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roosterforme · 1 year ago

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The Younger Kind Part 24 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When you and Bradley put some pieces of the puzzle together, you realize it was a blessing in disguise that you ran into Meredith. But in the early hours of Wednesday morning, Bradley is hanging on by a thread. How could anyone try to take Noah away from him?

Warnings: Angst, swearing, fluff, and age gap (18+)

Length: 4000 words

Pairing: Single dad!Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x babysitter!female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! The Younger Kind masterlist.

Bradley strolled out of work with Nat hot on his heels. "She's picking you up?" she asked, clearly surprised by the turn of events over the past few days. When Bradley saw you leaning against the Bronco in the parking lot, Nat gasped. "You let her drive your Bronco?"

"Yeah, I trust her," he replied, taking off at a faster pace to get to you. The expression on your face had him a little worried, and you looked tired, but he was so happy to see you. Because he'd been anxious all day.

"Hi, Natasha," you called out, waving past Bradley as he scooped you up in a hug. "And hi, Daddy," you whispered, next to his ear as he held you.

"Hi, Baby," he sighed, kissing your glossy lips. "I missed you. Did you have a good day?"

You sucked in a deep breath, but then Nat was there, and the two of you were chatting. But your face was pinched and agitated instead of smooth and perfect, and you were playing with your hands nervously. Bradley let you talk to Nat for a few more minutes, and then he softly kissed the top of your head.

"Don't want to be late to pick Noah up," he told you, and then he gave Nat a hug and took the keys when you held them up for him. "You gonna tell me what's wrong?" he asked as he put the Bronco in gear.

"Why do you think something's wrong?" you asked casually, reaching for his hand.

"I can tell something's bothering you, Princess. But I'm assuming since you just grabbed my hand that you're not upset with me.

There was a brief pause before you said, "I saw Meredith when I went grocery shopping this morning."

Bradley nearly swerved off the road. "This morning? You saw her this morning, and you're just telling me about it now?" he glanced your way briefly. What happened? Did you get hurt?"

"I'm fine, Bradley." You squeezed his hand and pulled it to your lips, pressing a soft kiss to his thumb. "I'm perfectly fine."

"I swear, she's trying to ruin my life," he growled. "Won't leave me alone. Thinks it's okay to go after you. I'm afraid I'm going to fucking lose it in the courtroom when I see her tomorrow."

"Bradley, let's just go home and have a nice dinner, and then we can talk about it in a few hours after Noah is in bed, okay? You need to stay calm."

But that proved impossible. Bradley watched you with his son, just as patient as ever. You alternated between making dinner and coloring with him while Bradley silently panicked. He had no idea how he could give this up. Even looking at Noah right now was painful for him. And when Noah asked him to get all three of the paper crowns, Bradley actually started crying.

"Sure, bub. Come help me find yours." Noah took Bradley by the hand and led him down the hallway to his bedroom.

"It's in here, Daddy," he said, reaching for the yellow crown on his dresser and putting it on his own head before giving the bigger green one to Bradley. "Let's get the purple one for Princess."

Noah climbed up on Bradley's bed, but he still couldn't reach it. Bradley pulled it down and handed it to his son. "Why don't you give it to her, but only if she's not trying to cook dinner, okay?" It was hard to speak with the lump in his throat as Bradley carried his son back into the kitchen. He had his nose buried in Noah's soft hair, inhaling his scent and holding back tears. "I love you," he whispered as Noah handed you the purple crown.

"Oh, are we all matching tonight?" you asked with a soft laugh. But your smile didn't quite reach your eyes as you looked at Bradley.

"Yep!" Noah said as you slipped your crown onto your head.

And then dinner was mostly silent. And if you thought it was strange that Bradley held Noah on his lap the entire time, you didn't say anything. The night was going too quickly. Bradley had spent weeks trying not to think about this day, but now here it was, and it was worse than he could have ever imagined. He could barely stomach the food you made even though it was perfect.

"It's going to be okay," you whispered across the table.

"How do you know that?" he asked in response. "How do you know this isn't the last night I get to do this?" Bradley kissed Noah's cheek and took a deep breath to calm his nerves.

You stayed silent after that, only whispering something sweet to Noah before you said goodnight to him. Then you let Bradley have some privacy to give Noah a bath and get him dressed for bed. He read seven books to Noah, and he was already asleep by the end of the last one. But he stayed on his knees next to the bed, brushing Noah's curls softly back from his forehead and kissing him a million times.

"I love you," he said, tears filling his eyes as he wandered back out into the hallway. You were cleaning up the kitchen, but when he found himself in the doorway, you gathered him into your arms.

"It's hitting you hard, I can tell," you told him, and Bradley didn't care if you saw him crying.

"I just feel like... all of this shit is beyond my control. I can only do my best. But that's still not good enough to ensure I get to raise my son, which is completely fucked up."

You guided him to one of the chairs and then climbed onto his lap. Your voice was so soft, Bradley could barely hear you. "I just don't see how anyone could take him away from you."

"Do you have any idea how often judges side with mothers over fathers? It's so unsettling, I don't even want to think about it right now."

You tightened your grip on him. "Then let's think about something else."

"I still can't believe Meredith was at the grocery store this morning," he groaned, rubbing his face.

You were quiet for a few minutes, and then you looked at him with your pretty face scrunched in frustration. "She said the strangest things to me."

Bradley was on high alert now. "What? What did she say?"

"Well, she made a comment about how your car is worth a lot of money."

"It's a Bronco, Princess. Not a car." He realized this was the first time he'd really smiled in hours, and it felt good.

"Yes, I'm so sorry. She mentioned that your Bronco was worth a lot, and she said she was surprised you let me drive it."

He rolled his eyes. "Just because I never let her touch it doesn't mean you can't. She used to wreck up her little sports cars annually and then buy a new one. Doesn't appreciate the classics like you do." Bradley kissed your shoulder and listened to you sigh. "But I guess it's kind of odd that she said that to you. And honestly, I have no idea how much the Bronco is worth. Maybe like sixty thousand? I try to keep her running nice."

You scoffed at him, and then Bradley could practically see the wheels turning in your head. "I looked it up against your VIN number. In pristine condition, your Bronco is worth almost one hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

"It is?" he asked, completely shocked.

"It is," you confirmed. "You didn't know that?"

"No," he said, shaking his head.

"Meredith also mentioned some life insurance money?" you said a little reluctantly. "In an account for Noah?" He watched your eyes go wide as you quickly added, "I'm not trying to pry, and we don't need to talk about it-"

"From my mom," he replied, kissing you softly to let you know it was okay to talk about it. "I have my mom's huge life insurance payout. I never touched a cent, because it was too depressing. After Noah was born, I decided to save it for him. He can use it for college or for a house or.... I don't know, he can sail a fucking yacht around the world with it or something. But it's for him."

You gasped and said, "Bradley, I think Meredith just wants your money."

-------------------------

You watched him slowly shake his head as you scrambled off his lap and went to go get his computer from where you left it charging in the living room. When you brought it back to the kitchen, Bradley said, "Princess, she makes more money than I do. I just don't see how that could be the case. You should see where she lives in Oceanside. It looks like a mansion."

"No," she replied, opening up the tabs she had saved. "She doesn't live in Oceanside any longer."

"How do you know that?" he asked, wrapping his arms around you as you sat perched on his thigh.

You pulled up some property records you had found when you searched Meredith's name earlier. "She went into foreclosure last year and had to sell. She lives in an apartment in San Diego now."

You looked at Bradley over your shoulder, but he was completely silent now.

"What was the name of her company?" you asked, turning back to the computer.

"Coastal Business Development," he said quietly. And a shiver ran through your body. You had been correct in what you found. But now you kept opening tab after tab as he sat there with you. More new information was popping up left and right. She had tried to hide her name by using an LLC, but Bradley knew enough of the missing pieces to help you put it all together.

"She's bankrupt," you whispered, and he gently pushed your hand out of the way to open one last tab himself. You skimmed the court documents and said, "It sounds like she married her business partner, and he left her high and dry."

"Damn," Bradley gasped, going back through each tab about Meredith's real estate foreclosure, business bankruptcies, and personal interviews. You tried to push the computer away, but Bradley kept going back to the same tab, and now he wouldn't even let you minimize it.

"Don't read it," you whispered, pulling his hand away and turning to look at him.

His eyes were void of emotion now as he looked at you. "She was quoted saying she doesn't have any children."

"She doesn't," you insisted, taking his face in your hands. "Not really. But you do. Noah is your son, Bradley."

He let his forehead come to rest on your shoulder, but a minute later, his phone was ringing in his pocket.

"It's probably Nat," he said, shaking his head. "I can't talk to anyone else right now."

He handed you his phone, but you looked at the name and said, "I think you should answer. It's your lawyer."

"Tracy," he grunted, holding the phone up to his face and closing his eyes. You tried to slip off of his lap after a moment, but he held you in place. And then his tone sounded sharp and angry as he scrambled to put the call on speakerphone. "Can you please repeat that last part?"

You heard Tracy's voice clearly say, "You remember how I told you Meredith was in breach of contract with her lawyer? Well, she never paid the law firm. Not a cent. The firm dropped her at the last minute when her funds never materialized. I just found out today. Do you know if she has any sort of history of financial mishaps?"

"Yes!" you said before you could consider if Bradley wanted Tracy to know you were there with him.

Tracy was quiet for a beat. "Are you at home? I'll come to you."

--------------------------

When Tracy arrived after ten o'clock on Tuesday night, Bradley was practically having a nervous breakdown. The hearing was tomorrow. He and Noah were supposed to be at the courthouse in twelve hours. He felt like he was going to throw up.

But at least you were there, touching his hands and his shoulders and trying to make him feel better. You actually were helping him feel better. And then Tracy was in his kitchen with a huge bag, wearing gym clothes and eyeing you a little suspiciously.

Then she looked at Bradley and said, "Ignoring my legal advice, I see."

He sighed deeply. "Tracy, this is my babysitter turned girlfriend."

"Do not call her that tomorrow in the courtroom under any circumstances!" she said hastily. "Promise me, Bradley! I don't want us to end up looking like a pack of idiots when you point her out as your girlfriend."

"Wait..." you said, eyes wide. "You want me there tomorrow?"

"Yes," Tracy said, unloading folders onto the kitchen table along with her computer and a protein shake. "I already have a call in with the judge to have you added as a character witness. So be prepared to answer questions and give a statement if called upon."

"That's too much to ask," Bradley mumbled looking from Tracy to you. "I can't ask you to do that."

You looked at him like he was very slow and maybe a little naive. "You didn't ask me to. Tracy just told me I was. And I want to. If there's a chance I can do anything that might help, I'm doing it."

Bradley pinched the bridge of his nose and tried not to panic too much as you and he showed Tracy what'd you had found online. "Fucking hell," Tracy muttered, scribbling down notes. "I didn't know this was going to turn into a criminal hearing, but here we are." She scrolled through the property records and matched up tax identification numbers, taking everything a step beyond what you and Bradley had been able to do.

"A criminal hearing?" Bradley asked cautiously, but Tracy seemed to be in her own world now.

"Oh... she's slick," Tracy murmured. "Or she believes she is. You would think she'd have known her lawyer wouldn't fall for this. I wonder if she'll even have a lawyer tomorrow..."

Bradley reached for your hand on the table. "Can we just backtrack a moment? What kind of statement will she need to make?" he asked Tracy as he nodded at you. "And what will Meredith's lawyer be allowed to ask her?"

Tracy looked at his fingers intertwined with yours. "You'll just have to answer my questions honestly, without using the word girlfriend! And then Meredith's legal team is going to think it's open season on you as soon as they see your name was added to the docket. If we can even manage to have you added. So if you can't manage to answer their questions calmly and without crying as they try to shred you to pieces, then I suggest you learn how to overnight."

Bradley wanted to put an end to this entire thing, but you cut him off before he could start talking. "Do you honestly think I'll be helpful?"

"Absolutely. Could be the nail in Meredith's coffin, given all this new information."

"Then I'm in. Seriously Bradley, do not argue with us again," you told him, kissing his cheek while Tracy typed away.

"Okay, I need some coffee. And then let's go over everything from the top," Tracy said, clapping her hands.

----------------------------

It was well after midnight by the time you coaxed Bradley into bed. These last minute revelations were something Tracy insisted were good for Bradley's case, but he was looking extremely apprehensive now. He was raking his fingers through his hair nonstop and pacing around.

"You need to try to sleep," you whispered, pulling him down the hallway. "Let Tracy do what she needs to do, okay? She's going to be in charge tomorrow. She's good at this."

But he stopped short in front of Noah's door and let go of your hand. "You go get ready for bed. I'll be there in a minute." His voice was flat and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed before ducking inside the dark bedroom. You were worried, mostly about him. And about how Noah would do when being questioned by the judge tomorrow. You didn't have time to worry about yourself, so that was at least one good thing you thought of while you brushed your teeth.

You were dressed in one of Bradley's oversized shirts and waiting in bed for a while before he came in. You helped him change out of his clothes, and he climbed into bed next to you. He didn't say anything except, "I love you, Princess," after he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. But he let you pull him into your arms, and pretty soon you were dozing off to the feel of his soft breaths on your forehead and his heart beating beneath your palm.

When you woke to a pitch black room, you could tell he was no longer in bed with you. You found him sitting on the floor in Noah's room, watching his son sleep, and when you walked in, your bare feet silent on the floor, he looked up at you. Even in the dim glow from the nightlight, you could tell he had been crying again. But he didn't ask you to leave. He reached for you.

"You're a good dad," you told him with a soft sob as you climbed onto his lap and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Noah is lucky. And I don't believe they could take him away from you. Away from all this love."

He kissed your cheek, and then he smiled softly as you brushed Noah's curls from his forehead with one hand and Bradley's with the other. "I feel like I can't breathe right," he whispered, and you could feel his pulse racing as you pressed your lips to his neck. "I don't know what I'll do if they take him from me."

"Stop it. They won't."

He was silent again after that, and the two of you ended up sleeping right there on the floor. When you woke up as Noah climbed out of bed just after sunrise, your hip was a little sore, and Bradley was still sleeping.

"Morning, Noah," you whispered, standing and scooping him into your arms. You took him to the kitchen, kissing his chubby cheeks on the way.

"Do you live here now?" he asked, yawning as you turned on the coffee maker.

"No. I don't," you said, hoping he wouldn't say anything like that when he was questioned by the judge in a few hours. "I'm just your babysitter." He just blinked at you before asking for breakfast.

About twenty minutes later, when Bradley walked in rubbing his back, he made a beeline for Noah while you scrambled some eggs and made coffee. Even the mug that said My Other Car Is a Super Hornet didn't make you smile today. You burned your mouth on the coffee, and you nearly knocked the pan onto the floor. Because every time you looked at Bradley, you were on the verge of tears. Maybe you weren't capable of being as strong as you needed to be today. Now the idea of standing up in the courtroom was laughable. You were going to ruin everything.

Bradley was calling your name, and when you snapped out of your daze, he said, "You need to eat, too."

"I can't," you whispered, shaking your head. "I can't." You left them alone and went to take a quick shower, happy you'd packed a variety of clothing when you stopped home the other day. You were supposed to have a mock interview with one of your peers over a FaceTime call today, so you'd packed a blazer and some nice pants. You'd just have to skip the interview. Honestly, school and searching for a job had been the last things on your mind recently anyway.

You let Bradley get Noah ready to go, and when it was time to leave, you looked at him, so handsome in his navy blue suit. "Will you drive? Please?" he asked, holding out the Bronco key for you to take. You simply nodded, but a moment later, you felt tears in your eyes again. He was sitting in the backseat next to Noah. You backed carefully out of his driveway and headed to the center of the city and the courthouse and Meredith and everything else that you wished Bradley and Noah didn't have to see today.

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The fact that Tracy was chugging a Red Bull and looked like she hadn't slept at all was only making Bradley feel worse as he carried Noah up the stairs in front of the courthouse.

She rushed toward them and pointed at you. "You're on the docket. Get ready. Meredith supposedly has a lawyer, and I'm sure they've seen the docket update by now."

"Okay," you replied. You were nodding, but you looked as nervous as Bradley felt.

Then Tracy was patting Noah on the head. "Remember me? I'm Tracy. We're going to do something a little different today, okay Noah? It might seem a little silly at first, because you'll be the only kid here! But you'll be allowed to color when we get inside."

You gasped. "I didn't pack him any coloring books!"

"I have some," Tracy said, patting her briefcase. You immediately looked a little calmer, and Tracy added, "But that's the sign of a good babysitter if you usually pack them."

"She brings me coloring books when she babysits me," Noah told Tracy.

Bradley held Noah a little tighter. "Made sure I got you the best babysitter around, bub."

Just as Tracy cracked open another can of Red Bull that she procured from somewhere, she said, "Time to go in." Bradley didn't stand too close to you, and he didn't touch you. He followed you inside the front doors at a respectable distance, and you seemed to understand what needed to be done today.

When Bradley's eyes settled on Meredith, she was already looking at him. And she was standing next to a tall man in a suit. "Well, would you look at that? She does have a lawyer today," Tracy whispered, crushing the now empty can in her fist and throwing it away before walking over to introduce herself to him.

Bradley had to turn his gaze away from his ex, and he walked a little further away from you. The desire to touch you was strong, but he instinctively wanted to get Noah as far away from Meredith as he possibly could. Bradley's heart was pounding, and a wave of nausea passed through him.

"Daddy, can we go home?" Noah whispered, wrapping his arms around Bradley's neck. "I don't like it here."

Neither did Bradley. He held his son and thought about Carole, and how she never let anything scary happen to him when he was a kid. He thought about losing everything by the time he was a teenager and about the fact that Noah had given him a fresh start. A reason to be happy. And it was because of Noah that he met you. When he glanced over his shoulder, you were watching the two of them with a soft gaze.

"Pretty soon, bub," he replied, squeezing his son and pressing his lips to his forehead. "I'll take you home soon. I hope."

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Next up is the showdown! Get in my asks with questions and concerns, but we may be nearing the end. Hope you enjoy your fic, @beyondthesefourwalls And thank you @mak-32 !

PART 25

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lonelycowgirls · 1 year ago

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Tongue-Tied

I'm ovulating and I'll give no other explanation.

Thank you for your time.

Warnings: smut | harry in barcelona Word Count: 1.9k

Angel: You better get your man, Stell

Angel: Sent 1 image

Looking to the side at her phone as she washed the dishes and cooking utensils she’d used to make up her breakfast, Stella’s brow furrowed, her belly flipping wondering what he’d done now. He was three shows off completing Love on Tour and the gravity of tour being over was starting to hit home for both of them, especially Harry. The result; him growing more and more uninhibited on stage.

She swatted gently at Delilah who was perched on the only clean tea towel in the house - she really needed to catch up on some laundry - and dried her hands on it once the cat had slinked off, heading for the cat flap at the back door. She unlocked her phone and leaned back against the sink to open the text thread she shared with her work friend.

The image wasn’t actually an image, but a GIF. A moving image of her partner playing guitar, her eyes widening as she watched him lean down to enact the motion of playing the strings with his tongue. She watched it repeat on a loop a few times and chuckled dryly to herself. This man was becoming unhinged.

Stella: Now where have I seen that action before…?🤔 Angel: Oooooh get it girl!!!👏🏾👏🏾

Stella laughed to herself again and opened up her TikTok. Her For You page often had a lot of Harry on it, because that was the content she found herself liking and sharing. Whether it be a sweet fan interaction she would share with Anne or a video of Harry tripping or stumbling she would have a giggle over with Gemma and Dolly.

As she scrolled, her feed was jam-packed with content surrounding Harry at his Barcelona date. This wasn’t uncommon, as it was obviously the most recent concert. But the focus was a little abnormal. Emphasis on the ab... People were going feral over Harry’s body and she couldn’t help but smirk to herself. He did look damn good. She often complimented him on his newly buffed-up physique, but she didn’t want to stroke his ego too much. That got enough stroking every time he galloped on stage.

This was maybe a little different though. She thought to herself - she’d probably not seen him look or act this sexy since the first One Direction stadium tour. Back when Harry’s hair was the longest it ever got to and he made it everyone’s problem.

She tapped on the Clock app on her phone to check the World Clock for the time in Barcelona. It was just gone 9am in London, making it around 10am where he was. She wasn’t sure if he’d still be sleeping or training or out sightseeing, but she tapped on the FaceTime icon anyway.

Walking through to the living room as her phone dialled his, she glanced out of the window and rolled her eyes at the rain pelting the glass. It was so unfair how he got to be in the sunshine while she was practically engulfed in a typhoon. Bloody England. She glanced down at her phone again when the little chime alerted her that he had answered and connected.

His face filled the screen, a glowing orb of yellow sunlight behind him surrounded by blue sky. His bare shoulders and the trim of a parasol peaking into the frame indicated that he was by the pool or on the beach. Bastard.

“Oh my God, look at that weather.” Stella groaned, collapsing back on the sofa with a flop. He chuckled and moved his sunglasses to sit on top of his head.

“Good morning to you too.” He replied, resting back against the sun lounger and squinting at the screen. “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing your beautiful face so early?”

“Oh, nothing much, just getting digitally assaulted with pictures and videos of you whoring yourself out for thousands of people. The usual.” Harry laughed as she rolled her eyes at him.

“What do you mean?” He questioned loudly around a smirk.

“You know, I haven’t seen that tongue move like that in a while.” She mumbled, now displaying her own smirk.

“Oh,” Harry chuckled, this time running a hand down his face as he remembered his actions and finally registered what she was talking about. “God, I dunno what comes over me.” He said smiling, dimples on full display and cheeks slightly tinted in a blush.

“Well, I hope it comes over you again when we go to Italy next week…” She said softly, almost certain he wasn’t alone - he never was. He smirked and lifted an arm to rest over his head on the lounger. She could see the muscle in his biceps move under his skin with the motion, the tattoos rippling and causing her to drop her head back against the sofa. She really wished he was there, now.

“Yeah? Would you like that, Stell?” She nodded and he sighed, folding his lips into his mouth and furrowing his brow. He eyed her neck as her head leaned back against the back of the sofa and watched her long lashes blink over her hooded eyes. He couldn’t wait to have her in his favourite place, her tanned skin smooth under his palms, couldn’t wait to feel her pulse under his fingers as he wrapped them around her throat. “Want me to do the same on your little clit?”

Her lids closed as she inhaled and smiled with a nod, teeth digging into her bottom lip. Suddenly, her expression changed to one of pain as she raised from her position on the sofa. “Shit, H I need to go get ready.”

“For what?”

“I’m meeting your sister for yoga in like half an hour.”

“Ah great, I needed someone to say something to help me get rid of this tent in my trunks. Mentioning my sister always does the trick.” He said sarcastically with a thumbs up to the camera.

“Aw, you got a stiffy for me? Let’s see.” Harry rolled his eyes and brought the camera down to his shorts. Barely there but noticeable if pointed out, a slight bump was peaking up from his black Nike swimming trunks. He swiftly brought the camera back up to his face, Stella beamed at him on the other side. “I’ve still got it.” She said with a wink.

“Always have, always will.” He said sincerely and she bristled, feeling a warmth spread through her at the look in his kind eyes. “Come on Stell, let me help you before you go.”

“Help me what?” She said, a brow arched knowingly, she knew what he was up to.

“You know what. Let me give you a good one, so I know you’re thinking of me when you’re in your downward dog.” She snorted, looking away and then looking back at him.

“Alright fine, but you need to put your AirPods on or something.” She conditioned, not wanting Brad or Mitch or anyone who may be around him to hear her through the phone.

“Don’t worry, I’m on a patch of free beds, behind some palm trees. There’s hardly anyone here and Brad’s in the pool.” She nodded and waited for his instructions. “Take your bottoms off, baby.”

She dutifully did as he said, sliding her pyjama shorts off so that she was bare, perching a leg up on the coffee table so that she was open to herself.

“Give your fingers a lick, three of them.” She bit her lip and nodded again, making sure to angle her phone at her face as she sunk further into the cushions of the sofa. She brought her fingers up to lick a long stripe up the surface of them, not waiting for him to tell her what to do next and bringing them to start rubbing circles into her clit. She sighed at the feeling of her fingers getting wetter and wetter with the way she was already so turned on.

“Eager aren’t we?” Harry smirked, wanting to rut his hips into the air but restraining himself. ��A girl who always knows what she wants.” Stella’s brows knitted in the middle as a ripple of pleasure coursed through her. “Keep rubbing that pretty clit, baby, that’s it. Is it all swollen?” She nodded, an audible moan quietly escaping her. “For me?”

“Yes, Harry. Watching you lick that guitar… fuckin’ hell.” She sighed, shaking her head, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah? Did that do it for you, baby?” She nodded and moaned as her lips folded into her mouth. Picking up the pace of the circular motions on her clit. “Want my tongue working on you like that?” She nodded, swearing and looking down at where her hips had begun to swirl along with her fingers, complimenting her wrist's motions. Harry had to see. “Show me, Stell.” He said, low and gruff.

She brought the camera down, angling it so her full body was in view, her vest ridden up to just below her boobs, her naked bottom half bucking and twisting in the air. Harry nearly doubled over.

“Fuck me. You’re everything.” He groaned, bringing a hand to his forehead and closing his eyes tight. Trying to control his hips and body’s reaction to her stunning image. “Keep going, baby, good girl. Can’t wait to have you in my bed again. Gonna lock us in our villa and make you scream.”

Stella’s moans became louder and louder as she chased her high. “Yeah, that’s it, get yourself there, Stell, come on.” She panted and groaned as she brought the three fingers he’d suggested into her slick hole, pumping just right, getting closer and closer. “You’re fucking beautiful, my God, wish I was fucking there.” Arching up, Harry’s view was almost non-existent as she writhed, the phone in her hand no longer her priority. “I’ll be on my knees for you, soon as I walk through the door.”

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.” She gasped, her fingers now rubbing ruthlessly across her clit, toes curling and stretching.

“Give it up, Stell.” With that, the phone was dropped. Stella’s fingers dug into the softness of the sofa as she squealed and panted, writhing, her other hand not relenting on her pussy. Harry waited patiently, still giving her appreciative comments of how good she was, how gorgeous she was, how he loved her so much. Her hips finally found their place again on the edge of the sofa as she collapsed back down to Earth. Catching her breath, she picked up her phone again to see him smiling softly at her, only before laughing at her red cheeks and messed up hair. “Enjoy that, babe?”

She giggled back, blowing at a strand of hair that had fallen into her face. The familiar feeling of a post-orgasm making her glow from within. “Mhm, feeling good, baby.” She breathed, completely blissed out. She wanted to kiss him so bad, almost ready to climb through the phone to get to him. “Oh, shit.” Stella laughed slightly, Harry’s brow furrowed at the change of pace. “Gem’s just text me. She’s just left. I’ve gotta go, Gorgeous. Love you.”

“Alright, Stell,” Harry said, sitting up in his lounger, placing a foot on either side of the bed in a straddle. His full chest and upper body now visible, making her belly flip once more. “Good job I came in my shorts, knew you wouldn’t wanna return the favour.” He shook his head, playfully tutting in disappointment.

“Aw, you poor thing.” Stella pouted, before giggling and raising from the sofa, running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it. “Have a good time cleaning up!” She joked, before hanging up and trotting up the stairs. Her phone pinged almost instantaneously.

Harry: Glad I could be of service 🫡

Stella: Don’t worry, I’ll show you my downward dog later 😉

~~~

That was fun.

Nel xo

P.s. you can read the rest of the pieces from this universe here.

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fic rec #harry styles love on tour #harry styles fic #harry styles x oc #btaa #starry <3 #harry styles concept #harry styles gif #harry styles barcelona

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jsprnt · 7 months ago

Text

Americano PT. 10 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: wrote this in between study breaks, I’m totally spent 😭😭

W/C: 3.523

part nine

"So, uh- do you have any allergies?"

I mutter awkwardly, standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyes on Jude as he sits across from me at the kitchen island.

He folds his arms across his chest, raising his head to look over at me.

"Are you planning something?" He eyes me suspiciously, causing a tired sigh to leave my mouth.

"Shut up- answer the question.." I raise my wooden spoon, threatening him.

"No, I don't have any allergies. Is that good enough?" He replies, Brum accent making him sound even more defensive.

"Ungrateful ass.." I mutter, turning around and starting to work on breakfast.

I had slept horribly after last night’s events. I'd reckon- maybe, six hours in total. It was our day off- thankfully, but that didn't mean that I trusted Jude to rummage through my house on his own while I rotted away in bed.

My dad had called earlier, wanting to explain the situation to me clearly without leaving any important details out.

Apparently, last night Jude's place was broken into again. This time, he was at home to actually witness it happen. I'm not sure what transpired between the intruder and Jude. Since, my dad had told me it would be too invasive for me to know.

From what I knew, it was the same person as last time- or how many damn times this had happened. This case had been keeping my dad busy for months now, and it only found a way to piss me off even more.

Either Jude had the shittiest security, or- did he even have security?

"Can't believe I'm cooking for you.." I mutter, hearing the drag of his house slippers against the floor as he walks up to me.

"What are you making?"

I move away, so he doesn't touch me, giving him a side eye as I crack four eggs in a pan.

"Eggs.." I say, moving back when oil splashes up.

"Can you cook?" He asks, eyes moving in between the stove and my face.

"Kind of.." I say, hesitating with my reply.

I knew how to cook the basics. Say, your pastas and soups. Though, I like to think I'm improving every time auntie Carmen comes over to show me how to cook another delicious meal.

"How do you like your eggs?" I ask, raising my head to look up at him. He has a confused expression on his face and his gaze is fixed on me.

Fuck, did that sound wrong?

"More runny or cooked?" I ask, grimacing to myself as I sprinkle salt and pepper into the pan.

"You've cooked it- enough.."

"Oh, okay.." I mentally curse at how stupid I sound, looking away from him.

I quickly plate it up for him, not forgetting the avocado and barely toasted pieces of bread.

Well, too bad for him.

We eat our breakfast without speaking to each other. I can only hear the crunch of my bread and clatter of the cutlery against the plates.

I look up at him when I've cleared my plate, wiping crumbs from the corners of my mouth.

"How long are you staying?"

"Are you trying to kick me out already?"

I give him a look, raising my brows as if to tell him he already knows my answer.

"I don't know- depends on the situation.." He says, rubbing his hands against his gray sweatpants.

I sigh, rubbing my temples in irritation.

"Where's your mom anyway?" I ask, remembering that they literally lived together.

"I made her go back to England for my brother’s games. She's always spending more time with me- felt bad for the lad.." He answers, looking away.

"Last night?" I ask, raising my voice in surprise.

"No, during international break. I wasn't playing remember.."

"Oh- that's good, I guess.." I trail off, realizing we're going to be home alone for a while.

Silence falls in between us, and I begin picking at the loose threads of my old pajama top. It was old, but so comfy to sleep in.

"Okay, uh- let's clean up, and I'll give you a quick tour of the place." I jump up from my seat, grabbing my plate off the table, and walk over to the sink.

I look back when he doesn't get up. I raise a brow, sending him a questioning look.

"What are you doing? Clean up.." I say, waving him over. I watch him grab his plate and cutlery- a comical sight that had me struggling to keep my composure.

He places the plate in front of me, looking at me like he's expecting me to do something.

I step back, folding my arms.

Woah, he looked clueless.

"Do you even know how to do- like the dishes or laundry?" I ask, eyeing him up and down.

"Not really.."

"You're what? Twenty and don't know how to do your own laundry?" I pull a horrified face.

"Do you think it's okay to freeload?" I question, immediately grabbing his wrist to drag him upstairs to the laundry room.

Did he think this was a five-star hotel or something?

"I can't believe I have to drive you there. Why don't you have a license?" I whine, walking into the bathroom and seeing him fix his hair. The array of skincare, haircare and bodycare all on the counter in front of him.

Why did I think that he only used a block of soap and aftershave?

He turns away from the mirror, taking a step closer to me as I passive aggressively grab my toothbrush.

"Why wouldn't you want to drive me?" He questions, his voice full of mockery.

I wet my toothbrush and the blob of toothpaste, starting to brush my teeth as I look up at him.

"Do you know how crazy it looks for a staff member to arrive with a player in her car?"

I mumble, probably half audible, as I spit foam into the sink.

He grimaces at me, and I watch him take a step away from me via the mirror.

"Oh, you're dramatic.." I mumble, running the brush over my teeth again.

"Everyone thinks we're together anyway- does it even matter at this point?"

I freeze, turning to him with white foam dripping down the corner of my mouth.

"That's even worse.." I shake my head, giving him a once-over before starting to rinse my mouth.

"Pre-match meal is at...?" I question, waiting for him to finish the sentence while I dry my hands and mouth.

"Half past two." He replies, making me nod.

"Okay- give me an hour.." I say, quickly running to my room to change and get ready.

It was match day against Granada. Thankfully, after this we got some more days off.

We had to get to the training center early, mainly due the fact that I had become Jude’s private driver.

When my father told me I had to drive him around, I almost fell to my knees in sheer despair, not believing the torture I had to go through.

I didn’t even get anything in return, well, maybe I’d bug my dad for another pretty handbag- or two.

Pre-match meals are usually about three to four hours before the match. Normally, I could arrive very late and still manage to snatch a nice plate, but because of Jude - that wasn't possible today, and probably until he’s moved out of my place.

y/n's only half-way through her 'getting ready' playlist when she hears multiple loud knocks on her bedroom door.

"What?! Stop banging on my door! You don't even pay rent!" She shouts over the music, watching the door handle twist.

She turns away from her vanity mirror, makeup brush in her hand, as she sees Jude walk into her room.

"Who invited you in?" She questions, gasping when he goes to sit on her nicely made bed, wrinkling the fabric.

"Me, you’re taking so-” He begins, but he's immediately cut off when she shouts.

"Wait- shut up.."

She says, turning away to sing along with the song currently playing from her phone.

"We do the things but we know it's wrong

All on my skin, you all in my palm

I sent you a envelope, came with a poem

You possess venom that came with a charm

You get the good out me when I perform

I know the bad in you, that's what I want

And you a baddie, you turnin' me on."

Seems like she forgets he's even in her room, singing along to the Future verse while she dots a good amount of blush on the apples of her cheek.

He sighs loudly, continuing to stare at her from behind. She doesn’t notice at all, now way too invested into getting ready while listening to her favorite songs.

Jude runs a frustrated hand over his face, taking in the way she sings along with the all-too-familiar-sounding song lyrics, hoping she can hurry up soon.

"Do I have to take you home too?" I ask, getting up from the comfy chair I'm in. Following Jude towards the dressing room. Relieved after a 2-0 win against Granada.

The sound of his cleats hitting the floor is loud, and I stop right at the entrance of the dressing room when he stops in his tracks.

"I can call a taxi, probably.."

I search his face for any annoyance or anger, but don't see anything like it. Instead, in a strangely familiar way- his eyes are wide and expressive. He looks more unsure and uncomfortable than I've ever seen him.

"It's fine- we're going to the same house anyway.." I whisper, dismissing his words with a wave.

"I have to go back to the training center though.. Can you stand tagging along with me?" I question, raising my brows in anticipation.

"Yeah, I'll just get freshened up really quick.." He says, stepping inside and closing the door since he was the last player to enter.

After saying bye to everyone, I sneakily walk up to my car. Almost jumping out of my skin when I see Jude already standing at the passenger door.

"What are you- get in.." I sigh, unlocking the door and stepping in.

The ride over to the training center is awkward and quiet, to say the least. I'm not in the mood to look through my playlist- and I'm sure he isn't either, by the way he's busy scrolling on his phone.

I park my car in my designated spot in the staff parking lot, looking over at him.

"Do you want to stay in the car?" I ask, unbuckling my seatbelt, and glancing at him.

"No, I'll come with you.." He replies, stepping out of the passenger’s seat and following me inside.

"I need to leave this bag here.." I inform, locking the car as the both of us walk inside the center.

He doesn't reply, not that it's necessary.

I walk up to the office, still hearing Jude walk right behind me.

"You're following me like a lost puppy.." I mutter, unlocking the door of the room I'm supposed to leave the equipment in.

"Okay, damn, I'll be downstairs.." He sneers, turning away and leaving immediately.

I shrug to myself when he leaves, finishing my business before going down as well.

I shove my keys into my bag, swinging it on my shoulder, then go looking around for Jude.

I enter the meeting room he and other players would hang out in, but don't see him. Stepping out, I look up from the door, walking in and out of the other meeting rooms.

"Where the fuck are you?" I mutter, reaching for my phone to call him, only to remember that I don't even have his phone number.

"Looking for something?"

I almost scream out loud when I hear a deep voice behind me. I turn, trying to not look like the person scared the crap out of me.

Oh, the creepy coworker. How fun.

"No, just dropped off some equipment upstairs.." I quickly say, rubbing my hand against my jeans.

I watch his eyes flicker to the keycard around my neck, which I forgot to take off.

"Coming from Bernabéu, y/n?"

Why did he know my name?

"Yeah, busy day.."

He stares at me, not saying anything else. I mentally hype myself up to say something, maybe to learn more about him.

"What's your name? We've seen each other around, but I don't know your name.” I say, shifting nervously as his blue eyes peer into mine.

"Andrés, fitness department. I'm new.." He says, sticking out a ghostly hand for me to shake.

"Right, nice to meet you. I would introduce myself too, but you seem to know already. How come?" His grip is tight, so I tighten it even more.

Give me a rough handshake, and I’ll break your hand out of pettiness.

"Everyone here knows you.." He replies, there is a harsh, but breathiness to his voice and it causes chills to run down my spine.

I clear my throat, realizing he still hasn't let go of my hand.

"Because of my father, yeah.." I fake a chuckle, trying to pull my hand back.

"No, not because of mister l/n.." My breath hitches audibly at his tone, and I try to snatch my hand back even more forcefully.

He doesn't even flinch, continuing to stare down at me.

"y/n, here you are.." I hear a familiar voice say, breaking out of this weird fucking trance.

My head snaps up, my eyes going wide, when I see Jude stepping out of the meeting room I had not checked out yet.

I use the opportunity to snatch my hand away from Andrés, rubbing my hand to fix my blood flow.

I watch Jude give him a look, death stare imminent when he walks up to us.

"Andrés? What are you doing here, it's late." He says, for some reason, slower than I have ever heard him speak.

"Work, busy.." He answers, trying to speak English with a broken Spanish accent.

Oh, he didn't speak English?

I watch a strange interaction between them, a jumble of Spanish and English. I try my best to understand, but it seems like both men throw in some gibberish too.

Finally, when they're done with their simlish, I'm grabbed by my hand, dragged away by Jude.

"What the hell is his problem?" I exclaim, still feeling my hand ache from the pressure.

"He's been fuckin' weird, don’t like him..” He mutters, walking ahead of me while still dragging me along.

I struggle to catch up with his long strides, his warm palm pressing into mine as he looks back at me.

"You okay?" He questions, stopping abruptly, causing me to smash my face against his arm.

"Ow- not anymore.." I mutter, rubbing my nose in agony with my free hand.

"Oh- shit, sorry.." He spits, his hand still on mine. I remove my hand from my face, raising my chin to look up at him.

"Am I bleeding?" A dramatic question, but you never knew with his rock-hard, muscular- arms..

I blink up at him, feeling his hand come up to my chin. He pinches my face, making me move my head.

"No, no blood- I think.." He breathes out, eyes roaming around my face to check for any blood.

I make sudden, close eye contact with him. His brown eyes catching mine, breath fanning my face.

We stare at each other for a moment. His hand still clearly on mine while he cups my face to look at me.

I realize the position we're in and step back. I eye our intertwined hands, looking back up at him as if to tell him to let go.

He clears his throat, dropping my hand like it's hot, and stepping back.

I decide to pretend I don't give a fuck. Ignoring the drumming of my heart, and grab my car key out of my bag.

"Get in.."

"Smash.." I say, maybe for the 10th time this hour.

"Oh my days, can you stop saying that?" Jude exclaims, a bewildered expression on his face as he looks over at me.

"Can't, it's Michael B. Jordan, and you want me to sit still?" I ask, earning a grunt from him.

"You're unbelievable.."

I ignore him, continuing to drool over the screen while I shove popcorn into my mouth.

"What are you going to do? You're off for four days.." I ask, sprawled out on the couch, in front of the TV.

"I have physical therapy every day, can't leave the city.." He complains, sitting on the couch across from me.

"Oh, how inconvenient- wait, who's driving you?.."

"Don't you worry, I've got someone driving me.." He sneers, folding his arms.

I roll my eyes, going back to watch the movie on the screen.

A hot man could make a boring movie so incredibly interesting.

"I'm not home tomorrow. Will you survive being home alone for the rest of your day?" I question, flickering my eyes back to him.

"Where are you going?"

"Taking my last exam, library helps me focus better.." I stuff another handful of popcorn into my mouth.

"Last one?"

"Yeah, I need to go revise a little." I sit up, pausing the movie, and getting up from the couch.

"Have it.." I shove the bowl of popcorn into his hands, walking up the stairs to my room. Ready for this exam to be over already.

“What the fuck was that.." I whisper to myself, hitting my head on my steering wheel repeatedly. I had long driven home from the library, not caring to step out of the car, parked in the driveway.

I had studied hours on end, but when I was presented with the questions, my brain practically short circuited, causing me to blank out so much information I needed to know.

I'm on the verge of tears at this point. Normally, after the last exam of the semester, I'd be jumping from joy, but the way this exam had gone- I wanted to cry buckets of tears.

I sniffle, wiping my nose with my sleeve. Not caring about the foundation stain left on it, and grab my bag from the backseat. I get out of my car, unlocking the front door of my house quickly.

I expect the house to be quiet, but instead I hear loud music. Old 80s songs, solely about love. Music only I knew auntie Carmen loved listening to while cooking.

I drop my bag at the front door, blinking repeatedly to hide the tears in my eyes. I shrug my jacket off, the December cold had come in full force. Though, to me, nothing was worse than winter in London anyway.

"Harina, say it, young man.." I hear auntie Carmen say in Spanish, a voice following behind her.

"Harina? Harina.." A broken accented voice says. I raise my brows, my tears and worries in the back of my mind now.

Curiosity takes over, and I immediately walk towards the kitchen, where the noises are coming from.

I'm greeted by the sight of auntie Carmen and Jude standing next to each other. Both wearing aprons as they are kneading dough on the kitchen island. Flour sprinkled on the marble as I hear Jude repeat random Spanish words, often getting corrected by my auntie.

She didn't even speak a lick of English. How did they even communicate?

I clear my throat, taking their attention away from the slabs of dough on the counter.

"Oh- you're home.." She smiles warmly at me, beckoning me over with a flour-covered hand.

"What's this?" I ask, stepping closer and speaking in Spanish.

"We're making pizza from scratch, sweetie." She says, giving me a kiss on my cheek.

"With him?" I point to Jude, watching him pound the dough with unnecessary aggression.

"What do you mean? Jude is so good at this, look at him go..” She smiles, saying his name with the utmost affection. He looks up confused, but I ignore him further.

What the hell did he do to make her like him already?

"Your boyfriend is a better cook than you already..”

I pull a horrified face, eyes going wide as my arms fall to my sides. I glance at Jude, noticing that he hadn’t even flinched at the words.

Thankfully, his Spanish classes weren’t so advanced yet…

I lean in close to her, whispering, well whisper-shouting.

“He’s not my boyfriend..” I say, pulling a face. I watch the corners of her eyes crinkle as she smiles.

“I know, I’m just joking. Your dad called me about this entire situation already..”

“Why would you say that, then?”

“He’s handsome, isn’t he..” She says out loud, making me facepalm.

First, he steals my dad’s time, then my house, and now my auntie?

I look at him, watching him knead the dough, a smirk forming on his face.

I want to strangle him right here and now..

It’s only been a couple days, and this was too much for me already.

#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude x reader #jude bellingham imagine #jude bellingham fanfic #real madrid fc #real madrid #footballer x reader #football imagines #football fanfic #football imagine #football #bellingham x reader

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fen-luciel · 3 months ago

Text

The witches' covenant part 2

Part 1 here

Warnings:

Smut/Manipulation/coven/dubious consent

Witch reader X Sith Qimir

It would have been a lie to say I wasn't anxious.

This time was different, I was the one reaching out to him, not waiting silently.

When I lay down that evening my heart was in my throat. I closed my eyes and focused on my connection with the thread. The darkness surrounded me as it had all the other times, but I forced myself to look around.

It felt like I was walking through a void, yet I was sure I was moving. I wanted to call out to that presence that tormented me, but I didn't even know its name, or if it had one at all.

With a trembling voice, I gathered some courage and shouted into the darkness "Hey, are you there?"

I could sense it far away. More like the thread connected us but didn’t call to him, it remained dormant.

Perhaps he needed to stay asleep for me to reach him?

Was it possible that I wasn’t capable of making him feel my presence?

Was he so far from me?

And what kind of power did this being possess to contact me so easily?

I let it go for that night.

The next morning, I woke up with a sense of disappointment in my body. I didn’t know if I had failed or if something else was preventing me from reaching him, and in any case, why was I doing all of this?

Just for... that pleasure?

It was embarrassing to think about it. Deep down, I was curious about who was on the other side, but it was undeniable that what I wanted most was that touch on my skin.

One taste had been enough to make me addicted... I needed it.

It was only later that afternoon, after the usual lessons, that I "casually" approached my mother, who was busy reading one of our ancient bound tomes. Sitting at the round wooden table, I sat next to her with a book, though it was a pathetic excuse to be there.

"These nights I haven't been sleeping very well" I began, slowly flipping through the pages. I noticed the look she gave me accompanied by a knowing smile "Did something happen?"

I struggled to speak, I didn't even know where to start really.

"I'm having nightmares" I lied... or maybe not.

She seemed confused. "I dream of... something I've never seen. I don't understand how that's possible" I put the book down on the table, abandoning the pretense of reading, and she mirrored my gesture turning her full attention to me.

"I don't know what's happening. It's..." I sighed "I'm scared, but because I don't know what it is" I had difficulty explaining without giving an actual description of what was happening.

There was a moment of silence before she took my hands in hers "Honey, I'm your mother. My job is to guide you until you're ready. But I need you to tell me what's going on" we looked into each other's eyes. "Someone is trying to contact me. And I'm scared. Because he don't show himself or let me touch him..." I blushed, thinking that instead, I had been touched too much "...yet he... seems to know exactly what to do. As if he knows me" I prayed that my words weren't too revealing.

I swore I saw a flash in her eyes, a flicker of understanding, and my heart skipped a beat. She was about to tell me something, I was sure of it—

"Honey, the bond we share with the thread is a gift we have been granted. We are blessed with this power, and as such, we have obligations to it" I frowned "You, being my daughter, have an even greater burden on your shoulders. Has this bond ever hurt you?" I shook my head "Then trust the blessing you’ve been given. I taught you this many years ago. Do you remember the first lesson?"

I replied with an uncertain voice "The thread has two ends. On one side, you take. On the other, you give." She smiled at me.

"Exactly. Don’t forget it." I opened my mouth to respond, but she released my hands and stood up "Now I must go, but remember your privileges. And what you must do in return." She left before I could stop her.

I remained sitting there, staring into the void, the unpleasant sensation that someone was watching me.

Days passed without any signs.

I continued my routine, though I was distracted and nervous.

One particularly tough afternoon, I got hurt.

I lost my focus just in time to slip on the rain-soaked ground, falling to the ground with a sharp sound that filled the air before I gasped for breath, a cry of pain escaping my lungs.

"What on earth is going through your head?!" Koril snapped in front of me, furious "You should be ashamed of yourself, you're not even trying, and this?!" she pointed to the ground around me "Get that ankle bandaged. You’ll heal without the help of the thread. As punishment for your carelessness" I remained silent, taking the scolding, knowing that nothing I could say would help.

I limped my way to the infirmary. They wanted to give me a cane to help, but it was already humiliating enough as it was, so I decided to suffer in silence. I ate dinner without even looking my mother in the eyes and rushed to my room where I could finally rest.

I don’t know if I fell asleep first or if simply closing my eyes was enough to resonate with the thread.

I felt a light breeze on my skin, a low, continuous sound that I couldn’t quite identify.

I opened my eyes and jolted.

I didn’t understand what place this was. It was an octagonal room, the ceiling was extremely high, and each wall was made of a smooth, black material. There were no windows to illuminate the space, but decorations along the edges, glowing a brilliant red, allowed me to see. It seemed more like a liquid was flowing through these lines carved into the smooth stone.

As I looked around, confused, the only visible door opened, and I finally saw him.

Or at least, I understood I was seeing him.

I could feel him, I recognized him in the cold he carried with him. I swore that the sensation I felt a few days earlier with my mother was the same. A human figure with a helmet covering his face was slowly approaching, his arms the only parts uncovered by the long black robe.

"Poor creature. So distracted lately. What’s occupying your thoughts?" the voice was hoarse and slow, distorted, I think by the helmet, though I had never heard such a deep tone before.

"A-are you… the person with whom…" the words died in my throat, not knowing what to say, or rather, not having the courage to say it.

"The one with whom you shared a bond? Yes." The door closed behind him as he approached with measured steps. I curled my toes in my shoes to stop myself from backing away. Technically, he had never hurt me, but his presence was suffocating. I couldn’t see his eyes or what kind of face was hidden beneath that helmet, yet it felt like two spotlights were trained on me.

"I tried to call you, but..." he stopped a couple of steps away from me, i could have reached out and touched him from here, but the fear that had been lying dormant in the pit of my stomach now almost took my breath away.

"I felt it. But I was busy. I didn’t think it would take so little to make you so needy" I could only grimace in shame as I looked away under the pressure "I didn’t—I was just curious and—" I began to stammer, clenching my hands into fists, but he abruptly interrupted me with a firm voice.

"Look at me." An order so clear that I instinctively turned back. I tried to figure out where exactly his eyes would be to feel less foolish. I saw a slight slit where I assumed what I was looking for was, and I focused on that.

"There’s nothing to be ashamed of. This isn’t your fault" I exhaled deeply through clenched lips. The reassurance I felt made me uncomfortable, i didn’t even know who he was or what he really wanted from me. I couldn’t understand how he could have this influence.

"I know what you’re thinking. But everything will be fine. I am your destiny..." he pronounced my name with such confidence that I flinched imperceptibly.

He knew my name.

He knew me.

He knew who I was.

But I was sure I had never seen him before, no one in the congregation had… that physique or that aura.

He let out a light puff, as if chuckling at something, his head casually tilted to one side "Do you want to touch me? Isn’t that why you’re here, right?" He extended an arm in front of him, his hand relaxed, palm up as if offering it to me. "Don’t be afraid"

I looked at that hand with a reverence that took my breath away.

I had so many questions, I didn’t even know how many of them actually made sense. I didn’t want to make a fool of myself again, but in a situation like this, perhaps the most sensible thing would have been to run away… but I… I trusted him.

"Why do you know my name? And what do you mean by my destiny?" I managed to ask with difficulty, looking from his palm to his helmet, my hands itching.

He sighed.

"We could have avoided this discomfort if only your mother had fulfilled her duty. I should have imagined it" He dropped his arm before starting to remove the long robe from his head. I admit I protested internally when the helmet didn’t budge an inch, but I didn’t show it.

He left the fabric on the ground by his feet, and I couldn’t help but give him a glance longer than necessary. His defined arms, his chest covered by a dark outfit I had never seen before "What are you talking about? Do you know my mother?" I whispered.

He exhaled another brief laugh.

"We have an agreement. An ancient one. As you know, the thread has two ends, two weights that keep the universe in balance. Light and darkness. Water and earth. Good and evil… woman and man" he spread his arms in a relaxed gesture, making me feel like I was in one of the congregation’s lessons "For everything in between to exist, there must be balance. People like us, who can use the thread, the force, have duties to the universe. But I hope you already know that"

I nodded, watching him with growing discomfort.

I didn’t feel any balance now.

I felt like prey.

"Good girl. Anyway, as a witch, you have your opposite too" He pointed to his chest "Me. A Sith."

The word was new to me.

Nothing I had ever read or heard had a name like that, which matched the fact that I had never seen anything like him.

A man. A Sith.

"It’s okay to be confused now. Your mother should have told you about me a long time ago. But that’s fine. It doesn’t change anything. We are destined for each other" a playful sigh "You desire me. You want me. It’s in your blood."

I blushed with discomfort, not understanding half of what he was saying, but it would be a lie to say I didn’t want him. I was terribly ashamed, but a voice in my head just wanted him to stop talking and touch me and…

I looked at his chest again.

It was normal to be curious, right?

I had never met a man, so it wouldn’t be foolish to ask to touch him. I was just… curious, that’s all.

As if reading my thoughts, he extended his arm towards me again "Touch me."

I bit the inside of my cheek hard. Was it that obvious? Could it be read on my face? Or was he really reading my mind?

I ignored the fact that it seemed more like an order than an invitation, he seemed like the type of person who had an authoritative tone even when talking about the weather, like Mother Koril for instance.

I raised my hand as if to clasp his in a handshake, but I stopped my fingers a centimeter from his skin.

It was the first time I had touched someone during such an experience. Over the years, I had trained to find other members of the congregation through the thread, but this was different, and it was with a stranger… who knew my name.

And he claimed to know my mother.

It was really foolish to go along with this, but… I wanted… just one more time.

I traced my fingertips along his palm, up his forearm. His skin was pale, and underneath, the prominent veins running through the defined muscles were visible, i stroked them reverently, everything about him screamed "dangerous" and "strong" but I couldn’t tell if it was in a good or bad way.

I reached the inner elbow and his bulging bicep. I would have had to lean in to go further, his arm was much longer than mine, or rather, he was much bigger than me in every way… the realization made me feel a tingling sensation between my legs.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t realize he had moved his hand close to my face. My breath caught in my throat when his rough fingertips brushed my cheek, then moved to the edge of my jaw and neck, his thumb slowly stroking my cheekbone.

I trembled slightly, my breath shallow but my mouth sealed, afraid of making too much noise in a moment that felt so intimate, so private.

I gathered my courage and, with my other hand, touched the muscles of his shoulder more firmly. I had never met anyone so… big, so defined. He seemed like one of those beautiful creatures you read about in books, the figures that show you their best side, perfect machines of death and elegance.

I felt like I was being drawn to a star, knowing I would burn, but I wanted more—I needed it.

Without even realizing it, I pressed my face into his palm like a needy loth-cat. The rough sensation of someone who always worked with their hands on something heavy compared to my smooth skin sent shivers down my spine.

I heard him take a deep breath from under the helmet, a step forward so slow I almost didn’t notice it "Do you want me to make you feel good?"

His voice, if possible, was even deeper than before.

I nodded.

"Then do as I say."

Slowly, the thumb that was stroking my cheekbone moved to my lips, caressing them once before pressing down on my lower lip. My instinct was to lick my dry lips, but the idea of touching his skin in the process frightened me.

Yet, a fleeting thought crossed my mind.

What would he taste like?

"Open your mouth"

I didn’t even think to disobey the order.

I slowly parted my lips, allowing him to push his thumb into my mouth. I exhaled shakily, tasting his skin on my tongue, it was… salty. I couldn’t quite name what I was tasting, I had never thought of the concept of "skin flavor"

When you kiss someone’s cheek, you can smell their scent, maybe a soap they use or a hair product, but this was different.

The rough sensation on my tongue as he pushed the first phalanx between my lips made me swear I heard him mutter something, but with the helmet on it was impossible to understand.

"Such an obedient girl" he murmured more clearly, pushing further in.

"Suck it" he commanded, his voice leaving no room for doubt.

I didn’t know what I was doing what was happening, but... I didn’t want him to stop. I wondered if he would touch me between my legs again with those fingers, maybe if I asked him... if I behaved well he might do it.

I did as he asked. It was uncomfortable, especially when he slid two fingers under my chin, holding me in a firm grip. It didn’t hurt, but it was strong enough to let me know he wouldn’t let me pull away. I wondered if I looked foolish in that position, he wasn’t laughing, but with that mask, it was impossible to tell.

I tried to use my tongue to help, uncertainly placing my hands around his wrist as if to steady myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him move his hand down to his chest unbuttoning the first few buttons.

"Have you ever seen a man naked?"

I made a negative sound around his thumb.

"Are you curious?" I swore I could hear amusement in his voice.

I glanced back and forth between his helmet and his chest. Curious?

I had never really thought about the differences between sexes, but now that he was in front of me, we seemed so similar yet so different, i wondered if his face would give the same impression.

I think he understood my answer on his own because he continued unbuttoning his shirt, the top opened revealing his chest. He pulled his thumb from my mouth, the wet skin brushing my lip one last time before he fully removed the dress.

I swallowed with difficulty.

His broad chest, wide shoulders, pale skin, and defined stomach... he was a sight to behold.

At this point, I wondered what I had done right in life to deserve being there with him, while he showed himself to me.

"You called me because you wanted me to touch you again, right?"

I nodded, not taking my eyes off his chest.

"And I will. But as I said, everything has balance" He gently took my wrist, guiding my hand to his chest, i didn’t hesitate for even a second spreading my fingers to let my palm rest on his smooth muscles.

He let go of me, but I didn’t stop. I was trembling, deeply ashamed. I traced his skin with trembling fingers exploring the definition of his chest, careful to avoid those small nipples, thinking it would be too bold.

It was a constant confirmation of my theory, so similar, yet so different.

I ran a finger down the line of his abs to his navel, where I stopped. I saw him take another small step forward, closing the distance between us. When I looked up, I gasped, realizing how close he really was.

"If you want me to touch you again, you’ll have to do something for me first. We are two sides of the same coin, destined for one another. You want to make me feel good just as I do for you, right?" He tilted his head slightly to the side as he asked.

I parted my lips to respond, but said nothing, instead, I pressed them into a thin line and nodded—it seemed like a fair exchange after all.

He remained silent for a few seconds before taking my hand in his and guiding it lower, where the waistband of his pants began. I stifled a gasp as my palm rested on the bulge between his legs.

"Are you scared?"

I shook my head.

He let go of my hand to start unbuttoning his pants. I moved aside to give him space, my stomach churning with anxious anticipation. The fabric pooled around his ankles, revealing his muscular legs, but I was too distracted to notice, my attention elsewhere as he pushed down his underwear, exposing something I had never seen before.

"Kneel" he ordered.

And I hung on his every word.

I lowered myself placing my knees on the cold, smooth floor. My heart pounded in my throat, and I felt as if I were praying before an ancient god. When we gathered in the congregation to celebrate the thread, we often found ourselves in a similar position, but this reminded me more of ancient legends, the other religions scattered across the galaxy, the mythological figures of gods with human like forms.

The red light illuminated his pale body with an unnatural glow. The terrifying helmet could have been mistaken for the features of a pagan god, and… that tense flesh between his legs, just inches from my face.

Was this really happening?

Was I praying to him?

For my own pleasure?

Would I worship him, and he would make me feel good?

"Focus on my cock, darling. If you learn quickly, you'll get your reward" He grasped his… cock in one hand, stroking it slowly a couple of times. A small drop emerged from the tip, and I stared at it, mesmerized.

"Open your mouth"

I couldn’t say whether it was instinctive after what had happened with his finger or if it was the bond between us telling me what to do, but I parted my lips, extending my tongue to lick away that droplet as it trickled down.

I contracted the muscles in my core, tasting him.

I wanted more.

"Such a good slut." I looked up, confused by what he had called me, but he didn’t say anything more. His free hand took my head and pushed it down along his cock in a smooth motion.

I gasped in discomfort at the sensation, but something at the back of my mind was muddling my senses... a whisper, a cold breeze making my ears ring with white noise. I closed my eyes, rocked by that shiver as I sucked and licked just as I had with his thumb before, the moisture between my legs a sign of my arousal.

"You’re so good, made to suck my cock" His voice broke as he tilted his head back. I watched his prominent neck as I took him deeper, the sensation of salty liquid in my throat as I swallowed, a slight feeling of nausea when his hand pushed me down even more.

He grabbed my hair at the roots, stopping for a moment to look at me.

My eyes were wet with tears from the effort, but I didn’t care, my abs tight, my chest rising and falling quickly with his expressionless mask facing me, a thin sheen of sweat covering him… I could have watched him for hours. I would have done anything he asked to get more.

"Swallow my cum, and then it will be your turn" Without waiting for a signal, he pushed me down again, the base against my lips as the warm flesh filled my throat, my nose full of his hot scent, the white noise growing louder and more insistent, preventing me from thinking clearly, a single thought echoing in my head.

Swallow it.

His breathing grew heavier as he used his hips to fill my mouth, the excitement between my legs increasing.

I reached down to touch myself, but he gripped my hair tightly making me flinch. "Don’t you dare. I didn’t say you could touch yourself" he growled, his breath short. I mumbled incoherent apologies as he drove himself deep into my throat one last time, feeling him contract on my tongue before a thick, warm jet filled my stomach, spilling out slightly before pushing back in again and again, as if to ensure not a drop of that dense liquid was wasted… not that I was unhappy to drink it.

He released me, allowing me to take a deep breath, tears quickly drying.

"Good girl. Now take off those pants."

The satisfaction in his voice warmed my heart, but I hurried to do as I was told, leaving my soaked panties on the ground, hoping he wouldn’t comment on them.

I expected him to order me to get up, but he didn’t. Instead, he shifted his foot on his heel, raising the toe of his boot.

"Ride it like a good slut." I began to suspect that the nickname was some kind of term for something, but I ignored it too needy.

I trusted him, so without thinking too much, I clung to his leg like a starving person. The moist, sensitive bud made me flinch as it brushed against the shiny surface of his boot.

"Don’t you think you should thank me?"

I moved my hips back and forth, uncertain, trying to find the best angle. Sobs escaped my lips as I clung to his leg "T-thank you-" I gasped, looking back at the mask.

"That’s not enough. Call me Master."

I bit my lip to stifle a moan, the juices flowing down my thighs and soaking the boot.

"Thank you Master" I stammered, the white noise returning to buzz in my ears.

"You were born to worship my cock, sweet slut. They’ve kept me away long enough. Had I known you were so easy to submit, I would have come for you sooner" He lifted his foot, meeting me, the warmth in the core building up and leaving me breathless. I heard him speaking, but I couldn’t understand a word.

"Say it. That you love my cock, cum on my boot slut."

I whimpered on the edge of pleasure as I rode him shamelessly "I love your cock, Master, please-" I gasped just before tensing, my fingers digging into the muscles of his thighs as I came with a guttural moan, my poor pussy trembling and contracting in the void, my hips pressed against the boot while my legs shook uncontrollably.

I took deep breaths and opened my eyes.

But I was alone again, in my room, with the dawn of a new day visible through the window.

#the acolyte #star wars #qimir #qimir x reader #qimir x oc #manny jacinto #smut #dubious consent #manipulation #verbal humiliation

111 notes · View notes

daengtokki · 11 months ago

Note

Hey 👋🏻 saw your recent post about wanting to write about seungmin fluff, and I honestly could use some fluff to feel better myself so I wanted to suggest a noona!reader x seungmin fluff where they both like each other (are close friends) but reader thinks they only see her as a sister and not romantically (and vice versa) until the other members convince seungmin to confess and well the rest is up to you really :) personally I feel that he’s the type to sing to their crush or maybe bring them a cute plushie, inviting them on a coffee date, etc

Whether or not you choose to write this, I hope you feel better~ ❤️‍🩹

𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹

©ˢᶜᵃʳˡᵉᵗᵇˡᵒˢˢᵒᵐ

────────────────────✦

Kim Seungmin/noona!reader

wc: ~5k

rating: flufffff -`♡´- (friends to lovers/idiots to lovers ( thank you @wulfgaang ) Felix and IN plotting, music for you to listen to while you read)

comments: I'm sorry this took so long anon! I started writing and just kept on writing and I couldn't stop so I eventually had to force myself to stop. I tried to edit a little but uuuhhh bshxbhscs

──────────────♡───♡─✦

He's so bad at writing a text to you that doesn't sound...off. He hates sounding too casual, which is exactly how he should be sounding, and how you expect him to sound. But he hates it. He huffs and slides down into the couch, eyes flit up every so often to the open space in front of him.

Seungmin catches sight of himself in the mirror across the room, then he sees Felix eyeballing him. And then Felix smiles.

"What?" He pulls himself up and folds his knees to his chest, looks down at the message thread on his screen...rereads your last text.

I like your hair the shade it is right now

It's nothing. It's a benign little observation on your part, but his stomach swirled the moment he read it. Now he can't think of what to say back. His thumbs freeze right above the screen, and his eyes go blurry as he stares.

Seungmin doesn't have time to reply, though, because he sees you typing again. The little dots bounce around for what seems like forever, and then they stop. Felix moves closer and sits down next to him. Then you're typing again. Typing and typing...

"Are you talking to your noona?" he whispers and tries to peek at his phone, but Seungmin pulls away.

"She's not my noona."

"Well, she never texts me. What are you guys talking about?"

"Nothing..."

"Exactly! You two always seem to talk about nothing...every day."

Finally, a message comes through. And it's not nearly as long as the length of time it took to type.

are you free for lunch today? Probably not, but I'm cold and want to get some yukgaejang

No, he's not exactly free, but he's going to make himself free. Seungmin hasn't had the chance to see you face to face for almost a month. Yes, almost a month. Three weeks and three days, actually. And you were only in the building for a few hours that day, because you travel too much for work. Seungmin hates that. And he hates wishing you had a position that didn't travel at all. It's always in the opposite direction that he's going.

"I'm breaking our lunch plans." Seungmin says it so flatly and definitively.

"Fine. Only because I know you're making plans with her. Maybe ask her out properly this time, before she leaves again."

"I'm not going to ask her anything... she'll laugh at me."

Felix has no reply for that, but the stinkface he gives Seungmin says everything for him.

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You stare at yourself in the mirror for far too long. The way you think you look won't change, and the way you're dressed isn't going to magically make him fall in love with you. Besides, it's cold out, and he'll pick on you if you dress more for looks than warmth.

His text message comes through, finally. You feel bad asking him, because you know he's busy, but he loves to eat and it always seems to be the best way to get him alone.

I just have to change, I'll be ready when you get here

And it's stupid, but you like driving him around; the way he plays with the music, and the way he sits back in the passenger seat and stares right at you. He always let's you know when you pass a dog going on a walk, and he loves to tell you that you drive too fast. Or too slow.

There was hardly any traffic on the way in, so you sit and stare at your phone for several minutes before texting again. You're certain he's ready—it doesn't take long to throw on a pair of sweatpants and run out the door, but getting here too fast and seeming too eager makes you feel silly. You rub at your warm cheeks and sigh, wondering if you're mentally prepared to see him again, need to kiss him, do nothing, say nothing, and then part ways for another few weeks.

A soft knock on the window makes you jump, and when you look to your right, he's there, smiling and waving.

"Sorry, I was just about to text."

Seungmin climbs in and stares at you for a moment. "I saw you pull up, are you okay?"

"I'm okay..."

"You looked worried."

He's too observant. and he's clever as hell (sometimes). You're surprised he hasn't figured you out yet, but...he's probably just avoiding it if he does know. He doesn't want you to feel awkward. Seungmin is too young for you, you think. You have no business feeling this way about someone a decade your junior, and he's not going to be interested when he's surrounded by so many pretty girls his age.

"You still look worried." He buckles his seatbelt and adjusts himself so he can look directly at you.

"Uh...just jetlag probably. And I haven't eaten yet."

"We better hurry then."

You look him over quickly as you shift gears and check the gps on your screen. He's not in his usual overly comfortable sweats, instead he's wearing cargo pants, and just a t-shirt under his North Face jacket. You hope he's warm enough, but when he reaches forward and bumps up the heat, you know he probably isn't.

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

"It's gonna be too spicy," he smiles and watches you take a bite. A cautious bite, because he's right, but you won't admit it. You like the spice, and he likes watching your face turn red as you slowly make your way through the bowl.

His chopsticks dive into it and grab a much bigger bite than yours.

"Get your own," you shoo him away and sip your tea, trying not to be too obvious that your whole body is on fire. With the spice, and with thoughts of him. His lips are red and swollen from the little bit of heat in his food, from the heel of his hand rubbing at them. This is about the time when your thoughts get overwhelming...so overwhelming, you think you could confess everything all in one breath—his big dewy eyes, flushed cheeks (both from the food, of course), big t-shirt hanging way too precariously from his shoulder.

"Too spicy," he chases it with his rice and scrunches up his face, "How can you eat so much of it?"

"Punishment."

"Punishment??" Seungmin looks at the text on his phone. It's not Felix this time. Felix has already sent several, asking him if he's made it official yet. This time it's Jeongin, no doubt out to lunch with him, acting up as well.

did you dress nice for her?

"Why would you need to be punished?" Seungmin blushes as soon as the words come out of his mouth. It's not just the soup making him so warm. He glances up at you and tries not to smile too awkwardly.

"Where should I begin...being lazy, breaking plans with friends, ghosting bad dates instead of telling them I'm not interested."

"Do you go on a lot of bad dates?" He sits up and clears his throat, "I mean...dates. You never mentioned that before."

His phones buzzes again. This time it's Felix.

simp

A quick glance around the restaurant reveals he and Jeongin are not actually there and listening in on them, but he wouldn't be surprised.

"I wouldn't say a lot. Uh...I'm always very careful, don't worry."

Seungmin nods and struggles to keep his face neutral. He's not concerned, he's jealous. "You're not lazy, you work very hard."

"Just too much. Sometimes I want to change jobs, stay home more. Use my apartment."

"You should," he replies so fast that you stop eating and look at him.

"I should?"

"If that's what you want, uhm...you should always do what feels right." He busies his mouth with his drink, taking slow sips and peeking at you over the rim. "I'm glad we work at the same company, though, otherwise I would have never met you." He wonders if that was too much, so he stares stupidly at the chopsticks in his hand.

"No, we probably wouldn't have met. And you're a—"

He looks up at you before you finish.

"Uh..." you should say it, you should say anything as long as it's a little bit romantic. There are so many things you've thought of already, and you have said them in your head...during your endless daydreams. When you're trying to sleep and can't, or when you open your eyes in the morning and pretend he's there in front of you, sleeping soundly.

"...you're a good friend, Seungmin."

Idiot.

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Another outing with Seungmin, and another tick on your failure box. You felt awkward, and you probably made him feel awkward. You can’t relax around him anymore. Maybe he does really know that you like him, and he just doesn't want to ghost you the way you ghost your dates. He's too good and sweet to do that, and he's too good for you.

A little part of you wants to text one of the others; one of his dormmates, his closest friends, just to see if asking him out would be a horrible mistake. But you can't. If the answer yes, it's a mistake, and then they tell him? They would absolutely tell him. You might as well mess this up on your own.

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

"That's what you wore?" Jeongin looks at him, eyes narrow, lips pursed.

He and Felix make it home first, and they both look at him anxiously when he walks through the door. Well, Jeongin looks at him anxiously, and then tsks at the casualness of his outfit.

"It's less casual than normal."

"It's not going to convince her that you'll go all out for her, though. You gotta give her your best!"

"I don't think my outfit is going to make her suddenly fall in love with me."

"No, but if you tell her how you feel..."

"I'm not ruining what little friendship we have."

"But—"

"No."

"Kim Seungmin!" Felix yells. "If you don't talk to her like a big boy, I'll be forced to tell her myself."

"You wouldn't...please don't say anything, Yongbok. Please..."

"She likes you...maybe even more than you like her."

"How would you even know that, has she told you herself?" Seungmin finally pulls his jacket off, kicks off his shoes, and sulks to the kitchen for a drink.

"No, but I've had to sit through more than one meal with you two... dancing around each other, blushing if you end up sitting shoulder to shoulder, her sneaking little glances when you're not looking."

"She does?" he sips his milk in an attempt to get the lingering spice out of his mouth. "She looks at me?"

"Stares at you. Watches every little move you make. It's annoying, and very cute. I wish someone would look at me like that.”

"Sing her a song!" Jeongin pipes up from behind his monitor. "Invite her to dance practice, keep her around after everyone leaves...sing for her."

"That is..." Felix thinks. Seungmin rolls his eyes and groans loudly in the background. "...very cheesy, but I don't think it's a terrible idea."

"Sunday! I'll even invite her to come watch, you just have to do the rest." Jeongin is very proud of himself for thinking all of this up. "I know her, too...remember? I'll make sure she's in town, and you figure out what song you want to woo her with.”

Seungmin hates the idea. He’s already starting to get nervous eating in front of her. Now he has to practice? And sing? Sing something romantic? The logistics of all of this are escaping him, too. How will they be left alone there? If someone sees them—him singing, her standing awkwardly until he finishes. He already wants to climb into a hole just thinking about it.

“Close to You!” Jeongin cups his cheeks in his hands and smiles. “She blooms beautifully in your dreams, when you close your eyeesss,” he sways back and forth.

“No, no I’m not doing it. And you can’t make me.”

“We can’t, but we can still invite her to come on Sunday. Tell her we have some new stuff to work on, she’ll enjoy it.”

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

You can’t say no to Jeongin, ever. He was so excited to invite you to dance practice, and you’ll actually be home, so…why not. No pressure. It’s getting to see Seungmin from a distance, or maybe not from a distance. And you love watching them act up together. Seungmin invited you once, a while ago, but you couldn’t make it, and for some reason he never asked again.

But seeing him twice in the same week is a nice treat. You just hope he’s glad to see you there.

Han sees you and greets you first. Then you see Changbin and Felix by a snack table, bickering about something. Felix sees you out of the corner of his eye, waves, and smirks a little. He mouths something to you, and you think he says you look nice…so you just smile back. You did put in some extra effort this morning, but you still tried to be casual. Seungmin likes casual, and he told you once, a long time ago, that he liked your style.

One of the entranceways seem like the perfect place to observe for now. Nobody is here, and you’re a little nervous about being in anyone’s way. You lean back against the wall, making yourself as small as possible, and look for Jeongin. But he’s nowhere.

Seungmin, though, is within view. His back is to you, and he’s way on the other side of the room, but you know it’s him—you would know his back and shoulders just by touch if it came to that. And you really wish it would come to that. The rest of him is swimming in a pair of dark gray sweatpants.

You hold your breath and wait for him to turn.

“Noona! Hi hi.” You jump out of your skin. It’s Jeongin.

“Innie!” You punch his shoulder, and he laughs. “Quit sneaking.”

“I wasn’t sneaking, you were just too busy staring.” He looks to Seungmin, who is now turned your way. And walking in your direction.

“Staring at what?,” you say as you continue to stare. He gets closer and closer. You can feel the distance closing between you. It’s getting warmer in the room.

“So it is true…Felix is right.”

“Huh? What is Felix right about?”

"Is Innie bothering you?" Seungmin says. He doesn’t look at you, though, just at Jeongin.

“Hmmm…I think I’m being called.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Seungmin looks behind him, behind you, and then back to Jeongin. “Better go, though.”

He looks irritated when you’re finally able to lift your gaze, but not really irritated—just like he’s holding back an eye roll. Seungmin folds his arms and hugs his hoodie to his chest, and then he finally…finally, looks at you. His face softens. You could melt, but you try to keep your composure.

This wasn’t always an issue. Seungmin always makes you feel warm and stupid when he’s around, and he has since the day you met him, but it used to be easier to be relaxed around him. And fun. You figured this would pass and you’d realize you were just crushing on him; lusting after him—daydreaming about kissing him and his braces, undressing him slowly in your mind and wondering exactly what he looked like under all of those clothes. But it never passed. It grew and grew into this monster that sits on your chest and takes your breath away.

“YN?” He crouches down so he can get your attention. “Noona?” He whispers. Seungmin doesn’t usually call you Noona, not like everyone else does. He calls you by your name, because you asked him to. “I’m sorry, I know you don’t like that…just needed to snap you out of your daydream.”

“I wasn’t…hmm, I’m sorry. Hi Seungmin.”

“Hi,” his face falls a little. “Are you staying, or just passing through?”

“I’m staying.“

“Good. It’s chilly in here, I thought you might want this.” He hugs his hoodie closer to his chest and smiles. "Gotta keep the heat down so we don’t pass out, I guess.”

“Will you be mad if I take it home and forget to give it back?”

His giggle makes your head swim. “No, not at all. Actually…”

Before he can finish, Chan calls out and the floor starts to clear. He looks back, and then to you again. “Hold that thought,” he unrolls it, shakes it, and throws it around you like a cape before running off.

The scent of him overwhelms you, and your head is swimming again. Everything is swimming. Now you just want to curl up in your bed with it and fall asleep.

For the first time in years, Seungmin is nervous standing on the dance floor. He knows he’ll be fine—everything will fall into place once things get started. But if what Felix said is true, your eyes are on him, and only him. All the time. But you must be good at doing it only when Seungmin isn't looking. He has never once caught you staring.

He glances around the room, swings his arms, rolls his shoulders. You’re there in the same spot, his hoodie still draped around you. And yes, you’re watching him.

The time goes by fast, even though you’re just a spectator, and you know it’s because you might not see him again for a while once this ends. You’ll go back to your casual texts, hopefully a little each day. You’d lose your mind if you had to go longer than that without hearing from him.

The more you think about it, the more you think getting the confession over with might be the best idea. You can’t exactly go on like this forever. The rejection will crush you, but with time, you’ll have to move on. That’s just what happens. The hurt goes away, eventually.

“Hey you,” Felix pops up next you and gets your attention. “You’re staring really hard. Really really hard.”

“What?” You finally pull yourself away from Seungmin, “I was? Wait…what?”

“Seungmin is going to have a hole burnt into him if you keep that up.”

You feel flushed, even though Seungmin was right about the cold, “please tell me only you saw me.”

“Probably, everyone else seems pretty preoccupied. But be careful. Unless you plan on confessing.”

Is Felix reading your mind? You bury your face in your hand and sigh.

“Don’t look so sad. Keep looking…carefully.”

You’re an idiot. And you daydream too much. Your life is nothing but work, sleep, and a constant string of thoughts about being with him.

“Felix?” You stop him just as he starts to walk away. He smiles at you, There is usually a twinkle in his eye, but it’s even more intense right now.

“Yes, noona?”

Seungmin turns and makes eye contact, but looks away almost immediately.

“Nothing, never mind.”

“Oh hey, don’t leave too early. Innie and I have something we need to give to you after we finish up.”

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Everyone left. But you’re sitting on the couch, curled up in a ball, warm under Seungmin’s hoodie. Felix said stay, so you’re staying, but you don’t know what he and Jeongin could possibly have for you.

You wonder if Seungmin will come back for his hoodie. Watching him walk out of the room was a little bit heartbreaking, because he didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t wave. He didn’t look your way.

“What am I supposed to do now? You have her waiting in there, alone, and she doesn’t know wh”

“Felix told her we had something for her, and we do.” Jeongin holds his arms up to Seungmin, palms up, like he’s presenting him. “It’s you.”

Seungmin buries his face in his hands and groans, “you still want me to go in there and sing and embarrass myself?”

“You don’t have to sing!”

“Okay, so just embarrass myself.”

Felix shakes his head, “please please pleeaaase, trust me. I’m going to scream at the top of my lungs if you don’t go sit on that couch with her right now. That’s all. Just sit there. Whatever happens after that is up to the two of you.”

“Fine. Just because I don’t want her sitting in there by herself.

The door clicks. You know it’s him as soon as his arm swings the door open.

“Seungmin?”

“Hi. What are you doing in here all alone?”

“Waiting…”

“Waiting for what?” He stands in front of you, hands stuffed in the pockets of his sweatpants. Light gray this time—he’s showered and changed since you’ve been sitting here.

“I’m not sure.”

“Me, maybe. I’m sorry I left before without saying anything.”

“It’s okay,” you smile. He’s here now, so it is okay.

Seungmin sits down next to you. He’s quiet, and he has no idea what to say now. Maybe he should just sing, because he would at least be able to succesfully string some words together. The silence and the echo here makes it even harder to speak, but at least he knows you’re truly alone together. This usually only happens in your car—windows up, music playing. “What’s your favorite song?”

“My favorite…Stray Kids song, or my favorite favorite?”

“Favorite favorite.”

You weren’t prepared for this, but you don’t have to think very hard. “In Your Eyes…” you look at him, wait, wonder why he wants to know, “by Peter Gabriel.” You played it in the car with him before, and it took a lot to keep from telling him everything right then and there as it played. But you didn’t. It played, uninterrupted, and both of you were silent the entire five and a half minutes.

“I remember that song.”

“You do?”

Seungmin nods and laughs, “it’s on half of your playlists. Yeah, I know it.”

“Why do you wanna know?”

Silence again. Seungmin is 100% winging this, but he does know where he’s going with it. Because he does want to sing for you.

“So I can practice it.”

You shift and look at him, his hoodie slips off of your shoulders and onto the couch. It takes several seconds of thinking, of gears starting to turn in your brain, and of your eyes jumping back and forth between his before you start to put a few pieces together.

“…and sing it for you,” Seungmin looks down at his fidgeting hands, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. You not replying immediately is stretching out like hours. How can he make this less awkward now? He can sing for you and not make it romantic, right? Just a nice gesture between good friends. Not that song, though. He wasn’t even sure you would choose a romantic song.

No, he’s in it and he’s not getting back out. “Please say something.”

“You wanna…sing for me?”

“I’m not very good at…talking about my feelings otherwise.”

“You can talk to me. You can talk to me about anything."

Seungmin leans forward and rubs at his face, and he buries it there in his hands. It’s a bad time to start losing his nerve, he’s too far in. “I can’t.” He feels the couch shift as you get closer, just close enough that your knee hits his. “It’s a lot.”

“It is a lot. I know.”

“You do?”

You want to grab him and make him look at you, but your body won’t allow it. It takes another long silence to finally get some of his attention. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are big and nervous.

“Yeah, too much to keep carrying around by myself.”

He doesn’t seem to be following you, because he still looks worried, upset. But you’re not helping—you weren’t ready for this, and you have no idea what to say. You’re bad at this kind of talk, too.

“Am I making you uncomfortable? And I messing everything up?”

“No, Minnie…I’m very comfortable sitting here with you right now. I could sit here with you all night.”

Now, finally, he turns and gives you his full attention, red faced and serious. His bottom lip is catching up, because he won’t stop biting down on it. You reach out and poke his chin, “don’t do that.”

He licks his lips and forces himself to stop, but now he’s not talking again. There’s eye contact, at least. And it’s intense…Seungmin doesn’t know how intense his stare can be. Maybe you’re supposed to finish this—he did start, and it was a pretty bold start.

“We should—”

A clatter outside makes both of you jump. Maybe you’re not as alone as you think, and in that case, you’re a little bit uncomfortable. It makes you feel better about what you were about to say.

“…we should go somewhere else to talk.”

♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

It took no convincing for him to follow you closely on the walk outside. Silent. And inside the car, cold and dark, still silence. You could talk here—you’ve shared a lot in this car already, but it doesn’t feel right. You just want to take him home, get him warm, make him comfortable.

Seungmin is nervous. You know exactly what he was trying to tell you back there on the couch, but what you don’t know is how intensely he really feels, and if he’s willing to act on it the way that you are. You don’t want to risk scaring him away, but your desire for him has already reached its boiling point. Every minute without acting on it now is killing you.

He’s huddled down deep in his coat. You finally let out a sigh of relief when he leans forward to adjust the radio, and then he turns up the heat.

“Where are we going?” His voice is small and timid, not like him at all. It’s like his little bit of confession, the emotional exertion of finally telling you he maybe wants more, kicked his ass.

“My apartment.”

“I’ve never been to your apartment before.”

“Is that okay?

He sits up, and you can see him look at you out of the corner of your eye. “Yeah, of course.”

It’s already warm inside. The few lights you keep on while you’re out gives the small space a comfortable glow. It’s even better with a view of him shaking out of his coat, and carefully taking off his shoes. The apartment almost feels—

“…it’s cozy in here.” He says. You watch him walk further in, just a few steps, and look around. “And quiet, and warm.” The smile on his face is reserved, “just like you.”

“Like me?”

He nods, and his smile grows a little more. “Yes, you’re quiet, usually. And you’re always warm. And I’m sure you’re very cozy, too.”

“That sounds more like you.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been called warm…but—”

“I guess you’re only like that with me.”

You can tell he’s relaxing. He laughs, smiles fully, pushes his hair away from his eyes. More importantly, he walks further into your apartment, looks around again, and then sits on the couch.

“Do you want some tea? You’re probably starving. I can order something, there are a few places close by that are fast.”

“Yes, and yes…but there’s no hurry…uhm, let’s have some tea.”

“It’s probably too hot, be careful.” You finally sit down next to him. Close. Closer than you were earlier, and definitely closer than you’ve ever been out to dinner, or lunch, or anywhere.

Seungmin turns toward you. His face is right there, inches from yours. His eyes and his lips, his breath. His eyes are moving between yours and jumping everywhere, like he’s taking all of you in from this distance. Part of you wants to back up, because you haven’t seen in a mirror in hours. But you can’t. He’s a magnet. You think (hope) he wants you to keep pushing forward, and that’s exactly what you do.

It’s as satisfying as you knew it would be. He’s as soft as you imagined, and as sweet. It’s a shy kiss on his part, but you kind of expected that, as well. You like it like that, because he’s taking his time. But you also need a little more, so you take over.

Your hand slides across his neck. He lets you pull him closer, and he doesn’t shy away when you open up and bite down gently on his lower lip. A soft sound escapes him and floats right down your throat, and it makes your knees shake against his.

A knock on the door interrupts right as you feel his hand graze your leg. Seungmin lets go and pulls back, just enough to open his eyes and look at you. “Thank you for getting me dinner,” he says, and he leans into you again until your lips touch.

“…Seungmin.”

“Hm?”

You don’t even know what you were going to say—if you were going to say anything at all. It just feels good saying his name out loud.

“Mm…nothing.”

“Was that okay? The kiss, I mean. I know my braces probably get in the way.”

“No, they don’t…not at all. It was very okay.”

He kisses you again, this time with more confidence. You can feel his smile grow when you grab his arm and pull it around you. And you can feel his braces brush against your lips. He notices, and jumps back.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve waited a long time for this.” You pull him back, and set your lips on his cheek.

“How long?”

“Oh…lemme think,” you pretend to think for a moment, but you don’t need to. You remember exactly when you first saw him and wanted to kiss him. “It was October, last year.”

“That long? Why didn’t I know? It feels like everyone else knew.”

“Nobody else knew. I never told anyone, I thought it was silly, maybe a little inappropriate. You just turned twenty when we met.” You pull away now, and sigh as you fall back into the couch. It sounds even worse when you hear it out loud.

“I don’t think it’s silly. I’m old enough to know what I want.” Seungmin grabs your hand and pulls you back up to him.

“So why me?”

Seungmin thinks, “because you’re cozy and warm,” he smiles, “and you make me laugh.”

“That’s it?”

He laughs again, and it’s so sweet and relaxed and melodic. “I’m comfortable with you, and you’re always there when I need you.”

“That’s nice to hear, considering you don’t act like you need anyone…ever.”

Seungmin goes quiet. He always puts up a strong front, because he doesn’t really know how to act any other way. He's not as cold and quiet as he appears on the outside, and he tries very hard to never come off that way to you.

“Just assume I always do.”

“Always what?”

“Always need you.”

#kim seungmin #seungmin #skz seungmin #kim seungmin x reader #kim seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin x you #seungmin x you #seungmin x reader #seungmin x y/n #kim seungmin fluff #kim seungmin fanfic #seungmin fluff #skz fluff #skz fanfic

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orangesaek · 2 years ago

Note

phone or video sex with mark please? where he’s been on tour and calls reader when he misses her

hi! thank you so much your request 💚 i hope you see this and tell me if you enjoyed it as much as i made it ♡ this was honestly a bit challenging to write — it's so difficult to keep myself from feeling so turned on by kinky mark 🥹

genre: smut, a little bit of fluff

pairings: mark x female reader

word count: 1.7k

warnings: mentions of: porn, sex, masturbating, fingering, cum, kinky stuff, cussing, horny couple lol

a/n: lowercase intended, slightly proofread. also, i'm not adding "fluff" in the tags since this is 98% smut lol

⚠️ MINORS, PLEASE SCROLL AWAY! ⚠️

mark kept tossing and turning in his hotel bed, feeling quite relieved that he and jaehyun were sleeping on separate beds. otherwise, he would have definitely woken the latter up already from his restlessness.

it had already been 2 weeks since the group started their world tour, and they still have a few stops left for the month.

and that means it had already been 2 weeks since the last time you and mark had sex, which also means that he hasn't touched himself since then.

mark never thought he would become addicted to sex until the two of you started dating.

you were just so amazing in bed to the point he stopped relying on porn to jack off, and just imagines fucking the life out of you to do the trick.

he was just blankly staring at the ceiling before he raised his left arm to check the time on his watch. mark heaved a deep sigh after realizing that he only had a few hours left to sleep before they need to wake up for the rehearsals.

"she might be in the middle of work right now..." he mumbled to himself, staring at the ceiling again. this was definitely one of those nights he missed your touch the most.

ever since the two of you started dating, mark has come to love the kinkier side of sex. sure, he enjoyed the slow, more intimate kind, but he has come to enjoy the hard fucks more, bdsm, the quickies, and a lot more — all because of you.

mark dimmed the table lamp and grabbed his phone from the bedside, thinking he could just watch porn at this point instead of disturbing you at work.

he looked over at jaehyun, whose back was facing him before opening his phone's browser in incognito and typed in his favorite go-to porn site. mark heaved another sigh after scrolling through pages of videos, trying to find something to jack off to but failing. nothing really caught his eye enough to get a boner.

mark closed his browser and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. thinking naughty things about you might help him get off, but it had been 2 weeks since he has seen and touched your body that he just felt the absolute need to actually see it again.

"i guess i can try..." he quietly said to himself again before opening your chat thread and quickly sending a 'hey sexy. i miss you sooo so bad :('.

mark closed his eyes, phone held tightly on his chest as he anxiously waited for your reply.

not even a minute later, a buzz on his phone signalled a new text. mark hastily opened the notification before smiling to himself, biting his lower lip in the process.

"hey pretty boy ;) i miss you, too :* but why are you still up?" you replied before sending a follow-up message, "isn't it, like, 2 a.m. over there?"

"yeah, can't sleep, baby :( i wish you were here :(" mark replied almost immediately, a follow-up message coming right after, "are you busy at work right now?"

a smirk fell on your lips after reading mark's follow-up message. you definitely knew what he wanted at that moment, as it wasn't the first time he has texted you like this when he was on tour (and when he was supposed to be sleeping).

mark's heart started beating faster in excitement after reading your reply, "i got you, baby ;* will call you in 10 minutes 👅"

he jumped out of his bed and dashed to the bathroom, quickly locking the door and making his way to the large bathtub. he got inside it and patiently waited for your call.

after sending your reply, you excused yourself from the ongoing seminar, informing your manager that you just had a really bad stomachache and will be heading to the infirmary for some medicine.

of course, that was all a lie.

as soon as you stepped out of the conference room, you ran as fast as you could to the elevator and went down to the parking lot. you got into the back seat of your car, quickly stripping off your clothes and your underwear.

the frequent car sex you had with mark was the reason why you have decided to invest in a really good dark tint for your car.

"hey, pretty boy," you greeted on the other line as soon as he picked up, voice already sounding so seductive for him. he bit his lower lip in a smirk and chuckled lowly, feeling the tingling sensation down his cock.

"hi, sexy." he said. "how are you?"

"not really feeling all too well... i want to see you,"

mark quickly requested for a video call with you, fixing his hair a little bit as he waited for you to accept it.

you quickly secured your phone on your car's phone holder before accepting his video call request.

"holy shit!" mark blurted in surprise as soon as you came into view. you were seated at the backseat, completely naked.

"you like what you see, baby?" you purred, cupping one of your breasts in one hand before playing with your nipple and dangling both of your legs on the sides of the seats infront, allowing mark to see the thing he's been craving for the past 2 weeks — your pussy.

mark could only gulp in response, feeling his boner growing by the second.

"let me see you, babe." you said, letting out a quiet moan as you used your free hand to lightly massage your clit.

"m-mark... baby..." you moaned in pleasure. "feels so... good..."

"fuck," mark grunted, positioning his phone in front of him and letting it lean on the bathroom tiles for support. he then shimmied out of his boxers in a hurry, with his hard cock springing out in full view.

you let out a gasp at the view of his big, hard cock. oh how you've missed it so much.

"fuck, baby. i want to suck your cock so bad right now," you moaned, still touching your now-wet pussy.

"oh yeah?" mark said, lips slightly parted as he started pumping his cock slowly, his eyes focused on your body. "i miss seeing you choke on my cock, baby."

"f-fuck," you moaned some more, turned on by the memory of deepthroating mark and how he would hold onto your hair to fuck your mouth until he cums.

"suck your nipple for me, angel." mark said. he let out a moan, increasing his pace as soon as you cupped your other breast higher and brought it to your mouth, licking and sucking on your nipple.

"fuck," he growls. "you're so hot."

you stopped playing with your nipple and used both of your hands to part the lips of your pussy, letting mark see its pink flesh. mark moaned again in pleasure, remembering how he'd hungrily eat it and how addicting its taste was for him.

"two... fingers..." mark said breathlessly as he pumped even faster, his eyes focused hazily on your pussy.

you adjusted yourself for mark to get a better view of you before placing two fingers on your clit, lightly massaging it, and the other two at the entrance.

"lift your shirt, baby. i want to see your nipples," you said, biting your bottom lip at the pleasure from your clit. hearing mark moan whenever you'd lick, suck and softly bite on his nipples was one of the things that turned you on, and for mark, it was one of things he never thought he would find so hot for a girl to do.

mark took off his shirt and threw it somewhere in the bathroom before spitting in his hand and pumping his hard cock again. you licked your lips at the sight of mark's fully naked body.

still massaging your clit, you licked your other hand's middle and ring finger and sucked on them seductively, moaning in the process.

"ahhh, fuck," mark groaned as his head lolled back in pleasure.

you let out a long moan as soon as you inserted your fingers into your pussy, slowly pumping it in and out, and massaging your clit at the same time.

"fuck, fuck," mark hissed, pumping faster, eyes rolling at the back of his head.

"hmm," you moaned, feeling so turned on by mark's reaction. you pumped your fingers in and out faster, now aggressively rubbing your clit.

"babe... your c-cock..." you said in between breaths, feeling your juice dripping. "want... it..."

"fuck, babe..." mark let out another groan, feeling another tingling sensation in his cock. "i-i'm g-gonna... cum..."

having been with mark for a while now, you have come to learn the things that drove him crazy in bed. and one of those things is when you would suck on your nipple as you fingered your pussy, which was exactly what you did at that moment.

"shit, i'm cumm—fuck!" mark grunted as he pumped even faster, his head lolled back again and eyes closed tigtly as he heard you moaning loudly on the call.

"m-mark... fuck, i'm cumming!" you said, your own eyes closed as you quickened your pace and pinched your nipple hard, the sensation driving you crazy.

"fuckfuckfuckfuc—shit!" mark hissed when he finally reached his high, his cum dripping all over his beaten cock. he heard you moaning quietly and chuckled tiredly.

"did you cum, babe?" he asked, panting. you could only hum in response, still catching your breath.

"i love you so much, baby," he said. "i love you, and i miss you so much."

you chuckled in response before giving him a tired smile, "i love you, too, mark. so, so much. and i miss you."

after catching up for a bit (while quickly putting on your clothes again and fixing yourself, mark did the same and cleaned the tub), the two of you ended the call with a promise from mark that he'll take you out on a fun date once he comes home from tour.

mark jumped up in suprise as soon as he opened the door to the bathroom, his face drained of color.

"i just hope there's no residue on the tub, bro." jaehyun said as he patted mark's shoulder with a knowing grin on his face before walking past him into the bathroom.

- end.

requests are OPEN! feel free to send in an ask ♡

oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR! i wish for whatever everyone's been manifesting to fall into place this year ✨️

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wrengaunt · 4 months ago

Text

I’m back ! 🥹

It's been a difficult few months, and I chose to focus on my mental health and just draw some silly things I didn’t share, just to brighten up some of my friends' days a bit.

But I'm back with an adorable little Sebinis, and in collab with the best of all, @pufflehuffing ! I jump on her fics every time a new one come out, and I'm literally crazy about every of her WIP. I’ll put a little snippet on here. Go HERE to read the kiss scene 🥹💛 It’s adorable, fluffy and so cute. I love it, and I’m honored my art is linked to one of her work 🥺

My fav dialogue of this fic is just under this ⬇️

"Can I tell you something?"

He’s still hesitant, but Sebastian can tell he’s ready. So, he nods once again, silently urging him to give it a try, to speak up and go ahead. He's here, and he's waiting, and nothing will change that.

"I'm really scared of relationships," Ominis begins softly, face downcast as he mumbles. "I've never been in one before, and I've witnessed how they can end. And I just… I just don't want to get hurt."

The real core fear. Fear of being hurt. And underneath it all, even more deeply buried, is his fear of being abandoned. Sebastian knows he has only the thinnest thread to start pulling on, but he has to try. He's already brought Ominis this far. He's not going to stop now.

"You're absolutely right," he replies slowly, making sure his words are meaningful and impactful. Because the last thing he wants to do is say something that reinforces those fears. "But you know what I've learned? Love always carries with it the risk of pain. Even at the best of times, it's never easy or simple."

He lets those words hang in the air for a bit, letting Ominis take the ideas in. Because ultimately, he’s got to be the one to make his mind up. He has got to be the one to decide what he’s willing to risk… and what he’s willing to hold back.

"But the thing that makes love so beautiful," Sebastian continues softly, knowing that he's getting deeper into his troubled mind now, "is that it's totally worth it. Because… even if it ends with… pain, that pain tells you one thing."

He leans closer.

"That you lived it. That you took a risk and allowed yourself to feel something real and meaningful. And you shouldn't regret that. Because it only ends with pain because you actually cared. And caring in the first place was worth it."

Ominis starts sobbing again, not from sadness, but from understanding. Him understanding.

"You've been hurt before," Sebastian guesses, but the way he says it tells Ominis he's not making a casual observation. "Maybe it's from your family, or a friend, or who knows? All I'm saying is that it happened. So, you learned to guard yourself. And you know what? That's okay. That's actually smart."

"It's not," Ominis chuckles, his voice frail. "Because now I'm crying in a hallway over something stupid."

"It's not stupid," Sebastian replies, and his voice carries an undeniable tenderness. "It's overwhelming, maybe, but it's not stupid."

He softens his tone ever so slightly, not to coddle his friend, but to encourage him. "You just care. A lot. And even though it hurts, that just means you have a lot of love to give. And that's never, never stupid."

"Why do you care?" Ominis asks quietly.

Sebastian leans back, looking him in the eyes.

"Because you're worth it."

🖤 READ MORE ON AO3 💛

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy fanart #ominis gaunt fanart #sebinis #sebastian x ominis #gauntlow #Sebinis fanart #sebinis fanfiction #hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow fanfiction #ominis x sebastian

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sukunasun · 2 years ago

Note

how would gojo treat his partner/wife?

gojo doesn't really do the whole boyfriend thing very well, not for lack of trying but he's made it very clear. or as clear as "i've never had a girlfriend" can be. which pretty much explains everything.

there are late-night meetups and month-long breaks in between. maybe a gift or two when he's trying to make up for something, it's the only way he knows how to apologize. the latest being cartier bracelets tucked in a red bag, one he holds up to your face eagerly wishing that you'd just forget he's so flawed, in no way ready for commitment, or to talk about it. "i'm sorry, it's just really complicated," he'll sigh. nothing holds gojo down you think. he comes and goes as he pleases. always growing, changing, keeping the end of the world from happening all in plain sight while you move on with a life filled with mundane things he’s probably got no time or reason to care about.

it feels a lot like loving a god sometimes, how he's just that bit out of touch, and...impossible. one who’s desperately trying to be human. with so much fear in his shaking hands and bated breaths, with his lip tucked between teeth, holding back the words he shall never utter, 'don't leave, don't look at me, don't touch me where it hurts.’ gojo treats you—at least initially—like he would anyone else. like he’s learning to love for the first time.

backdraft or whatever they call it. opening a door to a burning house, a fire that bursts and screams at the first rush of oxygen. he wants you to step inside and manage these tempers, seething and roiling resentment, a roof that falls in on itself.

all this and he's yet to tell you how he really feels about you, however, every once in a while, he does make the effort to call.

“hey it's me,” he says the moment you answer because who else would it be at this hour...does that thing with his voice that's so effortless. warm, and inviting. seductive really. ringing through right as the snow outside begins to frost over wilting leaves.

“sorry, don’t think i know who this is,” you reply, adding a playful lilt to the end of it. there’s a low chuckle in return, then the rustling of sheets, it’s enough to paint you a picture of him in bed. a very large bed from what you remembered, but the last time you’d stopped by his place, there'd been no need for accurate measurements, thread counts, and whether or not he’d gone with sustainable options. in fact, there was no need for talking at all, only muffled moans into the crook of your neck, a whining plea here or there. gojo likes to grit through his teeth, pausing before every first thrust, a savourer is he.

speaking of which, he asks, “how’d you like a reminder?”

you weigh things out, tucking your phone between ear and shoulder. "it's a tempting offer...but i'm starting to feel a little used here," you say. this is just a check-in point for him. just so he knows he still can have his fill of you and...whatever it is you bring to the table, he hasn't actually told you.

'it's the sex' your brain reminds you—all the multiple orgasms in under an hour–type sex, in an onsen, over a balcony, backshots and binding you to fancy rig, will accept a blowjob only if you want to, eager to please, so willing to learn—no, that's not true, the both of you are so much more than that. you talk about very important things like the news and whats good on tv right now. just as long as it doesn't have anything to do with his past or his future or what exactly is the state of this relationship...so it's definitely the sex.

"i thought that's what you wanted, weren't you screaming it at the top of your lungs that night?" for effect, he acts it out for you, "oh use me, do whatever you like," he doesn't try to pitch his voice higher, which makes it all the more embarrassing when hearing your own words said back to you with such impassiveness, such tease. who you were during the throes of passion is not the same person outside of it. to think he'd been a virgin when he met you.

"that selective memory of yours never ceases to amaze me," you can't help the smile that widens on your face.

he smiles too, despite not being able to see it, you know it's there. "well im a very selective man, i don't just ask anyone on a date." you roll your eyes at that. oh how you should feel so lucky. most times he chooses the place because gojo likes what he likes and your recommendations end up getting shot down or made fun of anyways.

you'd say the best part is that he shows up every time. something about how he detests people who flake on him. which is surprising because if anyone were to be tardy and forgetful, it'd be the man who's maybe a bit too blase about anything that doesn't hold his interest for long. that includes when and where his missions are, a flailing hand brushing off any bit of urgency or seriousness. picks and chooses the things he finds worthy of his efforts, his overly exaggerated bouts of emotion—"you wanna go sit by a lake and talk?" people often say he talks too much, besides didn't he just get off the phone with you hours ago.

"we're bonding, there's a difference," you defend, putting your foot down on the matter. if it'd been months earlier, you wouldn't have thought to stand your ground, and maybe a part of you would have been anxious over his reaction but gojo only gives you a pout. shiny, moistened lips giving it away, he's not coming out of this one without a fight and he's annoyed about it. reluctant.

so he'll make an exception, "fine, we'll psychoanalyze each other, how exciting—" the sarcasm is slathered and piled on thick. if he weren't masked you'd kick him in the shin for that eye roll he gives you, childlike almost, given the chance he might even stick his tongue out, "—but i get to choose the place, ah, ah, it's about compromise darling."

——————————————————

later on, when he's three parfaits deep into a sugar rush at a maid cafe, he admits, "you scare me sometimes," of course, he understands the importance of communication, and getting to know one another is part of the deal, this is what girlfriends and boyfriends do, but— "how are you still here?" there's something hidden in his question, sometimes it feels almost like he's testing you to see if you'd be offended, taken aback, huffing out indignantly and stomping away, making him watch you leave.

still, your answer remains the same. "i like you," you sigh out into the night, feeling his arms wrapped around your middle. gojo doesn't need worshipping or sacrifices made to please and appease, but he’s feeling ten feet tall in this body, too long and large, housing power he didn’t ask for.

“you really mean that?” he whispers in the crook of your neck, you don’t miss the hint of self-deprecation there, or the uncertainty.

so you reach a hand up, just enough to hold his head full of self-doubt, “yes," is all that's needed for him to crumble. walls coming down.

"you're the only woman i've ever been with," he admits. waiting for the moment you face away from him so it's not as revealing, not as vulnerable, and he can say it with just that little bit of courage because he wouldn't see your reaction, he's escaped death many times, he'd be able to say it now, say it here. "and i intend to keep it that way..." you know he's waiting in anticipation for the final blow, the real death that comes for him is when he loses you because of how unlikely it sounds, gojo satoru, the strongest sorcerer alive, only bedded one woman.

his fingers come up to graze the slope of your shoulder, before he wraps an arm around your chest, pressing his weight into you from behind, wrapping you up, only it's ten times heavier when his admission presses down on your thumping little heart alongside with it.

——————————————————

in the middle of a restaurant in ginza, gojo breaks his chopsticks in half along a deep line with fine precision, before rubbing them back and forth to remove the thin, stray hairs of aspen. there are people who look up when the sound catches their attention, then avert their eyes away. but not before lingering over his striking looks for that split second, blue eyes and white hair, what a combo.

he barely notices at this point, but he does know you’re watching from where you sit. food untouched, like you’re waiting for something to happen. you don’t need his permission he thinks, or at least, no one had ever waited for it. so he explains before you get the chance to ask, getting it out of the way and maybe then you’ll start digging in and he wouldn’t have to sit in this weird, silent tension, “he always did it this way,” gojo shrugs.

you don’t ask who 'he' refers to, “i wasn’t going to say anything,” you reply, nodding along, trying to ease some of the nerves there because this isn't to do with the chopsticks, but that gojo gets like this around christmas. actually, he gets like this almost all the time these days.

“why aren’t you eating? the unagi’s really nice,” he points to the piece of eel that’s cooked to perfection, glazed and sticky. “is it not to your liking?” he looks up quickly, searching your face, looking for any sign of distaste.

“it’s fine,” you stop him from waving down the waiter, knowing he intends to order something else for you. but he never asks, not about what you would prefer or if you had any aversions to seafood. instead, he plays a guessing game, only tries, and tries again. hoping that he’d get it right immediately. just another thing satoru does. that he's way more accommodating than most would give him credit for. so much so you forget that he's barely touched the unagi himself, choosing instead to nudge it closer to you.

and maybe he’d been to used to this, maybe he’d always gotten it right with the one before you, maybe that’s why it hurts so much. and you're too occupied with wiping tears behind a blindfold that night to make sense of it when he can’t stop dreaming about long silken hair tucked into a bun, of a scent that lingers on a street crossing and by a classroom window.

still, he tucks a finger underneath the band. revealing clumped-up strands of white, silver, grey...a storming ocean swirls. a woman finally found, what a sight to behold. who chooses him and cleaves his heart in two every time she so much as smiles, calls him by his name, and touches his skin with her own. gently at first and then in a pressured, firm grip. "i'm not going anywhere," hand wholly encompassing his, fingers entwined, or maybe it's the other way around. gojo's got a wide expanse of palm, life and heart lines spanning across a region of an untouched, unmarred surface, all the power to bend space, time, and an infinity simmering above it.

“it’s gonna be okay,” you say, feeling a minuscule gap close where you finally feel him, really feel him.

#happy belated gojo unsealed day #brought this one out of the drafts and dusted it off #gojo satoru #gojo hcs #gojo headcanons #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru hcs #sunpiece

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onlyseokmins · 8 months ago

Text

$$60 billion (part 2) • l.s.m.

How did a legendary bounty promised for turning in the wasteland's most infamous outlaw transform into a sick, little inside betting joke amongst your traveling companions? Though you have no idea why they're doing it… you sure as hell don't want that very same gunslinger comrade worth sixty billion double dollars to know anything about it either — but oops — looks like he already does! Damn you and your temper, some unhelpful lip-loosening alcohol, and one no-good, sorry excuse of a preacher you sometimes think of as a friend.

Pairing: outlaw!lee seokmin x fem!reader Genres: smut (minors dni!), trigun!au, action!au, apocalyptic/post-apocalyptic!au, space western!au, slight enemies to comrades to ??? !au, angst, fluff, they're dumbasses your honor 🙏 Warnings: swearing, blood, guns, injuries, medical tingz, destruction, mentions of knives, violence, unsettling space western things, slight body horror and hints at altered dna, weird religious cults, mentions of eating/food, alcohol, threats, bets among friends, tame-ish alien/monster/plant sex (????? listen it'll make sense - think of him like howl's bird form on steroids idk), mating, possessiveness!, marking, bruising, jealousy, smelling/scent kink???, wet messy sex uwu, wing kink (??? listen i was gonna explore it more but decided not to ok??), BITING (bc it's me), mechanical/robotic fingering???, gagging, bulge kink, oral sex (explicit male receiving and brief fem. receiving), seokmin's dick is like SLOPPY TOPPY LORGE w/ a mind of it's own, lowkey forgot how to write smut sorry </3 WC: 13.2k of 32.7k | Part 1 | Read on AO3 A/N: this is for the Now that's 90's - A Seventeen collab and loosely based off/inspired by the Trigun anime/manga! You do not need to know it as I manipulated a whole lot of elements for my own narrative but beware of various spoilers if you do go ahead and check out the series after reading!! I hope everyone enjoys the conclusion and please check out the other writers in this amazing collab ❤️PS, I know nothing abt chess lmaooooo but let me know your thoughts and feel free to ask any questions regarding this au's intricacies!! This part might get a little confusing because of a flashback!! (starts right after the italicized paragraph and ends with "...in this moment...")

The silence is palpable.

"Does it hurt more to get stabbed in the back or shot?"

Only the continual rustling sound answers your philosophical question. Not that you actually care because you weren't really expecting a reply.

So, you keep talking.

"I think it would be more painful to get stabbed… but it would take longer to heal from a gunshot wound."

There's a brief pause in the motions behind you. But the quiet resumes, though the practiced skill of a needle threading through your skin quickens. While the local anesthetics Tonim's doctor supplied is doing its job for the most part, you swear you can still feel the tug of flesh being sewn together.

Or maybe you're just thinking too hard.

"Look. I'm… I'm sorry."

If tension could personify itself right at this moment, it would do so with ease, given how heavy its presence currently sits in the room. A low voice finally speaks up, gravely and roughened after such a long period of silence and the hairs on your neck rise.

"Are you really?"

"… Yes."

A heavy sigh — one burdened with all the worries of the world — follows. You wince and then tremble, wishing you could turn around. It's easy to guess what he's thinking but god, do you wish you could see his face to confirm. The fear of the unknown paralyzes you.

"I seriously am."

"Doubtful. I know you only asked me that question to subtly say you'll be okay and heal just fine but it's not that simple."

The callousness in his tone and the sharp way he says your first name makes you want to shrink down, shrivel up, and quite frankly die on the spot. Gritting your teeth, you succumb to the apparent silent treatment until the snip of scissors signifies your surgeon has finished treating you.

You think twice about your options upon hearing the click-clack of medical supplies being put back into the first aid kit. Then you think, "fuck it!", and use your good arm to keep the fabric of a spare t-shirt pressed against your chest and shift so you can face the man who just rather aggressively threw a handful of unused alcohol prep pads back into their designated slot.

"I'm super duper, utterly, and truly apologetic, Seok."

The gunslinger heaves another grand exhale of irritation. He doesn't even so much as glance at you, frowning sourly down at the roll of gauze in his hands instead. The temptation to reach out and touch him — soothe him — is strong but you decide against that (for various reasons) and resort to huffily pouting instead. Amazingly it seems to work, because he notices right away and folds way too easily without much of your sway, finally facing you with a reluctant but serious expression.

"Then what did you learn?"

Your gaze lowers, eyelashes fluttering while you drown in your feelings of shame and wrack your brain. The urge to toy with the silver chain around your neck is strong though you resist the tick and hesitantly answer instead.

"Um, that I need to fortify my mental block better?"

"Try again."

"Uh…"

"How about the way you're not supposed to play the hero?"

The tin of the trauma kit rattles as Seokmin slams his left hand down on the bed, leaning menacingly toward you. Though narrowed, his eyes seem to glow. You can't help but whimper at the intense ire dancing in those irises paired with his sharp tone. Like the desert's suns, it simmers and radiates off of him with rays of heat that you can easily feel given how close he is.

"I'm, I'm sorry!"

"No, you're not," he states sharply though the rigidness in his body relaxes after your squeak of another apology. "You almost died!"

You'd defiantly cross your arms if you could. "Between the two of us, you were most at risk of dying."

"Was not! And we both know my chances of injury are much, much lower than yours."

"You can't lecture me and flex your stupid powers this time! It's different 'cause Jihooon was fuckin' with my mind."

The harsh bitterness is more so directed at yourself and the damned Crimsonnail than Seokmin. But as usual, you vent all your frustrated emotions out on him, especially whenever he brings up the fragility of your mortality. You both stare stubbornly into each other's eyes, thinking back to what happened and what could've happened.

Lina's protected. The Tonim residents were all immobilized. Seungcheol, Seungkwan, and Mingyu are in good spirits. You are safe.

A burst of air rushes into Seokmin's lungs, relief filling him as he idly scans your figure for injuries. Casually reloading his revolver just in case, he beams as you approach. The mirrored expression of victory on your face accompanied by a hand reaching out causes his whole body to shudder in pleasure. There's nothing he'd like more than to intertwine his fingers with yours.

Instead, he settles for returning your enthusiastic fist bump. Nudging his shoulder against yours, Seokmin chirps out, "Good job, partner!"

"Partner?"

"Yeah, partners."

You shake your head like you can't believe him, amusement tilting up the corners of your lips. He wants to tell you everything, all of it. But his ears catch the faint click of a contraption behind him and he looks over his shoulder just in time to see Jihoon's crossbow assemble.

Joshua looks mightily displeased but makes no effort to put a stop to the Crimsonnail's actions. Seokmin can only thank his lucky stars that Soonyoung remains in a catatonic state. Dealing with a ginormous worm so soon after being in its stomach a couple days ago was not appealing in the slightest.

The fingers of his prosthesis splay out, cybernetic arm lowered and extended outwards in front of you as you turn around as well. He knows you hate unwarranted protection but you'll have to forgive his instincts this time. Nevertheless, he trusts you. And as Jihoon opens fire, Seokmin leaps into action, expecting you to do the same — only to do a double-take when you don't move despite a flurry of nails breaching the air.

Your eyes remain unfocused. Glazed over and cloudy, posture tense but still. He sneaks observatory looks your way from afar while firing Geranium. Round after round, breaking nail after nail to prevent any harm befalling you. A maniacal laughter rings out and Seokmin freezes, putting two and two together.

Then he snarls.

Jihoon must've sicced his killing intent — a nasty ability to project and create illusions of destruction in someone and break their will — on you. Cursing, he starts making his way closer to you, inwardly reaching out to you and begging that you'll break free of the blonde-haired man's clutch on your psyche.

You're obviously more than capable. He knows this. But your movements are sluggish, slowly releasing Sirocco from your grasp. The empty pistol lands on the sand with a muffled thud and Seokmin's pretty sure his heart mimics it. A look of terror and horror spreads across your facial features, surely subject to something awful within the confines of your own mind.

And while you're experiencing visions of things you fear coming true, he's stuck in the vivid reality where they do.

You spin around with a wild look in your eyes — full of rage and anguish. He stumbles back as you teeter one foot at a time toward him and in the distraction, a nail pierces right below your shoulder blade.

Someone wails behind him.

You scream.

Seokmin rushes forward. But he's tackled suddenly to the ground and ends up flat on his back. Completely winded and left with his vision smarting, blinking in confusion at the blurry double halos that definitely shouldn't be around the duo of suns in the sky.

Then your face comes into focus. And god, forget the suns — in all your glory and in all your fierceness, you shine brighter than them all combined — hallucinations be damned.

It takes a bit of wrangling around, given how you try to wrestle and pin the man down. The clunky gun you're waving around goes off several times, harmlessly lodging bullet holes into the sand cushioning around Seokmin's head.

"Stop it, you're gonna hurt yourself!"

Moving and lashing out like a wild animal before it's fully sedated, his words don't come through the hellish haze Jihoon's trapped you in. You pull the trigger with no regard for the injury to your shooting arm.

Bang!

He dutifully counts each round fired, multitasking between that and the effort it takes to contain your struggling movements. Once again, thanks to the overpowered strength of his prosthetic, the man's finally able to sit up with you secured in his arms to cease any further movement.

"Lovely, lovely mayfly," he murmurs. The stable cybernetic hand gently feels around the impaled shoulder while a trembling thumb rubs your abnormally chilled cheek. "C'mon and snap out of it, pretty."

Not a spot of recognition in your blank glare. His eyebrows furrow as cold metal presses in between them. Seungcheol is cursing, Mingyu and Seungkwan are shouting loudly. Jihoon gloats.

But none of that matters. Seokmin drowns all of it out by diving in the pooling depths of your empty irises. Searching, calling, begging. Biting his lip, he delivers a quick slap and pleads, "Come back to me, love."

And like a mist that rises after dawn, you return to him. Your stunned grip on the gun falters, the final bullet rattling in its chambers. The pained expression on your face slices open his own heart but its shredded form takes flight in utter relief.

You're back. You're going to be okay — he'll make sure of it. And even if you don't know it, you're his and he's yours.

"Y-you're dead," you choke out and all he can do is smile despite feeling like he's on the verge of crying. Elation, anger, guilt, hope, longing, worry, joy — all of it turns and tosses within him like a rustling flurry of winged creatures struggling to break free.

So, he smiles at you and grasps the barrel of the old pistol aimed at his forehead. "I know, mayfly."

Jihoon howls in fury. Joshua finally steps forward, striking a military pose with his hands behind his back. Composed as ever, his voice remains its deceptively sweet self compared to the harsh jerking movements he's subjected upon the gray-eyed man via telepathy.

"You've crossed the line, lost number thirteen."

"Don't call me that!"

It's no surprise that the pecking order in Dokyeom's henchmen sowed seeds of dissent. Though Joshua was simply a right-hand man, he remained the only unnumbered member, proving the lack of disposability DK saw in him versus the others.

"Know your place."

"Which has always been at the top! But because of you — !"

" — The top of those already at the bottom, perhaps. Respect your superiors and your orders, Crimsonnail. You were not to lay a hand upon Master Dokyeom's brother. Ever."

"I didn't!"

"Or a member of his little group." His indifferent gaze swept over Seokmin protectively cradling your body. "This voids our involvement and nullifies any further implementations of the game."

Joshua would thank his lucky stars that the humanoid typhoon is letting them leave scotch-free if he was a decent man. Unfortunately, he's not — already considering what punishment to enact upon Jihoon per his master's orders. The Crimsonnail feels a shiver down his spine, further enhanced by Joshua's frosty, disdainful look of disapproval as he telepathically drags Jihoon to the car.

Still, it's a good thing Seokmin's a pacifist by nature, that he's more preoccupied by your well being than anything else. Your brow begins to bead with sweat, the pain of your wound finally sinking in past the adrenaline rush wearing off. Black circles dance in your blurring vision, the gun falling from your grasp as you droop forward and rely on the unerring sureness of his support and the safety within in it.

Seokmin knows he needs to get you medical help right away, and it's the only thing he can focus on. There's no time for exchanging a blow with a blow nor the faintest idea of revenge.

Not yet. Not now. Maybe never if it means putting you in harm's way.

Was he really going to give up following the bloody trail to hold his brother accountable for the unspeakable crimes he's committed? Throw away the blank ticket Rem spoke about? All for one person?

The questions all swirl around in his head like a nebulous mass. And like a newborn star — one that's been long in the making — the answer is crystal clear and shining bright as you sit in front of him now looking devastatingly beautiful to him despite all that's happened. Most importantly, you're safe.

But all he can say in this moment aloud is, "I'm sorry."

For a multitude of reasons. So many of them. You seem to spot something in his eyes, frowning ever so slightly.

"You don't have to apologize for anything. I'm fine."

"I almost lost you."

"But you didn't."

"…I know. And I'm so fuckin' glad."

Seokmin runs his fingers in a distressed manner through dusty, matted strands of reddish-brown strands. Immediately drawing attention to the dirt, grime, and dried blood coating and dulling the cybernetic's buzzing glow.

"That's gonna be a pain in the ass to clean."

He appreciates the subject change, shooting you a lopsided grin. "Yeah, tell me 'bout it."

"Let me help."

You get up before he can protest. A tactical way to coerce him into worrying about helping you rather than arguing. The coy part of yourself is applauding the method, especially when the calloused flesh of his palm splays against the bare skin of your lower back in the name of support as you both walk to the bathroom.

That same part whispers naughty temptations to drop the t-shirt covering your chest, press up against him, and see his reaction. But your reasonable, reserved side is too held up on various other matters to give in.

Sadly, you find out you can't offer as much assistance as you would've liked. But Seokmin seems heartened by just seeing you up and about and close to him. Plus, you make use of your idleness while he washes in the sink by reaching for the few stocked amenities you can reach with your good shoulder above it when he asks for them. And you receive a heartfelt smile in return.

"I probably should've just showered."

You shrug. "You still could."

"Nah, it's fine, I can do it later. What about you, though? You're going to need help with those stitches."

"What a roundabout way to say you want to bathe together, Seok. You could've just asked."

Maybe you expected him to splutter nervously or protest fiercely at the tease. You certainly don't expect him to just shake his head — silver earring flashing in the vanity's dull lighting — and chuckle.

"I'm being serious, goof. Besides, it's not the first time I've seen you in the tub."

"What?" you squawk and his grin doesn't falter. In fact, it turns into a smirk.

"I'll go get Sherry. Lina's gonna want to see you too, she wouldn't stop crying about her pretty savior getting hurt."

You frown. Was he still going to dodge The Talk™? And did he think you were really just going to him out of your clutches that quickly?

"We still need to chat. You promised."

His eyes flash. "… And you don't like promises."

Yes, that was exactly why. He knew your history. Still, you refused to back down.

"No, I don't. But I like you… and, and most of all, I trust you. I just want the truth, Seok. Even if you think it'll hurt me, at least be honest. Trust me back. I promise it'll make it less painful if you tell me why you thought I wasn't serious. So, please…"

Don't let me down.

It's unspoken, but he can clearly hear it in your tone. A battle-worn sigh escapes so you try to lead him and finish with a question where he can give a more straightforward answer.

"… How long have you known? About the bet, I mean."

Despite wavering between semi-alertness and bordering the edge of losing consciousness, you're aware of Sheryl's presence as she bustles around with Seungkwan and Mingyu to clear out an empty room above the saloon temporarily used for patients. Seungcheol waits outside the door with you two, a cigarette loosely dangling from his lips.

When Sheryl leaves, she sneaks a peek at the way your face buries into Seokmin's neck, how the man carefully assesses the rest of your body for injuries. His touch is gentle, the cybernetic arm coated in blood as it holds the nail in you steady. He'd been adamant about being the one — the best one — to treat you. Smiling, she hands Seungcheol a couple of double dollars and the pastor raises an inquiring eyebrow.

"For that little game of yours," the woman whispers knowingly and gestures to the two who just exited the room and Seokmin hurriedly heads inside. "They told me all about it."

You lift your head to glare at Seungcheol and then your other comrades as you pass, wondering if this was some sick form of revenge for pulling one on him and if Sheryl was so keen to set you up with someone in the same way pompously done for her. But your shoulder feels like it's on fire so rather than reprimand your stupid, back-stabbing friends and slump back wearily against Seokmin.

He's a simple man who certainly can't hide a silly smile at the unconventional snuggling. Lifting his chin, he then tilts his head questioningly to the money in Seungcheol's hands. "You're still doing that bet?"

"Haf'ta win the lasses 'n hopeless romantics over 'n have 'em rootin' fer ya."

"Y-you know about the bet?"

Seokmin hushes you with a low murmur, words muffled by the press of his lips to the crown of your head. You can't make out what he says, but the timbre is soothing enough that your eyes close.

"Gotta make that sixty billion somehow if we're not turnin' ya ass in."

"Fair enough!" The wanted man laughs and closes the door with his foot.

His cheerful demeanor then dropped to focus on the proper procedures to treat your wound and that's when the silence settles in, soon followed by the weighing air of unresolved tension between you. And now, you're continuing the determined path to fully speed-run ahead and break it, though he shrugs nonchalantly at the question.

"Known for a while, to be honest."

"Seriously? I thought it was a secret!"

"C'mon, you know how bad Cheol is at keeping them."

"Yeah, right," you roll your eyes. "That man takes things to the grave — literally!"

"You're too hard on him." Seokmin leans toward you, bracing himself with an arm supported by the sink and brown eyes sparkling with humor. "Think about how much you've learned about him."

"Against my will, too much…"

"Which means I'm right."

"… I guess you do make a fair point."

"Of course. He's a completely open book once you peel back that damn protective hardcover of his."

Still, you sniff disdainfully and frown. "I swear, you're the only one who sees him like that."

"Like what?"

"Like…. unafraid, unconcerned, unbothered by all that he is, all that he's done, et cetera."

"Why not? He's done the same for me. Besides, I've said it before but he has those eyes, you know. Kind."

Ah, and that's what gets you to resign with a small grin. It's just like Seokmin to see only the good in people.

"And you're not all that different," he continues with a broad, knowing smile. Immediately you bristle and he clarifies, "from me." Some part of you momentarily wonders if you spoke your thoughts aloud or if he just simply knows them that well. "As loath as you are to admit it, you care for him. Most importantly, you trust him."

Though your face sours at the thought, you don't retort right away. Sure, Seungcheol is a trusted ally. And maybe the motivation to free Jeonghan from the control of the Eye of Joshua wasn't solely because it was simply the right thing to do. But also because it might brighten the dull spark and leave one less bloodstain on the hand of a man who bore the burdensome weight of all sins like a cross on his shoulders.

Then you wave away those thoughts for now. "So, is that why you thought I wasn't serious on how I feel about you. 'Cause of the bet?"

"No, because I never knew the full extent of it. But… if you're saying it had to do with your feelings, then I would have to say yes — though I find it hard to believe any bet's worth my bounty."

"Oh." Your cheeks heat at unwittingly giving it away.

Seokmin smirks when you avoid his gaze, and he moves in even closer. "No one has sixty billion double dollars just lying around, mayfly."

"You're just saying that so no one turns you over to July."

"Well, you won't do it, will you?"

"You don't know that," you fire back, intending to heighten your defenses that only weakly falter because you're still not looking at him.

"But I do."

"Yeah? Prove it!"

Ooh, a challenge.

And one more step closer.

"Because you care too much about the man you like to put him behind bars."

Your eyes dart back to meet his, ready to squint reproachfully only to widen at how the gunslinger's face is only a breadth away from yours. Breath hitching, you desperately want to whine out in irritation but it comes out in a low whimper. Seokmin's canines flash in the bathroom's dim lighting.

"That's not, that's not fair." The wall pressing into your bare back keeps you from retreating and the hand keeping the t-shirt covering your chest feels how your heartbeat speeds up. Your skin is on fire, only the cool temperature of your locket and its chain preventing you from utterly exploding after the plaintive admission of, "You already know everything. But…"

"But…?"

The unconscious action of biting into your lower lip only gets realized by the way it keenly draws Seokmin's eyes. Electric blue flashes against brown irises yet they darken to almost black with the sudden thrill of desire that rises to the surface. He's so close, you can feel his breath caress your face, and you swear you hear it deepen into a low grunt before he raises a brow for you to continue.

"But… b-but I don't know…a single… thing."

Seokmin has forever believed Rem's take regarding the ticket to the future always being blank. For him, it's always been an unknown path forward that he's let lead him wherever and to whatever destination.

He holds himself back, just enough to utter the (practically what should be unneeded) words of reassurance, "It could only ever be you — and it's always been only you — that I could be in love with so much, mayfly," and then he's eliminating the meager distance between the two of you. For the first time, he stamps that blank ticket with an assuredness of the future and outcome he's never had before — with a kiss.

Cradling the back of your head with his cybernetic prosthesis, the other cups your cheek and then trails down to your collarbones — but no further than appropriate. His mouth, though, disregards the very notion. A teasing tongue repeatedly runs across your bottom lip to smooth out the indents caused earlier by your teeth then naughtily pokes and prods its way between, eliciting a sweet gasp from you he absolutely devours.

Your whole body shudders with happiness, eagerly surrendering to the man's wild, possessive fervor as he passionately steals the breath out of your lungs and stakes his claim on you by leaving behind shiny kiss-bitten lips. Seokmin only draws away, panting, to admire his handiwork, light-headed and dizzy with delight.

"I love you," he reconfirms with his forehead resting against yours and nose tickling your own, "… partner."

Breathlessly, you joke back after placing a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. "Love you too, partner."

And that was that.

With your shoulder injury on the mend and the other members of your little ragtag group nursing their own bumps and bruises, you all decided to spend one more night in Tonim — much to Lina's delight. While she merrily bounced from one 'hero' to the next, you playfully reminded Wonwoo that he still owed you some free drinks. You were eager to take advantage of the fact and he was more than willing to accommodate.

The tavern that originally held a subdued, slightly hostile air to it when you first arrived was now filled with an unfettered joyous harmony. You're so easily swept up in the ambiance of such high spirits and jubilant townsfolk as mug ales filled to the brim get passed around and clinked together, you fail to notice Seokmin's sudden withdrawn nature.

Not until the next morning do you first realize something's off.

"You're sure about this?"

"Oh, no. Not you too, Seok."

You'd already flipped off and shoved away a complaining, terribly hungover Seungcheol and finally got rid of the watchful, fretting gazes of Seungkwan and Mingyu. The duo had been hovering around you with concern ever since you downed a full glass of alcohol last night. While you generally just let them be and were quite thankful not to wake up with a pounding headache, you certainly weren't above crushing all of Mingyu's pudding cups if he meekly asked one more time if you were okay or needed help.

Seokmin leans against the open door frame as you pack. The pulsating glow of lost technology flickers in your peripheral and keeps you aware of his quiet presence. Part of you had always wondered if the ever-running currents of lighting synced with the flow of blood through the rest of his body.

The gunslinger doesn't speak, and you wonder why. And though you'd like to flatter yourself and entertain the notion that he's watching you — while other times that may be true — you don't feel the weight of his eyes trained on your motions. It wasn't like there was much to stuff in your bag, the satchel's leather cracked, faded, and well-worn after all these years of use through the desert and everything you truly value remains strapped some way to your body. So once you're finished, you inquisitively peek over in his direction.

Brown eyes are trained on the clunky gun on the mattress — the same one you'd pressed against his head. It's also the exact same pistol Chan had spent his adolescence restoring and repairing. Left unnamed unlike the honorary grave Seokmin had helped you prep before leaving the ruins of Ivywood behind. Meanwhile, his gaze darts to linger in contemplation on the chain around your neck before his eyebrows furrow, emphasizing the drawn out features and dark circles beneath his eyes.

"You look tired, you doing okay?"

"Yeah, just haven't been… sleeping well."

Frowning, you step toward him. Although he doesn't back away, his entire posture stiffens. "Will you be able to make the journey?"

He snorts, gesturing to your shoulder you're trying not to move too much. "Isn't that what I'm supposed to be asking you?"

"I'll feel better at the border."

Seokmin nods understandingly. "The weather will align well."

Within the sandstorms that relentlessly swirl near the Melca Border Sea of Sand, hides the only SEEDS floating ship that survived the Great Fall and you have to get the timing just right to reach it. It's home to a large community of humans, and most importantly, it's what you would consider a true home to you and Seokmin. Already, your energy restores — excited at the prospect of getting to relax in a place you trust and people you truly enjoy being around.

"Jun can take a look at my shoulder."

"That's true, it would be good for him to do."

"And I'm sure Hao's going to want to check your arm, maybe fashion some fabric that's not only bulletproof but also nail-proof."

"He's gonna give us both a scolding."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

You share a look of fond chagrin. Even though Seokmin's well over a century older than Juhui and Minghao, they were direct Earth descendants aboard a ship full of lost technology and geniuses in their own right. Those facts alone gave them all the confidence and utter audacity to more often than not, act like fretting toma mothers over the two of you.

Nonetheless, you appreciated them with all that's remaining of your heart.

The trip to the Melca Border wasn't a straight shot from Tonim but it wasn't as far as you thought. A bittersweet farewell to Wonwoo, Lina, Sherry, and the rest of the townsfolk was to be expected. Though their sorrow weighed you down, the knowledge that you were parting from them with good memories and the expectations to visit again kept your steps light-footed.

Seokmin remains zoned out the entire time. You bulk it up to his normal reaction whenever something emotional was on the horizon. Returning to Melca held a grand spread of wonderful, warm memories with a scattering of dreadfully sad ones too. Though the floating ship's defenses have been bolstered to the max over the years, the terrible events weren't easy to forget.

But they were incidents in the past and it's thanks to the intellect of the two who greet you at the entrance of the ship that their defenses continue to improve. Luida proudly stands behind them, accompanied by Brad and his wife.

"Greetings, weary travelers."

"We're no strangers, Luida," Seokmin protests against her formality.

The elderly leader's playful grin smooths out the wrinkles lining her wise face. "Welcome home, children."

It's a simple phrase but one that fills you with inexplicable warmth. Hansol might be the son born of her own body, but no one is immune from her maternal instinct. She beckons for everyone to come inside where the main quarters lie and the growing crew population will certainly be enthusiastic upon hearing about your return.

Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Seungkwan trail after without fuss, also elated to be aboard the familiar floating ship. You smile with genuine delight and step forward to follow while Minghao takes one look over his wire-rimmed glasses to survey Seokmin's dusty figure and elegantly tilts his head knowingly in the hallway leading to the technology laboratory. Glittery, colorful beads woven through the long strands of his two-toned hair clink in time with the movement.

It's hard to hide the snicker that escapes as you watch Seokmin trudge after Minghao like a scolded puppy. Your glee at someone else's suffering doesn't last long when a gentle hand clasps your shoulder. Wincing at the pain, you meet Junhui's puzzled look before his eyes narrow.

"You're hurt," he says, disappointed but not surprised, and leads you away to the med bay. It's exactly what you expected, in fact, the main reason behind why you're here — and yet, you sulk and whine petulantly just because you can.

"Not my fault that the only way to get here is by timing everything right to jump into a sandstorm and then onto a flying platform."

After instructing you to lie down on the medical bed and cutting the fabric of your shirt without fanfare, Junhui clicks his tongue. "You only come to visit when you're hurt."

"Not true!"

He concentrates on disinfecting and resewing the torn stitches in the tender flesh around the parts of your wound that are still healing. His tone borders on slight resentment but the concern weighing in it smoothes it all over.

"And yet most of our time spent together is only when you visit so I can patch you up."

"It's not like that."

"I know… but I would've met you elsewhere."

"Boring."

"Can't you courteously pretend to care about yourself out of consideration for those who worry?"

"You'll go gray at such a very young age if you stress all the time, Jun."

He shakes away silver bangs that threaten to impede his vision, unamused. "And you'll end up buried under the sand next time."

"Sounds cozy."

"I swear —"

You wave his growing ire away. "Seok takes care of me just fine."

"Yes," Junhui's cat-like smile causes your metaphorical hackles to raise. "He does care deeply about you."

"I'll punt you into the fifth moon and give it a second crater with your body."

"Now, now… violence is never the answer."

"Violence is the only reason you have a job!"

If you weren't as close as you were, perhaps he'd be offended by your claim. Instead, he kicks you out (after ensuring you're indeed in relatively good health), leaving you to laugh victoriously. Then, you set off to the technology lab in good spirits, hoping to catch Seokmin and commiserate with him.

Instead, you find a lone Minghao sitting refinedly amongst all the tech with grace and poise. He was in his element. Fiddling with and poking at a well-worn, familiar cybernetic tech with a thin silver instrument, he simply raises an eyebrow to acknowledge your presence.

"Did you fit Seok with a new arm?"

"But of course," the man sighs wearily, "despite my best efforts, my darlings always return home to their father with quite a beating."

"… Then you'll hate what I'm about to tell you."

"No, I cannot fashion you a pierce-proof trench coat. However, I will acquire some stronger material… but there better not be a next time."

You purse your lips and pout. It often seemed like Minghao worried more about his inventions than the people using them, though you knew that to ultimately not be true.

"So, he already told you what happened."

"Oh, yes… he told me everything." Heterochromatic eyes suddenly meet yours, sharp with a spark of amusement. "See, I almost didn't want to give him the latest modification but…"

"But…" You repeat warily.

Junhui was always mischievous, though most of it only ended with harmless pranks. On the other hand, Minghao's sarcasm-filled humor rarely made an appearance, and when it did, it usually delighted in the sickest of satisfactions.

Yet, he simply shrugs, evasive as always. "I think you'll like its improvements."

There's something foreboding about that statement, but he ushers you away under the pretense that he needs to concentrate. And shortly, you find yourself stopped by curious passersby or familiar faces in the hallways to the main quarters. Since your last visit, a multitude of passengers have a lot to share and update you on. By the time you reach your own pod, you're socially exhausted.

Sleep came easy but finding Seokmin did not. The SEEDS ship was already big in the first place and additional construction enlarged it further. An itchy, achy feeling pooled inside your gut on the second evening you'd been unable to catch sight of him. Finally, you acknowledged the bitter truth — he was avoiding you.

You had to come to terms with how delusional it was to think that once everything was out in the open, the scattered puzzle pieces would magically fall together in their rightful places. It should be easy, right? It's what happened in those cheap novels Junhui dug out of an abandoned pod in Melca back in the day. He'd given them to you as a birthday joke — Minghao sighing and handing over your real present (the first bullet-proof trench coat) — but you'd actually read through all the cheesy, steamy piles of romantic drivel.

Seungkwan, ever the cynic, and Seungcheol — who's naturally a heathen — quickly destroyed the slim spark of hope of ever hoping to feel those flutters in your gut. Meanwhile, Mingyu was someone precious and wholesome with a romantic outlook on life underneath the great muscular physique he'd gained from carrying that heavy concussion gun around.

You often wondered why they never tormented him like they did to you. But despite his indomitable stature, the emotionally soft man's tears were the most powerful weapon in his arsenal. Even if he didn't quite realize it, his comrades certainly were aware.

And Seokmin… well, if you knew how Seokmin felt about romance, you wouldn't be stuck in the position of wondering why the fuck he was avoiding you.

Again.

"Where is he?"

"Good morning," Mingyu greets the following morning, cheerful as ever. "If you're still hunting Seokmin for sport, he said he's feelin' a little sick!"

"Sure."

"No, he really is." Seungkwan refutes your aggressive eye roll with a gentle shake of his head. "Loverboy hasn't come out of his room for days and when I almost knocked the door in earlier, he finally responded only to sound like a dying toma."

Your face contorts into a morbid combination of concern and irritation, shifting between the two expressions. "Probably 'cause he stayed out all last night!"

And with a dramatic huff, you glower at the pastor seated in the cramped corner of the floating ship's kitchen area. Seungcheol deemed it was cooler, darker, and the farthest spot in the enclosed space from any of your misplaced wrath. He smiles, the white stick between whiter teeth jollily flicking up and down at you, taunting.

He reveled in the knowledge of being safe since he'd been the only one able to provide any information on the humanoid typhoon's whereabouts. The pastor — who still enjoyed a late-night smoke to cure some of his insomnia — considered it his saving grace to catch sight of the fellow gunslinger slinking through the shadows in the halls. Apparently, Seokmin had been sneaking outside the past few nights and remained resolutely ever-elusive during the day.

"Should go see 'im. Yer all antsy and 'm bettin' he's missin' his… mayfly."

"Oh, go fuck yourself," you snarl and storm out, missing the man's bark of laughter before he continues contemplating the best way to siphon money during a confessional.

The unfaltering stomp of your combat boots is the background beat on your walk to Seokmin's pod. His halls aren't far from the kitchen area and yet each footfall feels like a step into the unknown, the lights above seeming to grow dimmer the closer you get.

Why was he acting like this?

Did he regret everything that happened between you?

Was something wrong?

Would he shut himself away from you?

Worry and anger swirl together, mirroring the vortex of sand you had to pass through to get here. Seokmin's never shut you completely out before but you're familiar with his reclusive acts when things get too much. Too close. Too emotional. And you're afraid to be the catalyst to another spiral.

So, you knock. Harsh, loud, and ultimately unforgiving if ignored.

"Seokmin, open up! I know you're alive!"

A mutter of "Barely," carries through the door before he clearly answers with a curt, "I'm not feeling well but I'll be fine."

"Open the door."

Silence.

"Please."

The silence continues — and your temper flares. "Don't make me go get my bag and grab my lock-picking set!"

You can hear sounds of cursing and some rustling around before the door slowly and reluctantly opens, Seokmin hiding in the shadow it casts.

"As you can see, I'm quite fi —"

Both a coughing jag and the firm push of your shoe interrupts his confident statement. "Sure hope you weren't about to say you're fine!"

A faint smoky scent permeates the pod. You cough and pause to let your vision adjust to the darkness. The first hint toward Seokmin's unusual behavior because he thrived in the sunlight, no matter how weak the sunrays that reached the floating ship were. Then second, you blink in wonderment at the black heaps littering the bed and floor.

Feathers. Everywhere.

Reminiscent of the time you'd broken Seungcheol's ridiculously expensive pillow against Mingyu's bulky bicep during a good-natured fight with Seungkwan's assistance. But instead of an explosion of brown and aqua toma plumage causing you all to sneeze, these were inky dark like the night sky and resembled piles of soot against the pod's stark white backdrop.

You whirl around to find Seokmin retreating to the corner of the room, hands slamming on top of the dresser for support. His back is to you with two thin wings jutting out from it. Feathers rustle as he pants, shoulders coinciding up and down with the motion of the wings.

"Seok, how did… how did this happen?"

It's not fear that causes your voice to tremble but worry. The appearance of his natural Plant form is no longer shocking. In fact, the more you see it, the more you find it eerily beautiful. Probably similar to those who believe them to be messengers of a higher power. But he's only ever transformed in dire situations — either due to stress or the rare exhaustion of his superhuman abilities against stronger foes.

He doesn't reply so you take a cautious step forward. An animalistic growl erupts from his throat, followed by a pained groan. You gasp as he shakes, protrusions rupturing from the lower parts of his shoulder blades. Two more wings burst out and unfurl below the trembling ones already quivering on his back.

So that's how they hide and reappear.

"Is it 'cause you're sick? Choi said you've been staying out all night. You could've caught a cold or something's in the air. Never know what's floating around here." You babble as you frantically search for signs in the mirror above the dresser for any hints to what's caused this.

Seokmin's bent over and you note what should be brunette roots of hair are now pitch-black too. Closer and closer you creep until you can make out each bead of perspiration trickling down his neck and how they coat every bare part of his body in a sheen of sweat.

Then his head snaps up. An eye — unshielded by the black fringe of his red-brown tipped bangs — narrows to glare into your widened ones. A tempest of electric blue rages within it. Like the hottest type of fire, it burns more than you could ever expect in a vortex of one prominent emotion.

Desire.

An involuntary shudder overtakes your whole body, and you unconsciously bite your lip. Seokmin slumps back down, granting respite from that ardent azure glow.

"Sick," he snarls and laughs, strained. "Sick in the head, that's for sure."

"How… how can I help? What can I do for you?"

"Get out."

"Seok —"

"I'm serious, mayfly. For your own good. Leave."

"My own good?"

"I'll, hah, I'll explain… explain it later."

Your arms cross. "Oh, really? Or will you avoid me again? Like you have been for the past several days?"

"I haven't —"

"Don't you dare feign indifference! I'm not stupid — we talk about our feelings and then you retreat. Just be honest with me… please."

You promised.

He sucks in a very deep inhale through clenched teeth, seeming to regret it instantly because his grip on the edge of the dresser is hard enough to crack the strong material. Glowering at your reflection again — not daring to acknowledge your very real and extremely close presence in the room — Seokmin bares his sharpened and widened incisors in a snarl.

"We will talk, mayfly, please believe me. Now's… hah… just not great timing with… with what's happening."

Irritation easily gives way back to worry. "At least tell me what I can do for you. Should I get Jun?"

"He can't do anything. Gotta just… work it out of my system."

"Work what?" You frown, knowing how rare it is for the medical specialist to be stumped.

"It's not for certain…" Four different wings flutter in agitation at various speeds. "Not a lot's known about Plant physiology," his mouth turns downward, "even I don't have a thorough understanding."

"Is it a disease?"

"Wish it was that simple."

"You're talking in riddles and running verbal circles, Seok."

"… Dokyeom and I are independent Plants. Likely the only ones, well, you know — still functioning. Alive. When Rem found us, research was obviously done."

You know the story very well and nod. "And had been conducted before."

"'Course thanks to Rem, it wasn't as invasive but there were, hah, occasional talks. Theories. And then, of course, before us twins, there was…"

"… Tesla."

A Plant with a lifespan of only two-hundred and thirty days.

Seokmin swallows. "Tesla. Yes. I recall bits and pieces. Hypothesized with Luida and company… Outside of Dokyeom following the unethical methods humans sometimes conduct for experimentation," he snorts at the irony, "it's thought that Plants… can copulate… with a mate… of their, hah, choosing."

"Really?" Your eyebrows raise, intrigued. "That's a brilliant discovery!" Then they furrow. "Wait, are you saying that this," you wave your hand to gesture at his current form, "is because… you're, er, ready to… mate?"

He holds his head. "… Yes."

"Oh, okay. So, you need like… relief? A mate? Should I…?"

Your questions hang uncertainly in the air, unfinished because you're really not sure what you're supposed to even offer. A sarcastic smirk graces Seokmin's lips, condescending in the sort of way that's aimed more at himself.

"What kind of man do you think I am, mayfly?"

"A very, uh, Planty one for sure."

"Better than leafy, I suppose."

"Though you are quite… feathery."

Finally, he turns toward you, a wry and defeated smile on his weary face. His wings stretch outward and curl back in, elegantly waving toward you as if drawn in your direction. You can't help but smile at the object hanging from a cord around his neck.

"You still keep that old thing around?"

He looks at the golden cartridge and chuckles. "It's special."

"Me holding a gun to your head was special?""Meeting you will always remain a treasured memory, no matter the manner of how it happened." Seokmin falls quiet, lost in thought before hesitantly asking, "Did I not mention Plants mate for life? Well, at the very least, I know I do."

"Oh." Your astonishment reveals itself in a breathless gasp. There's no escaping that all-consuming, fiery cerulean gaze. "So is this the first time you've been… ready to, uh, mate?"

"No, I'm used to the way these cycles come and go. But this for sure is the worst bout yet."

"… Why?"

You hold your breath. He takes a step forward. Then another.

He's so close, if you leaned the slightest bit forward you'd press up against each other. Somehow, with an overwhelming sense of shyness guessing the underlying thoughts and what his answer will be, your eyes roam his bare upper chest and torso.

If you could caress him you would. All the shiny black feathers adorning his wings and the occasional ones sprouting along his forearms pointing to his Plant abilities. Each scar along with every bit of metal or his body's naturally grown wood that replaces chunks of lost flesh. He's kept them as reminders of when he's failed humans, though you've seen them only as when they've failed him. He shivers, like he can feel it, as if he knows what you're thinking and you questioningly re-meet his burning stare as he shoots you a wane smile.

Sheepishly, he rubs where the cybernetic arm attaches to his shoulder. Many have turned away in disgust or mock pity at the disfigurements. Yet despite the true abomination he looks like right now, there's only ever been pure empathy and acceptance he doesn't deserve — all from you.

"Conscious consent and reciprocation."

Your lips turn upward, joy causing your soul to unwittingly sing. "Does that mean… I'm your mate?"

"No."

It's like Gunsmoke completely collapses, and you're left twirling without footing in space. Seokmin matches your fallen expression with one of his own.

"What? Wh-why?"

"Don't get me wrong, it's —"

"I swear if you say 'It's me, not you'…"

He rather adorably tilts his head. "How did you know?"

"It's a typical cliche," you roll your eyes, "just give it to me straight, Seokmin. Is it 'cause I'm human?"

"… It's not that simple, and this isn't something trivial. It's — hah — it's a huge commitment." The use of your given name indicates his seriousness. "A lifetime one. For me, it's only ever been you… and it will always be you for as long as I live, which could be your whole lifespan! And I don't, hah, I don't know — hell, it's taking everything I can not to tear a dead man apart, let alone what I'd do if you'd change your mind, want something — someone else."

"You're doing it again, projecting and underestimating my feelings for you."

"It could be the effect of my pheromones, mayfly. We don't know every —"

"That's right! We don't know! So we have to trust each other and see."

"It's —"

"Let's not subject ourselves to the hypothetical. And what do you mean by dead man?"

Seokmin's jaw tenses, fingernails digging into numb skin. His wings waver, like they're considering cocooning around him for protection. But their tips simply flutter as if soothed by an unseen force, preventing them from enclosing completely.

Teasingly, you lean toward him and squint. "What else aren't you telling me, Seok? You pick a side hustle up that involves the deceased like Choi?"

He snorts at the audacity and doesn't take the bait. Instead, unfamiliar but still achingly familiar irises dart to your neck, tracing the silver chain laying against your skin. A dull sort of sadness fizzles out those blue fires and you clasp the shape of the locket beneath your shirt in realization.

"He was a boy, Seok. A boy I grew up with for a short period, one that felt like a brother to me."

"… You said you loved him."

"When?"

"… To Cheol. After you first met him."

"That would've been so long ago? How do you even remember that?"

He sighs, heavily. "It's not easy to forget. Your voice was so warm, so gentle, so in love when you admitted it."

"Love can mean different things! And I assure you, my feelings for you differ greatly from how I felt about him. And… he's… he's long gone, Seok."

Guilt burns in his eyes. "I know. Which makes me all the worse."

"No, it doesn't." You shake your head, a resigned smile resting on your lips, and hold your arms out. "'Cause I understand and forgive you. And most importantly, I love you."

It's uncertain if those words break or restore him, but the hard rigidness in his body melts away, sagging in a semblance of relief. Then he rushes forward into your waiting embrace, wings helping to propel him forward until they wrap around and press you to him tight, tickling areas where his arms aren't squeezing around you.

"And I adore you, my lovely mayfly."

You groan. "When will you stop calling me that?"

"Never," he snickers and you feel the curve of his lips as he comfortably nuzzles into the crook of your neck. "For as long as you're mine."

"Yours?"

"Mine."

"Sucker."

A chaste kiss brushes the lower tip of your ear. So ticklish and unexpected, you pull back with a giggle and playfully swat his shoulder. And just as he's about to dive forward and prove your little comment correct in retaliation, you burst into full-on laughter that leaves Seokmin to settle his hands on your waist with confusion crinkling his brow.

"What?"

"So that's why you were always having a deathly staring match between my childhood memorabilia?"

"… Was not."

"You — the most sentimental loser ever — definitely were!"

He pouts momentarily, the cute jut out of his lower lip quickly transforming to a devious smirk. "You'd bet on it?"

"Totally." You place your arms around his neck, bringing your bodies closer again and matching the charge of electricity with a clever tilt of your lips. "I'd win, too."

"And what's on the table?"

"Sixty billion double dollars, of course."

"That so?"

"Mhm, and it seems like someone's bounty matches that worth."

Seokmin quirks a brow. "Seems like you want me on the table."

"Winner takes all?"

"Mayfly, I've always been yours."

"Sap," you laugh again.

A bright grin certainly declares your delight in victory, though your partner in crime uses the distraction as an advantage for his earlier loss and wastes no time. Diving in, a sharpened canine grazes your pulse point, automatically causing your head to tilt to offer easier access. Two left wings sweetly swoop down for support, feathered tips tenderly brushing your forehead.

The heat of his tongue placates the dragging scratch of his fangs. Though it sears you alive, heating your entire body from the tips of your toes, swirling in your core, and concentrating beneath Seokmin's lips on your skin.

When reaching that cold, familiar necklace you treasure so much and he can't help but loathe, it's seized between his teeth before he registers the action. Tugging it away from your neck like a dog, you wonder if he'll even shake it like one. His eyes follow the length of the chain, focusing on where the locket pops out above your chest.

You raise a questioning brow. "You gonna just play with my jewelry or take my clothes off?"

"Oh," Seokmin whispers, jaw dropping, and suddenly stands stiffly at attention.

You watch, entranced by the bob of his Adam's apple as he visibly gulps. Large, calloused hands — so practiced in undressing you for baths and patching up wounds — falter as they skim along your sides in a fleeting touch. Smiling encouragingly, you intertwine your fingers with those of his prosthetic while leading the other one beneath your shirt, the rough flesh of his palm blisteringly hot against your stomach.

"Is this okay? Can it help calm your Plant powers?"

"Yes… but that means… giving yourself to me… forever."

"Can't think of anything I'd enjoy more."

Confident, you trail kisses up his jaw to his cheek, stopping near his ear. Playfully tugging at the earring hoop as you pull away. Then you break away and bend over, shimmying off your shorts in one smooth motion. Stepping out of them, next goes your top. As each fabric hits the floor, Seokmin's eyes become more lidded, heavy with want. Smoldering. Desiring.

Four black wings fan out and stay as rigid as his stance. As if they're waiting with bated breath. And when you finally stand bare before him, he sheepishly drags his gaze to the floor with a flustered smile.

"I'm the one naked and you're embarrassed?" you tease and his posture relaxes.

"Because you're a vision to behold."

"Says the one who looks like an angel."

You back up until your knees hit the side of the bed. Like those morbid tales that depict curious listeners following a luring call to their demise, Seokmin's only a step behind you. He doesn't dare let his eyes stray further from your own, a goofy grin on his face.

"Consider this my fall from grace then, mayfly."

Gingerly, you sit on the edge of the mattress, waiting for his next move. He towers over you in this position. Formidable in appearance yet oh-so-gentle when picking up your left hand to kiss your knuckles and rub his thumb across its faded scar. Another smooch gets placed to your inner wrist and you hold your breath at the passion in those blazing cyan depths that refuse to look away. Then, a cautious touch to your shoulder urges you onto your back. Obediently, you lay down and a bunch of stray loose feathers fly up into the air upon impact.

"Beautiful," he murmurs.

The clothed knee resting between your legs helps his arm support the weight of his body hovering above you. A tentative hand slides down from your shoulder to your hip, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Caressing every scar, memorizing each color and swirl of ink decorating your skin, and erasing any insecurities or blemishes you see in yourself. Cold digits draw whimsical shapes and tickle your abdomen, stopping above your pelvic bone.

"May I?"

"Of course."

Seokmin rejoices in your consent by littering your collarbone with love bites. And his touches move lower, tender despite their mechanical nature. Warmth blossoms and flows under every surface of your skin Seokmin's traced, coiling and settling in a pulsating — almost painful — heat rupturing between your legs.

Only he can be the one to relieve this ache which he precisely aims to do. A simple, single brush across sensitive folds instantly has your breath hitching, shaking beneath him.

"Are you alright?"

"Mhm… yes."

He audibly gulps at your unexpected whimper of ecstasy, reluctantly tearing away from watching amorous bliss overtake your facial expression to the wet heat detected by his pointer finger's sensors. A feral growl rumbles in his chest at the debauched sight of desire beginning to dampen your thighs — the trace of what he's been smelling from you now overloading every single one of his senses as he coaxes more to flow from you. Seokmin's more than thankful for his enhanced vision and the glow of cybernetic technology baring your most intimate parts to him.

Guided by an instinctual impulse, he eases a finger inside. Your back automatically arches off the bed, eliciting a sweet gasp of delight. The cool touch of the digit seized tightly by the pulsating walls of your cunt slowly warms as it adjusts to the welcome intrusion. He soothingly brushes the knuckle of his middle finger across the soft outer flesh of your pussy to relax its grip. Eventually it lets up enough to let him explore further and deeper than your own have ever reached.

"I'm… I'm not sure how best to please you," Seokmin admits, drinking in your every reaction to his curious ministrations. "But there's this urge, this need, to make you feel good. Prep you properly for my… my entry."

By pure accident, he strokes a rough patch of nerves that makes your eyes roll back, hips lifting at the sensation of wanting more of whatever that feeling was, and your quiet noises melt into a loud, needy moan.

"More," you plead, "touch me more, Seok."

He eases his other finger inside without question, grunting at the squeeze that almost prevents him from moving to where you want him the most. But unlike the rest of his quivering body, the prosthesis remains steady, still, and patient. Waiting until it can bully itself and a third finger past your entrance's vice-like clench.

You start pulling on your breasts, trying to alleviate the tingling in them. Seokmin observes with a keen eye and a toothy, fanged grin. After a bit, he leans down to let his tongue trace the underside of one mound, leaving behind a saliva trail shining in the unconventional lighting as he tends to the next. Alternating with playful nips and naughty tugs to your nipples whenever your grip on them falters from the overwhelming pleasure.

So attentive and eager, soon you're writhing beneath him as you hit your peak. One hand grips your hip tightly, surely to leave a bruise with the way it cramps. His other doesn't let up, well-oiled mechanisms continuing to pump in and out of your trembling pussy until you whine from the overstimulation.

His wings fold protectively around both of you like a canopy as you share a tender kiss. Dazed and happy, you tenderly brush back black bangs and play with one of the feathers that's sprouted near the hairline above his ear. He shivers.

"Let me take care of you too."

"Are you sure? What about your shoulder?"

"That's the least of my concerns right now."

"I can still…"

"Later. First, I want to help you."

Suddenly, Seokmin's shy again, flushed cheeks darkening. "I… I think I'm a little different… down there so it's okay if you don't want to… or get scared."

"It's not like I've seen enough dicks to compare whether what you're packing is normal."

The both of you share a goofy laugh that eases the presumed awkwardness. He sits back to unbutton his pants but you stop him.

"May I?"

You might as well have knocked the air out of his lungs. He stares at you wide-eyed and then emphatically nods, finally clearing his throat to squeak out, "Sure."

Ignoring the aftershocks of your earlier orgasm, you sit up and kneel in front of him. Intent on a few minor distractions, your mouth and hands start at his shoulders to work their way down. Imagining you have the power to heal the damage dealt to his body and soul through tender touches.

You see a sad sense of beauty and justice in the patchwork of metal bolts and bark. And as you apply marks of love that bruise and blossom between them, he lets out a content warble. You're quick to undo the button of his pants, both of you gasping at the utterly wet mess seeping through the material when you tug the zipper down with your teeth.

He lifts his hips to help and once he's just as naked as you do you take him in. Anatomy was meagerly touched upon during your days at the convent, so truthfully all you're aware of at the sight of his heavy cock is the need to be filled with it.

And the closest thing to take him is your mouth, jaw already aching before you even open it. Almost reverently, your hands wrap around to stabilize it. Seokmin hisses pleasantly at the contact.

"You don't have to —"

He's cut off by a groan as you inquisitively suckle the tip. The copious amounts of slick smearing from it and down the base taste sweeter than Seungcheol's lollipops and you moan heartily, causing his thighs beneath your elbows to tense at the vibrations.

"Oh, mayfly."

A wing caresses your cheek that bulges as you take more and more of him, Seokmin's hands tearing at the sheets. The tip of another wing tantalizingly drags down your bare back. Your hands begin to explore, finding the puffy edges around the slit from which the thick cock emerges from. His hips jolt upwards at the contact to sensitive tissues, causing you to gag.

"Ah, 'm sorry!"

While he whispers repeated apologies, you're only compelled to take him further. Slowly you get used to the stretch, but no matter how much more you're able to squeeze down your throat there's still enough of his length for both of your hands to play with. It gets easier the more aggressive you get, his cock seeming to respond to your vigor in tandem. Soon you're lost to the haze of whether you're bobbing your head up and down or it's swirling languidly in your mouth on its own accord.

Seokmin's hips stutter but you feel the tremor first pulse against the inner walls of your throat. His cock throbs as you pull off of it, hollowing your cheeks and parting with deliberately powerful suction. A loud pop releases its tip and your hand supports its weighty girth falling forward. You dig the nails of your free hand into the muscle of his quaking thigh, ducking down to teethe at the puffy slit from where his cock must emerge.

Moving on to licking and dragging the point of your tongue along the sizable vein lining the underside causes Seokmin's low groans to turn into a high-pitched trill. Once you reach the swollen, leaking head and nibble on the hard glans, it spasms wildly and finally erupts. From the top slit seeps sweet syrupy fluid that readily overflows into your awaiting, open mouth.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," he blabbers.

You'd reply that there's no need for gratitude, perhaps you'd thank him, but the viscous release keeps spilling out. Rivulets trickle well past your lips and coat your chest. Although still in a euphoric daze, his eyes flash with sharp satisfaction. Instantly possessive at the sight of your bare body decorated so erotically.

His wings snap open — filled with purpose — and your face is pressed down into the mattress. Surrounded in a smoky musk as the angelic monstrosity it belongs to and destined to be your mate hovers above.

Your voice comes out hoarse as you raise up onto your elbows and spitefully spit out a black feather. "Do those wings of yours prevent you from being topped or something?"

"I'll let you find out another time, partner," Seokmin huffs, laughter evident despite his apparent breathlessness. He steals a tender kiss, pleased grunting at how your lips — shiny and swollen — taste of him. "But for now…"

Like an anchor, the tech material warmed by your shared body heat and passion winds underneath your hips, keeping them raised. A calloused, ticklish touch roams traces your spine. He draws an occasional spiral here and there as he goes, mindful of your wound, until firmly pinning the nape of your neck to the side, creating the perfect arch of your back.

"I think you'll like this," Seokmin says as if he isn't liking the view below him.

But for you, straight ahead lies the dresser's mirror. It reflects the full manifestation of an independent Plant poised to devour a human in the most intimate sense. The fearsome size of his cock lies heavy on top of your ass, leaking droplets of arousal all over your backside.

"Will it fit?"

"Of course, you are mine to claim and take." His hips just forward and you both moan. "I think we're both wet enough to try."

"I trust you."

"Let me know if it hurts in any way and we'll stop right away, mayfly."

Many troupes of desert-traveling dancers have mesmerized you before. Yet even they can't compare to the graceful and smooth motion of Seokmin releasing your neck to align his tip with the entrance of your cunt and slowly bullying his way in.

Tears of pain mixing to unfathomable pleasure blur the vision of your mouth widening to let out whines and moans. "Seokkie…"

"Mhm, mayfly… my love… my mate."

Finally, the front of his thighs are flush against yours. Hips pressed tight against your ass. Fully sheathed inside your tight hole, neither of you have ever felt such intensity before. He surrenders his body weight on top of yours, hands braced outside of yours clenching loose feathers and silk sheets. The outer heaviness matches the intensity of what your pussy struggles to accommodate.

"Mine."

Seokmin's hips swirl at a slow pace. Rather than thrust, he massages the sensitive glands at the base of his cock with the soft flesh of your ass. His length seems to shrink and grow and writhe with a mind of its own, filling and teasing you nonstop. Leaving no surface of your inner walls untouched or untended to for too long.

"Yours."

You shudder in blissed-out delirium and Seokmin lights up — literally.

Fluorescent lines glow in distinct patterns across skin, brightening the more he starts to pant and build up your shared pleasure. Sharp canines prick into the skin of your unmarked shoulder as he wraps his prosthesis under your stomach to raise your hips, the new position driving you faster to that rapidly approaching edge. You cry out with a lurch, blurrily making out his glowing form that shudders above.

Though the view in the mirror gets hidden by black wings stroking your entire body. Teasing the underside of your tits and tenderly brushing away the stings of his teeth marks.

"I-I love you," Seokmin rasps.

"Love…" You manage to enunciate the words, mind emptying and drool wetting the bed as your second peak approaches. "Love you too."

Pain and pleasure draw forth an onslaught of your apparent arousal that lecherously mixes with the frothy mess dribbling from his cock. Claws appear on Seokmin's right hand, another addition to the bestial Plant features emerging in the throes of passion. He's not completely lost to the primal thrall though, able to resist from breaking skin.

Delicately scratching your waist without drawing blood, then using the finely pointed tips to pluck and tease effortlessly at your clit. You cry out, body shaking as waves of euphoria crash against the shoreline of imminent pleasure.

Seokmin helps ride out your peak with a couple of speedy thrusts. The feeling of his hips slamming into you has you seeing more stars than Gunsmoke's galaxy contains. And just as you're overcome with too much stimulation, he lets go with a particularly strong bite into the top of your shoulder.

His cock softens and its heavy weight like a blanket along with the continual pump of his warm, soothing release. The feeling of it leaving none of your inner walls untouched feels as sweet as it tasted on your tongue and helps ease the ache inside your cunt. Still joined together and slick with stickiness, he collapses onto his side and gently assists you with rolling over so you can face him.

"Hey, you."

"Hello there yourself, lovely mayfly."

Your nose wrinkles but gets smoothed out by feather tips playing with the ends of your hair. Seokmin smiles as you snuggle closer into his chest so two of his wings can cocoon around you as the heated fervor from prior activities cools.

"Did that help?"

"… Yes," he says though his tone wavers with hesitance.

You raise your chin and see the electric blue luster hasn't faded yet from his gaze. Sheepishly, the corner of his mouth raises and you shiver, feeling the swell of his cock stretch out your pussy. The bulge it creates brushes against Seokmin's abdomen and he twitches.

"Sorry, it's… I'm gonna be kinda insatiable now that I've had a taste…" He trails off, wings snapping behind him. Slowly, he pulls his hips away and you both hiss as his cock is dragged out.

"What are you —"

You're cut off by the animalistic glimmer in his gaze, catching the feral smirk that he attempts to hide by licking his palm. Quick as lightning, Seokmin fleetingly swipes the outer lips of your cunt and brings his fingers, tonguing at them. Body set aflame again, neither of your break eye contact as he moans headily.

"But not of this," he rasps.

Before you know it, you're staring up at the glow-in-the-dark stickers on his ceiling with your mate between your legs. His wings trail along your calves, their flexible ends curling near your inner thighs, encouraging them to spread and stay open, pinning them in place.

"Oh, aren't you a beauty?"

He moans shamelessly at the sight of your messy, glistening pussy. You squirm at the ticklish sensation of his feathers and that smoldering, ravenous look. If only he knew what it was like to see him devour you with his mouth.

Delicious.

Just like the feeling of his tongue working its way inside and licking up the shared essence of your releases.

Your fingers weave between strands of hair as black as night, tugging lightly and accidentally snagging one of his ear feathers. He moans eagerly, and the vibration has you shuddering, already quickly nearing another mind-shattering orgasm. But you don't let him carry you there too fast, smooth brain muscles trying to form a question.

"How… long… how long do these cycles last?"

Seokmin presses a loving kiss to your twitching clit and blows, entranced by how you clench around nothing. Then he smirks, elongated teeth shining in the darkness like a predatory warning though you have nothing to fear.

"As much as you can handle but… we're really only just getting started, mayfly."

The motion light kicks on as Seungcheol shifts his boots in the direction of the unlit kitchen area. Junhui and Minghao's entrance awaken the rest of the lights and they frown at the makeshift bunker set up.

"What are you three doing in here?"

Seungkwan sleepily mumbles a curse word and next to him, Mingyu blearily rubs his eyes. A scattering of empty pudding cups and bottles lie around them as well as a disorganized array of poker cards.

"We're afraid to venture out of here."

Junhui shares a secretive look with his closest friend at Seungkwan's cryptic words. "Ah, so that's happened. Or happening."

"'Bout time y'all came 'round. Time for ya to pay up!"

"Pay up for what?"

"Compensation. 'M the one who got the closest to bein' right knowin' they'd fuck after confessin'."

"If anyone needs compensation, it's me for the mental damage of having to make one of my lovelies into an enhanced sex toy."

Seungcheol guffaws. "Ya didn't! Ya lil cheatin', schemin' scientist!"

Meanwhile, Mingyu looks mighty concerned. "Does that mean Seokmin has a dildo for an arm?!"

Minghao crosses his arms with a steely glare. "No."

"Oh good. I don't think I could look at him the same."

"I don't think any of us will ever look at him the same again."

Junhui eagerly rocks back and forth on his heels, hands stuffed in the deep pockets of his lab coat. "Do you think they discovered all the functions and benefits of it yet?"

"Should be our next bettin' round."

"No more bets. I don't care if it's half a double dollar to go in, I refuse to go through this again."

Mingyu elbows his raven-haired companion. "C'mon, your heart's warmed by this!"

"Warmed and consumed by the rage and fury of hellfire, yes."

Giggling, the tall man smiles widely and holds his hand out. "Alright, I win then!"

"Win what? Thought you didn't remember your bet."

Mingyu purses his lips. "Only because none of you took me seriously and joked with a bunch of gross innuendos when I said they'd find their home in one another!" He then sighs dreamily. "But if I'm right, we'll know by tomorrow morning."

"Who says it'll be tomorrow mornin'. Might take weeks. Months even, I reckon'."

"I'll kick you all out before it comes to that," Minghao threatens and runs a hand through the few strands of hair without a bead. He tosses a wad of money in front of Mingyu. "Never involve me in this again."

Despite all the grumbling, everyone has a sense of lightness in their hearts at the thought of their dear friends finally getting together. And the happiest of them all is Mingyu, who cheerily gathers his prized double dollars, dreaming of all the pudding he can buy.

A lone figure stands on the edge of the valley of the Melca Border. The Sea of Sand, aptly named, can change tide and turn vicious at any second. Their cloak billows in the sandy winds that whip around them, though even the steadfast hood can't hide the satisfied smile on their face.

"You did well," they commend and the name that falls from their lips is one some might consider lost to the sands of time.

"Saintess." Another figure materializes out of the sand gusts in response to the praise. "It is to be done as you said."

"Very well. Shall we go now?"

Whether it's the mysterious sands that swirl around and whisk them away or the lost technology cube that transports them, no one will ever know for no one ever saw them. Like ghosts, they disappear and find themselves outside the real ghost town — where it all began.

A toma croaks in the distance. Brave travelers dare cross the ruined wasteland and the saintess meditating atop one of the largest rocks hidden in the shadows opens her gray eyes tinted by lilac in the glow of the moons to observe. Despite all of her traveling, the white robes wrapped around her body remain in pristine condition.

She turns behind to look at the man standing over a scattering of stones, staring intently at one of them. With poise and purpose, she dusts off her clothes and strides over to him.

"Chan."

Brown eyes tear away from his own name carved into the headstone in front of him to look at the one who's said it aloud.

"Yes, Saintess?"

"Do you regret it?"

"No. Never."

"Good," she states, satisfied with his response. With a grand sweep of her hood to cover short, dark hair, she gestures to the east. "We will set up camp one more night before returning to the Saint in the morning before he speaks with our Master."

Chan mutely nods, following the saintess back into the desert where she confidently leads him to a cave that will shield them from the unpredictable nature of Gunsmoke's wastelands. He thinks of you, the girl he must keep safe and two brothers. One with wings as pure white despite his continual revelry with hate-filled darkness, the other bearing ones the complete opposite color of his twin — a wild card.

He reminisces over the Blessed and Holy Sisterhood of Little Ivywood, the convent and all the orphans that lived there. Pondering Sister Meryl's role, who stands before him now as the revered Saintess, leader for the Eye of Joshua and second only to the Bishop of the cult named after himself. She moves curious little statues back and forth across the surface of a large flat rock and the young man can't help but ask her a question in the unnerving silence.

"Do you think this will work?"

Meryl smiles elusively, as always. She picks up the smallest one with a deliberate flourish, placing it on a blackened space close to the last row of alternating squares carved into the stone's surface.

"Have you ever played chess before?"

"No, what is it?"

"An Earthern board game. It is quite complicated." Gesturing to the piece she just moved, she continues. "This is a pawn, the weakest of all chess pieces."

Chan bristles. "But strength comes in numbers, no? There are eight of each color, surely the right side can find a way to win."

Unfazed by his agitation, the saintess nods placatingly. "With the right strategy, even a pawn may become a queen — the most powerful. Unpredictable." She points to a white figurine with a cross on top of it. "Enough to checkmate a king."

Entranced, Chan watches as she rearranges and repositions various pieces across the faux chessboard. Soon, the pawn that took on the mantle of a Black Queen captures the White King. His eyes roam what's left on the battlefield at the end of the match, pointing to one that looks like a tower.

"What's that one?"

"A rook. It best supports an allied pawn towards promotion from behind the scenes." Her eyes sparkle mischievously. "It's most powerful during the end of the game, as you can see."

Chan gulps, holding his breath for a moment, and clears his throat. "Then I'm ready."

"Wonderful," Meryl nods, "we'll depart for Master Dokyeom's stronghold in the morning. I'm sure Joshua, our dear Saint, will be… pleased upon our return."

"To the glory of the Black King's rise."

"And to the glory of our so-called queen."

Keep him safe, Chan thinks to himself as he settles on the ground. And yourself. One day we'll reunite in the most joyous of occasions…

He pulls out a faded wanted poster with the infamous outlaw worth sixty billion double dollars, donning a wishful smile before closing his eyes and murmuring, "I'd even bet this impossible amount on it."

#ez.creates #svthub #svt.smut #dokyeom smut #dk smut #seokmin smut #lee seokmin smut #svt smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #trigun au #svt au #seventeen au

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pendarling · 4 months ago

Text

Soulmates For Life

• Part 2 > End >>

When the red string appeared around Villain's pinky, bright and glowing, they felt their excitement.

The city had been struck with a strange phenomenon which allowed every civilian to wake up with this strange thread leading to their soulmates. Was it the conspiracy of another villain? Were they hidden somewhere with a strange ability to create love connections?

Outside in the open, hundreds of lines of red painted the streets, rounding corners and twisting around trees.

Desperation clawed Villain as they trod the streets and hoped to God theirs lead right to Hero and nowhere else. Their eyes followed the string cutting between lanes and around blocks until they reached their destination. A cold, empty lot away from the bustle of the city.

They always had a feeling it was Hero from the start, so they might as well get this over with. From their pocket, Villain picked out their mirror and stared into it, fixing their hair and patiently waiting for Hero to arrive at their usual meeting spot.

The string began to glow a vibrant red; they stared at it curiously and watched a figure walk toward them from the shadows. Their cape flowing right behind them. They smiled as they noticed their string grow shorter and shorter with every step Hero took.

"Villain." Hero greeted.

They tucked the mirror and stood straight with a confident smile on their face, "Dear," Villain replied. They sounded a lot more relieved than they wanted to, but they couldn't help it. "As expected." They tossed their hair back, "I can't expect less from an excellent fighter such as you so it was only natural to be drawn together."

Hero nodded, "Fair enough, although I have to say our worldviews aren't exactly well-aligned."

They shrugged, "With time, you will come to understand, darling." They checked their watch, "Let's make this quick, I have several meetings to attend to."

"So… I'm sure by now you are aware of the issues this will cause." They lifted their pinky, "I cannot have my teammates thinking I've betrayed their trust."

"True. Which is why I plan to avoid you until this is all over."

"I don't think that's possible. We should find a way to destroy it now."

Villain laughed coldly, "Because you actually hate me?"

"Love?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Let's focus on resolving our problem." Hero wrapped the string around both their wrists and then tightened their hands around it as they pulled in either direction in an attempt to snap it. "Wow…" They panted, "I wonder what it's made of."

"Watch and learn." Villain grabbed a small knife from their pocket as Hero walked closer and held the string up for them. They got to work swiftly running the blade back and forth again and again until the chord split, but it was like iron steel. The line remained unharmed and stood stronger than ever.

"I don't think this is going to break with conventional tools." Hero spoke. Their hands unwrapped themselves from the string.

Villain wasn't one to give up and took out a lighter next; they grabbed a clump of the yarn in the hope of setting it ablaze; their lighter flickered to life, brushing against the soft fabric but not leaving a mark.

"Damn." They shut the lid of the lighter.

"Are you going to quit?" Hero said.

"Give me your hand." They laid it carefully into their palm. Villain ran their thumb over the crimson light and inspected it closely; the material seemed like a fabric but acted completely differently. Where the string tied around their pinky was a small knot, they picked at its corner, struggling to loosen it from its firm hold.

"Physical attempts do not work." Hero took their hand back and looked at it themselves. "This clearly needs a psychological and emotional attack to break the bond."

"Are you suggesting…?"

"Let's test our theory out." Hero took a few steps back, "Say something you hate about me."

Villain hardly let them finish before they had already answered. "You're narcisstic tendency to always be right."

It didn't do anything.

Villain thought again, "And your're ugly laugh."

Hero laughed. "Come now, be more honest about what you feel."

They were right. Villain loved their laugh too much and knew Hero didn't have any narcissistic tendencies. However, it was worth a shot. They needed to dig deeper and find something that would truly hurt them, but something stayed lodged in their throat from speaking against them too much.

"I hate the way you tap your foot when you think too much." Hero spoke.

Villain looked to their foot, which had subconsciously moved on its own. They really had noticed this aspect of them? Even Villain didn't realize they do it that often. They sheepishly forced their foot to stop.

"It makes an annoying sound." They finished.

"Please," Villain rolled their eyes, "I thought you said to choose words that would have an impact."

It was hopeless; they weren't getting anything done. Unless Villain was ready to lose their feelings, they couldn't imagine any changes.

"Alright, how about we stay away from each other for now until we can find a solution?" Hero presented.

They nodded; it was the only choice they had; if there was anything better, they might be able to propose it later. Villain watched Hero disappear out of sight. The thin line of sharp red contrasted against the night as it began to stretch further from them.

•

Part 2 >

End >>

~~~

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#imagine your otp #fluff prompt #enemies to lovers #villain x hero #hero x villain #heroxvillain #heroxvillain snippet #writing snippet #wrtblr

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rin-tezuka · 3 months ago

Note

hello to the previous anons

i am one of the fabled "ex-4chan tgirls." i spent 15 years on there. oops!

i will not be beating the "loser" or "virgin" or "jobless" allegations. but other than that, i liked to post anonymously. that was it. its more fun to post when someone cannot try to pwn you with something you said three years ago. there used to be a whole slew of sites like this (420chan! ch6! bubblebbs! sushigirl! old saovq!) & i liked most of them for this reason

some time ago you were able to start a thread about whatever weirdo topic you wanted (eg photography or linux windowmanagers or low budget eastern european pc games) & people would see it and reply, provided u were on the right board. no need to spend weeks/months ingratiating yourself in whatever community surrounds it before you "earned" permission to have a little chat. it was Nice, much kinder to my agoraphobia than most pseudonymous websites. then august 2014 happened, then 2016, then 2019, then covid,,,,,, ah well

there are multiple people on /lgbt/. a good number of them are bad people but there are different kinds of bad people. extreme social isolation makes you an asshole. i will not try to disprove this - tumblr alone is evidence of it. but you can be an asshole hikikomori and also read your lenin! or at least listen to audiobooks while playing runescape or whatever... i dont understand why people think these are contradictory.

consider also that 4chan has better word filters than tumblr (full regex support w/ the normal browser extensions). for a long time if u played ur cards right u could spend a whole day on your favorite midtier boards and not see a single racist or *phobe (at least til past few years when some sharty dork found a trove of botched surgery photos & i finally had to leave). vs tumblr or twitter where u always end up seeing someone trying to epically dunk on a screenshotted terf or whatever. ofc this has changed over time and i find it unbearable now - the people i actually wanted to talk to/read posts from have gradually left as the soyjakparty+groyper generations moved in. theres nothing left of interest to me there. also, im old now. but i would like for people to recognize that "ex 4chan" does not mean "uses racism to cope" or whatever, the same way "i use tumblr" doesn't mean "i make homoerotic marvel movie gifsets and/or will kill you if you imply transmisandry isn't the defining issue of our era." conversation websites have multiple people on them. 4chan has multiple boards. each board has multiple people on it.

that said /lgbt/ is an extraordinarily bad board. transphobia from other trans people is laser targeted in ways mumsnet users cannot fathom, as i'm sure you're all aware. i spent less than a year there and im still paying for it psychologically. occasional cute screenshottable post aside it is functionally a proana forum, except your therapist has no chance of understanding what it is. +like proana forums it is almost more accurate to think of the people stuck in it as victims rather than criminals. you cannot understand what that shit does to your psyche until you are the one suffocating in it. only "worth" going there if you are doing shulginesque n=1 research on selfharming with the computer, which is not something you should ever do. but /mu/+/jp/ 10-15 years ago were Not like that. (i miss u /bleep/...) long post sorry thank you for reading death to israel i will get drunk now yay :)

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loslentesdepedrito · 11 months ago

Text

I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven

Javi gif by: @skyshipper Jack gif by: @javier-pena My Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six

Word count: 9.2k+

Chapter summary: It's time for Ángel's surgery and the transplant preparation. Following the procedure, Jack visits his son, providing some closure regarding your marriage.

A/N: This chapter concludes the final installment of the series and stands as my penultimate post on this blog. Next week, hopefully, I'll be sharing one more post—a Din piece—officially wrapping up this blog. I intend to maintain my writing for another two weeks before ultimately closing my account. Thank you to everyone who has supported me!

Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the Whiskey bottles. Also, Jack's texts are in bold.

CW: angst is back again, but a happy ending is guaranteed, some science, mentions of surgery, chemotherapy, and stem cell transplant, Jack cannot use an iPhone, Javi and Jack tension, jealousy, pregnancy, divorce, and childhood disease.

Your conversation with Jack three hours ago left you drained and exhausted, and now you're perched on the chair in the corner of your son's hospital room. You're engrossed in watching Ángel and Javi talk about an upcoming soccer game and the probability of their favorite team winning the match when your phone vibrates underneath your thigh. With a subtle shift, you reach for it and once it’s in your hand, you flip it over. Your phone is illuminated with a family picture of you with your husband and son in the background and there’s a message on your Notification Center.

Jack Daniels: HI. TEXTING YOU FROM MY NEW PHONE.

Another vibration follows, prompting a second message.

Jack Daniels: WHY DID THE TEXT SEND IN UPPERCASE?

The sequence of messages from Jack continues, each notification accompanied by a vibration.

Jack Daniels: HOW DO I TURN THIS OFF?

Jack Daniels: HELP me. Wait, I figured it out. Sorry.

You haven’t clicked on the messages to take you to the chat. Instead, you hold and press, sending him a brief response:

Hi, Jack.

He doesn’t send anything back, and you turn off your phone. As soon as the screen is black, it lights up again.

Jack Daniels: I went to the store and picked up a new phone.

A second later, an image comes through.

You hover over the message once more, and it’s a front selfie Jack took. Well, it’s not quite a full-face selfie. It only captures just beneath his eyes, and his eyes and face are not looking directly at the camera, so you guess he was looking down trying to take a picture of something else.

You’re proven correct when a second picture comes through. This time it’s a box of an iPhone.

There’s a bubble on your text chain, and this time you fully click, opening the message thread with Jack.

Sorry, I don’t know how this phone works. I just didn’t want my phone to fail, and you didn’t have a way to contact me, so I got a new one. Did I miss anything?

You reply back with:

Ángel is already ready to go, we’re just waiting for a room to open up in the OR. Could take hours, though.

How did he take the news?

Very well, actually. Saying he’s excited to go home is an understatement. He sensed that we were worried about his surgery and he kind of gave us a lecture on how important it is to listen to doctors and gave us a small list of the benefits of chemo ports. When we asked him how he knew about the port, he said, and I quote, "some light reading."

Jack doesn’t take long to reply:

Smart boy. He definitely got that from you.

A smile graces your lips at his message, but you decide to shift the conversation:

We never talked about it, but do you want us to tell Ángel that you’re his donor?

Your nerves are on edge, and waiting for Jack’s response heightens your anxiety. Glancing up from your phone, you see Ángel still in deep conversation with Javi. Your phone vibrates again, and you look down at Jack’s response:

No. I don’t want him to want a relationship with me because of the donation. If he wants a relationship with me, I want it to be because he truly wants it, not because he feels any obligation.

You exhale, relieved, and reply:

Okay, we won’t tell him.

Thank you.

A text bubble appears:

How do I send the accent on his name?

Suppressing a laugh, your fingers glide over the keyboard:

Press the letter A for a good two seconds, and a whole lot of options should appear. Click on the third one.

It doesn’t take Jack very long to send a single:

He follows with:

Be honest, does it sound a bit funny when I pronounce his name?

You weigh your options, lie or be honest. You decide to go with the latter:

A little bit.

I remember when you used to make fun of my accent…

Liar. I didn’t make fun of you.

I miss that...

Oh, God, not again.

You’re about to reprimand him when, by some divine intervention, a fist knocks on the door, followed by a man in a polo and khakis. Quickly, you turn your phone off, redirecting your full attention to the man.

“Hi, I’m Will. I’m with patient transport services, and I’m here to take Ángel down to the OR,” he says.

“Come in,” you invite.

Javi stands up and retrieves your thick to-go bag from underneath the sofa. It's filled with water bottles, a variety of snacks, sweaters, sweatpants, and a few changes of clothes—because, as Javi says, uno nunca sabe (one never knows).

Will walks over to Ángel and looks at his hospital bracelet. He takes out a phone with a bulky blue case and scans the ID barcode. Will asks to no one in particular, “Can you please confirm his full name and date of birth.”

Javi does that for you.

Will nods and types something onto the phone. After a moment, he looks at Ángel, “Hey, little man, how are you doing?”

Ángel smiles, “I’m good, sir. I'm just waiting to get my chemo port. After that, I can get chemo and then a transplant so I can go home.”

Will chuckles, “That's a great plan, buddy. We’ll get you down to the OR, and they’ll take good care of you so you can go home soon. Ready to go to the sixth floor?”

Ángel nods enthusiastically, his eyes filled with trust.

“Great,” Will says, glancing at you and Javi. “If you guys are ready, we can head downstairs.”

Javi, lifting the heavy bag over his shoulder, nods in agreement. He glances at Ángel, a mix of tenderness and concern in his eyes, and then turns to Will.

“He’ll be under anesthesia, right?” Javi asks, his voice a bit gruffer than usual.

Will offers a reassuring smile, “Yes, sir. That's what his chart says.”

Javi nods, visibly swallowing some of his worry. “Okay, let’s get him down there.” He moves to help his son get up from the bed. Will positions the wheelchair closer to Ángel's bed, and together, they carefully lower Ángel onto the wheelchair. You reach for one of the blankets—a gift from your father-in-law—and drape it over Ángel. Will takes the IV wire and secures it on the designated hook at the back of the wheelchair.

"Are we all set?" Will asks.

"Yes," you affirm, and then Will wheels Ángel toward the door. Javi, anticipating the need, beats them to the exit, opens the door, and holds it wide open to let them pass. Stepping into the corridor, Javi instinctively reaches for your hands, intertwining fingers not just for your comfort but for his own solace as well. Together, you trail behind your son as Will expertly steers Ángel's wheelchair through the hallway.

Descending from the tenth floor via the patient elevators, you and Javi follow Will, who scans his badge to usher you through the double doors into the pre-op room.

Guiding Ángel to the left side of the room, Will selects a quiet corner and draws back a side of the arctic blue diamond-print curtains, revealing an unoccupied bed. Positioning the wheelchair beside the bed, he assists Ángel in transitioning onto the soft mattress.

"Alright, good luck, buddy. You'll do great in there," Will encourages, raising a fist. Ángel meets it with his own, and as their fists connect, they both playfully mimic the sound of an explosion.

"Thanks, sir," Ángel replies, his voice carrying gratitude. Then, in a quiet and unsure tone, he adds, "I'll see you after?"

Will's smile is reassuring. "Absolutely. I'll be the one taking you back up."

With that, Will takes a step back, giving Ángel some space. He turns to you and your husband, saying, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Peña, Mrs. Peña. Someone should be with you shortly."

"Thanks for everything, Will," you say, watching as Will, with a warm smile, exits and closes the curtain, providing you with some privacy with your son.

With only one chair in the room, Javi insists you take a seat, not wanting you on your feet.

"¿Y tú? (what about you?)" you ask, concern etched in your voice and face. Maybe it's because you went so long without a partner prioritizing you, or because in the time your son has been in the hospital, Javier has really taken care of almost everything. Sometimes you can't help but feel guilty that he always puts your comfort above his own.

"Me paro (I’ll stand)," Javi shrugs his shoulders as if it's the most obvious choice in the world.

"Papi, you can sit here," Ángel offers, patting the mattress.

"Está bien (it's okay), mijo, I can stand for a while," he smiles, loving that his son is always considerate.

"Baja ese bolso (put down that bag), at least," you plead with him.

"I'm good, someone should be here soon," Javi reassures.

"Pero, Javi- (but, Javi-)" You're interrupted when you hear a woman asking if she can come in.

He smirks and whispers, "Ves (see)." Dropping his cocky look, Javi opens the curtain to let the woman in.

"Hello, my name is Dr. Gaddi. I'll be Angel's anesthesiologist. Can I please get a full name and a birthday?"

Your son happily responds to the doctor's requests while she verifies the information on the computer.

"Great, thank you, sweetheart. Mom or Dad, I'll need your signature on the consent forms. If one of you will please follow me," she says.

"I'll go," Javi says, and to your relief, he finally drops the bag from his shoulder.

"It's just straight this way," the anesthesiologist says, motioning past the curtain where the nurse station is in the middle of the big room.

Javier nods and follows the doctor. "Ya vengo mis amores (I’ll be back my loves)," he says with a big smile before closing the curtain.

Once on the other side of the curtain, where you and his son can't see him, he exhales a shaky breath. The fear is there, gnawing at him, although he doesn't want to show it. He wishes he could share it with you, as he normally would, but you're pregnant. The stress is already too much, and he doesn't want it to affect the baby. That thought terrifies him, and he can't risk it. Through the course of your marriage, he's come to understand that sometimes, marriage isn't a perfect fifty-fifty. There are moments when one partner has to carry more, and right now, he knows it's one of those moments. He must bear the fear and shoulder some of yours. While he wants to share these worries with you, a deep-seated commitment to putting family first holds him back. His protective nature takes precedence, always prioritizing his family.

Javier raises his head back up and quickly turns around to follow the doctor, who is waiting for him.

Once he catches up to her, she tells him the forms are for consent of treatment. The doctor reads the online document, informing Javi about the procedure, the benefits, and the risks it entails.

Dr. Gaddi must have seen the look on Javier's face after she listed the risks and the way he nearly crumbled when she said "or death" because she stopped and turned to him.

"But... everything will be okay, right? He’s in good hands?” Javi asks, his voice cracking as if he's on the verge of tears; even speaking those words makes his throat ache, causing a noticeable strain in his voice.

"Sir, I can't make any promises. Every surgery does come with risks, but my team and I have successfully done this procedure multiple times.”

Javi tries his best to remind himself that everyone in the OR is experienced and has done this procedure before.

"Where do I sign?" he manages to ask, his voice slowly regaining its composure.

While Javi is with Ángel's anesthesiologist, a nurse, and another doctor come in to check on Ángel. He had only managed a short nap, so now, as he rests, you take out your phone and send a text to Jack.

Hey. We're in the Pre-op area. There's a room in the OR now, and I've met his doctors. As soon as the anesthesiologist comes back, they'll take him.

Jack replies instantly as if he's been sitting by, waiting for his phone to ring:

Thank you for letting me know.

He sends a follow-up:

His surgery is only supposed to take an hour, right?

That's what the doctors said. I'm sure he won't be in there for too long.

As Javi, Dr. Gaddi, and a nurse approach, you text Jack:

The anesthesiologist will be here soon. I'll send you any updates I get, and I'm going to send you Javi's contact info just in case.

After adding Javi's phone number and hitting send, your husband and the surgical team arrive.

Dr. Gaddi approaches, “Hi, Mom, everything is ready on our end to take the patient to the OR."

“Okay,” you say, rising to your feet. The staff gathers around the bed and begins to move it. Ángel stirs at the movement, calling for you and Javi before opening his eyes.

Javi quickly rushes to your side, closer to your son, and reassures him, "It's okay."

"Oh, am I going to surgery?" Ángel asks.

"Yes, you are, Angel," the nurse responds as he releases the brakes on the left side.

"Oh, okay, yay," Ángel smiles.

The nurse chuckles at his excitement, "You know, not many kids are excited for surgery."

"I'm excited because chemo ports look more comfortable than the IV. It gets in my way when I do, like, anything," Ángel explains with a huff.

"Well, I've heard from other patients that they prefer the port, so hopefully you will too," says Dr. Gaddi as she stands to the side, waiting to wheel Ángel out of the room.

She turns to you and your husband, saying, "You guys can follow us until that red line, and then you'll be taken to the waiting room."

You start feeling more anxious, and Javier senses it. He begins to rub your lower back, his warm hand moving up and down, offering comfort.

"Okay, ready," says the nurse.

With the curtain open, they go through first, and you and Javi are right next to your son’s bed.

You're so hyper-focused on your son that you don't realize you've made it right before the line that you can't cross.

"Love you, Mommy, love you, Daddy," Ángel says, reaching out for your hand.

You take his little hand in yours, and Javi covers both of your hands with his.

"Te amamos más, mi niño (we love you more)," Javi tells him in a soft voice. Everyone can hear the love pouring out of his words.

Ángel knows this and doesn't try to contradict his dad because he knows it would be in vain. Instead, he simply says, "Nos vemos en un ratito (We’ll see each other in a little bit)."

"Okay, mijo," you say, fighting back tears.

The doors open, and Ángel is wheeled in. You think the tears are coming, but when you hear the light sound of your son's laughter, you're able to compose yourself.

"Would you like to be taken to the waiting room now?" a non-surgical nurse asks.

Thirty minutes pass, and you and Javier are seated in the waiting room, the only occupants at the moment. Purple chairs surround you, and you're on a blue seat cushion against the wall, your attention fixed on the TV opposite. It's a modest 35-inch screen designed to keep you informed about the ongoing surgery. Your son's name is displayed in green, and the message changes from ‘Surgery in progress: Incision and Pocket Creation’ to ‘Surgery in progress: Port Implantation.’

"They're placing the port-disk-chamber thingy inside the incision they made on his chest," Javi says matter-of-factly, pointing at the text.

You turn your head toward him, an amused smile playing on your lips. "'Port-disk-chamber thingy'—is that what the doctor said, Jav?"

He bursts out laughing, placing his right hand over his chest, realizing he was mimicking the tone doctors use when imparting information: authoritative. "Casi me cago del miedo (I almost shitted myself from fear) when the doctor told me step by step what they would do, so I don't remember exactly what he said," he chuckles.

Javier's laugh is contagious, and you can't help but laugh too. Your laughter fuels his, and vice versa. The only thing that interrupts your laughter is when you feel the baby kick.

"Ay, me pateó (oh, he kicked me)," you exclaim happily.

Javi instantly stops laughing too and shifts his hand to rest on your bump. As soon as you feel the weight of his hand on your stomach, your son responds with another kick, right where Javi's palm is placed.

A boyish look crosses your husband's face. He always loves feeling the baby kick, reminiscent of the first time he felt his first son kick.

"¿Hola, mijo, ya te despertaste? (Hi, my boy, have you woken up yet?)" he hums softly.

In response, the baby kicks again.

"He loves your voice so much. I swear he only kicks so you could talk to him. A mi no me quiere, nomas le gusta que le cantes y le leas (He doesn’t love me, he just likes it when you sing and read to him),” you huff out in fake annoyance.

"That's not true. The second-born is always the momma's boy. So the baby loves you the most," Javi says.

"And the youngest loves daddy the most, so no," you refute.

"He won't be the youngest for long," he grins suggestively.

You gasp, “ya me embarazaste, sinverguenza! (You already impregnated me!)"

"But if it was scientifically possible..."

"Shut up," you playfully scold him.

With Javi's hand still over your stomach, your son kicks again, this time much lighter.

"He's upset you told me to shut up," his gaze shifts from looking at you to your stomach as if he could see the baby, and he lowers his voice, “¿verdad, mijo? Dile a tu mami que no sea mala conmigo (right, mijo? Tell your mom to stop being mean to me).”

He looks back up at you, "te acuerdas cuando Ángel hizo eso por primera vez? (Do you remember when Ángel did that for the first time?).”

“Jesus Christ, he scared me, and he made you cry,” you laugh, a smile on your face remembering.

"Oh shit! I forgot to update Jack," you realize and scramble to get your phone. As you start typing to let him know what's going on in the OR, you tell Javi, "By the way, I gave him your phone number."

Javier lets out an unenthusiastic and dry, "Yay."

“Mira (look),” he says while you’re still typing. You look up to where Javi is pointing, and the TV changes to Surgery in progress: Catheter Insertion.

You wince, "They're in his vein now."

"The catheter is the tube that delivers the medicine to his body, right?"

"Yeah," you mumble, typing the next update to Jack.

Javi reaches for one of your hands and rubs soothing circles, “Deja de pensar en eso. Él está bien con ellos (stop thinking about it. He’s safe with them).”

He removes his hand and turns his body to the to-go bag. Javi reaches for the zipper and undoes it. He digs in the back, and you see him pull something out. "Do you need a blanket?" he asks, with a large fuzzy blue blanket in his hand and his soft brown eyes looking at you tenderly. Before you can reply, he places it in your lap and goes back to the bag. Javi fights a little and finally tugs a pillow out of the bag, "a pillow?" he asks with the same puppy eyes.

“I- thank you," you accept both items. You put the pillow behind you so you won't rest your back against the hard and cold wall. You take the blue blanket from your lap and extend it to drape it over the both of you.

"¿Tienes hambre? (are you hungry?)" Javi asks adjusting the blanket.

"Sí"

He goes back to the bag and pulls out some snacks: Goldfish, Chips Ahoy, granola bars, fruit snacks, dry plantain chips, and a pack of assorted nuts.

"Sorry, I don't have any actual food," he looks at what he's offered you and feels guilty at the limited options. Javi gets up quickly, "I can go get you real food. Are you craving anything?"

"Hey," you wrap your fingers around his wrist and grip somewhat tightly. You look up at him and push him to sit back down. "No. I don't want you to leave."

"Okay. I'll stay," he says softly, kissing where your hair and forehead meet.

A knock reverberates in the room, and a nurse comes in. "Hi," she says, closing the door to come closer to you. "Everything went well. There were no complications. They're ready to transfer Ángel to the Post-op room if you guys would like to follow me."

Both of you look relieved at the news, and you feel like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

"Thank you," you tell her, and Javi can't get any words out. His eyes are watering, and he tries his best to not let them fall.

He starts hurriedly putting away the snacks, just keeping the bag of nuts, while you fold the blanket back up into the neat roll Javi had it in. After the snacks, blanket, and pillow are in the bag again, Javi helps you get up. You send Jack a quick text informing him that everything went well, and you're on your way to see Ángel. Javi puts the bag over his shoulder, and you both follow the nurse to go see your son.

Next morning - Day 1 of Chemo:

Hey, Jack. Ángel is awake and doing well. He asked about having visitors and hoped you would come see him. We explained that it's not possible right now. He understood but wanted to call. Would you like to FaceTime?

That's great. What’s FaceTime?

It's a video call.

Yes. How do I do that?

Instead of texting him back, you initiate a FaceTime call and hand the phone off to Ángel when it starts to ring.

As soon as Jack accepts the call and his face takes over your screen, Ángel's little face lights up. "Mr. Jack!"

Jack's face mirrors Ángel's: a smile so wide, eyes so soft looking at his son.

"I just started chemotherapy," Ángel blurts out just before Jack greets him.

Jack's heart glows watching his son's face. "How are ya feeling?"

"Mmm... I feel okay. Oh! I got the surgery last night, and look at my chemo port." Your son takes one hand off your phone and pulls his hospital gown just enough to show Jack his port. "Look! You can see the bump of the port under my skin. Eww, it looks gross. It's so cool."

Jack laughs, and that makes Ángel move the phone back to his face.

"Does it hurt?" Jack asks.

"Nope. It was a little bit like... sore when I woke up, but it doesn’t hurt now. I had chemo in the morning, and it pinched for a second, but it's wayyy better than the IV."

"It's not a pain to use the restroom, huh?"

"It's easier and faster to go now," his brows pinch in the middle, "I almost peed myself once 'cus I had to wait for the wires to detangle from the bed." Ángel trails off, tilts his head to the side, and squints. "What do you have behind you? Is that a needle?"

Jack turns his head behind to see what his son saw. He had picked up the prescription he needed to be Ángel's donor from the pharmacy the previous night. Jack opened the box out of curiosity and took out a needle to look at, but then he got caught up texting you in the morning and forgot to put the small vial and needle back in the pharmacy bag.

"Umm... yeah?" Jack says uncertainly, not knowing how to explain it to his son. He doesn't want him to know that he's his donor, at least not yet. "That is some medicine I have to take in two days," Jack says, trying to keep it vague.

When the words come out of Jack's mouth, Ángel's eyes show pure concern, "Oh, are you sick?"

"No, buddy," Jack blurts out immediately, "I'm not sick. I'm just takin' them for... to... Just takin' them to stay healthy. They're like vitamins."

"Maybe I should take some so I could be healthy. What's the name of the medicine?"

Jack's heart drops at his son's words. His mind starts spinning, but he takes a deep breath. He'll be healthy soon, he tries to remind himself. "You can't take this one, buddy. It's for adults."

"Oh," he sounds disappointed, but his voice goes back to normal, "Well, that's okay. I can't take vitamins on chemo either way. I think. Vitamins can affect chemo because of cancer cells, but I don't have any so I don't know. I can ask later. How are the horses?"

Donation Day - Day 7 of Chemo:

Jack sat comfortably in a green chair, his right hand extended over a pillow, squeezing a small blue ball as his blood cycled through the machine. Two hours had passed since he settled into the chair. He arrived at the hospital early in the morning with the last dose of his five-day filgrastim prescription, and for the first time, someone other than him administered the injection. Throughout the morning, he had been texting you, checking in on his son, and, though he wouldn't admit it, checking in on you. Of course, he cared about his son and wanted to know every detail of what he was going through, but this had been the only line of communication he had with you for years, and he wanted to take advantage of the opportunity while you were willing to entertain his conversations. From you, he learned that Ángel's last day of chemo had gone smoothly.

Jack's head spun when he heard a knock against the door. His heart thumped wildly in his chest at the thought of seeing you. When the door opened, a wave of disappointment washed over him. It wasn't you who set foot in the room; it was fucking Javier.

Jack instantly tenses and clears his throat as Javier walks over to him.

"Hi."

Javi crosses his hands over his thick biceps, "How's the donation coming along?"

"It's goin' well. They think in 30 minutes we'll have enough for Ángel," Jack fills Javi in.

"H-how are umm... how are you feeling?" Javi gets the words out, although with much effort. He sounds physically pained asking a simple question to Jack.

"You sound very concerned for my well-being," Jack quips sarcastically.

Not really, Javi wants to say. Instead, he tells Jack, "I’m trying really hard to not hate you.”

It doesn't faze Jack one bit. "Same."

"So just don't do anything to piss me off. More like don't do anything else to piss me off even more," Javi lowers his voice more, "She's my wife; she tells me things. Don't you ever dare call her ‘baby’ again. You're lucky she's not that uncomfortable with ‘sugar’, but if she ever shows one ounce of discomfort, you will stop."

"She never minded all those names before," Jack challenges, glaring at Javi."

Javi smirks, wearing a shit-eating grin as he nonchalantly shrugs. "Yeah, she never did lots of things before me."

Jack is furious. All he sees is red, and just as he begins to rise from his chair to get up, the nurse walks in.

"Oh! A visitor," she exclaims.

"Hello," Javi greets the redheaded nurse in blue scrubs with ducks all over them.

Seeing the nurse enter, Jack comes to his senses and sits back down. Subconsciously, he squeezes the ball so tight in his hands that his knuckles turn white.

"Mr. Daniels, are you okay?" the nurse questions with concern. All she sees is her patient gripping the ball so tightly that his nails are about to rupture through the material. She moves to him and checks his arm to see if there are any signs the needle is causing pain.

Jack's glare tears from Javi and shifts to the nurse. "I'm okay, thank you for checkin’ in on me," he tells her and moves his hand to signal for the nurse to release his arm. "Nothin’ hurts," he smiles up at her.

The nurse understands and checks the progress of the donation. While looking at the machine, she decides to make small talk with her patient and his visitor. "Are you Mr. Daniels' brother?" She turns to ask Javi innocently.

"No," Jack's words drip with disgust.

Javi smiles at how fast Jack denies the nurse's initial thought and says "Not related," under his breath, mumbling, "Thank God."

The nurse doesn't seem to pick up on their animosity and comments, "You two look alike, what a coincidence. Best friends then?"

"No, nothing like that. My wife and I know him, and he's giving our son a gift," Javi says 'our' while looking at Jack.

Suddenly, Ángel crosses their minds, and they both feel some shame for their earlier behavior. They know they can't go on still hating each other because it'll eventually turn into a fight. They just don't know how to set aside their differences.

"I'll call the doctor to get her thoughts, but it looks like we have what we need for the donation," the nurse says, taking note of the blood volume. "In a few hours, one lucky little boy will receive the cells, and he’ll be one step closer to being healthy."

After Jack was hooked up to the machine for two and a half hours, the staff deemed the collection enough and sent the blood bag to the lab to confirm that Jack’s procedure had collected enough stem cells. Four hours later, it was confirmed that there were the desired amount of stem cells, and the team took the cells to Ángel’s room. Due to your son being immunocompromised, he isn't allowed to have visitors other than legal guardians. So, you and Javi update Jack on the transplant.

Day 11 post-transplant:

Remember how I told you he started grafting on the tenth day?

Yes! How his body was accepting the stem cells, and the cells were growing and making new cells.

Mhm. Well, if everything keeps going at the speed it’s been going, Ángel gets to go home in four days!!

Oh, wow! It’s just day 11 after the transplant, and the doctors estimated it wouldn't happen until closer to day 25! Can I go see him then? I know I was cleared to go five days ago, but because I wasn’t feeling well, I didn’t go. My fever’s still here, but I’ll continue to monitor myself.

Sure! You need to be cleared of a fever for 24 hours and have absolutely NO symptoms.

You have my word, sugar.

Day 14 post-transplant:

You're packing all of Ángel's belongings to take home. It's been 14 days since your son's transplant, and he's cleared to go home. You don't know who's happier— you, your husband, or your son. But that doesn't really matter; all that matters is that your family is together. Just as you're collecting your son's toys and getting them ready to shove into the white personal belongings bag, someone knocks on the door. Javi stops placing Ángel's books into a box and hurriedly opens the door. He was expecting the doctor to come in with discharge papers, but it was Jack waiting on the other side.

"Oh, right, you said you'd stop by," Javi remembered.

When you saw Jack standing there not quite stepping inside the room with a red gift bag, you gasped. "Sorry, we forgot you were going to stop by." You turned your neck and saw Ángel reading the book Jack had gifted him, One Hundred Fun Facts About Horses.

"Come in," you usher Jack in. "Mijo," you call, and Ángel looks up from the book he's got his nose buried in.

"Mr. Jack!" Ángel's face lights up like a Christmas tree. He pats a spot in his bed as he tells Jack to sit down next to him. "I want to show you something," Ángel puts the book aside and lowers his shirt to show Jack that the port is gone. "They took my port out!"

Jack almost reaches out and touches his son's scar but settles for examining it with his eyes. "Are you sore?"

"Not really. I'm just excited to go to my house. Did my mom tell you I'm leaving the hospital today?"

"Yeah," Jack chuckles, "she mentioned it. And here I brought you this," he lifts the gift bag onto the bed.

Ángel tears it open and begins to pull the items out. The first gift he reaches is a book, Her Right Foot. "Oh, my God!"

You see the title and direct your question to Jack, "He's wanted that book for a while, how did you know?"

"Really?" Jack's smiling ear to ear. "I just went to the bookstore and thought he'd like that one." His heart feels like it could rip right through his chest because he feels like he knows his son. Jack had browsed many children's books and read the synopsis of every last book. The one he had purchased was the one he felt his son would love, the book his son is currently holding, and Jack was right.

The little boy takes out the next item, which is a box. "A Lego set!" Ángel flips the black box to the front, and he sees that this particular set is one of horses. The horse in the center looked similar to Andor, one of Jack's horses his son loved the most. "Is this an Andalusian?" Ángel looks to Jack, his eyes sparkling."

Jack nods his head, "It is, buddy. It's like a mini Andor."

Ángel seems pleased with Jack's answer and moves on to the last gift. It was another box, but this one was a shoebox. The little boy lifted the top off, and he was met with boots—dark brown leather boots with beautiful and intricate stitching all throughout.

“Is that a longhorn?” Ángel points at the center of the boots. He doesn’t wait for an answer before speaking again, “My grandpa has longhorns on his ranch. Do you have them on your ranch, Mr. Daniels?”

"I don’t have any longhorns, but umm... I have the same boots," Jack looks down at the floor like he’s suddenly interested in the simple pattern of the hospital floor. He wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, but when his son's sweet voice reached his ears, Jack looked up.

"You do?" Ángel was beaming, a smile brighter than the sun. He leaps to move sideways so his legs would hang from the bed. He took his left boot and put it on his baby blue non-slip sock-clothed feet and did the same for the right boot. When both boots are on, he pinches the tip to feel where his toes are. Ángel drops to the floor and begins to walk, showing all three of you his new footwear.

"How did you get his shoe size?" You're amazed at how they seem to fit perfectly.

"I asked him," Jack nods his head towards your husband, who is smiling broadly, showing his perfect teeth. Javi squats down to Ángel's level and presses his fingers on his son's boot toe box to feel if they're pinching Ángel's feet. "Perfect fit," Javi smiles up at his son, dimple on display, still on the floor.

Once Javi's hands are removed from Ángel's boots, he runs to Jack, "Thank you so much, Mr. Jack," he says, jumping up and down. Ángel runs back to Javi, who is now standing up straight, "¡Papi, quiero una foto! (Daddy, I want a picture!)" Javi complies and takes out his phone from his back pocket.

You turn to Jack, and your voice falls to a whisper, "We're hosting a dinner in a few nights to celebrate Ángel coming home, and we'd love it if you'd join us."

Jack's head reels at the prospect of seeing you and Ángel in a few days, but beneath that excitement, there is fear, "Is your family going to be there?" he asks.

"Yes, and Javi's too."

"It's your family I'm worried about," he confesses, looking into your eyes.

You take in the way his face pales slightly, his eyes widen, and his eyebrows shoot near his hairline. "No. You're more than worried; you look genuinely scared, but you'll be fine."

"'Course I'll be there, Sugar," he says, looking at his son laughing while Javi takes his pictures. If Ángel was a happy and giddy boy before the transplant, Jack now sees how his innocence is amplified now that he's healthy, and Jack can't wait to see more of his son's childhood joy outside the hospital.

"Hey, can I talk with you alone before you leave?" Jack asks you, hoping you'll agree.

"Um, yeah, we can go outside," you agree, noting his urgent tone.

"Javi, Ángel, I'll be back soon. I'm just going to walk Jack out," you say, moving to the door with Jack on your heels.

"Okay, we'll keep packing, amor," Javi tells you, brushing his hand with yours. You lean into your husband for a while until Ángel and Jack say their goodbyes, promising they'll see each other at the dinner.

You and Jack exit the room, and you take him to a little corner further down the hall.

"What did you want to discuss?" you ask resting your back on the wall with brown and cream diamond wallpaper.

Jack's nervous to tell you what he wants: a father-and-son relationship with Ángel. You two never went into detail on how you would tell Ángel the truth about Jack and he's terrified of asking you for something this big so soon after a big weight of stress has been lifted off you.

"Jack?"

"Sorry," he clears his throat, "I wanted to talk to you about telling Ángel that I'm his dad- biological."

"Oh," you sound surprised. "Yeah. We didn't really discuss that, did we? I haven't thought about it in so long, I'm sorry. Maybe we can get some pointers from Ángels counselor?" You suggest. "Javi and I thought about making an appointment with a child therapist because of this entire hospital stay. We were hoping to get your opinion on that actually."

It's Jack's turn to be surprised. "I think that's wonderful, Sugar. Thank you for including me in the decision."

"Of course. I think it would be great if we could get the counselor's opinion on how to best handle the situation. And we too can figure out how this new dynamic would work. For example, medical decisions moving forward. We'll tell Ángel about you and I have no doubt he'll want to have the relationship you want to have with him. We can talk more about the appointment in a few days. We haven't set an exact date for the dinner but it will probably be this upcoming Sunday."

"I'll clear out my entire schedule," Jack says sincerely

"We'll have food for you that won't send you into a choking fit," you tease.

Jack covers his eyes with his hands, "God, 'M so sorry."

You laugh at his embarrassment, "No, it's okay. I understand the food we serve can take some getting used to." You continue to tell him about the plans for the dinner that is slowly turning into a party and he just stares at you while you keep talking he gets lost in the moment. He thinks about your laugh and the consideration you still have for him and suddenly Jack blurts out, “I love you."

The smile you had vanishes.

“Jack,” you warn dangerously. “We were doing so good, Jack.” You don't want to—can't see him now, so you close your eyes. The words only needed to be said once for them to threaten tears to spill. "How dare you say those words to me now?” You hiss, your tone now angry but more than anything, filled with frustration and pain. You thought you could handle seeing him, so you open your eyes. "What do you expect me to do with that? I won’t leave Javi if that’s what you’re hoping for.

"S-" Jack opens his mouth, but you cut him off immediately. "No, Jack, let me speak."

"Once, those three words would have made me the happiest person in the world, but now? They’re only causing pain,” you pause, exhaling a shaky breath. “You humiliated me, Jack. Time and time again. Even if I didn’t have Javi, I wouldn’t go back to you.” You sound defeated, your voice carrying the pain of past wounds, and it crushes you to keep thinking about the past.

“I did love you, through everything,” Jack whispers, his eyes searching yours. They are watery and dazed.

“I think…” you run your tongue over your lips and then purse them, “I think you loved me in your own way. But that’s not how I wanted to be loved. During our engagement, and more so during our marriage, I never really felt loved by you. Can you blame me for that if I can count with my fingers the amount of 'I love yous' you gave me?” Your words are like shards of glass, cutting through the air with the sharpness of your pain.

“When you did show me your love, I was so happy, Jack. So happy that I thought, hoped, you would give me more love, so I stayed with you. I longed for the morning you woke up and things would be different, better. Because that’s exactly what happened. You woke up after the night of our engagement, and you were a completely different person, and I couldn't comprehend what I did wrong. I was willing to stay with you forever for the odd chance one day you would feel for me how I felt for you.”

“And I stayed because I always hoped you would go back to your old self. Sometimes there were indications that you were going to become the old Jack. Well, I don’t know if I fooled myself, but sometimes I thought you were happy. Like right before I told you I was pregnant, you had this smile on your face….” Your voice trembles with the weight of those memories.

“Other times I genuinely thought you hated me, and then I thought that’s not possible. ‘Why would he ask me to marry him if he couldn’t stand me?’”

“Did you always think that?” He sounds sad, a quiet plea for understanding. But your heart, scarred by the past, struggles to find solace in his remorseful gaze.

“Yeah. When… when we were together, it was rare you would look at me in my face. The majority of times you had me face down. How do you think that made me feel? You made me feel used and disposable.”

“I wanted to be loved by you," you continue, your tone a mix of vulnerability and strength, "and you always made me feel like I was the other woman. Then I decided I should stop trying and let you go.”

“What changed?” Jack's question hangs in the air. Everything you’ve revealed up to this point has felt like glass shards embedded in his heart. He knows you still have a lot left to say, and it will continue to hurt him, but he owes it to you to hear everything you went through.

“I was at a park one day after you didn’t come home," you recall, emotion tinging your words. "I came across this older man, and he showed me pictures of his family. When he talked about his wife…” you pause, emotion catching up with you. “It was beautiful. And I realized that would never be you. You wouldn’t talk about me that way. Since that day, I took off my rose-colored lenses and thought everything through."

"I thought about your behavior but also about mine. I hated who I was because it sounds ridiculous, but I was jealous of someone who wasn't here anymore. And I swear I never wanted to replace her or erase her from your life, I just wanted you to love me too. I loved you so much; I would've settled for half the love you had for Allison, but you couldn't even give me that. I never told you you couldn't love or mourn Allison. She was your wife, I get that... but I was your wife too, and knowing you would never love me like you did her was slowly killing me.”

"I thought about one night, which I don't know if you remember," you confess, the vulnerability in your voice palpable. "But one night on her birthday, you got extremely drunk, and you kept slurring your words. I couldn't understand half of what you were saying, but I heard loud and clear when you yelled at me that you didn’t choose to stop loving her; you were forced to. And you said that you would’ve never looked at me otherwise. That you wish she came back and I disappeared… That we s- switched places,” you confess, exposing the scars engraved into your heart, and the pain of that night that is still etched in your memory—a wound that refused to fully heal. You were surprised that you weren't sobbing, because the night he told you those words, you felt your world had ended.

Jack was appalled, his face reflecting the shock and guilt that surged through him as he listened to your words. The heaviness of the past, the pain inflicted, all rushed back to him as a floodgate of memories suddenly opened, each carrying the weight of its own hurt.

"I always felt I was the third person in our marriage. You made me feel things I hated, and maybe even worse, I became someone I didn't recognize. After that day in the park, I was going to ask you for a divorce because I didn't want to be the person you settled for… then I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to give us one last try, and well, you remember what happened after I told you the news,” you say, the bitterness of the past lingering in your words.

"You kept hurting me, and you're smart, Jack. Did you not think I would leave you?"

Jack exhales, the reminder of his own mistakes heavy on him. "I think I couldn’t let ya go, so a part of me hoped you would leave me if I treated you horribly. Every day I fought with myself to treat you like you deserve, but I wasn’t strong enough to open up to you."

The silence lingers, and Jack takes the opportunity to share a piece of his truth. "The night after I proposed, I had a dream about Allison. She told me I was replacing her, and I dunno, instead of working out through my issues, I took it out on ya.”

“Over a dream? You... you let our relationship go to waste because of a dream,” you say, a mix of disbelief and frustration in your voice. You want to be angry at him because such a trivial thing ruined the chance of happiness, but then you put yourself in his shoes. "Oh, Jack," you add, this time with a tone of understanding and sadness.

“Have you been to therapy?” you ask him, your tone a mix of curiosity and concern.

“Yeah…” Jack admits with a small, self-deprecating laugh.

“Can I be honest?” you tilt your head, your fingers playing with the collar of your shirt.

He nods.

“I don’t think it helped.”

Jack smiles, a sheepish expression on his face, “If we’re being honest, I went in for two sessions and never saw my shrink again.”

“Well, your therapist probably knew what they were doing,” you playfully scold, but then your voice softens, "Please see a therapist so Ángel can get to know the best version of you. When I knew that Jack, he was amazing, and that's the man I want my son to know."

A sad smile greets Jack's face, "Yes, Sugar."

There's another thing you've always been curious to know but never had the stomach to ask, and this seems to be your window. "Can I ask, did you, um, did you ever sleep with someone else while we were married?"

"God no," the words tumble out of his mouth.

"Well, that's something, I guess," you say, a sense of relief evident in your voice.

"I'm really sorry about everything, sweetheart. I can't believe I ever hurt you. I just miss you so much. I’ve never regretted anything in my life as much as I do not telling you I loved you when we had a chance," Jack confesses, the weight of regret heavy in his words.

"It’s okay, Jack. I’m not your wife anymore, but we had some good times. Sometimes love doesn’t work out how we thought,” you tell Jack, your gaze turning when you hear footsteps that are familiar to you.

And Jack would forever kick himself for driving you away and not accepting your love. The only piece of solace is that Ángel will have a happy and full life, and you finally got the love you deserved and dreamed of.

Javi starts calling your name, and you answer him so he can walk over to where you are. Once Javi comes into view, he tells you that Ángel’s been discharged and that they're ready to go home.

Jack looks at you once more, his gaze lingering, as if trying to capture every detail to hold onto. He sees the love in your eyes for your husband, a love he once had the chance to cherish but let slip away. It hurts, but at the mention of his son, it gives him the slightest glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he has learned from his mistakes, and he'll find a way to be a part of your lives, even if it's not in the way he once dreamed. The love of his life and his son are happy and healthy, and that will have to be enough for him.

"Bye, Jack. I'll let you know what time we're having the dinner," you say, while Javi wraps his arms around you—a protective gesture that Jack once held the privilege of doing, but did so sparingly.

"Take care," Javi tells Jack over his shoulder, his voice firm but not unkind. He then leads you to Ángel's room, leaving Jack standing alone in the corridor, grappling with the ache of what could have been.

You both start heading down the hallway, and Javi pauses halfway. His eyes search yours, concern written all over his features.

"Are you okay?"

"I am now," you lean into him and smile. "Jack and I were talking about when we were married," you begin, and Javi tenses involuntarily.

"Hey, no, you don’t have anything to worry about," you reassure him, cupping his face with both of your hands. "Our talk was more about what went wrong, and the bottom line was that I‘m okay with the fact that he wasn’t the one for me."

Javi takes a deep breath, visibly trying to control the surge of emotions within him. "It’s just- me cae mal ese - (I don’t like that-)” You can't help but chuckle lightly at your husband's choice of words.

"As stupid as it sounds, I wanted to make it work when we were married. I saw it in his eyes, I felt it in his words and actions; he didn’t love me, and I couldn’t stay in a marriage like that. I wanted a life with him... It didn't work out, and it's okay. Everything I dreamed of having, I found it with you. I'm the happiest I've ever been at your side. You’re the love of my life and I love being your wife, don't ever doubt that, okay?" Since the beginning of your relationship, you always repeated your love to Javier, not because he was insecure, but because you knew how it felt to be second place, second best, a consolation prize, and you never wanted Javier to think that you settled for him after Jack.

"Say it again," Javi requests, a genuine smile softening his features as he looks down at you.

"What?"

“That you’re my wife," Jack wants you to repeat the words that make his heart flutter.

“I’m your wife," you say.

Javi, still reveling in the warmth of the words, spins his finger in a playful circle, silently requesting you to say the words again.

“I’m your wife," you repeat, the pride evident in your tone. You take Javi's hand and begin walking to your son’s room.

"Again," Javi insists, stopping you in your tracks.

“I’m your wife.”

“Otra vez," he requests, this time in Spanish.

You comply, “Soy tu esposa," you tell him and drag him further down the hall to your son's room.

When Javi playfully asks you to say it once more, this time it's you who stops. “Por dios, Javi, ¿en cuántos lenguajes quieres que te lo diga? (My God, Javi, how many languages do you want me to say it in?)” you feign annoyance.

He shrugs, answering with a mischievous grin, “En todos (in all of them).”

Amused, you grab him by the collar of his blue button-down shirt and bring him to a level where you can whisper into his ear, “Ay, Jav, apenas y hablas español (Oh, Jav, you barely speak Spanish).” You kiss his cheek and pull back, leaving him slightly offended but oddly proud. He had hoped for a different outcome when he saw you pull him down; the glint in your eyes made him believe you were going to kiss him on the lips. But, to his dismay, you chose to tease him instead.

"Take it back!" he demands as you stand right outside the door.

“Si lo dices en español (if you say it in Spanish),” you tease with a grin. Javier contemplates for a moment, and in the brief silence, Ángel's laughter and Dr. Navarro's voice echo from inside the room.

"Please?" Javi implores, wanting to savor one more of those heart-skipping phrases before joining his son. Unable to resist his pleading eyes any longer and mindful of the precious moments with Ángel, you relent.

“I’m your wife.”

END

Extended Note: The end! Thank you, everyone, for your kindness throughout the series. I truly appreciate every interaction 🥹.

As for my departure, I'm unsure whether I should deactivate my account or just private my writing. There's one post I received only positive comments on, especially from people with SPD who found it relatable. Apparently, there's a shortage of such stories, so I'm conflicted. Hopefully, I'll have a definitive decision next week.

I'm planning to post the Din story next Thursday; it's just one part, a sex pollen with Virgin!Din, titled 'Paleta.' I'm a fan of El Alfa, and I recently discovered that a song in his new album was sampled from the one I used for the Din story. It got me thinking about what I had written, and I wanted to share it with y’all before I bow out.

Thank you for reading 🫶🏽!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories

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