I've got you."

You nestled against him, your eyelids growing heavy. The exhaustion began to take over, and you felt yourself drifting off, surrounded by Nate's protective embrace. For the first time since the argument, you felt at peace, knowing he was there with you.

While you started drifting off to sleep however, Nate already contemplated what he'd do about Max. Sure, you two weren't secretly cheating, but he couldn't shake the feeling, that Max was a threat to your relationship nonetheless.

He still had to make sure that Max wouldn't tell you anything about Nate's past, and even if Nate would never admit it, he was insecure, and he was overthinking everything Max did. For example, why would he help you throw Nate a birthday party? They weren't that close, so what if Max was using it as an excuse to get close to you?

Of course you wouldn't notice it, you were too oblivious, even when Nate used to openly flirt with you back when you were just friends. God, he wished he could go through your messages with Max one more time, to search for possible hints that prove Max didn't only have good intentions.

But he obviously couldn't just ask you, he promised something like earlier would never happen again, and despite knowing that it would happen again, sooner or later, he couldn't just ask you about it this soon.

He decided to let you rest for now and take matters into his own hands once the time was right.

Once you opened your eyes, you noticed the soft light of the setting sun, which illuminated Nate's room. You had no idea how long you were asleep and once you tried to move, but felt the restriction of Nate's arm around you, you remembered what or who caused you to sleep in the first place.

You sighed softly as your mind went back to all the things Nate said. You know that he didn't mean it, and that he was just driven by anger. But the fact that he totally discredited your feelings during all of this, bothered you. And the way he shoved you into his wall, before punching it, scared you as well.

However, you assumed that his fear was mostly induced by the things that happened between him and Maddy.

Not to mention, that his anger wasn’t something he could control. You knew he didn’t do it on purpose, and you weren’t particularly angry at him. You just hoped that he’d work on that in the future, not only for your sake, but for his as well.

Your gaze shifted towards his face, taking in how peaceful he looked right now. You wished he could always be like this.

Once you tried to free yourself from his embrace, he subconsciously tightened his grip on you, causing you to fall flush against his chest. He slowly stirred awake, before opening his eyes and looking at you.

You both didn't know how to react, the tension thick in the air. But once you smiled softly at him, he started to relax, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding, before smiling back at you.

"How're you?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep. You sighed before sliding out of his grip and sitting up in his bed. "I'm better, my head just hurts a little bit, but that's fine..." you trailed off as you looked to the side.

Once silence set in, he sighed and stroked your thigh gently "I'm sorry about earlier.. I don't know what came over me." he said, his tone soft as he tried to appear as sad and regretful as possible.

"It's just.. Maddy, she ruined my trust and I was so sure you'd never betray me, which you clearly didn't, but when I saw all these signs, I was so sure that you did and I just snapped.." he ranted.

You could see the distress on his face and it made you frown, since you could see the sincerity in his eyes. "I'm so sorry you had to go through that.." you responded.

He was so glad that you didn't push him away, and accepted his apology. But he needed reassurance, any kind of reassurance that you wouldn't leave him. "It's fine.. I just want you to know, that if I ever get angry at you, I don't mean it like that, yeah? I just can't control myself sometimes and.. fuck.." he sighed, before he continued "I'm just so scared to lose you, I don't know how to handle it."

You sighed in response "Nate, you won't lose me just because I'm meeting up with other people, you know?" you carefully explained, to which he nodded.

That wasn't the reassurance he was hoping for though.

He wanted you to tell him you're never going to leave him, that you were his and that you'd stay far away from everyone else guys. "Yeah, sure it's just.. I need you, y/n. I don't think I could live without you." he said in an unusually emotional tone, almost as if he was about to cry, secretly hoping he’d be more successful if he showed you how desperate he truly was.

You stroked caressingly through his hair, in an attempt to calm him down. "Nate, I'm not gonna leave you, okay? I've seen you get angry before, and I know that it's not your fault.." His ears perked up at that. It wasn't his fault? That had to be the first time he heard someone say that.

He looked up at you "What do you mean it's not my fault?" you shrugged "I just don't think you do it on purpose..” When Nate still looked up at you, you elaborated.

“I know you don't really wanna talk about your dad, and that's totally fine, but I know that he causes a lot of your anger. I see how stressed you get because of him and the pressure of being perfect at everything.”

As if on command, his sad expression was replaced with a different one. Almost as if he was in awe, or moved by your words. No one ever seemed to acknowledge the pressure he had to endure, everyone only blamed him for everything he did.

His thoughts were racing, as you once again surprised him with your understanding nature. He didn’t expect that reaction, or to feel so understood and surprisingly warm. He couldn’t help but think about all the ways he could use your sympathy, to keep you close to him.

“You.. really think so?” he asked hopeful, to which you nodded. “Of course, I can’t imagine what that must be like.. I mean my parents are nowhere near perfect either, but they never really pressured me into anything except for getting decent grades.” you chuckled.

“I.. never thought anyone would understand,” he frowned as leaned his head flush against your outer thigh. “everyone always blames me for everything.. But I don’t do it on purpose.” he continued. “I know.. It’s hard to control it.” you cooed as you continued to stroke his hair.

You were speaking from experience, having to fight against your anger as well, whenever your parents got on your nerves. It definitely wasn’t easy, and that’s why you understood where Nate was coming from.

While you continued to comfort Nate, he already calculated his next moves. He knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t help but wonder if this meant he could slip up from time to time, without losing you.

You technically just gave him permission to treat you like this, without being aware of it. And he was so proud, because you truly were perfect and you prove it over and over again.

After you two spent the weekend, you had to go back to school the following day. You obviously weren't aware of it, but Nate already planned to approach Max during their football training that day.

When Nate entered the locker room, most of his teammates were nearly ready, but Max wasn’t there yet.

Of course he didn’t plan to confront him in front of the other guys, even though he felt the urge to let everyone know, that they should stay the fuck away from you.

Once everyone was done and went ahead, Nate was still getting dressed, taking his time in case Max would still show up. Just then he indeed entered the locker room, his smile slowly fading when he looked around the room and noticed he was alone with none other than Nate.

Nate locked eyes with him, as he wondered what took him so long to get there. Was he meeting up with you again? It shouldn’t matter to him anymore, because now he knew you weren’t cheating on him. But he still didn’t want Max to spend more time with you than necessary.

“Hey..” Max greeted Nate, before hurrying and sitting down on the bench opposite from him. “What’s up..” Nate responded, his gaze basically glued onto him, as he laced up his cleats.

Max placed his bag onto the bench and sat down, starting to get ready as fast as possible. Not only because he arrived later than everyone else did, but also because he wanted to escape Nate.

“So,” Nate began, his voice surprisingly calm, almost friendly, which made Max feel even more uneasy. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with my girl lately, huh?”

Max’s hand froze inside his bag, as he looked towards Nate with the most neutral expression he could muster, but the hint of panic from before didn’t go unnoticed by Nate.

Max already expected Nate to confront him, after receiving your text on sunday, which informed him that he found out about everything. But that didn’t make it any easier for him.

He was also wondering, how he found out in the first place. You were hell-bent on keeping it a secret, so he could only assume that he caught on somehow and forced you to admit it.

He felt so sorry for you.

“Yeah, I guess you could say so..” he chuckled nervously, averting his gaze and rummaging through his bag. “You two get close? Maybe closer than you should?” he asked bitterly.

“Tell me, Max,” he said, standing up and stepping closer to him. “You think she’s pretty?” Max swallowed harshly, struggling to find the right words. He felt like Nate would get mad, no matter what he’d say.

“I mean, you spent enough time with her to notice. Those eyes, that smile… I’m sure anyone would get weak..” he paused, letting his words sink in. “Bet you even wondered what it’s like to be with her, right?”

Max’s discomfort was clearly visible, and Nate enjoyed every second of it, knowing he had the power to cause so much distress with so little effort.

“You know,” Nate added, as he took another step closer to Max, who looked at him with fear in his eyes. “She’s different, fucking perfect even. I know every inch of her, the way she moans when I touch her and the way she tastes, God..” Nate trailed off, enjoying the way Max seemed to squirm under his gaze.

“Listen Nate,” Max started cautiously, trying to keep eye contact but failing against Nate’s intense stare. “I-I don’t know what you think happened, but there’s nothing going on between me and Y/n. We were just-”

Max swallowed harshly, knowing that he was playing a dangerous game with him. He glanced around the locker room, hoping, no, praying that anyone would come in and interrupt their conversation.

“She asked me for help because it was important to her, and I thought you’d want me to support your girlfriend, so I said yes!” He explained himself to Nate “I swear, this was all about your birthday, I never would make any advances. I know she’s yours, man, everyone knows.” he continued.

“Y/n just wanted to make sure you have a great birthday, I really-” he paused, trying to interpret Nate’s reaction but all he got, was that same cold calculating gaze.

“And about what you said earlier,” Max added, “I-I’m not thinking about her like that. I mean, she’s your girlfriend and I respect that.”

Max clenched his fists, not out of aggression, but as a way to steady himself. He knew he stepped into dangerous territory –one wrong word could set Nate off.

When Nate still stared at him, Max sighed “Look, I’m sorry if I overstepped, I just wanted to help her –and you, of course.” he quickly added.

Nate smirked, as he finally averted his gaze. “Let’s say, you were just trying to help. That’s nice of you, really.” he finally responded, easing Max’s mind just slightly. “But you gotta understand, that it’s really suspicious, when my girlfriend meets up with another guy behind my back, no?”

Max quickly nodded in response “Yeah, of course.. that’s totally valid.” Nate nodded as well before continuing “And you also understand, that I don’t like to share my girlfriend with anyone, and that it’s my job as a man, to make sure everyone knows that, right?”

Max nodded as well “No, yeah, absolutely-” Nate chuckled “I mean, I’m not a fucking pussy. I gotta protect what’s mine.” he interrupted, causing Max to nod again.

Nate sighed, almost in relief, as he put on a smile which didn’t quite reach his eyes “Good, I’ll see you outside then.” he patted his shoulder, like the two just had a friendly conversation and as if Nate didn’t just scare the shit out of Max. He just nervously smiled back at him, as Nate left him behind so he could get dressed in peace.

Once he left the locker room, Max sighed before slumping down on the bench again. He hated how helpless Nate made him feel. And he hated it even more, that you had to end up with a prick like him.

He wanted to tell you what happened, finally warn you about him. But it wasn’t only dangerous, it was also too late. He knew that Nate had his way of swaying girls, and the way you talked about him when you two texted, just confirmed that.

He could only hope, that you’d see his evil side one day, and realize what he’s truly like.

✎ damn, this was intense😓 hope you guys enjoyed it though, and as always let me know what you thought about this part!! ♡

- Cassandra

Taglist:

@lilyrachelcassidy, @endless----love, @sophsss867, @jennnsthings, @digitalpup444, @vividfleur, @tsofo26, @lunalvrsblog, @sunshinedaisy21

[helplesslypurple77]

Day 6-Cumming in Pants-Illumi/Reader

Notes:  I have never actually sewed a mens suit, because 1. Tailoring is REALLY FUCKING HARD and finicky as hell 2. I'm a woman who has no need for one, and 3. I hate sewing mens clothes their boring

Anyway, enjoy. Also btw 70,000 jenny is about 700 usd

also title is from 'English Love Affair' by 5sos

...

As a seamstress located in Yorknew city, you got a large volume of clientele. Be it wealthy businessmen wanting a high quality suite or spoiled princesses shopping for their next dress, you pride yourself in your high quality work and your range of designs. You made sure to treat each and every patron of your business with respect, even the strange characters you often received. Because of course, as the wealthy clients wore their clothes to gatherings, you gained a reputation for your quality and openness. And of course, the odd ones took notice.

The first hunter you had ever tailored clothes for had been kind of normal, only requiring a special waterproof fabric. But the weirdness had increased and increased and now you regularly got a parade of weird guests after weird guests.

From simple garments that required special skills or fabrics, to gravity defying outfits that any designer would turn down, you took them all. At a handsome price, of course. 

It was raining. Thunder rattled the glass windows of your shop, rain hitting them so hard you worried for a moment they might break. It was dark outside, the blackness only momentarily illuminated by flashes of lightning. You hummed along with the headphones in your ears, carefully cutting the black fabric laid across your cutting table. Cutting was probably one of your least favorite parts, but it was ok right now, the music in your ears and the rain a faint lovely sound on your windows. 

Your shop and studio were the same, situated in a nice part of town. Your shop was in a pleasant little street, filled with mom and pop shops and cafes, and off the beaten path far enough that you might half to know where to look. You weren't looking to incur any damages, and you especially didn't want robbers or crime near your precious creations. You did have a hunter's license, in order to hunt certain types of hides, and you were moderately powerful and would be able to protect yourself in a bad situation, but you didn't like fighting. You would prefer it if you didn't have to defend yourself at all. 

Rain hits the long windows of your shop with a loud pattern, thunder cracking in the background. You humm, a calm russian pop playing through your airpods, dancing around your cutting table. You have certain songs you like playing during rain storms, just to give the right vines. Right now your favorites are В последний раз, and Goodnight Moon—

Your front door opened with a slam. You jump, one of your airpods falls out of your ear and onto the cutting table. A figure stands in your doorway. The figure is tall, with long flowing hair flipping wildly in the wind. Rain hits the hardwood floor a few feet in front of him and you push your shock and fear away and glare at the stranger.

“Can I help you?” You say, standing tall and crossing your arms. “You're getting rain all over my floors.”

The man tilts his head, backlit by the lightning, but you can kind of make out his face. He has pale skin, and big dark eyes, as dark as the night behind him. After a moment of consideration, he steps forwards into the light, letting the door close behind him. 

You bend down, picking up your airpod and carefully putting both of them away before you can lose them. 

The man in your doorway doesn't attempt to shake himself dry or remove the wet hair soaking water on the princess sleeves of his odd green outfit. It takes you one careful look over him to realize he's a hunter. The one lesson you’ve learned in your work with hunters over the years is not one of them dresses normally. Fastest way to spot a hunter in public is to look for the person wearing a discount spirit Halloween jester outfit or wearing what could only be described as a tree cutout robbed straight from a middle school play.

 The man in the doorway tilts his head. 

“You are a seamstress.” He says. It takes you a moment to realize that was a question. “You were recommended to me by my father.”

“I am a seamstress, yes.” You say, eyeing him carefully up and down. “But I'm closed right now.”

“Oh,” The man says, and then continues to stand still as a statue a few feet in front of your door. He looks a bit like a drowned kitten with big black eyes, surrounded by long black hair that sticks to his face, his clothes, his arms. He looked uncomfortable.

“I have a shower,” You say, trying to sound inviting. “You can use my dryer as well if you’d like.”

The man tilts his head slightly, black hair cascading in a wet curtain down his back. You wince as water hits your previously clean hardwood floor. He looks a bit like a porcelain doll, his face mostly eyes and confused blank expression. Finally, he speaks.

“Yes, that would be nice.” He says, stepping farther into your room. You hold out your arm to stop him.

“Stop, you're gonna get my fabric wet,” you sigh, motioning for him to stand still by the door. “Just wait here, I'll be right back.”

The man looks down, lifting his arm experimentally, as if he just remembered he's soaking wet at all. Water cascades off his arm, forming a small puddle beneath him.You sigh, massaging your forehead as you go and fetch some towels from your linen closet. When you return, the man is still standing still by the door. You hand him the towels, trying for a friendly smile. You're very tired. 

“Try to dry off as much as you can,” You say, turning back to your cutting table. No reason not to get some work done. You're almost done cutting out the mock up when you feel a tap on your shoulders. 

“Yeah?” You ask, trying to finish cutting out the piece you were in the middle of cutting. 

“Where is the shower,” The man says from behind you. 

“Oh, I'll show you.” You say, turning around. The man has rolled his long hair up in one of the towels you had handed him. In his hands, he's holding a bundle of green and yellow fabric. Fabric the almost exact color his clothes had been. You drop your scissors with a clatter, abruptly closing your eyes.

“Why are you naked?” You ask, trying to remain calm. You had only gotten a glimpse but the man looked pretty built. 

“You told me not to track water on your fabric.” The man says, sounding very confused. You take a deep breath and massage your temples, keeping your eyes closed.

“I didn't mean–you know what, never mind.” You say, turning back to your cutting table and opening your eyes. In the foggy reflection of the window opposite you can catch some glimpses of skin and muscles, but you do your best not to look.

“Follow me,” You say, moving towards the back stairs, the ones that lead up to your small flat. The sound of wet feet hitting your hardwood floor follows you, so you assume the man is following you.

“Are you afraid of the human form, Miss…” The man asks. You scoff. You would assume he was mocking you, but the total lack of emotions in his voice gave away the fact that it was a genuine question.

“Name, and no, obviously not.” You say, “I just didn't expect you to be naked. What's your name again?”

“Illumi,” The man, Illumi says. “I apologize for startling you.”

You sigh, opening the door to the back stairs and starting up. Illumi follows you.

“It's fine, Mr Illumi.” You say, reaching to the top of your stairs and opening the door of your small apartment. “You can leave your clothes on the table. I'll put them in the wash.”

Illumi doesn't say anything, but you assume he nodded. The door closes behind him, blocking out the sounds of rain. You flip on the lightswitch, and golden light floods the small living room of your apartment. You slip off your shoes, and move deeper into the apartment. 

“You have a nice house,” Illumi says, and you hear the wet slap of his clothes hitting your kitchen table as he continues, “although your security is poor.”

“Thanks, I guess.” You say, choosing to brush off the last comment. “The bathroom is this way.”

You walk past your open bedroom door, silently praying Illumi does not see what a mess it is, and open the small door of your bathroom, switching on the lights. 

“Here we are,” You say, turning around and abruptly being reminded that he's only wearing two towels. You yank your eyes from his abs and stair at his drowned face. “You can use whatever you want in there.”

Illumi nods his head up and down, the towel on his air bobbing comically. He blinks his big eyes slowly looking at you with what can only be categorized as curiosity.

“Why did you help me?” He asks. You frown in confusion.

“What?” 

“Why did you let me into your home?” He asks again, tilting his head. He really does look kinda sad and pathetic, if you ignore the rest of his mostly naked body.

“Uh…” you say, thinking for a moment. “I felt bad for you? You look like a drowned kitten.”

“Oh,” Illumi says, frowning. Then after a pause, “thank you.”

“Your welcome,” You laugh, leaning past him to grab a large towel from your upstairs linen closet, and pass it to him. He takes it and steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. 

You're digging through your clothes drawers for some of your ex-boyfriend's clothes you know you kept when you hear the shower switching off. You hurry, grabbing some soft gray sweatpants and one of his old t-shirts and knock on the bathroom door.

“Illumi? I have some clothes for you to borrow.” You say, folding them and stacking them neatly into a pile. The door flips open and you avert your eye, shoving the clothes in his direction until you feel them leaving your hands. The door doesn't close though, and you close your eyes as clothing rustles, until the rustling has stopped for at least ten seconds. Only then do you open your eyes. Illumi looks much less drowned rat now, his pale skin still a little pink from the shower. His hair is wrapped up in a towel, and you're happy to note your ex-boyfriend's stuff fits him fine. 

“Your stuff will be done in about ten minutes,” you say, turning away and leading him back down the small hallway and into your living room as you continue. “You mentioned you had business with me?”

“Yes,” Illumi says as you move into your kitchen, starting the kettle. He's still standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room like an odd statue when you turn around. You giggle.

“You can sit down,” You say, urging him into motion. He obeys, sitting upright in one of your armchairs, hands folded neatly in his lap. “Would you like some tea?”

“Yes,” Illumi says, and you pull two mugs out of the cabinet as he continues. “I was told your work is excellent.”

You select a chamomile tea out of the tea cabinet and put a tea bag into each cup. 

“It is,” You say. “Who said that though.”

“My father,” Illumi says. You scan your brain for anyone he could possibly be referring to and come up empty. 

“Did you need something made?” You ask instead, pouring the hot water into the mugs and putting a plate over them to let them steep. “I'm a bit swamped right now with an unusual request, but if it's easy I can totally make something for you.”

“Mother told me my suit is too small.” Illumi says, still sitting stiff and unnatural on one of your cushy chairs. You grab both of the mugs, placing one on the coffee table in front of Illumi.

“A suite, huh.” You say, taking a sip of your chamomile tea and letting the warmth sooth your bones. As far as normal garments go, Suites would probably be one of the hardest garments ever. Making a suite was one thing, making a well tailored suit in a small time frame without five hundred fittings was quite another. But, in your profession you had long ago learned that there were worse things you might be forced to make than a suite. This one time, this guy had shone up and requested to have a ball for a waist, and be able to use it in combat. You had done it, somehow. At least he had been hot, if very fucking weird. You shake your head, taking a ship of your tea.  

“I can make you a suit, yeah.” You say as you place your cup on the coffee table. “Let me get my schedule book and I'll write you in.”

“Im busy,” Illumi replies, sitting bold upright in your chair, tea clutch between his pale fingers. “Can you do it now?”

“Sew a suit, right now, while you're here?” You ask incredulously, sitting back into your chair. 

Illumi nods jerkily, taking a robotic sip of his drink and setting it on the table.

“Please,” he says.  The room sinks into silence for a moment as you take a few deep breaths, holding back a laugh. 

“I have inconvenienced you.” Illumi says, and you decide to take pity on him. 

“Is there a specific time frame you need to suit?” You ask, reaching forward to pick up your tea. “I can schedule you as soon as possible.”

“Mother says in two weeks,” Illumi says, a few strands of hair falling from the towel turban he put his hair in. in the distance you hear your dryer beek aggressively, signifying Illumis clothes have finished drying. You stand, moving towards your small laundry room, shouting over your shoulder as you continue.

“You said your father recommended me, right?” 

Illumi nods, taking another sip of camomile tea. “He said he gets his work clothes from you. He said your work holds up under extreme stress.”

“I make a lot of specialty clothes for hunters,” You say, bending down to pull Illumis dry clothes out of your front loading washer. “So it kind of has too. Is your father a hunter?”

“Assassin.” Illumi says. You nod, holding his warm clothes and slamming the laundry room door with your foot.

“Ah, you must be Silva’s son then.” You say, handing Illumi his warm, staticky clothes. He takes them, tilting his head to the side.

“How did you know?” he asks, big eyes blinking slowly. 

You giggle, taking his empty cup from the coffee table and putting it into your sink, along with your own half full one. 

“I don't get many assassins for clients.” You say, running water into the cups and putting them into your almost full dishwasher. You make a note to start it after Illumi leaves.

“You know, your dad has a fitting in a couple days.” You start, grabbing your appointment book from the countertop and moving back into the small living room as you flip through it. “ How about you come with him and I'll take your measurements? That sound good?”

Illumi sits still, head tilted as he blinks slowly, considering. 

“Alright,” Illumi finally answers, and you nod, writing it into your book. 

His clothes are still resting in his lap and you hop up, grabbing a bag from your closet. It's an old plastic take out bag. You take his clothes from him again as he thinks, putting them in the bag and handing it back. 

He looks at it in confusion. You smile, handing him a paper bag filled with the weird pins that had been stuck in the front of the clothes, and what looked like an id of some kind and a phone. 

“That way your clothes wont get wet,” You say with a smile, glancing at the clock. It's getting pretty late at night, around ten forty five. The sound of Illumis phone ringing cuts through the silence, and you jump. Illumi pulls an archaic looking flip phone out of the paper bag, flipping it open with a satisfying snap.

“Yes?” 

Someone's voice can be heard on the other line, yelling rather loudly. You pretend not to pay attention out of politeness, but strain your ears to hear something. Unfortunately you can catch anything and Illumi hangs up, rising to his feet abruptly.

“I have to go,” he says, “where should I change?”

“No knead,” You say, standing up and getting your appointment book on the table. 

“But your clothes,” He says, gesturing down on himself. You smile. 

“Dont worry about it, there my ex boyfriends old things.” You say, moving towards the front door. “I was just gonna donate them anyway.”

Illumi follows you, silent but for the rustling of the bags you had provided him. His footsteps made no noise, you hadn't noticed before because of the rain. Opening the door of your flat you step into the much colder stairwell and shiver. 

“I'm sorry i don't have a jacket for you,” You say, bare feet padding down the concrete stairs. “It's quite cold out.”

“As an assassin, I was raised to withstand below zero temperatures,” Illumi informs you blankly as you reach the button of the stairs, opening the door into your shop. 

“Well that's good.” You say, holding the door open as Illumi steps through, into the barely illuminated back room of your shop. A few mannequins standing in the corner look threateningly like real humans, and you giggle as Illumi stops still, staring at them before moving on.

“Jump scared by the manquines?” You ask. Illumi frowns, shaking his head. 

“No.” He says, walking a little faster. You giggle, he must be embarrassed. 

“So, you’ll be back in a few days for our appointment, right?” you ask, standing a few feet away from the front door. Illumi, holding two plastic bags of clothes and nicknacks against his chest, nods.

“Yes,” He says, and then a second later, “I apologize for inconveniencing you.”

You giggle. He's a bit cute, in a wild animal kind of way. You move closer, reaching up to yoink the towel from his head, watching his long hair tumble over his shoulders. He shakes his head like a dog, his long silky hair falling into place. His ears are red as he opens the door, stepping into the rain. You wave, and he nods in response as the door shuts with a heavy clunk. 

You smile all night as you lock up your room, shutting the doors and securing the windows and waving goodbye to the threatening dress forms in the corner. 

Tonight certainly was interesting. 

🪡🪡🪡

The sun is shining across your floors, when Illumi and Silva arrive for their appointment. The door opens with a chime of bells, and you look up from your design sketchbook and grin.

“Ah, there you are.” You say, putting your sketchbook and the table and rising to greet the men touring by the door. “I almost thought you wouldn't show up.”

“I apologize, Miss Name,” SIlva says, smiling down at you. He really does tower over you, in stature and height. “Be polite and apologize for the inconvenience, Illumi.”

Illumi, standing a bit behind his father, nods. 

“I apologize Miss Name,” He says, looking somehow both lost and sincere at the same time. You laugh.

“It's no biggie, you guys were only a few minutes late,” You say, leading them both into the main area, and grabbing the outfit Silva had requested. “I made the alterations we talked about last time, so hopefully everything fits this time!”

You hand Silva the formal suit jacket he had requested, and motion for him to change. He nods. 

“Where can my son sit while we finish this up?” He asks. You nod, turning to look at Illumi who has been standing awkwardly in the middle of your studio with a laugh.

“Illumi, you can take a seat over there if you like.” You say, gesturing at the comfy chairs off to the side of your studio. Illumi nods, moving towards the chairs and sitting down with a thump. His hands fold over his lap and you giggle.

“Your son has great manners,” You whisper, leaning over in Silva's direction. The large man chuckles, brushing his long hair out of the way as he slips the black suite over his white button down. 

“My wife has taught him well in that department,” He grins as you survey the fit of the jacket. “Although we have our concerns.”

“Oh really?” you ask, probably more interested than you should be. “How is the fit?”

“Good,” Silva says, raising his arms above his head. “Well as Illumi has gotten older, Kikyo and I worry he'll never marry.”

You stifle a giggle, subtle looking at Illumi as he sits still in your chair, looking around at the framed sketches on your wall. You frame designs you were especially proud of, with proof pictures of course. You turn back to Silva, a little confused.

“Really? He's quite handsome,” You say, checking the back seam as Silva flexes his muscles. The suite stays intact, not even straining. Silva looks at you oddly.

“You think,” He says, smiling slightly. “Well, lately he has expressed interest in a certain woman. Kikyo and I are thrilled.”

“Oh, really?” You say, your heart sinking in your chest a little. When had you even realized you were attracted to him? Maybe you were just disappointed that a handsome man was off the market. “That's just great.”

Silva nods, smiling a secretive smile as he sheds the jacket, handing it back to you. 

“The fit is lovely,” He says, “I'm quite satisfied.”

You smile, your heart feeling a bit odd, and turn to grab a bag, packing his suit jacket up carefully and neatly, tossing in a free sample handkerchief as you usually do, all the while feeling a bit sad. You don't quite want to admit why as you hand Silva the package, turning to Illumi sitting in the armchair with a sigh.

“Alright Illumi, let's get those measurements done.” You say, turning away to grab your measurement book and your tape measure. When you turn back, Illumi is standing a few feet in front of you. You hadn't heard him move at all. But you supposed that was expected for an assassin. 

“Your shop is nice,” Illumi says, voice stilted as you move closer, wrapping the tape measure around his chest. You ignore the beating in your heart as you take the measurement, noting it down in your book. 

“Thanks,” You say, turning back around to take the second measurement. “I try.”

Silence falls as your slightly trembling hands take the waist measurement. Illumi shifts slightly as you turn, noting the measurement in your book. Silence falls as you take the next few measurements, careful not to touch his body more than necessary. The shoulder, arm, and back measurements are all taken in awkward silence, until Illumi speaks again.

“The designs on your walls,” he says, “I recognize one.”

You have your back turned, writing down measurements and you turn to follow his pointing finger. He's pointing at a design you're rather proud of. The man who had decided he wanted a ball for a waist. You grin, proud of it as you turn back.

“Ah, Mr Morrow's design, one of my favorites.” You say, leaning down a bit to wrap the tape measure around his hips. “That design was a pain in the ass but it turned out so well.”

“You have sewed for Hisoka?” Illumi asks, shifting slightly as your hands pass over his hips, taking the measurement down mentally and turning around to write it on the page. 

“Yes!” You say with a grin, “Pain in the ass design, but he was handsome and so I guess it was worth it.”

Illumi frowns slightly, shifting as you drop to your knees, taking the length of his legs. Faintly in the background, you hear Silva muffle a cough. You had forgotten for a moment he was there. 

“You took his measurements?” He asks, frowning down at you. You look up in confusion, still on your knees with a tape measure in your hand, poised to do the inseam measurement.

“I take everyone's measurements?” You question, confused. “I had to do some really finicky stuff for that outfit, and it involved some odd and somewhat emberassingmeasruments.” 

You explain, knees still firmly planted on the floor as you lower your tape measure. Illumi frowns, hands falling over his chest. 

“I hope he did not inconvenience you.” He says, blinking very slowly. He sounds almost upset, but you shove it aside with a grin as you pick up your tape measure again.

“Oh, it wasn't too bad,” You say, gently taking the inseam measurement, careful not to brush any sensitive parts as you continue. “The costume was a pain, but he was very lovely to work with. His pretty face definitely helped. And the money, obviously.”

Illumi shifts slightly as you carefully take the inseam measurement.

“You guys friends?” You ask, finishing your inseam measurement and turning to write it in your book. Illumi coughs, shifting behind you with a rustling of fabric.

“I guess,” he says, a certain malice in his voice that you can't place.

“How nice,” You say, turning to write your final measurements, your heart feeling a bit heavy.

🪡🪡🪡

Silva and Illumi pay the whole 70,000 jenny upfront. You protest, but Silva waves it off with a grin, as he and Illumi disappear into the sunlight.

You hate to admit that you're really attracted to Illumi. You're not sure why. Maybe it's the whole wounded animal thing he was going on, or maybe it was his awkward nature and stilted conversation, but you were quite enamored with him. 

But thanks to Silva, you now knew you had no chance with him. 

The next few fittings with Illumi were an awkward mix of attraction and arousal on your end, and awkwardness at his end. He tried to make small talk with you, and you replied, but every conversation made you more and more sure he would never be attracted to you. 

He was even kind enough to bring you a lovely bouquet of red roses and white baby's breath, and apologize for the night you had first met. Every kind gesture made your heart hurt, but you accepted them with a smile. Every time you saw those roses, your heart hurt.

🪡🪡🪡

It was around seven when the events started. You were bone tired, body flopping onto the bed after a long day of standing over a table. Your back ached as you sighed, closing your eyes. 

Your phone lay beside you, digging into your back slightly as you relaxed. But you couldn't quite relax. There was a familiar, thrumming energy running through your body. You were horny.

Sighing, you stroked your nipples gently through your thin shirt, already having shed your bra as soon as you entered the room. Your other hand slowly winds down, stroking your pussy gently over your panties.

You're so horny. Maybe it has something to do with Illumi’s fittings. Having your hands all over him in a professional manner was too much. He had such a fit physique, you longed to grip his muscled shoulders, free of the fabric between your skin. You whimper, pressing a finger knuckle deep into your pussy with a sigh. You roll over slightly, back pressing into your phone. 

You can't be bothered to take it out from under you, even when you hear a faint click.

Illumi happens to be near your shop when his phone rings. He answers it quickly, holding it up to his ear as he stands in the middle of the darkened sidewalk a few miles from your shop. 

“Name?” He asks, standing a foot away from the ring of light cast by the sidewalk. The sweatpants he's wearing hang low on his hips. The sweat pants you had given him. They still smell like you still, and Illumi is ashamed to admit how hard he gets when he takes a whiff of their scent. Re refuses to relieve himself, as not to sully your name. It's become hard as of late, with your figure plaguing his dreams, your careful professional fingers brushing his skin. Illumi sighs, taking a deep breath.

You don't respond, the only sound he hears is a faint groan. Illumi starts moving towards your shop, worried.

“Illumi?” You say over the phone. Your voice shakes, sounding a bit odd. “Oh god Illumi!”

Illumi frowns, moving faster and faster towards your house. You sound like you're in some type of distress. 

“Name,” He asks again, “are you alright?”

No reply, only a faint groan leaking through the phone. Illumi’s dick twitches in his pants as he races towards your shop.

“Oh Illumi, you’ve got to help me!” You exclaim through the phone. Your voice shakes lightly, heavy breathing coming through the speaker as Illumi picks the lock to your shop.

“Are you ok, name?” He asks again. You groan, and then the phone disconnects with a click. Illumi dashes through your darkened shop, up the concrete stairs, and opens your door as quietly as possible. If someone is hurting you, he’ll kill them in an instant. 

You have two fingers shoved up your cunt when the door opens with a slam. You shriek, trying to hide the evidence of what you were doing as illumi stares down at your mostly naked body in shock. He's standing in your doorway, wearing the sweatpants you had given to him and a black muscle tea, and staring at your body in shock. 

He looks so delicious, as he takes you in, his face looking a bit bewildered. You trace his body, your eyes catching on the obvious bulge in his pants, and grin.

“Illumi,” You coo, spreading your legs with a grin. He visibly gulps. “I need something from you.”

This all feels so sudden, the tension hanging in the air between you, the way his expressions of lust spell so plainly on his face. How could you have missed this. You wonder if you had missed other signs.

Illumi moves forward slowly, the door closing softly behind him, feet making no sound on your bedroom floor. He stands at the end of the bed awkwardly, dick twitching in the gray sweatpants he wears. You gulp down saliva, scooting a bit farther onto the bed. 

“I want you to eat me out,” You say, bringing a hand down to spread your pussy lips. You watch Illumi gulp, want him crawls towards you on the bed until his head is positioned over your dripping pussy, his hair tickling your knees and thighs as he leans down. 

“I apologize if this is unsatisfactory,” illumi says, his voice still as robotic and clinical as ever, even as his eyes tremble with arousal. “I lack the necessary experience to—”

You interrupt by gripping his hair, and shoving his face into your pussy. His body collapses on the bedspread, hands winding around your hips and waist, as your hand winds into the base of his long hair.

You groan, your back arching as he licks a long strip along your pussy, tonge passing gently over your clit. 

You reward him with a tug on his hair, and he muffles a small groan into your pussy. The resulting jolt of pleasure runs through your spine, and his name escapes your mouth.

“That's good, so good.” You pants into the air, the hand not tangled in Illumis long hair notting into the white comforter around you. Illumi whimpers quietly, his own hips grinding into the carpet as you moan.

He's showering you with pleasure, his mouth going to town on you as your back arches, and your orgasm threatens to overwhelm you. You whimper, tugging at his hair.

“Oh god, I'm gonna cum.” You shiver, body jolting and jerking and Illumi fucks your whole with his tongue, his thumb drawing circles on your clit. 

“Me too,” he murmurs into your pussy, and you watch as he grinds helplessly into the comforter, completely occupied with driving you mad with pleasure.

It's that sight that pushes you over the edge. His hair tangled on your legs, his hands gripping your body like you’ll disappear in an instant, the desperate thrusts of his hips into the comforter.

Your body tenses as you cum, back arching and hand pulling the hair knots in your hands. His voice is on your tongue as you orgasm, stars bursting in your eyelids, pleasure overwhelming your senses.

Illumi also tenses under your grip, muffling a faint moan of pleasure into your pussy, only prolonging your orgasm.

When you open your eyes, hazy from cumming and take him in over you, you feel more arousal running through your body.

He's looming over you, big doll eyes filled with lust, clothes long discarded. His hair falls over the two of you like an intimate curtain, hiding the outside world from view. His dick is bobbing back to life, big and ready to be inside you. A small, nervous smile is curing across his lips.

“Be my wife,” Illumi says, eyes darting anywhere but you. You grin, a feeling of elation running through your body as you reach up, gripping his face with your hand and looking deep into his eyes as you reply.

“Yes,” You say, and Illumis mouth devours you in a kiss so full of happiness you almost cry. Almost, until you feel that hardness pressing against your stomach and you reach down, storking it gently. Illumi moans into your mouth, choking slightly and you grin.

“You aren't busy, right?” You coo into his mouth. Illumi shakes his head.

“Good,’ You say, body twisting into his. “Because I think I'll have you occupied for the next couple hours.”

Illumi responds by kissing the breath from your lips. 

...

Endnotes:

I HATE SCHOOL I HATE SCHOOL!!! I HATE SCHOOL I HATE SCHOOL!!! 

Anyway, If you cant tell i would love to be a tailor/seamstress for a living, but alas my parents unfortunately raised me to have expensive taste and it's just not sustainable as a career. So it's a hobby for now.

[alexiroflife]

'stay with me'

"Across the Earth" Part 3 [finale]: satoru gojo x reader

part 1 | part 2

Synopsis: after having talked with suguru about your relationship with satoru, you find yourself rethinking everything during a night out with the group

to sum it up: suguru suggests you should confess, but you're too scared

WC: 8,997

Ten o’clock eventually rolls around after Satoru spent a good five minutes shouting throughout the house for everyone to get dressed to go to a bar. The thought of drinking or having to deal with one of your friends being intoxicated does not sound very appealing to you at the time, but you figure you shouldn’t argue considering where you currently stand with Satoru.

After your talk with Suguru, you finally managed to get your work done before it was time for you to get dressed. You rummaged through the overnight back that Satoru had apparently taken upon himself to pack for you in search for something to wear when you found the short black dress you had tossed into your luggage on a whim in case you were to happen upon an instance in which you would need to wear it. How Satoru had managed to locate this piece of clothing, you’re not even sure, but you put it on and do your makeup that Satoru also so graciously remembered to pack for you. 

You glance in the long mirror by your dresser at your reflection, turning to the side to examine the accentuation of your curves against your dress's stretchy fabric with a sigh. The dress clasps around your thighs and reaches down just above your knees. You admit to yourself that you look good, but your physical appearance does nothing to sway the pit that proceeds to sink into your gut at the thought of Satoru and everything that Suguru said to you. 

You’re in the midst of trying to give yourself a pep talk to mentally prepare yourself for the night when you hear Satoru shouting again for you to get a move on, his voice vibrating through the walls of the house. You assume you’re the last to get ready when Satoru doesn’t address anyone else but you.

You trudge down the steps with your hand gliding against the railing, wedges clacking against the stairs until you reach the main hallway and find your friends standing by the door. Shoko’s wearing a cropped silk shirt and a skirt with a cute pin holding up the side of her hair while Suguru, naturally, wears loose and dark pants with a black button up.

But then, of course, there’s Satoru, standing almost as a god before you in a similar shirt to Geto’s only his is a pale light blue with the first few buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows in the same fashion he wears most of his shirts and linen pants. 

You immediately look at everyone but him, completely unable to withstand the gorgeous sight of him dressed up and so well. 

When you walk over to them, you feel Satoru’s eyes hit you in what has to be less than two seconds, and while you aren’t looking at him, Suguru notices the way his eyes twitch wide and his brows lift ever so slightly as he looks at you, wandering eyes roaming swiftly over your figure before bouncing back upward. 

“I’m here now, no need to keep screaming,” you say with a rigid face. You can’t help but let your eyes flicker into Satoru’s direction to catch his gaze for a millisecond before clearing your throat and looking down. 

“We can’t take you two out like this,” Suguru groans, referring to you and Ieiri. You both look at him with quirked brows. “We’re gonna be swarmed by thirsty men the second we step outside.”

“What?!” you and Shoko exclaim as you all start making your way to the door, you, Shoko, and Suguru leading while Satoru trails behind to lock the door after everyone. 

“Don’t be mad because (Y/n) and I are hot, Suguru,” Shoko snaps, poking the dark haired man in the shoulder.

“I am mad. I don’t want randoms ruining the night because they don’t know how to coexist with attractive women.”

“You don’t hear us complaining about you and Satoru when girls try to clobber you! Don’t be so sexist.”

“I’m not being sexist, I’m being realistic.”

“Can we all just agree that we’re all hot and attention will follow wherever we go?” you hear Satoru chime in cockily as he locks the door behind him. “No need to compete over it.”

“Who said we were competing? I just said that I don’t want the extra attention,” Suguru responds. You watch as Shoko climbs into the back seat, but you freeze when Suguru follows and sits next to her, leaving the only empty seat to be the front passenger next to the driver, Satoru.

You glare at Suguru out of the side of your eye urgently, and he looks up and around, pretending he doesn’t see. You seethe and swear to yourself that at times, Suguru is even worse than Satoru, which you suppose is why they are such good friends. 

You force yourself to suck it up and keep yourself together like an adult. You reach for the car door handle, only to be intercepted by Satoru’s soft hand. His fingers brush yours clumsily, and you jump to look at him when you realize that you two are reaching for the same thing. 

The albino man holds your gaze for a moment, watching as you mumble a timid apology instead of barking at him to question what he’s doing so close to you. He doesn’t acknowledge your words when he reaches again to yank the door open and hold it for you stiffly, just as he always does.

You press your lips together, clasping your hands in front of you and slowly stepping into the car. “Thanks,” you mumble, unsure as to why Satoru is still willing to display these gestures of gentlemanliness for you when he is allegedly upset with you, and more importantly, when he’s not goofing around with you and trying to gauge a reaction. 

Satoru lingers at the door for a few seconds too long when he shuts it behind you, pressing up to it with both hands before making his way to his seat. 

You arrive at your destination after a short drive, clambering out of the vehicle to enter the bar, or at least, what Satoru told you all is a bar. Nevertheless, when you push open the door and make your way inside, you’re greeted by bright lights waving violently through darkness, a crowd of people moving about in the center of the space and dancing wildly. A hightop bar surrounds the outskirts of the room, bartender tending to girls who lean on each other for stability and men who try to hit on said girls. The space is loud, as well, blasting an array of different music genres as the DJ up front nods his head aggressively to the beats.

You and Suguru falter, staring ahead of you in distaste as Satoru smiles for the first time since this morning, or so you believe. “Welcome, you guys,” Satoru beams, gesturing his arms toward the tightly packed enclosure. 

“Satoru,” Suguru starts, a dangerous tone in his voice. “What the fuck is this?”

“A bar?” the blue eyed man responds as if the question’s answer is obvious, which it isn’t. 

“This is a nightclub,” Shoko yells, shouting over the noise. “Not a bar!”

“Is there really a difference?”

“Oh my god.”

“What’s with the faces? It’ll be fun! Like old times,” Satoru grins, inching further into space. “We go to places like these all the time.”

“Yeah,” Suguru catches up to him to smack the side of his head, and Satoru yelps dramatically. “With a warning.”

“Well yeah sure, suck the fun out of the outing,” Satoru shoves Suguru back, the dark haired man tossing a murderous glare to him over his shoulder. 

You shake your head to yourself, truthfully not even angry about the entire ordeal. You’ve spent weeks being angry with Satoru and now that you’re out, you’ve been caught off guard but you can’t say that you have the energy to care any longer. You feel Shoko lock her fingers with yours and tug you, leading you to follow. “We’re gonna go get drinks,” the brown eyed woman announces, the two of you skipping off to push through bodies to reach the alcohol. 

“Don’t get kidnapped!” Suguru calls out.

Geto doesn’t miss the way Satoru’s eyes follow you intensely. He scoffs and elbows him in the ribs, Gojo bending over and clutching his upper abdomen. “What the fuck,” he wheezes.

“Get your shit together tonight,” his hazel eyed companion demands, and Satoru’s squinting his eyes up at him over his frames. 

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna give me a lecture…”

“If you get it together, I won’t have to,” Suguru says.

Satoru rises slowly, face mellowing out into an expression of discomfort. “Is this about what I think it’s about?”

“What else would it be about?”

Satoru frowns. “I told you already, I’m not gonna keep making myself look stupid. If anyone’s gotta fix anything, it’s her.”

“Oh really?” Suguru hums. “You know, Satoru, it’s unhealthy to direct all of the blame to the other person

“Wh- she ghosted me!”

“And you reacted by…?”

Satoru clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes, brushing strands of white hair from his line of sight. He glances over the crowd to relocate you and Shoko, watching as the brunette hops up into a stool while you lean against the counter, that damned dress he threw in your bag without thinking lining the curve of your ass as you poke it out subconsciously while pressing against the wood. Satoru thinks he’s going to lose his mind, watching the way your foot crosses over your heel and as men stumble bass by, but not without throwing a glance your way unbeknownst to you. 

Why do you have to look fucking edible tonight? Why couldn’t you have just worn sweatpants and a t-shirt and called it a night? Why do you have to look so breathtakingly gorgeous everywhere you go?

“I’d do it again too,” Satoru says to himself though Suguru can hear it loud and clear. “She just needed to be reminded that she cares about us, that’s all.”

Satoru hears Suguru release a long sigh, eyes closing and arms crossing. “You’re completely missing the point. Both of you are,” he repeats, this time to Satoru.

“What? Both of us?” he perks up at the last part of his best friend’s sentence. “What does that mean? Is that coming from whatever you guys talked about earlier? What did she say to you?”

“I’m not doing this,” Suguru stops him while he’s ahead. “I’m going to get wasted. I feel like I’ll need to with however this night is about to go.”

“No fair! I’m the designated driver,” Satoru whines, following closely behind Suguru to make his way through the crowd. “You’re all gonna drink without me?!”

“You’ll be fine, lightweight.”

“Some thanks I get for bringing us all out tonight. You guys suck.”

The guys eventually make their way over to you at the bar and find that Shoko has already ordered the two of you shots. Suguru chuckles at her hastiness and orders one more, leading Satoru to murmur incoherently to himself as he leans his back against the counter and watches you all down the nasty liquor. You all tighten your faces and scrunch your noses simultaneously, slamming the glasses down. “Alright, that was a mistake. I’m done,” you say quickly, rejecting the shot glass and shoving it toward the edge of the counter. 

Satoru, from Suguru’s side, peers over him to look at you curiously. You look over at him, relaxing your face to see what he wants from you. “Done already?” he marvels, a question that holds no hint of playfulness to it. You shrug. 

“Yeah. The taste of alcohol’s not agreeing with me tonight,” you reply casually, catching Suguru ordering another round with a giggling Shoko out of the corner of your eye. “Looks like I’m playing babysitter instead.”

“That’ll make two of us,” Satoru agrees, and the conversation falls short. You nod to yourself awkwardly, setting your hands on the countertop and looking down. Before Satoru can ponder saying anything more to you, the bartender returns to your section with two more shots for Suguru and Shoko. He’s wearing a small smirk as he sets the glasses down before them, slinging a cloth over his shoulder and leaning forward on his forearm.

“You guys haven’t wasted any time,” he comments, attempting to spark a conversation you assume is for the sake of tips.

Suguru chooses to dissociate, hardly in much of a social mood if it’s not with the friends he has arrived with, leaving Shoko to answer for him. “Party’s gotta start somewhere,” she shrugs, and the bartender grins. Suguru and Satoru exchange knowing, annoyed gazes. Here goes the first one of the night.

“That’s absolutely true,” he nods, turning to look at you. Satoru sees the shift of attention as fast as it occurs, and he already isn’t liking it. “What about you? You don’t wanna party?”

You tighten your lips into a harsh smile, laughing lightly with the shake of your head. “No, no, just looking out for these two.”

“Ah. Then you must be a good friend.”

“Oh, you’d have to ask them,” you point down the line of the three beside you. “I can’t say.”

“Don’t be so humble,” he needles lightly. “I’m sure you’re wonderful.”

“What about me?” All heads turn to Satoru, whose chin is propped up and his glasses are lifted above his head, strained grin on his features. “I’m not drinking either. Do you think I’m wonderful?” he drawls, and you slap your hand over your face. 

The bartender laughs with far less energy he had speaking to you, suddenly busying himself with polishing a glass. “I’m sure you are, man,” he says before excusing himself to check on other customers. Shoko bursts into loud laughter once he leaves and Suguru downs his second shot, eager to become numb to everything he’s noticing. 

“What? He was trying too hard,” Satoru defends, and you look at him intently, for this is the second time within a day that Satoru has interfered with a man’s interaction with you. You were so mad about it before because he was disrespecting your research partner, but now with this guy you didn’t even want to talk to in the first place, you’re taking a second look at his behavior in a different light.

The word Shoko used earlier flashes through your mind. Territorial. 

What the hell did Satoru have to be territorial over when you were his friend?

“That’s his job, Satoru. He’s gonna talk our heads off to get a good tip,” Suguru reasons, wincing at the taste of alcohol fresh on his tongue again.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Satoru says rather brightly. 

“God, just order another round already.”

With Shoko and Suguru on their way towards blacking out, you and Satoru remain keenly aware of the things that happen around you. The room grows hot due to the gathering and compaction of sweaty bodies dancing together. 

At one point, Shoko drags you into the heat, pulling you by your hands and dancing wildly along with you. You laugh at her tipsy state, moving along with her nonetheless as people bump up against you, hollering with intoxicated joy. You allow yourself to let go for a moment, bringing yourself back to all the late nights you had shared with your friends within this exact kind of environment, screaming with each other for absolutely no reason without a single care in the world.

You recall the times Satoru would drag you to the dance floor with him, making you watch the absurdly ridiculous way he danced that had you kneeling over in laughter, hands gripping his arms as the alcohol within your system made you practically die laughing. You had always missed the way Satoru would look down at you as you laughed with your head bowed, an affectionate grin sweeping over his face as the sound of your amusement inspired his own laughs. 

You look back on those memories and find yourself momentarily happy to be here, Ieiri jumping up and down before you as if she’s having the time of her life, spinning around and yelling out the lyrics to a song you didn’t even think she knew. 

You’re enjoying yourself, gripping Shoko’s hand as she spins you around in turn, watching her trip slightly over her feet as she manages to do so. She’s always been an energetic drunk, you think to yourself, often matching the chaotic behavior of Satoru.

At the thought of his name, you look around to find him and see that he’s still by the bar with Suguru, seemingly poking fun at his mellow drunken state. The dark haired man blinks slowly, eyes lidded as he tunes out whatever nonsense is being spewed into his ear by Gojo. After you watch the tall man take a video of Suguru and the said twenty one year old smack his phone out of his hand, Satoru’s eyes catch yours when he picks himself up from dropping his phone.

You can feel the air thicken with tension, and suddenly, the chaos around you slows. You don’t understand what brings the two of you to constantly lock eyes, for you can’t even count how many times the two of you have made eye contact throughout this night alone. Satoru seems to watch you in slow motion, both of your smiles sparked by separate occurrences dwindling in the slightest as the concentration of your gazes consume the moment. You can feel your heart ringing in your ears, confusion, desperation, fear, and admiration gripping your body as those ocean blue eyes sink into you from across the room, dominating the hundreds of other presences far closer to you than he is. 

You ponder over where all the anger you had just harbored for him went. You’re looking at him now, under the flashing pink and green lights that cross over his majestic features, and you can’t find a thing to be mad at. You haven’t been able to, in fact, since after your conversation with Suguru, or perhaps even before that when Satoru stormed out of your room.

Looking at him now, all you can see is him looking at you, the longing to have you back in his life, the hope that he hasn’t completely ruined his chances of remaining friends with you. Suguru had suggested that Satoru may surprise you if you were to confess to him, and the sentiment has your head reeling. Does he know something that you don’t? Does he understand better the reason as to why his eyes can’t seem to tear themselves off of you? As to how he manages to find you in a sea of people as if you are the only person there? 

You’re a mess of confliction and heartache when it comes to comprehending your dynamic with Satoru. You thought you had understood him so well, that he’s a person of privilege who can get whatever he wants without caring how it affects others along the way, that he only stuck by your side for so long because he liked to play with your head and to test your patience. You thought you knew, but there’s a chance that you weren’t paying as much attention to him as you thought you were.

If Satoru didn’t take you seriously, why would he have remembered the foods that you like? If he didn’t take you seriously, why did he always stay the night whenever he heard of you having a rough call with your parents? If he didn’t take you seriously, why did he watch you as though you’re the only individual that exists within his line of sight, within his mind, within his entire universe?

You don’t know what to do anymore. Everything you thought you knew has been completely misconstrued, thrown into question, and you’re finding it difficult to return to the mindset you even had this morning. 

You’re under a spell cast by his attention on you until a pair of women brush by him and Suguru, pausing to get their attention by tapping Satoru’s shoulder. Your smile has fallen now and Satoru looks torn, eyes flickering between you and the redhead in front of him who leans up to speak directly into his ear due to the overbearing volume of the atmosphere, Satoru tensing as he forces himself to listen. His stare grows anxious, as though he’s been caught doing something bad. You can see the slight panic hit his face as he throws on a suave facade to respond to the girl, looking subtly weary at the way her hand lingers on his shoulder.

You don’t watch any longer, ripping your eyes away and turning back to Shoko. You don’t want to know, you tell yourself. You don’t want to see, you don’t want to hear anything about what that girl could have been saying to him, leaning in close as her lips brush centimeters away from his ears. You don’t want to think about it, whether the conversation is benign or not, you can’t handle the sight. You can’t handle the still lingering possibility, no- the fear that Satoru would see you as just the same as that girl, grasping for his recognition like the rest of the world. 

Therefore, you subconsciously avoid him for the rest of the night, bringing you right back to where you started. 

The two of you decide that the night should come to a close when it hits one in the morning, and Suguru can barely stand while Shoko is trying to steal the mic from the DJ. Satoru has to physically remove her from the premises, picking her up and throwing her over his shoulder as he makes his way to the door. You’re left to help Suguru, telling him to wrap his arm around you to stabilize himself while you lead him to the car. You grunt under his weight, removing your arm from his torso to help ease him into his car seat by holding his arms. He stumbles in ungracefully just as Satoru bends down to lower Shoko down next to him. You and Satoru sit in silence once more as Shoko rambles to herself about god knows what, and Suguru holds his forehead as though he has a headache. 

When you make it back, you somehow manage to get the two up the stairs and situated into their own rooms. You huff, out of breath after having to pull Suguru into his room with a glass of water and a trash can beside his bed. You step out into the hall, closing his door gently behind you to hear a struggle a few doors down where Satoru is begging Shoko to go to sleep and by the sounds of it, she’s too busy jumping up and down on her bed. You laugh to yourself at just how different Shoko is from her normally laid back personality after a night out.

You think about turning in to go to sleep, but for the second night in a row, you don’t find yourself tired from the day. You elect to take your shoes off and head out back to the pool, sitting on the side and wading your feet in the cool water. You sigh softly and look down at the small waves that ripple with the sway of your feet, the gentle splosh of liquid filling the night air. At one point, you notice that the commotion upstairs has gone quiet, and you assume that Satoru has finally managed to put Shoko to bed. 

You hear heavy footsteps slowly descend the stairs and approach from behind you. You get a feeling of deja vu from the previous night when you turn and find Satoru standing just a few feet away with a look of surprise on his features. You see that he’s taken off his glasses and shoes, likely having come to do exactly what you are doing.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Sorry, I thought you were in your room,” he says quietly.

You shake your head, looking at the ground then back up to him. “No, not tired.”

“Again, huh?”

You nod. “Yeah.” 

He hums, unsure of where to look all of a sudden. “Is… Suguru good?”

“Um, yeah he’s fine. He passed out as soon as he hit the bed,” you tell him. “What about Shoko?”

“She’s knocked out, finally,” he says. “She made sure to make it extra difficult for me, though.”

You smile gently. “I heard.”

“I swear that woman is a nightmare when she drinks.”

You appreciate the way Satoru attempts to lighten the conversation, bringing a hint of humor into something you can both laugh at. The lights inside are all out save for a dim lamp in the kitchen and the pool lights that keep the outdoor area illuminated. It grows blatantly quiet, the house still as Satoru stands in the walkway, tired, nervous, unsure.

After a few moments, you hear Satoru clap his hands awkwardly. “I guess I’ll leave you to it then,” he says slowly, and you look up at him with a hint of disappointment. “I can take you back to the city tomorrow morning so you can, you know, get back to work.”

Your lips part, (e/c) eyes glazing over in the soft light as Satoru watches you to see if you have anything more to add, but you unfortunately can’t think of the right thing to say. You don’t want him to leave, but you don’t know what making him stay out here will do for either of you. You’re in such a strange space with him, questioning whether he’s still angry with you and him most likely doing the same. The only thing that’s on your mind now is how bad you’ve let things get solely because of your love for him, and it’s eating you up on the inside knowing that as long as these feelings are bottled up inside you, the likelihood of losing Satoru as a friend for good remains. 

Satoru takes your silence as a means to leave and exhales, turning to go back inside. “Good night,” he tells you halfheartedly.

“...Good night.” 

Satoru stops suddenly, fists tightening at his sides. You notice that his posture has stiffened even more than it already was as he prevents himself from leaving, and you grow slightly concerned. “Satoru? Are you okay?”

“Is that really all you have to say?” he asks, whipping his head around to look at you. He’s upset again, you can tell, but possibly even more so than he was earlier. He looks angrier, more enraged as his brows furrow harshly and his eyes glow with unreleased emotion. You look at him blankly, put off by his outburst as he awaits something more from you, anything from you.

“...I don’t know what you mean.”

This does not seem to be the right answer, for it only makes him angrier. “How can you not know what I mean? After everything that happened today, you still have nothing to say to me?”

“If you’re looking for an apology about this morning, then I don’t think I did anything wrong…?”

Satoru scoffs and laughs disbelievingly, eyes widening as he stares at you as if to process the words that have come out of your mouth. He courses his hands through his messy hair in stress, astonished by you. “I genuinely don’t know what to do with you, (Y/n),” he chuckles. “It’s not even just about this morning- it’s about everything. Everything that’s led us here.”

“I apologized for trying to stop talking to you, Satoru, what more do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, to say that you care about me?” he throws his hands up. “I mean, do you? Do you even care?”

Your heart clenches at his words, turning to bring your feet out of the water. “Of course I care.”

“Then why do you act like you don’t?”

You stand, sensing the way the conversation takes a turn into intensity. Water drips down your legs from your shins and onto the ground, the air nipping at your damp skin though you can hardly tell. “How could I possibly act like I don’t care about you?”

“Because you choose to be civil with everyone but me, (Y/n)! Suguru, Shoko, your research partner, some bartender- everyone, when I’m the one who's always been here, who’s always cared about you. Me! And you still just-” Satoru sucks in a breath, realizing that he has inched himself further toward you with each passionate stance he takes, face reddening and hands grasping the air for nothing, though what he longs to hold the most stands right before him, appearing as lost as he feels caring for you. He drops his hands to his sides, tightening the muscles in his face.

He’s hurt. He wants you to hear him, to see him, to fight with him over your relationship, but you do nothing, just like always.

Just then, your phone lights up from where it sits by the pool and rings. You jump, startled by the sound and turn to see who is calling you at this time of night. As if the universe couldn’t have hated you any more than it already did, the sight of Aoto’s contact buzzing only solidifies its discontent with you.

You turn back around and watch Satoru’s hardened eyes stare at your phone knowingly, nosing flaring. “Satoru-”

“Forget it,” he spits. “Just fucking forget it.”

“No, Satoru, wait-” you call out. You see him moving away from you, drawing himself back, and your heart drops. You don’t want him to go, you don’t want him to go.

You jump forward and grab his hand tightly, pulling him back over to you with desperation. He looks shocked at first, yet still aggravated when he turns back to look at you. When he sees your hand gripping his firmly, his resolve cracks just a bit. 

“Please, I don’t know why he’s calling right now, please,” you beg him, fully aware of how pathetic you sound, but you don’t care. You’ve spent your entire friendship being angry with Satoru, and now you just want to make things right. You want to understand him. You want him to know that everything you did to harm him was to prevent yourself from getting harmed, and while you understand that it’s selfish, it’s what you thought was right. But you don’t think that anymore. 

Satoru can feel his body burn from the touch of your hand. He’s so weak for you, he’s known this for a long time, but he can’t stand it. He doesn’t want to look stupid in front of you, he doesn’t want to be ridiculed for caring about you any longer. You’re torturing him, but he can’t pull away. “(Y/n),” he breathes out raggedly, eyes stuck to your conjoined hands. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What can’t you do?” you whisper, eyes glistening over, the sound of your phone ringing eventually dying off. “I told you I wasn’t gonna do what I did again.”

“Somehow, I just don’t believe you,” he murmurs. “I can see you constantly running from me in your head and I don’t know why. I never will.”

“Please,” your voice betrays you, trembling slightly, and Satoru can not help but melt at the sound. 

He’s so weak. You make him so god damn weak. 

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“What are you sorry for?” the blue eyed man questions, turning into you. “Do you even know why you’re apologizing anymore?”

“Clearly I keep doing something wrong, Satoru, or else you wouldn’t be looking at me like this!” you cry hopelessly. “I know I fucked up before. I know I did, but today we have a whole other issue that I just don’t understand!”

“(Y/n), you’re the one who got angry with me in the first place.”

“Because you keep doing things that mess with my head, and I don't understand where I stand with you!” you say, and Satoru stares at you, aggrieved. “I don’t know how you can’t understand why I was mad! You weren’t in any place to talk to another guy like you’re-” you cut yourself off, but Satoru is too invested now to let you freeze up.

“Like I’m what? Just tell me!” he urges, and you slip your hand from his abruptly. 

“I- UGH!” you shout out, rubbing your hands over your face. You pace around, walking in a circle in front of Satoru before settling back to where you were. “Satoru, I compare myself to you all the time. I’m always looking at the difference between where you stand and where I stand.”

The corner of Gojo’s noise twists upward in confusion. “What?” he exhales.

“Everywhere I go, I see you. I see the way people look at you, the way girls try to talk to you, the way you brush them away, all of it.”

Satrou thinks back to that moment at the bar when those girls approached him asking for his social media handle and he refused politely, claiming that he didn’t have one. “What- what the hell does any of that have to do with anything I’m saying right now?”

“I pushed away because I thought you saw and cared about the same differences between us. But I was the one who cared, who was nervous about it,” you confess. “I thought that you were always around, teasing me because you wanted to prove that you can affect anyone, including me.”

Satoru’s shoulders slump. “...You thought I was only friends with you so I could bother you?” he repeats lowly, as if the very words that touch his tongue are too dangerous to be spoken any louder.

“You have to understand, I was raised differently from you.”

“Why the fuck does that matter?” he demands. “Why would I care about anything like that?”

“I don’t know, but that’s what I thought! That’s what I was afraid of.”

“So you just lumped me into the same category that everyone else in the world lumps me in?” he says bitterly. “You saw me as someone who didn’t value our friendship? That’s what you numbed me down to?”

“I didn’t know!”

“How could you not know, (Y/n)? How could you not know that I would do anything for you?” He steps toward you, gathering your shoulders in his hands as he stares directly into your soul. Your lip trembles as you look at him, overwhelmed. “How could you see me as something so much less than how I see you?” his voice dips down, and a lump builds in your throat.

“It wasn’t like that,” you deny. “I was just scared.”

“Scared of what? You’re fucking killing me, here, (Y/n).”

“I was scared of caring about you more than you could care about me,” you tell him gently, voice sliding into a strained whimper. Pools of sapphire blue dart over your features in search of a clearer explanation, a reason as to why you’ve inspired so much pain. 

“That’s what I’m scared of,” Satoru emphasizes. “I’m terrified of it. I’m terrified that you’ll just disappear one day without telling me. That’s why I couldn’t handle you ‘taking space,’ that’s why I couldn’t stand the sight of you with your research partner and not with me, that’s why everywhere you end up going, I will pathetically follow because I can not stomach the thought of you pulling completely away,” he pours out, such raw candor capturing his face.

Your heart is thrumming, caught in your eyes and your throat as tears well up into your eyes. You breathe swiftly through your nose, watching as Satoru takes your face in his hands and stares at you as though he can’t catch any air in your presence. “I pushed you away because I couldn’t stomach the thought that you’d deny me the way that you deny everyone who crosses paths with you,” you tell him, mimicking his words.

“Listen to me,” he whispers firmly. “You are the only person in this world that I would never deny. I don’t know how much clearer I can make myself to you.”

A tear breaks past your lashes and rushes down your cheek, your own emotions betraying you. You can’t fight your heartache any longer, not when the man you love is cradling your face in his hands and telling you that he would choose you over anyone who tries to come his way. 

He swipes his thumb over your cheek tenderly, smoothing away your tears. “Why are you crying?” he asks delicately and you shrug.

“I just spent the last three years so scared of you not giving a shit about me,” you sigh shakily. “And I behaved accordingly, and now…” you gulp, hands trembling at your sides as Satoru caresses your face softly. “I was angry with you because you were acting possessive over me with Aoto,” you breathe out, a weight lifting from your chest. “I always thought you did things to get a rise out of me, so when you talked to him like you had a reason to be possessive, it got to me. Especially after you came here unannounced.”

Satoru doesn’t speak for a moment, studying the flutter in your lashes that are decorated with pearly tears and the way your nose twitches move when you sniffle, (e/c) eyes soaking in his being. It doesn’t take long before he notices that he’s slightly shaking himself. “Why do you think I'd be possessive over you in the first place?” he poses the question gingerly, brushing a piece of hair from the side of your face. 

You glaze at him, torn. “I don’t know,” you mumble and he bows his head in defeat.

“Come on,” he breathes, looking back up at you. “Come on,” he says again, holding you tighter. “Stop making me look dumb.”

“I’m not trying to,” you tell him, truthfully. “Satoru, why did you come here?” you muster up the strength to ask him for the final time.

“You know why,” he responds.

“Tell me.”

His face relaxes, his brows releasing from their pinched state and his lips falling into a neutral stance as he continues to stare at you. “Because I’m in love with you,” he admits, and your head spins. Your pupils expand as a few more tears rush down your face, blurring the image of him that you so desperately yearn to see. He lowers his head to meet your eyes at your level, holding your head still so that you can’t look away. He looks suddenly calm as the confession rushes from him, leading you both beyond the point of no return. “I love you so much that I flew all the way across the earth for you, and I’d do it again.”

You lean into him and shut your eyes, overcome by relief and love and regret all at once. The pads of Satoru’s gentle thumbs proceed to slide under your eyes to gather the mass of your tears, smearing them across your makeup. 

“I love you so much that I woke up every morning to text you, that I memorized every single class schedule you had so that I could meet with you when you were done, that I always came over to your dorm when I was free, that when you stopped texting me my heart felt like it was going to shatter into a thousand pieces, that when I heard you were traveling my first instinct was to run after you because I don’t want you to go anywhere without me.”

His words shower over you like golden rays of warm sun, easing around your heart and mending the torment that you had subjected yourself to for months on end. It’s too much, hearing Satoru Gojo list all the things he has done for the sake of love when you’ve been accusing him of being selfish all this time.

“(Y/n),” he says your name like it’s a prayer. “I love you so much that I feel like I’m going to lose my mind any time another guy even speaks to you. I can’t help but be possessive over you for those reasons. I can’t help but want you all to myself, and I know that’s selfish, but if you only see me as someone who doesn’t care, then there’s nothing I can do to change that. And I am sorry for any time I've ever made you feel like you were nothing when you’ve been everything.”

You can’t breathe. You’re completely captured by Satoru, his essence, his being, his confession. Your heart is bursting, your body is shaking, and you have no words to say that could begin to explain all that you are feeling. 

Satoru loves you. He’s always loved you, and you had been so blinded by your insecurities that you hadn’t seen everything he has always done to show you that. 

You open your eyes to gaze at him, his rosy cheeks and sharp eyes that send shivers down your spine, his perfect lips, and his body towering over you, swallowing you into him. You see him clearly now, and you break. 

You reach out and grab his sides, pushing in to connect your lips.

Years of doubt and pent up tension wash away the moment your lips touch, and you can finally think clearly. Satoru’s eyes go wide when he feels you against him, stunned by your boldness and asking himself whether this is real or not. It doesn’t take him long to give in when he processes what is happening, and he tugs you further and returns your kiss, melting into you blissfully. 

You think fireworks are going off, sparks flying, and electricity jolting as he digs his fingers into the back of your head, tilting his own to deepen your kiss and glide his glossy lips over yours. You furrow your brows, drifting into his warmth and humming softly as his mouth moves languidly against yours. 

His hands move down, clutching at your waist and wrapping you to his chest, seeking to bring you into him with the hopes of conjoining souls. He’s sweet, the way he kisses you, meticulous and passionate, absorbing the taste of you that he’s been longing to obtain for as long as he’s known you. His palms smooth over your curves, familiarizing and feeling over the fabric of your tight dress, every dip in your hips and plush of your backside, smoothing over your body like a man starved.

Satoru groans, parting from you for a split second to tilt his head the other way and kiss you again, even deeper. Your mind goes numb as you wind your arms slowly around his neck, leaning onto your tiptoes to press yourself further against his mouth. The white haired man is quick to comply, tucking his arms under your thighs and hoisting them up and around his torso. You crush down into him from this new angle, hair falling over your faces as his tongue swipes against your lip, begging to gain access to yours. You part your lips eagerly, welcoming the swirl of his wet muscles around your own, moaning softly into his mouth as saliva pools over your lips.

Satoru’s whipped, completely smitten by you and the feeling of your body pressed to his, addicted to the way your dress rises up over your thighs and the outline of your underwear rubs against his pants zipper. He can feel the blood rushing down already, his face down to his chest flustered angrily as he loses himself in you, biting greedily at your lip and sucking in the delicious taste of your mouth. 

He’s moving forward subconsciously, palming over the fat of your ass and pushing you further against his crotch, your pretty fingers knitting into his snowy locks and tugging at the roots. God, it’s everything he’s ever wanted, everything he’s dreamed of brought to one moment in time. The two of you repeatedly break away to push back in, mushing damp lips together in supple pecks, and you breathe a proclamation into him as he grows dizzy, the heat of your breath fanning over his swollen lips. 

“I love you too,” you whisper so enticingly, so fully, and he’s moaning helplessly into you, grinding his hips up into yours. “I’ve always loved you.”

You can feel him all over you, touching you, kissing you, and you're drunk off of his affections, falling into the sugary taste of his lips and the warmth of his hands smoothing over your bare thighs. 

His lips break away to find your neck, licking and biting along your skin. You tilt your chin back, allowing him further access to your throat as his lips swim over it graciously, sucking hungrily at soft patches and dragging the most beautiful noises from your mouth. “Need you,” he hisses into your neck, teeth nipping and tongue smoothing over bruises in his wake. “Stay with me, please,” he begs senselessly. “Please, baby, I need you. I’ll always need you.”

You’re nodding against him, lips falling into an ‘o’ shape as he sucks marks down to your collarbone, tugging at the straps of your dress and pulling them over your shoulder so that he can kiss all over your chest. “I’ll stay,” you promise him. “Need you too, Toru, I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Satoru thinks he’s floating into heaven, now, blessed by your assurance and your reciprocation after having convinced himself that he would never get it. He lifts his head again to reconnect your lips, stepping forward once more only to lose his footing, foot meeting the water instead of the concrete. He parts from you with a smack and you shriek when balance is lost and the two of you are falling into the pool with a SPLASH!

Satoru doesn’t let go of you when you submerge underwater, keeping you close to him when you resurface with a gasp. The two of you breathe harshly, looking around in a stupor. Your arms are still around his neck and legs around his torso, drenched. You look over at his flat hair dripping over his face and you push it away, peeling it from his wet skin to see that he’s already laughing. You gape and whack him on the shoulder, leading him to laugh even louder. 

“Satoru!” you cry and he’s giggling, curling his fingers into your skin underwater and leaning into you.

“Sorry,” he laughs, wiping away at his eyes. “I forgot the pool was there.”

“You idiot,” you shake your head, running your fingers over his cheek as he looks at you lovingly, lips stretched into a dopey grin. 

“I love you, (Y/n),” he says again, dipping his head to press his lips to your forehead then to the bridge of your nose, and you’re smiling too, stupid off of his adoration.

“I love you,” you tell him and he’s squealing, gripping you tight and squeezing you to him by your waist.

“Tell me again,” he grins, and you roll your eyes. 

“I love you, moron.”

“Again.”

“I love you,” you giggle.

“Again, this time with my name.”

“Satoru,” you groan.

“No, you didn’t do it right. Say ‘I love you, Satoru Gojo.’”

“You’re so annoying,” you press against his soaked chest.

“Say it again!” he demands dramatically and you huff.

“Oh my god!” you exclaim. “I love you, Satoru Gojo. Always.”

His cheeks warm, lips moving to peck all over your face. You squeak, gripping his shoulders as he peppers you with loud, obnoxious kisses, leaving you with little space to breathe. “I love you so much,” he mumbles against your cheek. “Almost gave me a heart attack. I thought I was gonna have to kidnap you or something if you kept trying to leave me.”

“You already did kidnap me!”

“And I have no regrets. Sue me,” he beams.

“Of course you don’t,” you exhale. “After all, you followed me to America with no shame. Which I knew you did from the beginning!”

“Duh,” he scoffs. “I’d go anywhere for you.”

You laugh, wrapping your arms back around him and brushing your nose against his. “You’re crazy.”

“When it comes to you, absolutely I am,” he smiles then presses back into you, lips meeting in harmony as he spins you around the water, holding you close and vowing to stay by your side for as long as you let him. 

The ping off your phone disrupts the moment once more and you look over, Satoru groaning and ducking his head to your shoulder. “I should probably check that now,” you say, and his grip around you tightens.

“No, don’t,” he pleads. “Pay more attention to me.”

“Just give me a second, drama queen, it could be important,” you say and he pouts.

“Fine,” he grumbles, dragging you over through the water slowly so that you can reach the edge and look at your phone. You quickly read the message that pops up and panic.

“Oh shit.”

“What?”

“I forgot to send Aoto the spreadsheet.”

-

“Fucking finally.”

You and Satoru break away from each other to turn and see Suguru at the foot of the stairs followed by Shoko, wrapped up in a blanket with a miserable look on her face. It’s the following morning, and you and Satoru were up all night talking, kissing, holding each other. You had managed to take a second to send your spreadshirt to Aoto at around three in the morning, and you could only hope that he didn’t mind. At some point, you made your way into the kitchen to sit inside, and Suguru caught Satoru leaning over your seat to kiss you softly at nine in the morning.

“Well, well, well, look who's up,” Satoru announces as the two trudge their way toward the kitchen table where the two of you reside, Shoko immediately plopping down into a seat.

“Not so loud,” the brunette groans.

“So? You two finally kiss and tell?” Suguru raises a brow, moving around to fix a cup of coffee. You catch the way his eyes glance at your marked up neck and he smirks. “Or maybe more than that?”

You puff your cheeks. “Okay know-it-all, we get it, you knew about us all along.”

“To be honest, everyone knew but the two of you,” he says tiredly. “Right, Shoko?”

“Basically,” she confirms in exhaustion. “It sucked watching you two make one mistake after the other because of it.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault (Y/n) decided being in love with me was bad enough to completely kick me out of her life,” Satoru says exaggeratedly and you nudge him.

“Shut up,” you bark, and his eyes gleam as he leans over to wrap you up in his arms and kiss the top of your head. 

“That doesn’t bother me anymore though because I know you’re head over heels obsessed with me,” he sings and you roll your eyes, practically suffocated.

“Oh god, this is what we have to deal with now? Fourth wheeling?” Shoko grimaces.

“Maybe it was better when they weren’t talking,” Suguru adds.

“Boo, you guys are just jealous,” Satoru brags. “After all, (Y/n) and I are in love while you two are still single. How sad,” he pouts tauntingly, then turns back to you to land a kiss directly onto your lips. Shoko cringes while Suguru shakes his head humorously. 

“Just make sure you guys are quiet whenever you decide to inevitably fuck on every surface in this house,” the dark haired man says.

Satoru cocks a brow, releasing you and standing up straight. “Who says we haven’t already?”

“Alright, enough out of you,” you cut the conversation short, face bursting into flames. “I have to go back into the city this morning anyway so you don’t need to worry about us. Duty calls.”

“Oh yeah, you two are welcome to come with me, but I plan to stay with (Y/n) for the next few days at the AirBnB.”

“You mean you’re leaving us with this big ass house and no car?” Suguru questions and Satoru smiles.

“Yep. You’re welcome!”

Suguru sighs, far too tired and hungover to engage any further with this conversation. “Whatever. I’m going back to bed.”

“Already?! But I haven’t made breakfast yet!”

“I’m too hungover for this and your cooking sucks.”

“No it does not.”

“Yes it does, Satoru, it’s practically inedible. If you’re gonna let anyone cook, let it be (Y/n).”

“Why do I have to do it? I have to go!”

“Geez, Suguru. How much more sexist can you be?”

“What is with you accusing me of being sexist, Shoko?”

“Since you wanted a woman to cook.”

“I asked (Y/n) to cook because she knows how to! You don’t see me asking your ass to make breakfast, do you?”

“Fuck off. Go back to sleep.”

“I was already going to!”

The kitchen fills with overlapping voices as the four of you bicker over absolutely nothing, just like how you used to. You feel your heart warm, surrounded by the people you care about the most and questioning why you ever thought that you would be better off without them. 

You look over at Satoru and smile, watching him provoke Suguru with an evil grin. Despite his hastiness to tease and to poke fun, you see now that he does it out of love, and you relish in the abundant memories of Satoru showering his love over you.

By badgering, by clinging, and by crossing the earth to be by your side.

[katiemccabeswife]

Selflessness (Leah Williamson x FosterMum!Reader)

You always put your kids first but can’t miss the return of Leah back to football.

Another 4.7k words 😮‍💨, also how gorgeous is Leah is that photo? PSA; I have not read through this as it it 1:30 in the morning so I am hoping grammaly as done it’s job 👍🏼

You had been seeing Leah for a few months now but you were still too nervous to tell her about your ‘part-time job’. Of course, she knew that you were a professional dance teacher but she didn’t know that you had a second ‘job'.

It was one that fell into your lap and you couldn’t turn it down. You had all the qualifications to look after children including medical certificates and you had always dreamed of being a mother. Being a lesbian meant that that would be harder than it was if you were straight and when you came across an article about the lack of foster parents in the London area, you decided to sign yourself up.

It took a long few months to get the remaining qualifications needed and go through the training programs but you always had your eye on the target and didn’t mind waiting a few more months if that meant that you were the safest hands a child could be in.

You had your first placement 2 years ago and ever since then your home has never been silent and your heart has always been full. Some children only stayed with you overnight, some stayed a few months, and some were more introverted than others but you always put 110% into making sure they felt comfortable when staying with you.

When you met Leah at the grocery store you were a mess. A particularly troubled child had been staying with you for about a fortnight and had just begun to open up to you when his mother came out of rehab. She had done the necessary lessons and paperwork whilst in the facility and so as soon as she was released, Theo had to move back in with his mother. He had confided in you that he was concerned about moving back in with her and that he was scared she would disappear again but there was nothing you could legally do to calm his anxiety.

The night at the grocery store was the night he went back to his mother’s and you were worried sick about the 7-year-old boy who cried in your arms. You knew you didn't look your best but you needed to restock your pantry after having a farewell feast for Theo.

You were dressed in pyjama pants and a hoodie with sleeves covered in tears and snot. Your hair was thrown into a haphazard ponytail and your eyes were red from both crying and rubbing.

You stood staring at the empty spot where the Oreos normally sit and a fresh set of tears began to roll down your cheeks. You never would have cried over something as trivial as not being able to buy a snack but your emotions were all over the place and you really wanted your comfort food.

You had fallen into a squat with your hands over your eyes, trying to hide the tears when a hand fell on your back, "Are you alright?"

You looked up to see a beautiful blond looking down at you concerned, you pointed pathetically to the empty spot and quickly realised how pathetic it was and quickly stood up, "I am so sorry," You laughed at yourself and wiped away your tears, "I am a mess right now and I really wanted some Oreos and they're out and," You tried to laugh it off again but it sounded more like a cry.

The tall blue-eyed woman reached into her basket and held out a pack of Oreos to you, "You can have mine if you'd like?" She offered kindly.

You rested your hand over your heart and looked at her like she was a miracle worker, "No, I couldn't you had them first. You keep them, I'll be fine I'm just- this is humiliating," You laughed at yourself and took a deep breath, "I am perfectly fine and you can keep the Oreos but thank you for the offer," You smiled appreciatively.

The woman was still looking at you concerningly, "Trust me it's, I shouldn't really be eating them anyways," She spoke as if it were secret and you naturally assumed she was watching her weight or something and when you noticed how fit she was you looked at her in awe.

"You are so perfect," You nodded at her and she looked even more confused, "You keep those Oreos and you eat all of them," You ordered.

The blonde laughed and seemingly caught on, "No, no, I really shouldn't I'm an athlete so I really should not eat the Oreos. Trust me you have them." She thrust them into your basket, "Seriously, take them," She used her 'captain voice' and you felt like you had no other choice.

Overcome with gratitude you thanked her sheepishly, "Thank you for being so kind. Again, I'm so sorry for being such a mess," You gestured to your hair and outfit and missed the way she looked at you as if you were dressed to the nines.

"And if I'm giving you the Oreos I think it's only fair you give me your number..." She trailed off trying to test the waters.

You examined her face to see if she was being serious, "Umm, yeah? I guess sure." You nodded and tried to convince yourself that this was actually happening.

You grabbed her phone which she presented to you and added your number and name; y/n <3. She took it back and smirked at you, "I will be sure to ask you how the Oreos taste, y/n," She teased.

You gained a bit of confidence to flirt back, "I'll be sure to respond..." You waited for her to tell you her name.

"Leah," She caught on.

"I'll be sure to tell you how delicious these Oreos are, Leah," You don't know where the confidence surged from but you winked at her before moving past her to continue your shopping.

From there on, you and Leah messaged back and forth and she joked about your emotional state at the grocery store and teased her about her attraction to you when you looked like rubbish. Now 4 months later and a shocking surprise later (finding out that Leah was in fact a world-known football star) you were trying to find the words to tell her that you wouldn't be able to attend her returning game from her ACL injury.

You had taken in two little girls a week ago, Vienna was 5 and her little sister Lilah was 2. The girls were supposed to have a visit with their father at the time of the game but their caseworker went to inspect the house and found him surrounded by bottles of alcohol therefore she had to cancel the visit.

The only other option was to bring the girls to the game and you were sure Vienna would love the atmosphere but you weren't sure how Lilah would deal. That and the fact that you would have to tell Leah the fact that you were a foster parent, not that you're embarrassed of your job but you were very aware of the fact that many people couldn't handle the inflexibility and last-minute change in plans that came with either being with or being a foster parent and you didn't want to lose what you had with Leah.

You were bought out of your thoughts by a tugging on your pant leg. Lilah was looking at you curiously, she could only speak limited words and since being in your care she limited the number of words she shared with you even further. You picked her up and put her on your hip, "Would like to go see a football game?" You asked, not expecting a response.

You were met with clapping from the toddler and a smile on her face and took that for a yes. You wandered over to where Vienna was doing Just Dance on the TV and put Lilah down to join her sister. You cheered both the girls on and laughed at Vienna's confidence in her dance moves, she had been quite the opposite of her sister and seemed to flourish in your care. The girl's social worker said that she was extremely introverted and had barely ever spoken to her but after only a day being in your hands she thrived and it seemed she almost never stopped talking.

Once the dance was finished you applauded the girls to which Vienna bowed and Lilah copied her sister, "That was fantastic! Where did you learn to dance like that?" You congratulated them and bent to a squat to be more their height.

Vienna blushed and swung her arms sheepishly, "My momma," She responded and your heart warmed, the girls had been in an accident while their mother was driving and she hadn't made it out of the car. Their father hadn't taken the news well and turned to drinking which landed the girls in your care.

"Well, I think she would be so proud of how well you dance," You complimented to which she beamed and Lilah clapped her hands, "Hey, would you like to go to a real-life football game?" You offered with your hands out.

Vienna ran over to you, slapped your hands and screamed, "YES!" She then took off running around the living room pretending to play with an imaginary ball.

"Wow! Well, we will have to get ready won't we?" You gave the girls a chance to make their own choice, "Would you like me to pick you out an outfit or would you like to pick your own out?"

Vienna seemed to think for a moment before deciding that she was going to dress herself. You encouraged her decisions and helped her get dressed before helping Lilah into her own clothes, "You girls look beautiful! I think you picked a better outfit than I ever could," You commended, "Right, I need to make a phone call and get dressed, how about your guys go and do 1 more dance and then we'll hop in the car and go, is that ok?"

Lilah clapped once again but spoke up for the first time that day, "YES!"

Your jaw dropped in shock before you clapped for the girl, "Yes!" You cheered, "Alright, I will be 4 minutes, off you go," You smiled as they ran to the living room holding hands.

You walked into your room, picked out your own outfit and rung up Leah. Once the phone was ringing you bit your thumbnail as you waited, anxious for the coming conversation.

Leah's cheerful voice came through the speaker and you found your anxiety slipping away, "Hey, y/n/n what's up?" You could hear the girls in the background and assumed that they were already in the changerooms.

"Hey Lee, umm would I be able to get 2 extra tickets to the game? I have umm a couple friends who came over unexpectedly and I can't leave them here alone and I really want to come to your game but I completely understand if it's too late but if it is, I am so sorry but I won't be able to come but I will be cheering you from here and-"

Your rambling was cut off by Leah laughing, "Of course, y/n/n I'll get it sorted. Don't worry about it," You let out a breath of relief.

"Thank god, thank you so much Leah. I will make sure to be cheering you on extra loud, and I'm sure my sidekicks will be as well," You laughed.

"Will I get to meet your sidekicks?" She teased, "It's only fair if I'm getting them free seats," She egged on.

You laughed nervously, "Umm, I'm sure they would be delighted to meet you," You noticed Lilah walking into your room, "Hey, I've gotta go, I wanna beat the traffic but I'll see you there, yeah?"

"Of course, see you soon," You bid farewell and hung up the phone, turning your attention to the little girl.

"You ready to go!" You picked Lilah up when she nodded and headed to get your things together, making sure you had enough snacks and water for the girls before herding them out the door and into your car.

The trip was spent singing various songs including Adele and Taylor Swift and the girls were buzzing by the time you reached the Emirates. Vienna forced you to skip in but you had to ask her to hold your hand, not wanting her to get lost. You made your way into the family and friends section. You were glad that Leah's mum couldn't make it to this game as you weren't overly eager to explain your situation to Leah, let alone her mum.

You had spent the time before the match running around with girls, trying to wear them out enough so they wouldn't feel the need to during the game. Once the players had started to line up in the tunnel you were just coming out of the bathroom with the girls, grateful for perfect timing and quickly made your way to your seats. Leah was only slightly worried when she didn't see you in the stands when she headed out to the bench.

You ended up having a spare chair due to Lilah wanting to be in your hold. You stood up when the teams started to walk out holding Lilah in one arm and having your other arm occupied by Vienna clinging on whilst standing on her seat. Even though Leah wasn't in the starting lineup, she was going to come on in the second half but you cheered on the girls you knew were close to her and Vienna was more than happy to help, Lilah sat in your arms confused but unbothered.

When the half-time whistle went you quickly got to your feet and walked briskly to the bathroom after Vienna told you she needed to use the toilet. After cleaning up you took the girls over to an open area and continued to let them run around and made sure Vienna knew that she would have to be stationary for another 45 minutes.

Leah's concern grew when she still couldn't find you in the crowd during half time and she became slightly pissed off that you'd told her you were coming, to get an extra 2 seats, and you weren't even there. Then she grew sad that you couldn't bother showing up to her first game in almost a year.

You had just settled Vienna again when the whistle blew for the commencement of that match and you cheered on the girls once again as the ball got kicked into play. Leah had gone over the rules of football with you a few times but you were still confused over the tackling and offside rules so you just cheered and booed when the Arsenal fans did.

However, when you saw Leah stepping up to the sideline and her number coming up on the substitution board in green, you stood up on your own and screamed as loud as you could causing a ripple effect throughout the stadium. Leah didn't turn around when she heard someone that sounded an awful lot like you cheer because she was in her head about you not being here and her being about to play the sport she loved for the first time in almost a year.

Every time Leah had the ball or made a successful tackle you and Vienna were on your feet cheering and even Lilah managed to expel something resembling a cheer, the poor girl being on the verge of sleep. Leah felt truly alive for the first time in 9 months, of course, she was alive throughout the course of the rehab but felt like she was only living so she could make it to this moment and now that she was in the moment she felt like she could run forever.

Once the game ended Leah had racked up 25 minutes of playing time, an assist and Arsenal won another 3 points for the ladder. She was elated and could feel the fans felt the same way throughout the stadium, especially through her teammates who were glad to have their teammate back on the pitch.

She took one last chance and looked over to the family and friends section to scan for your face and her elation only grew when she spotted it in the crowd. Her elation turned to confusion though when she caught sight of the toddler on your hip and the child you were dancing with. She was not aware you had any children nor any nieces and she was pretty sure she would recognise any of her teammate's kids or relatives and these children's faces were not ones she had seen before.

She started the trek over to you and once you caught sight of her you had to slightly shake your head and gesture to the tunnel. You weren't allowed to let the girls' faces be on camera and you didn't want anyone to witness the conversation you were about to endure with Leah.

You were trying to convince a security guard that you were meeting Leah in the tunnel but he was not having a bar of it, "Please sir, she'll be waiting for me. I'm already in trouble, just let me through!" You were growing frustrated and the girls were picking up on it. Vienna was tugging your hand as she wanted to go run on the pitch and Lilah was getting fussy as she was starting to get over tired.

You didn't see Leah walk in but she had spotted you a minute ago and had to take in what she was seeing for a minute. She had known you for 4 months and you had never mentioned any children in your life but it did make sense that you had kids, sometimes you would have to cancel dates very last minute but you always made sure to set another one up shortly after and apologised profusely.

"Hey, it's alright. She's with me," Leah made herself known and the guard backed off cautiously. Her attention was on your face and could see how you instantly relaxed but she could also see the toddler clinging to your shirt.

Vienna tugged on your shirt and gestured you to get down to your height and as much of a concern the conversation you had to have with Leah was, your kids came first so you bent down and waited for Vienna to speak her mind, "Was that one of the girls on the pitch?" She asked excitedly.

You stroked her arm and nodded with matching enthusiasm, "Yeah she was, she even helped them score a goal!" Vienna seemed pleased with your answer and made her way over to Leah.

You held your breath but let her do her thing. Leah looked to you when she gestured for Leah to bend down, just as you had a minute ago, and you nodded in permission, "Hello lovely, what's your name?" Leah asked.

"My name's Vienna, y/n/n is my step-in mummy!" Your heart warmed at the girl's claim, "I saw you play out on the big pitch!" She reached around to Leah's back and patted it gently, "You did a very good job, y/n/n and I cheered soo loud when you went on, even Lilah cheered!" She exclaimed pointing back towards you and her sister.

"Thank you, darling, I'm actually pretty sure I heard you cheering for me, you were very loud!" Leah complimented to which Vienna giggled.

"Hey V, why don't you take this and sit over there for a minute, I wanna talk to Leah. Is that ok?" You offered her a colouring book and some textas.

"Ok!" She took both and skipped over to where a table and chair were randomly set up.

"Hey..." You rocked slightly as Lilah had fallen asleep.

"Hi," Leah said with a tone of confusion.

"Umm so- yeah," Your free hand came out as if you were about to explain and then it dropped back to your side when you couldn't find the words.

Leah raised her eyebrows before looking between the girls and you.

"I foster kids in my spare time," You tried to joke but then heard how it sounded out loud and immediately began to backtrack, "Not in my spare time, that was stupid, I don't have spare time anymore. I foster kids! All the time, except when I'm not then I'm either working or with you but sometimes I do all three! And I didn't tell you; not because I'm embarrassed of my job but because I am so aware of the fact that many people can't handle the inflexibility and last-minute change in plans that comes with either being with or being a foster parent and I always feel so bad when I have to cancel plans but them I'm like there is a literal child who needs somewhere to stay and someone to take care of them and it makes me feel better but then I'm like, Leah! I didn't want to lose you because I know you're gonna have a busy schedule now that your back playing and I didn't want you to feel bad about calling this off because of what I do and-" You were running out of breath and were on the verge of tears when Leah bought you into a hug, keeping clear of the child perched on your hip.

Once you caught your breath and the hug broke off Leah grabbed your face between her hands, "You are a bloody amazing woman." She stated and you blushed, "I can not believe how selfless you are, you are doing something so incredible for these kids and you still take into account how I would feel? Of course, I wouldn't call this off because you chose to take in kids who need somewhere to stay! If anything it makes me love you more!" She didn't even register what she was saying until she said it. That didn't mean she regretted it.

She crashed her lips into yours and you reciprocated but broke free quickly, aware of the child in your arms and the other one not even 4 meters away from you. You were still slightly teary, her beautiful confession not helping, "I love you too," You laughed but quickly quietened when Lilah stirred in your arms, "Umm, would you like to come back to mine? I'll have to put these two down but it should only take 10 minutes,"

Leah was quick to agree and ran to get her kit from the changing room and had a fast shower. She sent off a quick message to the Arsenal girls excusing herself from post-match celebrations. She met you next to your car and noticed that you only had one kid running circles around you, "Lils was fast asleep so I've just put her in her seat, ready to go?" You asked Leah who nodded.

"Is Leah coming over to our house?" Vienna asked when you were clipping her into her car seat.

You glanced at Leah sitting in the passenger seat before nodding to Vienna, "Yeah, is that alright with you?" You were worried that she wouldn't be ok having someone else in the house with you and knew that if that was the case, you would have to once again reschedule to meet up with her.

"As long as she tells me a bedtime story!" Vienna giggled.

"I'm sure if you asked really nicely, she would be more than happy too!" She was content with your answer and broke out in humming a random tune. You laughed at her and went to the driver's side to take your girls home.

The drive home was fairly quiet as Lilah was asleep but Vienna kept humming her tune and you and Leah couldn't help but laugh when she got really passionate about her song.

"McDonald's for dinner?" You asked Leah who nodded her head. You turned your head slightly to catch the gaze of Vienna, "Hey V, do you want to get McDonald's for dinner?"

"Um yes please!" She spoke as if it were obvious, "Can I get a nugget happy meal?"

You nodded, "Umm of course?" You responded in the same tone she had before.

After teasing Leah about her bland food choices, Vienna talking Leah's ear off about nothing in particular in between eating her happy meal and Lilah having a bottle and being put to sleep, it was finally Vienna's time to go to sleep.

"Alrighty, teeth are brushed and jammies are on, what's next V?" You asked and she seemed to remember your conversation in the car and ran over to Leah who watched the scene in awe.

"Excuse me, Leah?" She patted her knee to get her attention, "Would you please tell me a bedtime story?"

Leah gasped, "I would love to have the honour!" She spoke proudly.

Vienna dragged her to her bedroom and quickly got under her sheets, "Could you please tell me a football story?" She asked politely.

"Those are my favourite stories, would you like to hear about when my team won a competition against all of the other countries in Europe?" Vienna nodded dutifully.

"Isn't there like a billion countries in Europe?" She was 5, give her a break.

Leah nodded, "Almost," She went off to tell her a shortened version of the Eruos in 2022 and Vienna was enraptured by the story but was slowly falling asleep.

"You must be really good if you beat a billion other countries, I like you, you're my favourite footballer," Vienna decided and patted Leah's hand that was resting on her leg. You watched the scene from the side with hearts in your eyes.

Once the story was over Leah bid Vienna goodnight and got up off the bed so you could say your goodnights. You made sure to tuck her in extra tight and checked under her bed for monsters and after concluding that there were none Vienna was ready to go to sleep, "Goodnight, munchkin, sweet dreams," You kissed her lightly on the forehead.

She returned the favour by kissing your nose and pulled in for another secret, "I really like Leah, she's pretty," She giggled.

You smiled at the small child and nodded, "I know," You laughed with your foster daughter and wished her goodnight once again flipping off the lights and turning on the night light, "Night night V," You waved.

"Night night y/n/n," She dozed off.

You left the door open slightly and jumped when you saw Leah waiting on the opposite side of the door, "Jesus, Lee," You pulled her into your bedroom not wanting to wake either girl, "Listen, I truly am sorry about not telling you about all this. I was just scared and didn't want to lose you is all,"

Leah took you in her arms, "I understand, love. Don't worry about it," She gave you a kiss on the side of your head and pulled away, "I loved watching you interact with them, you're so good at it. And you look beautiful while doing it," She flirted and pecked your lips.

You moved your arms to wrap around her neck, "I love watching you interact with them, didn't know you had it in you, Captain Grumpy Pants," You teased as Leah was known for her stern facial expressions.

Leah looked unimpressed, "Well at least V, thinks I'm pretty," She spoke triumphantly.

You pecked her lips, "I happen to think you are very pretty," You kissed her again but let it go even further and when you had to break apart for air, "Gorgeous really," You teased.

"Stop trying to one-up a child," She chastised sarcastically.

You smirked, "You might just have to shut me up, then," You flirted but it didn't end up going much further as the two of you ended up fast asleep within minutes exhausted from playing football, cheering and taking care of two children.

[a-killer-obsession]

Whoops, you got hit by a bus, and now you're in the world of One Piece. But not everything is quite as you remember it...

General Tags: afab reader, she/her reader pronouns, isekai, monsterfucker reader, vampire!kid, werewolf!killer, wyrm!heat, minotaur!wire, everyone has a human form, smut heavy, unhealthy relationships, dubious consent, serious violence, spoilers for Wano arc, starts pre-timeskip. There will be a lot of more intense kinks, please check AO3 for all current tags.

Chapter 3 - Snake

Step 2: Get free of your cell.

WC: 5.5k

Masterlist | AO3 | Chapter 1

Heat did in fact bring you a warm blanket and clothes, in fact he brought you several of his own blankets, which smelt of weed and musk, as well as a pillow, a long sleeved shirt that was practically a dress on you, and sweatpants you had to tie as tight as they would go to get them to stay up. He even brought you a set of fuzzy socks and a stuffed animal that looked something like a snake but with horns. You were far more comfortable in the brig now, even if there were very questionable stains on your mattress, you were at least able to stack the two mattresses in your cell and use one of the blankets as somewhat of a sheet. Heat didn't make any further sexual advances on you, you got the sense he was nervous about getting caught, though he did give you soft kisses through the bars whenever he came to visit, which you happily accepted.

You didn't see much of other top dogs, usually your food was brought down once a day by a random crewmate, seemingly whoever drew the short straw that day. It wasn't a lot of food, but Heat would sneak you more when he could. It was clear that you had him on your side, always checking if you were okay, even if he seemed highly anxious about being caught talking to you. Unbeknownst to you, someone had in fact noticed his visits, and you now found yourself face to face with Wire, who sat against the edge of the desk across from your cell, spinning his trident on its base idly.

“You need to stop taking advantage of Heat,” he told you plainly.

“I'm not taking advantage of him,” you huffed, hugging the stuffed animal he'd given you to your chest. Wire raised an eyebrow at the toy, it was obvious to him where you got it. The room stunk of Heat, his scent was on your clothes, your blankets, your skin. “I genuinely like Heat, sue me. It's not my fault he's the only one who sees I'm no danger to anyone.”

Wire made a tsk sound and stood, only needing a few strides of his long legs to come to a stop in front of your cell. “Show me your wrists,” he ordered with a bored expression.

You raised a brow at the sudden request but obediently put down your stuffed animal, walking in front of Wire and holding up your arms through the bars for him. He took your wrist in his large hand and turned it too and fro, like he was looking for something, furrowing his brows as he apparently didn't find it. He let your arms drop again and you stood patiently, waiting for him to say something.

“What are you, and how did you get here?” he asked, “You're not getting out of here until Kid gets answers, and he's getting impatient”

“I already told you, I don't know how I got here,” you huffed, “I was in my own world, where all this shit was fiction, I got hit by a bus, I hit your mast. That's the entire truth of it. What do you want from me, a three thousand word essay about the world I'm from?”

“Hmm,” Wire squinted at you discerningly, taking a few steps back and returning to spinning his trident idly.

“I'm telling you the truth, I swear,” you pleaded, “I can prove it when we get to Sabaody, I can tell you what'll happen there, without any devil fruit helping me know. I don't have any sort of foresight, I just read it in the work of fiction in my own world. I have other proof too, I know about Victoria, and the four gangs on your home island in the South Blue, why Kid and Killer don't like curry udon. I swear on my life, I'm telling the truth. There's no reason for me to lie, I have nowhere else to go and no reason to harm anyone on this ship.”

“Kil? What do you think?” Wire said without turning away from you. You let out a surprised squeak as Killer emerged from the door, seemingly having been standing there quietly for who knows how long.

“She stinks of fear, but I don't think she's lying,” he replied, standing next to Wire with crossed arms.

“Kil, I'm sorry about the lipstick thing, I-” you started, before he raised a hand and cut you off.

“Save it, it's whatever,” he tutted, “but tell anyone else and you'll be begging for death.”

“I'd never tell anyone, I swear,” you replied, holding the bars as best you could with your bound hands. “I swear I'd never betray anyone on this crew. I want to be here, I do, I promise. Just let me out of here, I'll prove you can trust me.”

“Mm,” Killer hummed, before turning and leaving without another word, an equally silent Wire in tow, leaving you confused and fearful of your future on this ship. You curled back up in bed, hugging your stuffie close to your chest, trying your best not to cry.

“Wanna explain why you've been scenting her, Heat?” Killer accused, sitting at the round table in the navigation room with the other three commanders.

“You did what?” Kid growled, “what, she suck your dick or something? Why are you making a claim on her?”

“No… yes…” Heat admitted, “she's nice okay? She seemed so genuine, and she asked for a blanket that smelt like me, ask her yourself. She wanted me to scent her”

“So she did suck your dick?” Kid laughed, “you're as weak to a woman as ever, Heat. Don't think she's gonna let you claim her just because she smells like you.”

“It's not like that,” Heat huffed, “besides, she practically extended an invitation for any of us to fuck her. God forbid I do something as innocent as scent her.”

“You know full well it's not innocent,” Wire jeered, “but I do agree that she seems to be genuine.”

“So what, we're believing this other world bullshit?” Kid asked.

“The iron isn't burning her wrists, and she had no problem sticking her arm outside of the cage barrier,” Wire noted, “I don't think she's a witch or a demon. We know she doesn't have a devil fruit. I don't think there's any other good explanations for how she got here or how she knows so much about us”

“At the very least, she seems to believe it's the truth,” Killer added, “and she hasn't shown any aggression towards the crew. I don't know if we have any reason to keep her locked up. If what she's saying is true, then she has insider information on our future that could prove useful. At the very least she's more useful to us alive.”

“I don't trust her,” Kid grumbled, “I'll probably still fuck her, but I don't trust her.”

“So let me take on the responsibility,” Heat suggested, “I'll keep an eye on her”

“You just wanna get her in your bed so you can get more scent on her,” Wire rolled his eyes, “I saw the stuffed animal, already bringing her courting gifts, I know you're just itching to get her in your hoard”

“Shut up!” Heat huffed, a vibrant red flushing on his face, “you're just jealous she didn't say she dreams about you a lot! It's not my fault she likes me better!”

“Snake,” Wire spat.

“Bull-headed cunt!” Heat shouted back.

“Will you knuckleheads shut the fuck up and let me think?” Kid growled. Wire and Heat quickly quietened down, a slight blush still evident on Heat's cheeks as he considered adding you to his treasure collection. “Heat, you can have your whore, but if she puts one foot out of place I'll crush her fucking skull. And if I catch you acting all possessive I'm taking your toy away, she ain't yours, don't let her get in your head. She has till Sabody to prove herself, if she turns out to be full of shit we'll sell her to an auction house while we're there. At least then we'll get back what we spent feeding the bitch”

“Aye aye captain,” Heat stood excitedly, eager to get you out of the cell.

“Oi, Heat,” Killer barked before Heat had a chance to leave, “I know you know what I'm about to say; don't fucking try it, understand? Like Kid said, she's not yours to claim, so don't fucking try it.”

Heat knew exactly what Killer was referring to and grumbled in annoyance. “I wasn't gonna…” he mumbled like a scolded child.

“Oh come off it, like you haven't had a clutch ready to go since she came on board,” Killer huffed, “I can smell it from here, don't fucking try it.”

“Fine! Whatever!” Heat yelled.

“And take her to House tomorrow,” he continued, “if you're gonna make her your fucktoy you better not get her knocked up the old fashioned way either. And have her tested, if she's so desperate to be the ship whore she better be fuckin’ clean.”

“Roger that,” Heat grumbled, almost slamming the door behind him as he hurried out of the navigation room.

“He's gonna try it,” Wire noted.

“Hundred berri he tries it in less than two weeks,” Kid added.

“One week,” Wire replied.

“One month,” Killer bet, having at least a tiny bit more confidence in Heat's ability to hold off.

You heard Heat's hurried footsteps before you saw him, the creaking of the ladder-stairs as he descended them and practically skipped into the room. “Someone's got a pep in their step today,” you noted, “come for another taste or what?”

“Even better!” Heat smiled as he fumbled with the keys on his belt, “Kid said you can come out, just gotta stay by my side so I can keep an eye on ya”

“Oh, okay!” You stood up quickly, gathering up your blankets and stuffie, but not yet picking them up since you still had cuffs on, “oh, does that mean I'll be staying with you?”

“Yup!” Heat replied a little too eagerly, opening the cell door and fiddling with the keys again to find the one for your restraints. You held up your wrists for him and he removed the cuffs, letting you properly stretch your arms for the first time in several days. Heat grabbed the blankets and bundled them up in his arms, leaving you to grab the pillow and stuffed snake thing. “Come on, I'll show you my room!” He said excitedly.

You followed him obediently as he led you back up to the main deck, unsurprisingly followed by multiple sets of curious eyes, though this time a few of them were noticeably scrunching their noses, like they'd caught a bad smell. You chalked it up to having had no shower in what must have been a week, and made a mental note to ask Heat for a chance to bathe. He led you up two flights of external stairs, one that led to the covered area that held the cannons, the second up to the stern castle, which looked a lot like an actual castle. Strangely, despite being on a mostly wooden ship, the stern castle was made of light grey brickwork, with green, torn fabric draped over the slightly sloped roof section, and arched, ornate windows scattered around the main floor. The entire stern castle was surrounded in a thin deck, with a single arched door at the front leading inside. You followed Heat in, finding yourself in a small hall with a single door and staircase to your left, and more doors to the right as the hall bent around a central section in a U shape, presumably circling the base of the mizzenmast that protruded from the stern castle. There was also an exceptionally tall ladder directly in line with the entry door that disappeared into the ceiling, which Heat explained cut through the next floor and went all the way to the deck on top of the stern castle.

Heat opened the first door on the right, that same familiar scent of weed and musk you'd grown accustomed to hitting you like a truck. The room was a little dark, with fabric pinned over the windows like permanently shut curtains, blocking out any daylight from entering. He made no move to turn on an overhead light, but there was a string of fairy lights hung around the entire circumference of the room, towards the top of the walls, that gave the room a soft, romantic lighting. The room was messy, with a large bed that seemed like a king size but longer, presumably to account for his height, pushed against the wall the door was on. Opposite it was a small indoor greenhouse setup, with several shelves holding what you assumed to be weed plants behind frosted plastic, condensation making the plastic wet on the inside. There was a short set of drawers to your left, and a side table with a bong on it next to the bed, but other than that, what surprised you the most about the room was the sheer amount of stuffed animals.

They were everywhere, littering every corner and every surface in tall stacks, stuffies of every size and shape, lining the long side of his bed along the wall and stacked in a tall pile in the corner of it. It was frankly fucking adorable, and you couldn't help but let a little giggle out. You threw yourself on the bed, letting the mountain of stuffies all fall on you and cover you in a great avalanche, a riot of giggles coming from under the pile as you kicked your feet gleefully. If you'd been able to see Heat's face, you would have known you'd made a mistake in being so enthusiastic. You'd unknowingly just made something possessive click in his brain, compounding yourself into his prized hoard, making yourself one of his treasures.

His form shifted before he could stop himself, legs changing to a long tail, covered in dark dusty pink scales, wrapped with deep red-brown thorn line markings, much like his tattoos. His canines grew to fangs, his nails to sharp black claws, and from his hair emerged two large horns that curled slightly inwards at the ends, black at the base then transitioning to dusty pink and bright fushia at the tips. The end of this tail flicked and shut the door, the sound prompting you to finally emerge from the mountain of stuffed animals with a final laugh that was cut short as you took sight of him.

Raised up on his tail, he very nearly hit the tall ceiling, looming over you as he slithered closer. Your first instinct was to scream, but for some reason you couldn't bring yourself to do it, too enamoured with the way his scales were almost iridescent where the light caught them. Your back was forced flat to the bed as he moved to tower over you, the base of his tail pressed between your legs as his arms supported himself on either side of your torso, your chest heaving with half fearful, half aroused breaths.

“You okay?” He asked curiously, raising a brow as he smelt your fear scenting the air, his senses elevated in this form. “You're acting like you've never seen a Wyrm. Do you not have my kind where you come from?”

“No, we most certainly do not,” you breathed heavily, “a …wyrm, you said? Like a dragon?”

“I'm surprised, most people would say ‘like a snake?’, which is frankly highly offensive,” he joked, “did the manga in your world not say I was a wyrm?”

“No but… it also never explained how you breathed fire,” you admitted, your eyes travelling down now to the base of his tail, noticing the slit between the scales where his dick would usually be. It made sense, Heat was not a character a lot was known about, and the world of One Piece held all sorts of strange species. It explained why he could breathe fire, though there was the chance still that this was a zoan type devil fruit. The way he talked about it made it sound like a somewhat common thing here, so perhaps it was just a species not really shown in the manga. Your eyes travelled again and noticed his fangs and his pretty horns, and you couldn't help but reach up and touch the pink tips, wondering if they were as sharp as they looked. Not sharp enough to draw blood, you discovered, but they would certainly hurt if he headbutted someone. “So pretty,” you mused. You understood now what the stuffie he'd lent you was, and it was all the more adorable that he'd given you one that looked like him.

“You're not afraid of me like this?” He asked hesitantly. Even those familiar with his kind tended to be anxious around him like this, he was large and dangerous looking, it was a natural response.

“Should I be?” You replied plainly, fiddling with the strings on his corset style top. He lifted himself to remove it, and you could see now that his nipples were pierced, which didn't surprise you in the least. You openly ogled his bare torso, so very well sculpted, running your hand down the center of his chest.

“You're part of my hoard now, I'm only ever gonna protect you,” he said softly, leaning down and brushing his nose against the crook of your neck. You didn't mean to but a quiet whimper escaped you as his fangs brushed against your pulse point, the threat of his bite making you a little horny. He could smell it, your growing arousal, and made a deep rumbling sound that vibrated in his chest, entirely pleased at the sweet smell that now overwhelmed the previous scent of fear. He looked and sounded dangerous, but it only added to his allure, and you couldn't help but roll your hips towards him, dragging your core against his tail with a needy whine. You knew what you were, you knew you had secret desires to fuck monsters, you'd seen parts of the internet your parents would disown you for. This strange new form catered so well to those primal desires, arousal building quickly as you watched the light catch against his fangs. The growling sounded again, this time accompanied by movement between your legs. You pushed him off you slightly to look, eyes widening as you watched two vibrantly pink appendages, tapered to dull points and lined along the undersides with bumps, emerge from the slit on his tail. You realised with a gasp what you were looking at. Two of them, oh fuck there were two of them. This world was the fucking best, you should have gotten hit by a bus years ago.

“Is this okay?” He asked, watching you stare at his two cocks, suddenly feeling a little self conscious. He didn't often show this form, let alone to women he hoped to bed.

“Heat, I mean this in the most genuine way possible,” you replied, fire pooling at your core, “fuck me, please”

“Are.. are you sure?” He asked, sitting back on his tail, feeling a little unsure of himself. Once again his low self-esteem told him this was a trick, he'd always had trouble accepting compliments at face value, especially since receiving his Glasgow smile.

“Why would I not be?” You asked him, cupping his face and running a thumb over his scarred cheek, he looked as though he might cry any moment. Sweet soft boy, this was why you loved Heat so much. You couldn't understand his unease though; he was massive, ripped with muscles, incredibly cool and scary in a way that made you hot with those fangs and horns. His tail was beautiful, you wanted to touch it, not to mention his two cocks that looked even thicker and longer than his human dick. Why would you not want him? “Heat, are you okay? You seem nervous. Am I being too forward?”

“It's just… I don't usually… show this side of myself to women,” he admitted, “unless I'm paying them… I'm scary enough as it is in my human form”

“Oh Heat,” you cooed, understanding now his anxiety, “you're beautiful, and incredibly sexy. Can I touch you?”

“Y-yes,” he stuttered, laying back against the mattress next to you as you guided him to relax with gentle motions. You sat up to reach more of him, running your finger down his well sculpted abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind on his skin until your hand met the spot where his scales began. The scales were smoother than you expected, even if you moved against the grain you didn't catch the edges of the tightly knit scales, though there was a pleasant bumpiness to them. You wondered how it would feel to slide against them, feeling yourself grow wetter at the thought.

He whimpered a little as your hand ran down his tail, feeling the smooth scales under your palm, considerably hotter to the touch than you expected. You wondered if he'd ever been touched like this; if he'd only ever been with women in this form when they were paid, perhaps nobody had ever taken the time to truly explore this form. You moved slowly, running your hands over his entire tail, hearing his small whines as you played with the tapered tip that flicked a little as you touched it. Curiously you brought it to your mouth, and he groaned as you ran your tongue over it, draping an arm over his face as he flushed bright pink.

“Ah- ah- sensitive-” he whined, the tip of his tail almost vibrating in your hand. You took it in your mouth and he gasped, his chest heaving as you sucked on the tip of his tail. He was breathing heavily as you let him go, and you stripped off your clothes before straddling his tail, pressing your wet core against his scales. “You can- you can ride me if you want,” he said shyly through heavy breaths.

“Do you want me to ride you, Heat?” You asked mischievously, “Do you want me to use your tail however I like?”

“Yes, yes,” he whined, “use me however you want princess, please”

You shuffled to get a little more comfortable before you pressed down hard and began to grind against him, the strange new texture feeling surprisingly good against your cunt, slick transfering to his tail and lubricating your movements and you rolled your hips against him. You immediately struggled to hold back your moans, having been throbbing with need at the mere sight of those two proud cocks that sat in front of you and the way he whimpered at every delicate touch you gave him, immensely relieved at finally getting some much needed friction. He sat up a little, supporting himself with one hand while the other held your hip, helping you find more pressure as you grinded on him. Heat's eyes were wide as he watched you enjoy his tail, never in his life had anyone used him in this way, your juices glistening against his iridescent scales as the wet patch grew larger with every roll. His cocks were twitching as he watched you, his eyes almost black from how blown out his pupils were. Precum leaked from his cocks just watching you pleasure yourself with his body. Heat thought you looked unbearably beautiful like that, lost in your pleasure on top of his tail, a shining jewel worthy of his collection. Never had he thought a woman would accept him like this, and yet somehow you seemed turned on by it, a fact he couldn't wrap his head around but certainly wasn't complaining about.

“Hnng, feels good~” you mewled, grinding faster as you felt that coil in your abdomen begin to tighten. Just having the opportunity to play with a beast like Heat was making you hotter, his tail slapping excitedly against the mattress behind you as your orgasm drew close. You looked down at his two cocks, twitching with need in front of you, noticing now the way the piercings on his human form seemed split between them, with two ladders in the higher shaft, and the remaining ladder and tip on the lower, though being that he no longer had defined heads to his cocks, the tip piercing was considerably lower down his shaft. There were swollen bumps along the underside of each that you had no doubt would feel incredible inside you, the bases of each shaft incredibly thick and tapering to the pointed tips, comparable to tentacles. Precum beaded at the tips and rolled down the undersides, your eyes following the beads as they travelled, making you unconsciously lick your lips. They were not unlike the dildo you had back home, and your moans grew harsh just looking at them and considering what one would feel like inside you, knowing you surely couldn't take both, and suddenly your coil was snapping violently, gushing your release over his tail and shaking on top of him as you struggled to stay upright.

You gave him a crooked, fucked out smile as his tail supported your back, still twitching a little in the afterglow of your orgasm. You slid yourself backwards, leaving a wet trail along his tail as you shuffled down it, until you were far back enough to lean down and run a tongue against his lower cock, taking the other in your hand. They were almost scaldingly hot to the touch, but it didn't deter you from running your tongue up one then the other, playing with them with your tongue, like a greedy child with two icecreams.

“They're so big,” you purred, “how am I gonna fit them inside me?”

“I can warm you up,” he offered, “with.. um.. with my tail. If you want.” He'd always wanted to penetrate someone with his tail, but given how scared people usually were he hadn't ever dared to suggest it. He had a feeling though, given your enthusiasm for this form, that perhaps you would be willing.

You looked up at him wide eyed, was he really offering to fuck you with his tail? “Oh fuck yes,” you replied eagerly, arching your back so your pussy was more exposed behind you. You felt the movement underneath you as his tail curled and shifted, until the tip was brushing against your bare cunt. “Hnng, yes, fuck. Fuck me with your tail Heat~”

You both whined as his tail rubbed against your pussy, searching for the entrance, successfully finding it and sliding in. Heat was slow and careful, he'd never tried this before but he knew his tail was sensitive, so he'd wanted to try this for a while. It didn't feel as good as getting his dick wet, but it was pleasant and sent shivers through him as he felt your gummy walls squeezing around him. You licked at the tips of his cocks, holding them together to take both ends into your mouth at once, moaning around them as his tail pressed in further and began to stretch your cunt, thrusting in and out slowly. You switched your focus to one cock, still servicing the other with your hand, bobbing your head at the same pace as his tail was pumping into you. You couldn't hope to take all of him in this form, his girth far too much at the base for your lips, but you could get a good two thirds in before the corners of your mouth stung too much from the stretch.

He pushed his tail into you further, getting it close to the girth of his cock, getting you used to the stretch. He didn't want to get you entirely stretched out, he wanted to feel your tight cunt struggling to take him when you finally sunk down on him. His tail curled inside you, focusing on your sweet spots, making you vibrate his dick with your sweet moans until you let his cock go with a pop. “Ahh, gonna cum, fuck,” you whined, your hands pumping his two cocks in a messy unfocused pattern as he fucked you faster and a second orgasm ripped through you, juices dripping down Heat's tail.

“Want- want your cock,” you whimpered, practically collapsing on him. You had hoped to ride him while you held those pretty horns but you simply didn't have it in you anymore, your legs turned to jelly and shaking.

Heat rolled you gently until your back was against the mattress, your thighs wrapping around him as he laid on top of you, hooking your ankles together behind where his ass would be. You felt his cocks heavy against your abdomen as he looked at you like you were the most precious thing he'd ever seen, his delicate human treasure. “Please,” you whined, feeling unbearably empty without his tail in you.

“Shh, I'm gonna give you what you want, my jewel,” he cooed, reaching between your bodies to position his lower cock, the thin tip easily sliding inside as the higher one laid against your clit. You took most of him with ease, his tail having prepared you well, until he began to reach the thickest part of his cock and your cunt began to strain against the stretch. Heat groaned as he bullied himself into you, whispering praises as he bottomed out, the tip of his cock brushing against your cervix and making you wince. He withdrew a little, not wanting to hurt you, until the pain melted from your face.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he groaned, sliding back out slowly and pushing back in fast, making you practically scream. He made harsh thrusts, unable to restrain himself now that he was buried in your heat, grunting with each deep slide of his cock, the additional stimulation of his higher cock grinding against your clit with every thrust making you moan loud enough for the whole ship to hear. “Good girl, fuck, good girl,” Heat grunted, the wet squelch of his cock in your soaked cunt filling the small room. “Sweet little treasure, all mine, all fucking mine,” he growled, his speed picking up as his fingers left bruises on your hips, claws sinking in and pricking your skin. “So pretty, my jewel.”

“Ah, Heat, so good, so good,” you whined, making your own marks on him as your fingernails dug into his back. The way the base of his cock pressed hard against your g-spot with every deep thrust was making your coil pull tight again, a fucked out smile spread on your face and your mind entirely lost to the pleasure Heat was giving you. He felt your pussy flutter around him, incredibly aroused as he saw that grin on your face and the way your eyes were rolling, your tits bouncing with each thrust.

“Ahh fuck, gonna cum,” Heat whined, his pace turning desperate and erratic as he got lost watching your breasts bouncing, “so pretty, so fucking pretty, gonna cum”

“I wanna- I wanna be covered in it,” you moaned, reaching down to jerk off the cock that wasn't inside you. He made a sharp whine as you pumped him fast, your walls clamping down around him giving him the final push he needed to finish, doing his best to work you through your orgasm before he pulled out and held his cocks together, jerking himself off till impossibly hot cum shot out in ropes across your abdomen and breasts, your thighs squeezing tight around him as your body shook.

Heat collapsed next to you, his cocks slowly retreating back into his slit as you both panted hard. Your stomach was coated in his seed and you couldn't help but run your fingers through it, playing with it while your clit throbbed from overstimulation. “So hot,” you sighed between heavy breaths, “that felt so fucking good.”

“I'm glad you enjoyed it, my treasure,” Heat purred, rolling to his side and intertwining his tail with your legs. Heat felt unbelievably accepted and vulnerable in this moment, having never experienced such pleasures with a woman in his true form. He felt wholly accepted, the anxiety and fear of rejection he felt at the start entirely wiped away. “We should get you cleaned up though”

“Mmm, I could do with a shower,” you mused, making circles in the hot cum on your stomach with your index finger. Heat near purred at the way you willingly rubbed his scent into you by playing with his cum, only further adding to his possessiveness.

[Next Chapter]

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