#just throwing every tag in here right now it’s in my nature

[apeachty]

₊ ˚ ⊹ ♡ . ⠀wild roses | chapter 3 ; the thorns and flowers

⠀⠀⠀neighbour!yeonjun x fem!reader

← to chapter 2 | ♡ you're here ♡

genre ; soulmate au, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, humour, smut            wordcount ; 19.6k

warnings | tags ; unhealthy relationship with pain [mentions of self-inflicted pain and self-neglect]; yeonjun does some kinda questionable stuff [less questionable, but yeah, he continues]; self-hate and self-pity; fighting, injury and yeonjun overworks himself

smut warnings ; dom + soft sadist yeonjun x sub + soft masochist reader; no condoms [reader is on pills]; pain inflicting; yeonjun and reader are horny and use it as copying mechanism. ⠀⠀⠀mentions of wet dreams, free use kink, oral, somnophilia, cockwarming, dumbification; ⠀⠀⠀descriptions of spit play and cum play, hair pulling, choking, spanking / slapping; ⠀⠀⠀smut scenes with marking, fingering, cumming inside.

⠀⠀⠀[ event masterlist | my masterlist | wild roses masterlist ]

the next morning was a bit strange, but in a good way—yeonjun woke up early and tried to carefully leave the bed so as not to wake you up on a saturday, but you still stirred awake and sleepily followed him to the kitchen. he couldn’t stop throwing glances thinking how cute you were as you struggled to stay awake, your head leaning against the wall—you kept yawning, rubbing your eyes, looking like a little sleepy kitten that just needed to crawl back into bed and sleep as much as it wanted. he tried to send you off, but you refused to leave the kitchen, insisting you were perfectly awake—your sentence was interrupted by a yawn not once, but twice. 

when yeonjun returned from the bathroom to grab the hairdryer, he found you curled up on the couch right where you could see the bathroom door—well, if you weren't fast asleep. he almost let you rest, but considering how stubborn you’d been earlier… he woke you up, asking if you wanted to keep him company while he dried his hair. of course, you didn’t say no, trailing after him like the cutest little ghost before perching on the countertop. you were a bit more awake now, watching him drying his hair and giggling when he kept using the dryer to warm your cold hands and feet. he couldn’t stop smiling the whole time—he felt the happiest he had ever been.

by the time yeonjun was leaving, he couldn’t be less surprised—and more content—when you were there to hug him goodbye, cozily wrapped into his cardigan and cute fluffy socks he put on you himself to keep you warm. he pecked your nose and promised to text you every free second, as you hugged him tight mumbling that you wouldn’t stop bothering him if he didn’t keep the promise. 

but you started overthinking more and more the more awake you got—were you too clingy? too annoying and needy? at first, you wanted to bring yeonjun lunch and spend extra time with him, but you weren’t sure if he wanted to see you, so you decided to stay at his apartment, grabbing your laptop from your place to busy yourself with something. you still couldn’t stop thinking about it, though, trying to figure out how you were supposed to behave now, when you were dating—you didn’t want to ruin everything.

yeonjun noticed the way your texts were becoming more closed off, so he wasn't sure you still were at his place, and he was relieved to see you there. you even came out to greet him, making his heart melt at your slightly awkward hug as you shyly pecked his cheek. he still noticed something was wrong, though, and when you told him what was bothering you, deciding to be honest, he tried his best not to smile at how cute you were. he felt like his heart was going to burst, but he took your hands in his, kneeling before the couch you were sitting on and saying that you could do anything you wanted, anything that felt natural for you, and while he knew it could be risky, he still wanted to give you freedom.

that was how yeonjun found out you were clingy—you loved hugging him, being held by him or just touching or being touched in any way. you never was too much, though, always just perfect—you never got upset over him asking you to give him some space or wanting to spend time with his friends, welcoming him back into your arms just as warmly as if he’d never left. you always reached out for him despite shyness—if he didn’t reach out first, of course, and you always seemed to glow when he did, looking at him like he put stars in the sky, not simply took your hand. 

and yeonjun loved touching you—he was basically obsessed with it, as if he were a man who had never touched or been touched in his life. it felt like he needed to have his hand on you whenever he had the opportunity, and he couldn’t be happier when he found out you were just as clingy and enjoyed his touches as much as he enjoyed giving them to you. every time he felt you leaning into his hand or murmuring how nice it felt and how you wished his touch could stay on you forever, his heart grew a little fuller.

later, when you progressed to yet another stage, yeonjun also found out that your sex drive was… high. strangely enough, it matched his own well, and while he tried to keep things vanilla between you, the two of you still managed to test out almost every surface of his and your apartments, whenever and wherever he managed to get a hard-on or you clung to him just a bit differently than usual, looking at him that way with the softest ‘jjun…’ he had ever heard. 

yeonjun wasn’t sure he had ever found you not wet. of course, there always was at least a bit of foreplay before putting his hand down your bottoms—grinding against you for a bit, kissing every sensitive spot on your neck and shoulder, whispering a few praises with a huge emphasis on ‘my’—but it only affected how wet you were. he teased you once about it and you, completely embarrassed, admitted that he was just too hot while doing basically anything, let alone touching you or saying all this “hot stuff”. he wouldn’t believe your words if he wasn’t ‘witnessing’ it with his own fingers pretty much often.

so it wasn’t much of a surprise that while yeonjun tried to keep his kinks hidden from you, as most of them walked hand in hand with pain or other sides of himself that he wanted to hide, because he was almost sure you were that kind of a wild rose that wasn’t into it, a free use kink was introduced relatively early, and—oh—how bad you both loved it. he hadn’t really had an opportunity to try it fully despite being interested, sticking to one-night stands for years, and you heard of it before, thinking it was hot and, well, it suited the sex life of you two pretty well. at first, yeonjun wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay vanilla—free use kink sounding kinda rough—but it was just as giggly, happy and full of smiles, while the bed was reserved for something more serious and prolonged. 

it slowly flowed into a low-key somnophilia, when yet another night yeonjun woke up from your soft whimpers of his name into his neck, as you clenched the fabric of his t-shirt in your hand and tried to grind yourself against his thigh. these nights were the hardest for him, because his body immediately reacted to how needy you were for him, but he never woke you up—until one night it was just too much after almost a week of no proper sex because of your busy and draining schedules. 

yeonjun shook your shoulder gently, whispering your name along with a bunch of sweet nicknames, when he realized his already painful hard-on wouldn't go away on its own. you stirred awake eventually, heart almost thumping in your chest as you tried to catch your breath and shoosh the remnants of the dream away—they had become softer and more vanilla when you started having sex, but recently the dreams were getting more and more kinky, returning to the way they were before you started dating. 

you knew yeonjun understood what kind of dream it was, and you feared he'd laugh at you or, worse, be disgusted, so you sat up, crawling back from him and looking down on your hands in shame, ready to hear anything he wanted to say. but when he sat up too, facing you, you saw the tent in his boxers, a dark gray wet patch on top, visible even in the dim light. your mouth filled with saliva as you clenched around nothing—you wanted to taste him and feel him stretch you so perfectly and actually just anything he desired after that long week, the remnants of the dream making your already insane need for him almost maddening.

yeonjun nodded when you finally looked him in the eyes—he was too horny to joke about them being up there, and you were feeding his ego so badly by looking at his dick like you were ready to beg for it any moment. the thought made him twitch—gosh, he hoped he'd hear you truly begging one day. he moved closer, parting your knees with his, as he put his hands on your bare thighs, ready to manhandle you the second you agreed. “right now or til morning?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

you looked at him almost towering over you, resembling a predator ready to pounce—hell, how anyone could be that hot in the middle of the night with hair in a complete mess? just looking at him made you dripping wet. you thought you would do anything he told you right now, and if he didn't, you were ready to beg. you licked your lips before answering almost breathlessly. “right now.” 

neither of you were sure you actually finished the already short sentence before yeonjun's lips were on yours, and you were lying on your back, his elbow by the side of your head as he wrapped your leg around his waist—the rest of your limbs followed the action on their own accord. how badly he tried to keep his teeth to himself, licking your lower lip instead of biting it, as he grinded his dick against you, mentally cursing himself for not thinking about taking your underwear off earlier—he knew he wouldn't be able to stop and detach himself from you now. 

you moaned into yeonjun's lips—the angle he grinded at was just right, and your mind went absolutely crazy when you thought of these messy, full of saliva kisses he blessed you with unfairly rarely. his tongue slipped between your lips almost reflexively the second you gave him space to do it, and he groaned at the way you tightened your legs around his waist, your calves trying to press his hips closer to yours. 

if yeonjun thought it'd be difficult to stay vanilla before—considering he already failed it by the too dominant way he was treating you— he realized it was absolutely impossible, when you whimpered a few needy “jjun, please, inside”s into his lips and then neck, clinging to him like that. how could he not pull your hair, wrap his fingers around your neck, grip your wrists, dig his nails into your thighs, cover your neck in bites, spank you and do everything he did to you in his dreams when you sounded exactly like you did there? 

yeonjun needed to be inside you—fuck, he probably needed it more than you did, before your tiny, beautifully pathetic ‘please’, repeated again and again, managed to rob him of the last pieces of sanity and control he was holding onto so desperately. he clenched the bed sheets as hard as he could, stopping himself from grabbing your jaw to force your mouth away from his neck so he could shut you up with his lips. or how good you'd look with my hand on your face, he thought, tilting your head as gently as he could in his current state to press his lips against yours again, swallowing your last whimpers before you got distracted by his tongue once more. 

you doubted you would ever feel or taste heaven—definitely not after what was happening right now—but were you sure yeonjun tasted and felt better than any heaven anyone in the universe could imagine. he barely started, and you already didn't want it to end—the thought, the only thought your dazed mind could come up with except ‘more’, ‘jjun’, and ‘please’, making you tighten your hold around him, not wanting to let him go.

yeonjun cursed quietly—he loved having you close—any moment actually—and especially when you were having sex, but the way you refused to move your hips away, tightening your legs around him the second he wanted to move his boxers down to free his dick so he could finally fuck you, was driving him mad. he wanted to slap your thigh, telling you to behave, but he couldn't—he groaned into your shoulder in frustration, as he managed to finally place his hand the way it let him push your hips down. you whimpered at the loss of contact, sound soft but sinful in his ear, but kept your hips where he put them, earning a ‘good girl', that he groaned through clenched teeth as he finally freed himself and wrapped his fingers around his cock, pumping a few times.

you jerked when you felt yeonjun's fingers move a damp fabric to the side, uncovering your pussy—you almost mewled at the cool air hitting the wet skin, but he was quick to cup your center, pushing a finger inside immediately and adding a second one just a few seconds later, making you whimper. the embarrassing squelching sounds were loud in the night air, and his quiet chuckle next to your ear only worsened the embarrassment, arousing you even more and making you clench around his fingers—you enjoyed the effect he had on you too much.

every drag of yeonjun's fingers was delicious on your sensitive walls, each joint and bone and his fingertips dragged over all the needed spots, making you bite into your lip and try to move your hips too—his fingering skills were just as god-like as any skill he carried, and you would be glad to have his fingers inside of you much more often, especially if he was going to be like that from now—rough and impatient, which only made his touches and groans even rougher.

yeonjun wasn't even sure there was a point in stretching you out, given how wet you were for him already, but he was—he clenched his teeth—a fucking gentleman, never wanting to hurt you in any way—except so many ways that made his cock twitch at the thought of each one. he grinded his hips against the back of your thighs subconsciously, trying to ease the uncomfortable feeling at least a bit, as he gripped the bed sheets over your head in his fist, and it was like he reminded you what exactly you wanted to have inside. 

“jjun, please—” you choked out, holding him tighter and mewling into his neck. “need your dick s’much,” you whimpered, trying to find his cock with your hips. you loved his fingers, but, gosh, how much you loved his dick. he was almost cruel with how unfair he was about not letting you suck him off often enough. the thought made you almost sniffle. “please, jjun-ie—”

yeonjun’s eyes rolled back, as he clenched his teeth harder—his sweet, shy, vanilla girl was getting so shameless in her need for him to fuck her. gosh, he thought. he had already gotten you begging for his dick, but if he’d be able to make you go dumb for it—just the mere thought sent shivers down his spine—soulmates of you both could go fuck each other. maybe they’d be lucky enough to be as perfect for each other as the two of you were, but he didn’t give a fuck actually. he didn’t give a shit about anything, if he was honest, as he aligned himself and slowly pushed inside with a groan—he knew it was what heaven felt like.

you arched your back, digging nails into your palms, as you tried to pull yeonjun closer to you—the slight stretch was maddening, as it burned just a bit, giving you the smallest pain that you had desired for so long. he cursed into your neck, his forearm finding its place between your back and the bed for a better hold of you, pushing your t-shirt up a bit to feel your skin on his. he dug his nails into his palm too, despite almost dying to leave marks on your skin—you, already a bit less stretched out than usual, were clenching on him like a vice. you were a menace to his sanity—he knew you could do it on purpose. 

your brain fogged when yeonjun started moving—he wasn’t going exactly hard, but his thrusts were sharp, each one pushing more and more thoughts out of your head, leaving you a whimpering mess underneath him, pressed into his body. a sight to behold for him—he hoped to never forget how you felt, sounded and looked at the moment, your brain completely empty for anything except his name and ‘please’. you were shaped for him—he was completely sure—no one ever felt that good, not even close, never to the point where he just never wanted to pull out. 

it was the same for you—yeonjun always overwhelmed each one of your senses, and now he was the only thing that mattered or even existed, as if you were made for each other—he knew how to bring you to absolute madness and submission, and he didn’t even have to do anything, just existing was more than enough. each drag of his cock against your walls, was pulling you further and further away from sanity and thinking, his name being the only thing on your mind, bright as a neon sign amidst fog. his pants and groans against your neck were sending shivers down your spine, as well as the way he pressed you into himself so strongly, nearly hurting. you almost wished he did it just a bit harder, sinking his fingers and teeth into you.

yeonjun knew you were getting closer—your legs tightened yet still trembled around him, your whimpers became a bit more high-pitched, and every ‘please’ sounded more like a quiet sob, making his cock twitch at each one—was he having a thing for crying now?—and you were clenching around him so hard, he could barely move some moments. he wanted to sit up so he had a free hand to stroke your clit, but you tightened your arms around his shoulders, sobbing out a quiet ‘please, don’t’ so desperately, as if you thought he was going to leave at all. he cursed, his heart melting despite the heated moment. 

yeonjun still managed to find a way to push his hand between your bodies without moving away from you, and you threw your head back at a mere touch to your clit, clenching around him so insanely strong at the precise tight circles on it, that he gave up on thrusting at all—he didn’t care for cumming himself. his name sounded like a broken prayer on your lips, repeated again and again as you were squeezing him, your body trembling. he wanted to tattoo the image on the back of his eyelids—you looked like such a beautiful mess, the neck he wanted to bite into so badly out in the open, almost begging him to do it, but he clenched his teeth—no, he couldn't. 

you bit into your lip so hard, you were too close to draw blood, but you craved it in that moment, as if a tiny glimpse of pain was the only thing that was lacking amidst the waves of shudders going through your body as you came. it felt like you were floating, your body and mind completely consumed by yeonjun, and you couldn’t wish for anything better. he was leading you through your orgasm until your body relaxed—you could barely feel your limbs, let alone hold as tight as you were holding before, heart thumping in your chest as you tried to catch your breath and understand where you were, everything around feeling like it was behind a thick wall of water. 

yeonjun was still hard as rock inside of you—he knew he wouldn’t be able to cum, his head too busy holding back and trying to control himself, so he just held you letting you come down from your high, heavy breaths of you both mingling together as you both tried to calm your hearts down—you from the hardest orgasm you had ever had, and him from the hardest inability to cum he had ever experienced. 

but you noticed it—of course, you did, you loved it when yeonjun came inside, making you so full of his seed, that you were sure he could make you drip with it for days sometimes. it always made you feel so full, so his. so when he tried to move away, you put your last strength into your still jelly arms, trying to hold him with a quiet whimper. “jjun, need your cum, please,” you whimpered into his neck between tiny kisses, trying to tighten your legs around his waist too. “please, want to be full.”

you were a menace, yeonjun thought. a little devil sent to break his control and composure, disguised as the sweetest angel heavens could only dream of. he was almost convinced you knew how your whimpery begging affected him and used it against him, but you were too fucked out to think properly and try to manipulate—it was you. he knew you simply wanted the same thing he wanted—you always did, his softest angel pushed into that state of neediness and submission by his own hands. 

and yeonjun couldn't say no—fuck, he needed to cum more than anything, and filling you up in the process just like you both craved, was just a bonus. he started moving again, his thrusts sharper and much less controlled now as he tried to chase his own high, letting your sweet sounds consume him. he pulled you closer by you lower back again, harder that time, wanting to be as close as possible when he finally was on the verge of cumming. 

yeonjun was too far gone to notice the way he dug his fingertips into the skin of your waist, nails leaving tiny crescent moon marks and making your skin sparkle with tiny tingles, sending shivers all over your body. he did the last hard thrust, trying to get as deep as possible, stilling as he finally came, thick ropes of cum filling you one after another, as he moaned your name right into your ear. the sounds he made, the feel of his cum, mixed with the way his fingers gripped your waist in such a delicious way, brought you so close to the edge, you could barely form words in your head, but you never foresaw him sinking his teeth into your shoulder, trying to muffle his groans. the unexpected, but so desired feeling of his teeth on your skin pushing you over the edge again and making you almost black out for a second. 

when yeonjun’s mind cleared he was already peppering kisses all over your neck and jaw, whispering praises in between—it happened unconsciously, even before he could register that he bit you, so he didn't realize it; not at that moment at least. the tickling feeling of his gentle kisses and breathing made you giggle tiredly, as you opened your eyes and looked at him, enjoying the weight of his body on top of yours—you wanted to move the bangs away from his wet forehead, but you were still so weak, that your hand gave out when you just tried to lift it, and yeonjun caught it with a soft giggle, pressing his lips to your palm. 

“we should sleep, baby,” he whispered, preparing to roll off you—he already tortured your poor, tired body with his weight for longer than he had any right to. “we don’t have to get up early tomorrow.”

“mm, we don’t?” you asked quietly, not letting yeonjun move away from you, and he smiled into the skin of your neck and replied with a ‘mhm’ sending the softest vibrations into it. “stay inside?” you asked it so innocently, that he wasn’t sure he heard you right—did you mean ‘let’s stay home tomorrow’?.., but you continued. “then we can start the morning the best way. you can… wake me up that way if you want?” 

yeonjun felt his dick almost twitch at your idea and the way you said it. he wondered what he had done to his angel that night—he needed to know it so he could continue doing it to you to hear more needy filth leave your mouth in such a sweet innocent manner. he teased you about being so needy despite just cumming two times, but of course gave in, positioning you the way you’d be able to sleep without him leaving your body—cockwarming sounded nice for him too. he wondered how many kinks of his you had too—maybe he didn’t have to be so scared of opening some of them up to you?

the next morning—that, no doubts, started ‘the best way’ and brought you to the bathroom together to shower ‘the best way’ too—yeonjun noticed the mark his teeth left on your shoulder. he felt his heart sink as he whispered apologies into the bruised skin, but you said he didn’t have to apologize for anything. you were too embarrassed to say you loved it, so you just said it was ‘okay’. but he had hard times believing even ‘okay’, until he started noticing more and more often the way you caressed your shoulder, even through clothes, exactly where the mark was, with one of the softest smiles he had ever seen on you.

it was the first time yeonjun thought about something not being right in the way how right everything felt. at first, he tried to push these thoughts away, convincing himself that he was just overthinking and scared—he had been betrayed by someone ‘perfect’ already, so it was predictable. but no matter how much he tried, he knew it wasn’t about you. or him, for that matter—it was about everything. he knew you’d never pretend to be someone you weren’t, everything that was changing in you because of him, to suit him, was changing naturally, without you doing anything for it—it seemed like you already had all of it in yourself. 

clicking immediately and talking like you had known each other for a few lives already wasn’t weird, if you were alike. and being alike—or being opposite—wasn’t weird either, but it was about the amount and things that were the same or completely different. sometimes yeonjun thought you were basically twins—sleep schedules, views on the future and personal space, values, humour, expectations from relationship, approaches to conflicts, expressing love, everything that truly mattered in a long and committed relationship, were the same for you two. and sometimes you were different like fire and ice, but exactly where it was either required—like power dynamics—or didn’t matter much. 

and yeonjun thought that sex life wasn’t that—you weren’t completely the same when it came to kinks or completely opposite when it was about giving-receiving, you were just… different, and your similar sex drive was just a coincidence. but that night planted the seed of doubt into his mind—was it possible that you were holding back your true wants too, just like he was? the tiny glimpses into the way you, maybe, were, only showed him that he could be too wrong about it, and that—maybe—your sex life obeyed the ‘rules’ too. he was quick to brush it off, though, after careful thinking—if you were more submissive than he expected, it was natural for you to fall into his view on things. it started with the corruption kink after all.

what was harder to ignore was the way you fit perfectly with his flaws—the way your own ‘flaws’ aligned with his. yeonjun knew he was far from perfect. he had his… moments. moments of being possessive when he had no obvious right to be, requiring obedience in the smallest of things when he was in a truly bad mood (and just enjoying it in any mood), acting full of himself and wanting to be worshipped and admired. he always thought it was too much and had been hiding it from you for months, especially his possessive tendencies—it wasn’t hard as he wasn’t exactly jealous. he just liked knowing and seeing that you were his. it was harder when it was about his need to be obeyed and worshipped. 

but all were natural for you—yeonjun realized it much later than you started acting on it. you had no problems with wearing his t-shirts or cardigans to work, and nonchalantly telling your prying colleagues the truth about the obviously men's clothes on you that still smelled like men's perfume—“it’s of my man”. you proudly wore anything he gifted you, and when you found the custom-made velvet choker with embroidered tiny pink roses along a thorny stem on the outside, and his name in the same pink threads on the inside—he got it for you but was too embarrassed to give because of his name there—you were ecstatic, saying ‘for the better!’ and asking him to put it on you when he hesitantly pointed at his name inside. you wore the choker daily, taking it off only when he could replace his name on your neck with his lips.

you were obedient too—especially when he was in a bad mood; you once told him it wasn't because you were scared of him or anything, you just wanted to make things more comfortable for him and lighten his mood at least by it, and actually—you added much quieter—it felt natural, and he told you to do what felt natural when you only started. you never belittled him even teasingly, never trash talked him after occasional winning in video games—you preferred to do the opposite and be constantly in awe of something he had done, which he knew was sincere despite an annoying voice in his head that sometimes tried to convince him otherwise. you were just open about your feelings to him, never giving him any doubts about the way you felt. 

it wasn’t one-sided, of course—he was ready to drown you in signs of all five love languages just to show you how much he loved you—adding extra on the ones you preferred the most; you could get a bit possessive from time to time too, and yeonjun had no problems with it, wearing a tiny mouse charm and the first letter of your name on the bracelet he never took off—but to him it seemed almost insignificant compared to how many subtle or not-so-subtle signs of belonging to him you had all over yourself.

at some point the thoughts of covering the mark of the bond on your chest with marks of his love became too loud in yeonjun’s mind, so it spilled out almost against his own will in a form of asking you what you thought about marking. by the time it happened, your sex wasn’t vanilla anymore—it had a noticeable power dynamic, and he introduced more and more messy kinks into the sex life of you both—creampie, cumplay, spitplay, snowballing, sucking on fingers—each one, met with interest and excitement, making him think more often about how suspiciously compatible you were. he still was hiding the most of his kinks based on causing pain, though, but marking had a different origin for him—possession. 

you were taken aback by the question and specified if he meant the process or the result—you felt like you were fine with both, but wasn’t sure about wearing it in the open, so the result might not be what he expected. yeonjun didn’t care, though—the area he wanted to mark was always hidden by your clothes anyway, so he didn’t waste a second when you said yes to his question about marking your chest right there, on the couch of his living room. he tugged your t-shirt off and lied on top of you, his lips under your left collarbone, leaving the first mark right on the top of the stem, making it look like a rose crossing your chest. yeonjun still had a polaroid picture of that in his wallet under the pressed rose, turned away so no one could see it.

when you said you were ‘fine’ with both process and result, you had no idea you’d never be able to choose which one you loved more—the way yeonjun was gently biting, sucking, licking and kissing you skin so thoroughly, making shivers run down your spine as you were particularly dripping by the time he barely finished with the first one third of the stem, or the way each one of these marks basically claimed you to be his and even thinking of wearing so many signs of belonging was making your head spin. 

and then yeonjun bit you—harder than he was going to, he could swear it was an accident. but your eyes rolled into your head as you arched your back and moaned a soft broken ‘oh fuck’ right before biting into your hand the second he was going to start apologizing. his brain short-circuited—it didn't sound like a moan of pain at all. were you… 

yeonjun's heart started beating faster as he quickly moved his kisses up your chest to the sensitive spot on your neck, giving it a tiny lick before pressing his teeth to your skin. every inch of his body was tense, trying not to miss any slightest change in your reaction as he started slowly tightening the bite—he felt like even his breathing became quieter and rarer so he could hear if your breathing changed at least a bit. your soft whimpers were getting more desperate with each second, as you tightened the hold on his arm, and he did his best not to let it affect him.

just when yeonjun was at his limit, knowing he just couldn't bite harder, because it’d cross the line of his soft sadism and wouldn't be enjoyable for him anymore, you choked out a ‘not harder’, making his heart thump. here was your limit, he found it—exactly where his own one was. he still asked you if it was too painful already, but you shook your head and said it was on the verge of it, but the peak of pleasure was even earlier—he didn't tell you that, but he assumed where it was, and it wasn't only about how he heard you reacting to it. 

it was no surprise the discovery of your soft masochistic tendencies affected your sex life, and in addition to goofy quickies and passionate love making, the two of you started having rough, kinky sex anyone could only dream of. and at some moments, yeonjun was glad he only had one mouth and two hands—sometimes even one hand, as he preferred to be on top—and he couldn't do everything he wanted to do to you at the same time, because he wasn't sure at least one of you would leave the bed sane if it was possible. but no, it wasn't possible, and he had to choose. 

it was easy when it came to scratching, slapping, gripping, pinching and biting your skin anywhere yeonjun knew you’d enjoy it—he could find each one of your sweet spots with his eyes closed now, knowing your body like the back of his hand as if he was the one who placed each one on your body—these five were fast. well, most of the time, as sometimes you had full-on marking or spanking sessions, but they were rare compared to how often he did all of these almost automatically, without thinking about it. but it was much harder when it was coming to the rest. 

yeonjun loved pulling your hair—he loved the way it made you arch your back, no matter the position you were in, be it on your knees as he pounded your face into the sheets, your legs trembling at the way his fingers tangled into your hair to pull you up and press your back against his chest, hand moving to your neck to tighten his hold on it while he was whispering how well you were taking his cock, as if you were born just for that and nothing else; or in missionary when he thought you weren’t close enough to him and he couldn’t bring you closer with the other arm, as it was a bit too busy with leaving scratches on the back of your thigh, so he pulled your hair just to feel your chest against his. 

yeonjun absolutely loved pulling your hair to lift your face when you were on your knees before him or when he towered over you in any position—he loved the look you gave him, eyes full of admiration and worship, but the way your mouth was opening almost on its own was absolutely maddening. he didn’t even have to tell you to push your tongue out—it was like you knew he wanted you to, as he gathered his saliva in his mouth before letting it slowly drip from his tongue to yours. and if your mouth was full of his cum at that moment… he was getting hard again, no doubts. 

the hair pulling also matched well with spanking sessions—it made you stick your butt out so adorably, when you were laying across his lap, your chest and knees on the bed, skin of your butt red, as he caressed it, feeling your wetness coating the skin of his thigh already. but yeonjun found it the cutest when you were drooling while he was slapping the gentle sensitive skin of your ass and thighs, so he preferred stuffing your mouth with his fingers to make you drool even more as you tried to suck on them instinctively, your saliva flowing down his fingers waiting for him to lick it off later and make a show for you out of it. 

yeonjun enjoyed to push his fingers between your lips in missionary too, when he was able to see the way the rest of his fingers dug into your cheeks and, more importantly, to see the way you rolled your eyes in pure bliss, obediently wrapping your lips around his digits, your tongue caressing them in the most angelic way possible. he always had too little patience at these moments, wanting to have his tongue in your mouth instead of fingers, so he withdrew his fingers, earning a beautiful pathetic whine from you before shutting you up with his lips, as his fingers wrapped around your neck. 

his fingers found your neck in missionary more often than not, when yeonjun wasn’t making love to you, usually slick with your saliva or arousal, but some nights—the most restless ones—with a mix of the cum of the two of you—with what was left after you both licked and sucked it out of his fingers. but choking was the best when he fucked you from behind, hovering over you lying flat on your stomach and holding you by your neck so you had no opportunity to miss each one of his dirty whispers of what else he was going to do you that night, tomorrow night and every night further. everything before he couldn’t take it anymore and tilted your head by your jaw, finally pressing his lips against yours in a messy kiss, catching every sweet sound you were making.

at some point yeonjun realized he tried to press his lips to yours every opportunity. it was far from gentle whenever you chose to be kinky, but it barely was about ‘kinky’ at all, often becoming a bit softer and slower a few seconds in—if he wasn’t in a too hard mood, of course. it felt intimate, something he never gave anyone for years—a strict ‘no kisses’ rule for friends with benefits and one-night stands. his lips were only for you and no one else—the thought making him so sentimental once or twice, that your kinky session full of degrading praises, dumbification and sweet pain he caused you, turned into a love making. 

yeonjun was soft, actually. it wasn’t even about the fact that you still could feel his love in the kinkiest moments through the softest whispers of praises or questions of your well-being and unexpectedly gentle touches between the rough ones; not about the way he regularly made love to you, reminding you of how much you meant to him while he was driving you insane with slow drags of his cock against your sensitive walls, when nothing except him mattered. it was about the way he held you the moment both of you were done, endless praises leaving his lips as his hold on you was tight and firm, reminding you that you were safe in his arms. 

and you… you loved whatever yeonjun wanted to give you in any moment. it felt like he was reading your mind, and the moment you opened your mouth to ask him for something, he immediately did it. it happened so often that you started thinking that when you had to beg for something, it was because he wanted you to beg, not because he didn’t know you wanted something. but begging was hot and you were eager to please, so it wasn’t a big deal.

of course you both had your favourites in general when it came to, well, hurting you or craved something specific on some days—and it was completely unsurprising that they were the same for the both of you—but yeonjun had the softest spot in his heart for leaving love bites along the soulmate mark on your chest—it felt like covering it completely was making you his. the amount of attention he was paying to the mark you used to hate for what felt like your whole life, made you realize how much you'd changed. 

being with yeonjun seemed to make you forget about almost all of your worries—whenever your head wasn't busy with the task in hand, it was occupied by him, making you smile like a dummy at the mere thought of seeing him soon. it felt like endlessly falling in love with him after months of dating, and knowing that, at the same time, your love managed to be a grown-up, serious one—a love you shared with the person you chose to love and loved not only with your heart but also brain—only made it much better. you took the best part of blue and mixed it into your pink love.

you hadn't thought about your soulmate or the bond for a few months already, and when the realization suddenly hit you, you only smiled, shaking your head—you didn't care anymore. your happiness was right there, and you hoped your soulmate would find theirs too. just with someone else, not with you—you doubted even your own soulmate could make you happier and complete you better than yeonjun, no matter what they said about soulmates and their connection outside the flower-type bond. he already was all of that for you and more.

you felt safe with yeonjun, always protected, and you knew it was foolish—at least the first few months—but you just couldn’t get rid of these feelings, and even when you were cautious, they were still present. it was easy to talk to him, easy to open your heart and mind. you knew he’d never judge you or call you an idiot for your own mistakes. instead, he simply helped you deal with them if you needed it, because he knew you could draw conclusions yourself—without his nagging. it felt like you had known each other for a few lives before meeting in the current one, with how naturally everything started.

silence was comfortable with him too—sometimes yeonjun was tired from talking to so many people, which was required by his work, and he just didn’t want to talk, but still needed to recharge, so you could sit silently in the same room or shoulder to shoulder, doing your own stuff comfortably. he easily did the same for you, back-hugging you and watching you play on your phone or switch, when you needed to recharge—he was your personal charger, not letting you go until you felt fine. and it was natural for you both to know when the other one needed it, slipping into charger mode immediately. 

yeonjun… synchronized well with you and your emotions, just as you did with his—you both were empathic and knew each other really well. he knew when you faked your smile while meeting someone from your past or someone you simply disliked when you were out together, and you knew when he was trying to keep his anger inside over some minor inconvenience on a bad day, even when his face remained completely calm. and you both knew what the other one needed at those moments, whether it was a tiny kiss or a hand squeeze. 

his touches always felt so, so right, from the first day. yeonjun knew where and how you preferred to be touched, and what areas you’d rather stay untouched. he always—always—made sure it was okay before touching you in a new way for the first time, and he always made sure you knew you could ask him to stop or even make him stop with your own hands. you never did, though—his touches were comforting and grounding, making everything so much better.

you were in synch on the kitchen, never colliding or hitting each other with cupboard doors and drawers; in the bathroom when you both needed to get ready at the same time; in the crowded elevator when yeonjun cornered you to shield you from strangers—just in case—his giggles warm against your ear. it felt like you were always waltzing, no step wrong or out of place, and even if it happened, the other one adjusted naturally to match or catch.

it was like that with everything—you barely had any fights because there were almost no problems, and if something did happen, you were quick to deal with it by talking it out before it escalated into anything more. but of course, there couldn’t be no fights at all. it was too good to be true, and you should’ve expected for it to happen one day. 

the month was tiring for yeonjun—the k-pop agency he was working with had comebacks stacked one after another and wanted him to work on more of their groups, so he had to manage three at roughly the same time, which was three times more than he was used to. it wouldn’t have been too difficult if he was only handling choreographies for well-established artists who had a team of trainers working with them regularly, but audition season for another agency was starting in a month, and out of habit, he had opened a few training slots for it—already too tired to think before doing it.

yeonjun tried to find a way to keep it from affecting your relationship, especially now that it finally felt like you were fully opened up to each other, but it was almost impossible. he felt like shit for neglecting you—you were going home alone more and more often each week, as soobin was rushing to his not-just-friend-anymore the moment the workday was over, and yeonjun often couldn’t find even five minutes in his tight schedule. at least the sun was setting late already, so you didn’t have to go in the dark. you barely had any dates now, too—he was always too tired, and even the ones at home ended with him falling asleep most of the time. 

you were an angel, though, more patient than he ever deserved in his honest opinion. you were waking him up with the tiniest kisses all over his face whenever he fell asleep on the couch, just so he’d go to bed and not be even more sore in the morning; you were bringing him lunch, wasting your own lunchtime on it, when he had no time to go and buy himself something or forgot to order—you always said it was completely fine because you could eat while working; some days, you woke up at five a.m. just to kiss him goodbye, wish him a good day, and remind him that you loved him more than anything.

it wasn’t easy already, but that week was straightforward hell for yeonjun—it felt like everyone needed him at the same time, and each one thought their need was the most important one, the lack of sleep and food was taking a toll on him, and every time you were nothing but patient and loving to him, he was ready to pull his hair out in anger and frustration, because he couldn’t understand how in the world you didn’t hate him yet. it was bound to end in a fight, and he started avoiding you just to keep from snapping—and not like it was too difficult with his schedule.

you noticed it, of course—how could you not? you still tried your best to be understanding, but it was starting to feel forced. you couldn’t keep trying to comfort someone who kept subtly refusing it, especially when you needed comfort yourself. you were going to bed alone, waking up alone—it felt like you were living with a ghost, and at least the ghost was leaving signs of his presence in the form of dirty dishes in the dishwasher and sweaty training clothes in the washing machine. you weren’t even sure when was the last time you looked at yeonjun properly, let alone touched or kissed him. he still held you in his sleep, but it didn’t count. 

it didn’t help that your body started getting sore out of nowhere, your muscles nagging and tugging each morning. it wasn’t unusual to feel physically weakened due to emotional exhaustion—not to mention you weren’t sleeping or eating well either, worrying your heart out for yeonjun—but it was just annoying, as if your body couldn’t just cooperate for a bit until that period passed. it kept piling up, and on a particularly bad day when nothing seemed to go right, you ran out of patience—it was a friday night, and you needed your boyfriend. needed to at least know he was fine. 

it was already dark when a young boy left the practice room yeonjun was working in, seeing you outside and bowing. you knocked on the door and entered without waiting for the response. relief washed over you at finally seeing him—it felt like both physical and mental exhaustion were starting to leave your body, the walls you had built around your emotions  beginning to crack. you wanted nothing more than to run into his arms and finally relax in their safety. at least until you saw the way he didn’t even try to pretend he was happy to see you.

“what are you doing here?” yeonjun asked, his voice harsher than he expected—it wasn’t just exhaustion; he was starving, his head was pounding, and seeing you, the one person he could allow himself to be weak with—the one he had been mistreating so badly—only made things worse. he just had to push through this last class of the day, and he could go home, but now, with you standing in front of him, he wasn’t sure if he would break down or explode, and neither was welcome. 

you were taken aback—that was what he had to say after barely seeing you for a week? “wanted to check on my boyfriend,” you snapped—the soreness was creeping back, and you felt a dull pain starting to form in the back of your head. “have you seen him maybe?” 

yeonjun rubbed his temples—he was so not in the mood to fight, it was probably one of the worst moments of the month for it. “listen, if you want to fight—”

‘to fight’?! what the hell was he thinking of you? “no, yeonjun. i don’t want to fight. i want you to rest properly and stop overworking yourself,” you barely noticed how your voice was starting to rise. 

“it’s my job, can you understand?” he threw the small towel he had been wiping his sweat off with to the side in frustration—he had five minutes left until the next class, and now he had to waste them fighting with you, when you weren’t even supposed to be here.

“i’m your girlfriend, can you understand?!” you couldn't remember the last time you had been so frustrated. “can you, please, try not to forget there's your girlfriend waiting for you at home, worrying about you every night,” the words were full of venom, but you just couldn't stop.

oh, yeonjun never forgot—you waited, worried, cared, wanted to make everything easy for him instead of just doing the only thing he truly deserved after neglecting and mistreating you—leaving him. he was so frustrated that the next words left his lips before he could think twice. “maybe she should've waited at home then instead of coming here because she can't live without my attention?” 

your eyes tingled, as you felt your heart sink, a dull pain spilling over inside your chest. you knew yeonjun didn't mean it, but that didn't to stop the lump from forming in your throat. because it wasn't even about him—it was about you. you were that girl again, the one who realized her soulmate was having sex with someone else, invisible lines on her back burning almost as painfully as her eyes as she tried to not to cry in the middle of class. the pain was almost the same, and it felt like all those years of growing up, maturing, trying to accept the betrayal, and finally moving on had never happened. you were her once again—completely alone in the world, betrayed by the person who was supposed to be the closest to her heart. 

yeonjun felt it too—the tugging pain spreading from the middle of his chest to his throat, making him want to throw up in the desperate hope that it'd rid him of the feeling. he was there again, he was him again—it was the same time, soon to be night, but the other side of the world, and one moment he was the happiest person in the universe, and the next—he felt that pain. he remembered what came next—it was engraved in his brain no matter how much he tried to forget. realization. the most painful realization of his life. it was different that time, though—he wasn't the one who was in pain, he was the one who was the reason for it. 

but no, the realization followed this time too—yeonjun felt like he was punched in the chest. he was the reason his soulmate had felt that way all those years ago. they could feel the deep drag of her nails down his back, and it was the clearest sign he had betrayed their bond. just like he had betrayed your trust and feelings now, your bond. he wasn't that poor boy anymore—he was worse. the boy had been deceived, he hadn’t meant to hurt his soulmate, but yeonjun had no excuse for his words.

you took a deep breath—you couldn't be that girl now, you had to protect her despite your own pain—and looked at yeonjun. “maybe she should have. maybe even at her own home” you said quietly, turning around to leave the practice room, placing a hand over your heart involuntarily, hoping it'd ease the uncomfortable tugging feeling.

yeonjun could barely register the pain in his chest, lost in thought—was that what he was? back then and now to?. all these years had meant nothing because he had stayed the same—someone who didn't deserve to be happy. your words reached him, though—almost too late, but they still did. “don't leave alone, it's dark,” he said, his voice void of emotion. “i’ll tell the trainee i’ll be late and walk you home. wait for me on the ground floor.”

you didn't say anything, just nodded—despite knowing yeonjun didn't see it as he turned around to grab his jacket. you didn't wait for him here either—not wanting to endure the uncomfortable awkward elevator ride, and, after all, he had told you to wait on the ground floor, not here. but of course, it didn't help anyway, because you still had to walk home together, and it was the worst walk home you'd ever experienced—you didn't hold hands like you usually did, didn't talk, didn't even say goodbye properly when he brought you to your floor and didn't even step out of the elevator, simply pressing the ground floor button.

when yeonjun returned home, he found you sleeping on the couch and it was obvious that you hadn’t just dozed off while waiting for him—you were wrapped in your blanket, the fox plushie held tight against your chest—you had brought your belongings here, because you didn't want to share a bed with him tonight. the choking pain in his chest rose, but… he finally got what he deserved after this month and especially this week. there was still a small spark of hope he wanted to ignore, though—you had chosen to sleep on his couch, leaving him the bed that was far more comfortable, instead of sleeping in an even more comfortable bed at your place that was just two steps away.

but yeonjun wouldn’t be himself if he let it stay that way—he just hoped you wouldn’t hate him for it—and scooped you up, careful to not let the plushie fall, as he carried you to his bed, laying you down gently and checking that you had everything you needed. he threw one last glance at you before grabbing his own things, including one of his t-shirt that you used to sleep in, now carrying a mix of both your scents, and left the bedroom—it was his obligation to sleep on the couch, never yours. 

it was a bad night for both of you—it was cold, uncomfortable, and lonely for you two who hadn’t slept alone since you started dating. you wanted to apologize early in the morning—for coming to his work and making him stay there longer because he had wasted time walking you home and had to start an already late class later, for starting that fight in general, and for being petty by making a scene of sleeping on the couch, and, of course, you wanted thank him for carrying you to the bed. but by the time you woke up at five a.m., he was already gone, and you thought that maybe it was too late to apologize now.

yeonjun wanted to wake you up with breakfast in bed, a huge bouquet, and an even bigger apology, along with a serious conversation about that month—the way it went for both of you, how he could make it better, and how to avoid repeating it in the future. but four hours of bad sleep, full of draining dreams on the verge of nightmares, left him even more exhausted than before he had gone to bed. being jolted awake by a call from the agency, saying he was needed there in half an hour, only made things worse. that tiny spark of hope he still had before falling asleep was extinguished under a cold, bone-deep exhaustion, and he came to the conclusion that you deserved much better than him.

the gap between you two seemed insurmountable—neither of you had even noticed it growing over the past month, and now you didn’t know how to make it smaller, or if that even was possible. these thoughts, along with the persistent ache in your chest, made you careless—you kept stumbling over completely flat surfaces, managed to knock a pack of ramyeon down on the floor, and at least had been quick enough to jump back before the hot water could spill on you. little, frustrating things kept happening—your bag strap getting caught on the door handle, your sleeve snagging on a cabinet—and it was such a terrible time for all of it...

yeonjun, however, barely had time to think about anything. the first half of his day was pure chaos—there were always at least two dozen people around him, loud and hectic, pulling him from one place to another, his brain constantly on overdrive. but when it was finally time for personal classes, which were much quieter and calmer, the thoughts of how badly he had ruined everything returned. the last time he had been in a state like this, he had overworked his mind and body until he could neither stand nor think, but this time, he already barely had any strength for either. still, he opted for stretching—it was necessary anyway and the tugging pain in his ligaments might at least distract him from the one in his chest.

yeonjun was almost done with the stretching when he suddenly felt something prick his finger. he hissed, instinctively looking down at his hand and the floor beneath it—but everything seemed fine. the floor was completely clean, and there was nothing visible on his skin either. he brushed it off—maybe there had been some crumb or something, and he pushed it away when lifting his hand. but throughout the entire class, he kept  feeling the same thing here and there on his hands, even when the only thing around them was air. the pain in his chest was soon replaced by a much nauseating feeling in his gut—deep down, he knew what it was, even though he had long forgotten how it felt, but he didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want it to be true. it was just a coincidence, his body was playing tricks on him, he was imagining things—anything except that one. 

but it was impossible to deny, when yeonjun felt as if his whole hand had been pushed into a thorny bush while he was simply making himself coffee—his replacement for lunch between classes. he felt nauseous, staring at his hand, his head spinning—it was like a few lifetimes had passed since he had last experienced this, and now all the memories came crashing down on him like a wave. scraped hands and knees, pulled hair, paper cuts, bee stings, cold burns, sewing prickles, sprained ankles, growing pains, headaches, ear piercings, blisters and sore feet, tongue burns and bites, minor cuts, period cramps—he had never seen them, but it felt as if he’d been by their side for their whole lives, experiencing every significant stage of their growth along with them.

the bond was back. his soulmate was back too. right when it was the worst possible moment—when he wasn’t even sure if his lover would forgive him, when he needed love and comfort more than anything, when he wanted nothing more than be weak. he thought he wouldn’t care, thought these parts of him had long since healed or dead, but now… now it felt like someone who had been by his side through the warmest moments of his life, who had grown up with him, who had been a long-forgotten dream and long-abandoned hope and could only bring tranquility and happiness into his life, was suddenly back. like his first love had come back.

the thoughts made yeonjun want to throw up, as he slowly lowered himself onto the floor, back against the mirror. he had betrayed you yesterday, he was betraying you now with these feelings and thoughts, and more than anything, he was terrified that he would betray you in the future. he ran his fingers through his hair and hid his face in his palms—he didn’t know what to do. he knew what he wanted—to break the bond completely, to never meet his soulmate, to live a happy life with someone he had chosen and would choose again and again in every lifetime—you. but the first part was impossible, and he knew he had to get a grip on himself and hold onto it for the rest of his life. but he was ready to do it—for you.

yeonjun took a deep, shaky breath—the class was starting soon, and it was time for him to pull himself together. there were people waiting for him, expecting their choreographer to guide them, not to crumble under the weight of something they had nothing to do with. and he couldn’t let them down—he had been letting down too many things recently, and if he let you down too… the only thing he’d have left was his job. so he pushed himself up from the floor, took another deep breath, and tried to drown himself in his work. 

it was almost impossible to notice that something was wrong when yeonjun was in his element, giving himself completely to the music and movement. but each little break, when the music wasn't filling his mind, made him feel worse, as if overthinking and the tiny invisible cuts in his hands were gathering strength whenever his head was busy—only to hit him harder the moment his mind emptied. for the first time, he counted down the hours until the day was over with dread—he was scared to come home and not see you there. you, and any traces of you, because you had finally realized you deserved better.

but yeonjun had no choice—if you chose to leave, he had to accept it, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how painful it would be to see you every day as nothing more than a neighbour. he simply wanted you to be happy, with him or without him. and his soulmate… he hoped the bond would shut down again—which wouldn't take long if you decided to leave. he knew his heartbreak would be too strong for him to cope with it in a healthy way, and the bond would try to protect them from him. 

the first thing yeonjun saw when he opened the front door was the light from the kitchen. he swallowed thickly—it still wasn’t too dark, so maybe you had just forgotten to turn it off when leaving…? but the next second, he heard a quiet sniffle coming from inside, followed by a dull thud—something falling or, more likely, being thrown—and his heart felt the lightest in a whole day, you were here. then, a second realization hit him—you were crying. and you had thrown something. you needed to be held. he quickly took off his shoes, tossed his bag and jacket somewhere, and rushed to you.

you were sitting on the bar stool, your lower lip caught between your teeth as you tried to wipe away angry tears that just refused to stop. you didn’t even notice yeonjun until you felt his strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into his hold. the moment he did, the tension in you melted away, the safety of his embrace making it easier to be weak. with a quiet hiss, you wrapped your arms around his waist, and your angry tears shifted—becoming ones of exhaustion and relief at the same time. you needed him more than anything.

yeonjun couldn’t believe how close he had been to throwing everything away because of some stupid soulmate bond, close to ruining it all with his own hands, choosing to overwork himself and make you worry, leaving you completely alone and calling you an attention seeker when you confronted him about it. and yet, you still took him back, still clung to him like you needed his comfort even though he was the reason you needed it in the first place. his fingers combed gently through the hair on the back of your head as he held you, letting you cry into his shoulder. his darling, his poor baby, his sweet angel, his little mouse. the only person he'd ever need.

your sobs started getting quieter, and yeonjun relaxed a bit, growing curious about what you had thrown when he came home. he glanced around, but his gaze fell on the first aid kit and bunch of plasters scattered around the table—both barely used and still unopened. were you hurt?.. he leaned back slightly and cupped your face, looking for any signs of pain, but there were none—except for your puffy red eyes and still slightly quivering lips. “baby, what happened? are you hurt?”

you sniffled and looked down, slowly withdrawing your arms from around his waist before showing him your palms. “not exactly… that bouquet making class was…” you sniffled again, biting your lip as he cupped your hands from below. “i was careless and i… maybe i should've asked for tulips, but… but these roses were so cute and tiny and pink, and i…” the more you spoke, the more sorry you felt for yourself—and the more stupid you felt for everything that had happened. “and i got them by raffle… and i thought, maybe it was destiny—”

yeonjun couldn't hear anything—his heart thumping in his ears, drowning out your words. it felt like the whole world had stopped and disappeared completely, leaving nothing but him, you sitting on that bar stool, and your hands cupped in his. and slowly, the world was closing in even more, until only one thing remained—the reason why so many plasters were discarded barely used. it wasn't easy to put them on your own hands, especially with so many tiny cuts scattered across your skin. the same cuts he had known about hours ago already, but had never realized whose hands they belonged to.

every little thing made sense now. every tiny detail had fallen into its place, completing the picture that had barely made sense before. of course, it had been easy to talk to you from the very beginning. of course, it had been easy to open up to you—so much easier than when he forced himself to open up to others. trusting you came naturally. your smile made every burden lighter, and your touch made his problems feel small and insignificant. of course, everything with you felt right—he had sometimes questioned whether the way he was living was right, filling his mind with ‘what if’s and ‘maybe’s, but he never, not even for a second, doubted that his place was next to you. holding you. being held back.

that's why you were so perfect in every sense—you were made to be perfect for him, there wasn't anyone else in the world who would fit him better than you, no one else could bring him more peace and happiness, because no one else could. and—yeonjun’s heart skipped a beat—he was the same for you. all his worries about not being good enough, about not being worthy of you, suddenly made no sense—he was perfect for you, because he was made to be perfect for you, too. and he was making you feel the same—safe, certain, content. now he could be sure that you were truly happy.

“—and then… i just laid my hand on—” you looked at yeonjun and your heart sank. “jjun… jjun-ie, why are you crying?” you tugged one of your hands away from his hold, cupping his cheek, as you felt your eyes start tingling again. “i’m not in pain, it's just annoying a bit,” you sniffled, unable to hold your own tears at the sight of his wet lashes. “and if it's about the fight, i’m so sorry, i overreacted and—”

yeonjun carefully wrapped his fingers around your wrist, not wanting to hurt you by touching the cuts and scratches on the back of your hand, and brought it to his mouth, kissing each little cut as gently as he could. “i just love you so much,” he cupped your face with his other hand, brushing your tears away and caressing your quivering lips. “so, so much. you can’t imagine,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “and i’m so sorry for being such an asshole.”

you opened your mouth to say that it wasn’t his fault, that he was just overworked and tired, and that you should’ve been comforting him instead of coming to his work and making a scene. but just as if he knew you were going to say absolute nonsense, he pressed his lips to yours in the gentlest attempt to shut you up. he couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, chuckling softly when you chased him as he pulled away. 

“it’s my fault,” yeonjun whispered, pecking your lips again, unable to stop himself from doing it when you were sitting there so cutely, wanting to comfort him more than anything, even though you needed that comfort yourself. “i’ve been doing everything wrong for the whole month, and—” 

you pouted and shook your head. “no, not everything,” you frowned, and yeonjun tilted his head, so you continued. “you held me every night. that wasn’t wrong,” you mumbled, your hand clenching the fabric of his t-shirt at his side.

he pressed his lips together, trying to hide the wide smile—your attempts at comforting him were the cutest, but you had no idea that you’d already done everything that he truly needed—became a part of his life. yeonjun pecked your nose and took a small step back. “come on, baby, let me wash and disinfect my hands and i’ll treat these little cuts that are my fault,” he kisses the corner of your lips too and rushed to wash his hands before you could argue that they weren’t. 

yeonjun was the softest while treating the cuts—he kissed each one before putting ointment on it, carefully covering it with a plaster, and kissing over it again, making you giggle. you got many forehead, nose, and lip kisses too, as “it seemed like there was something too”, he explained, before pecking one more time to “check properly”. you never realized how much you’d missed him over this past month and how happy you actually were when he was happy. 

you didn’t do anything the rest of the day—yeonjun was spoiling you like a princess, and you had to almost tear cutlery away from his hands because he was unironically going to feed you himself. he still felt bad for everything, if he had to admit, feeling like he needed to make up for his behaviour. but he was glad he didn’t bring you flowers as an apology—he doubted you would be in the mood to see more flowers that day; and the bouquet you made yourself and brought home was the prettiest anyway. so he decided to apologize with food, cuddles, one of your favourite movies and an hour-long session of eating you out. or maybe with letting you suck him off—he hadn’t decided yet. 

yeonjun didn’t tell you the truth that evening—you both were tired, emotional and a bit shaky, the two of you needed rest and comfort—especially you—instead of another shake. he didn’t tell you the next few weeks either, because he was still busy with work, leaving early and half-asleep, coming home late and tired, only wanting to eat something and cuddle you. and when the tiring period finally ended… you went on a vacation together, renting a small house in a closed area on the seashore—these hellish months had brought him enough money—and your mouths were mostly busy with other things. 

you, as the one who was getting the most exhausted—but satisfied, and yeonjun always made sure you were it—after these ‘other things’, were falling asleep early, snuggled against his side, your soft breathing warm on his bare chest, as he played with your hair or caressed the love marks and reddened skin, appreciating the trust you were giving him. but whatever he was doing, was always happening almost automatically, as his mind was occupied with the thoughts of how truly fucked up he was now for not telling you earlier, because he had absolutely no idea how to let you know that you didn’t have to be anxious of any of you meeting your soulmate anymore. 

yeonjun tried to convince himself that the right moment just hadn’t come yet, and if there was a ‘right moment’ it wasn’t perfect. so yeonjun waited. and waited. and waited some more, until it was too late already, and the only thing that was left was to admit that it wasn’t about a right or perfect moment. he was afraid. of your reaction—you might start overthinking, questioning the reality of your feelings; of the way it'd affect what you had—it already was absolutely perfect, and trying to make it ‘better’... might only ruin everything. 

but more than anything yeonjun feared repeating the past. when you were sleeping so peacefully on his chest, making him feel like the happiest person in the universe, he couldn't help but recall the night when it felt like his whole world had burned to ashes, because at these moments everything around the two of you seemed and felt the same. what if he was mistaken? what if it was just a coincidence? what if the sting he felt wasn't because of the bond at all? the further that day went into the past, the more he doubted it—the more ‘what it's started appearing in his head. 

and if yeonjun was wrong, he'd live through it easily—loving you the same as he had loved before that day, and the same as he loved you now, which had always been easy. but if he told you and it turned out to be a mistake… he felt his heart sink as he pulled you a bit closer—he’d be like her. lying about one of the most sacred things and breaking your heart exactly the same way his one had been broken years ago, and it was the wound only you managed to heal. but he knew you’d forgive him, telling him he was just confused and assuring him you’d be too. he just wasn’t sure he would be able to forgive himself. 

so yeonjun stayed silent, despite knowing he was only making it worse in the end. he simply hoped it’d somehow solve itself on its own. it did. and he thought that maybe he should’ve told you everything straight away instead of waiting until fate would force the truth out of him in the worst way possible. 

the vacation was almost over, so you refused to leave the nice water unless you really had to—yeonjun had to basically drag you out when, in his opinion, it was time for you to stop being a little mermaid and walk in the human world for a bit. he still kept you company in the water too, enjoying swimming just as much, but he tried to look out for you—mostly because he cared, but partly because he wanted to spoil you by doing everything for you so you didn't have to leave the water.

yeonjun wanted to bring you cherries that time—they were tasty, the tastiest you both tried that season, and, oh, so juicy, you could never stop yourselves from trying to help each other clean what was left on your lips. it never failed to lead to something more, so he was eager to bring another bowl of cherries to put on the dock for both of you to enjoy them and, perhaps, each other. eager and careless.

you both had no idea how it happened. one second yeonjun was peppering kisses all over your face, his fingers caressing the skin of your ass under you swimwear, as he murmured he’d be back soon as that you should wait patiently and be a good girl; and the next second, maybe the dock was too slick from the way you’d played around splashing each other near it, maybe he was too distracted by thoughts of what you two could do on the last day of vacation, but as he pushed himself up on the dock, his left hand slipped, and his right wrist bent at an awkward angle, trying to hold his weight. 

the pain wasn’t unbearable—yeonjun experienced worse when he barely cared about his health and well-being while trying to drown himself in dancing years ago—ankles, wrists, fingers. so he cursed with a groan, falling back into the water and wrapping fingers around the sprained wrist. and then, his brain registered something he had ignored because of the unexpected pain just seconds ago—your yelp that slowly turned into a sob behind his back. he turned around in a rush, his instinct to protect you flaring up until he saw you holding your right wrist the way he was holding his. cold shivers ran down his spine—he was right. and the pain wasn’t too bad because you took half of it. 

you were scared more than in pain—much more—and just a glance at you was enough for yeonjun to know that. he swam closer to you, careful with his wrist as he wrapped his arms around you in an attempt to calm you down, even though you were simply frozen—he knew that you’d go through it (and through anything, actually) easier in his arms. he didn’t say anything, unlike his usual whispers of praises and support, didn’t caress your back or play with your hair. he simply held you, letting you get your head around what had just happened.

your brain was on overdrive to find a logical explanation for what had happened, refusing to acknowledge that there was only one. “i… i’m just empathic,” you said quietly, your voice shaky. “i… i saw you and… and felt the same, and…”

yeonjun tightened his hold, as if trying to shield you better. “you are, baby,” he whispered into your hair. “but it’s not the reason.” 

it felt like your mind, heart and soul were a mess—you had no idea what you were supposed to feel or think, and what you actually felt and thought. you couldn’t grasp even one thought—they kept on flashing in your mind, blending into an unrecognizable mess, as if you were on some broken carousel—let alone decipher what you felt. you couldn’t even put the very basics into words to ask for yeonjun’s help. gosh, you weren’t sure that you understood the situation right. all of that just made the fuse go off, and you slipped into apathy. 

yeonjun felt your hold on his waist relax, and leaned back a bit, studying your face. “baby, are you okay?” he whispered, his left hand cupping your cheek and lifting your head so you looked him in the eyes. “does it hurt too bad?” he asked, despite knowing that you felt the same as he did, the bond giving you half of what he was supposed to feel.

“huh?” you blinked a few times trying to focus on his eyes, his face worried. “i…” you looked down at your slightly throbbing wrist, before looking back up. “not… not next to you…” you pressed your lips together before continuing. “we should call a taxi to take you to the hospital,” you said quietly, almost without any emotion. 

yeonjun hated himself for putting you in that state. he should’ve told you earlier, you were supposed to find out from him, and in other circumstances—the ones where he would’ve had the opportunity to comfort you properly. “it’s okay, mouse,” he murmured into your skin, lips pressed to your forehead. “it’s not the first time it’s happened. we have ice, so i’ll make an ice pack, and i brought an elastic bandage,” he looked at your slightly puzzled expression, and continued with a chuckle. “just in case.”

you replied with a small nod of acknowledgement and a quiet ‘okay’, your head still blank. it probably was a dream. yeonjun probably fucked you so well before you fell asleep, that your mind just decided no one except the one destined for you could do it, so it makes him one. yeah, it was probably that. when you woke up, you’d tell him what happened in your dream, and you’d laugh together at how ridiculous it was. because—pfft—it was absolutely ridiculous. wouldn’t you have noticed earlier? of course, you would! so it meant you were just asleep, and that throbbing pain in your wrist was… just an uncomfortable position?...

you still acted according to the dream, helping yeonjun get out of water and make an ice pack with ice and a towel, pressing it to his slightly swollen wrist and sitting next to him. you felt a bit better now, as your mind was convinced you were just sleeping, but the dream didn’t want to end, neither when you helped yeonjun put the bandage on, tying it a bit too tight and making you both flinch uncomfortably, nor when you decided to make pizza so he didn’t have to bother with trying to eat with his left hand and almost burned yourself on the cheese. 

you pressed your lips together, gathering courage, as your head rested on yeonjun’s chest after the dinner. “it’s not a dream, is it?” you asked quietly, your question a mere whisper. 

his heart skipped a beat—so that’s why you were so calm. you thought it wasn’t real. “no, baby,” he whispered, swallowing thickly. “it’s not,” he managed to get the words out, knowing what you were going to say next. he just hoped you wouldn't be mad.

you nodded hesitantly, lickling your dry lips. “you didn’t seem surprised,” you mumbled, still not completely sure if you were talking about the same thing, but too scared to say it out loud. what if he meant something else? or worse—exactly that. but… was it ‘worse’ though?.. 

yeonjun took a deep breath—here it came. it’d either make you two basically inseparable or burn everything to ashes because he betrayed your trust. “after the fight, when you went to that bouquet-making class… i felt it,” he confessed, and it felt like even his heart stopped beating because he was afraid to miss your answer. but you replied with a quiet ‘oh’—nothing else—and yeonjun realized he’d prefer you be mad than so quiet. “you don’t have to…” he took a shaky breath, “to stay because of the bond. if you want to leave—”

you clenched your teeth—your brain went into overdrive again, trying to place all the puzzles together, and yeonjun wasn’t making it better. why would he tell you that? did he want you to leave? no, he couldn’t. not your yeonjun. you sniffled, nuzzling into him. “no, i don’t. just shut up, please,” you squeezed your eyes, as the tangled ball of your emotions started unraveling itself in the form of tears. “i don't want to think about not being with you,” you sniffled again as those thoughts started filling your head anyway. “not now. and not ever. but if you want me to leave—”

yeonjun felt like he was punched into gut at the thought of him ever wanting you to leave. he tightened his arm around you, and content shivers ran down his back when you snuggled closer, showing him you wanted to stay with him despite all of his mistakes. “i don't. never,” he whispered into your hair. “i’d handcuff you to myself and throw away the keys if i could,” he murmured, but immediately froze, realizing what he had just said. was it too much?..

but you only chuckled into his neck through tears. “why would we need two pairs of handcuffs?” you asked, your giggles warm against his neck. “but if you want, we could be using the ones you choose, not me.”

yeonjun shifted a bit, hinting at wanting to change position, and you sat on his lap before helping him sit up too. he immediately wrapped arms around you, his face in your neck, peppering kisses everywhere he could reach. “you’re a menace, my love,” he murmured, the uninjured hand getting under your t-shirt, caressing the skin of your lower back. “the sweetest, the most angelic menace the world have ever seen,” he lowered his hand to squeeze your ass before slapping it lightly to hint at you to move closer.

you moaned, obeying and immediately feeling how hard he was, your eyes rolling back. “jjun,” you moaned out, as his kisses turned into gentle nibbles. “y-your hand…”

yeonjun’s chuckle was breathy against your neck as he slipped fingers under the leg opening of your panties, digging his nails into the soft skin of your butt. “your hips are moving like they don’t care,” he whispered into your ear, making you shudder, as you realized you’d been grinding on him all that time. “it’s okay, baby, i’ll guide you,” he moved his hand between your legs, hissing at the accidental touch to his dick, and moved your panties to the side, immediately feeling how wet you were. “gosh, you make me lose my mind every time i feel how fast you get wet,” he said, voice hoarse, before sinking his teeth into the sensitive spot on your neck, making you arch your back.

“i-it’s you, jjun—” you choked out a moan, feeling his fingers part your folds to teasingly caress your clit, as he whispered a soft ‘yeah?’ before quickly returning to your neck to leave more bites. you knew he enjoyed hearing you talk while he tortured you—he loved seeing how little it always took you to lose the ability to form coherent sentences when you were with him, and you wanted nothing more than to talk. “just you,” you choked out as he pushed his finger inside, moving it in and out gently—too gently. it only took you one thought, and he withdrew his finger, making you whine. “you drive me—oh g-gosh!—crazy,” you whimpered, the wet sound of him slapping your pussy loud and embarrassing. 

yeonjun chuckled at the way you tried to hide in his shoulder. “you’re absolutely drenched, baby,” he whispered mockingly into the skin of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “so wet and ready for me. always so eager,” he murmured, pushing two of his fingers inside again and scissoring them, your whimpery moans music to his ears. “tell me, angel, do you always get this way when i’m around? always thinking of my cock, aren’t you?” 

you could only whimper in response, your body squirming on his lap, as his fingers curled inside you. he rarely used left hand for fingering you, so now his every move was a bit less controlled, making your head spin, as you arched your back pressing your chest into his. he wasn’t satisfied with you, though, stopping his movements, and you whimpered trying to fuck yourself on his fingers. you knew he wanted you to answer, but his fingers had always felt so good inside, and now especially—it was nearly impossible to stop. 

shit, yeonjun thought. he really needed the second hand for the moments when you were a brat—to grab your neck, slap your thigh or just simply stop your hips without having to withdraw his fingers. he knew you were perfectly aware of what he wanted, but decided to misbehave. “answer,” he said firmly, smirking at the way you clenched around his fingers at his tone—his baby loved being ordered around.

you whined quietly, stilling your hips and trying to gather your thoughts, as yeonjun’s thumb caressed your folds so close to your clit just to make it a bit harder for you. “i d-do… always so needy, always thinking of you,” you mewled, tightening your arms around his shoulders, his warmth sipping into you in the nicest way possible. “you’re always on my mind…” you added quieter, biting into your lip trying to keep the sniffle inside.

yeonjun immediately felt the way your mood changed—even before you finished the sentence—and he slowly withdrew his fingers, quickly wiping them on his thigh—he hated wasting something so sweet and mind-blowingly delicious, but that was the furthest possible moment from the right one. “it’s okay, mouse,” he hushed you, wrapping both of his arms around your middle. “i’m always thinking of you too. of how happy you make me, of how happy i want to make you,” he whispered, slowly lying back down and tugging you with him. 

“i’m sorry,” you sniffled, hiding your face in his neck. why couldn't you be just a bit less of a crybaby—at least for once? at least not when your man was painfully hard. “i ruined the mood,” you mumbled, your fingers clenching the fabric of his tank top on his chest. “and keep ruining it.”

“you did everything right, darling,” yeonjun murmured softly, his hand combing through your hair. “i know i would get carried away eventually and try to grab you with my right hand,” he tilted your head a bit, pushing your chin up to press lips to your forehead. “and i'd hate to hurt you like that,” he murmured, then pushed your chin up a bit more, and you, catching the hint, pressed lips to his softly, making him smile into the kiss. “see?” he whispered, not moving away an inch. “you're so smart. you always know what i want.”

“can we take our time, please?” you asked quietly, looking up at yeonjun, as he moved your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with a puzzled expression. “all that… soulmates thing. i'm still so confused…” you admitted, ashamed. not even because you were postponing talking about it, but because you felt so unbelievably dumb for not noticing it earlier—the way yeonjun just fit right in into you life, mind, heart and soul, as if there was a place shaped exactly for him and no one else, made it pretty obvious. 

yeonjun's heart melted—it always did when you admited something people might consider embarrassing. he cherished your trust more than anything. “of course, darling. just start whenever, wherever and however you're ready,” he paused for a second before his lips stretched out in a foxy smile. “even if you'll wake me up at 6 a.m. on sunday,” he added quieter, as if sharing a big secret. “because i love you.”

you snuggled into his side, nuzzling face into his chest. “i love you too,” you whispered. “more than my heart can take,” your mumble was almost unheard, but yeonjun tightened his hold on your waist for a second, showing appreciation. “i don't know what i feel about all of that, but…” you bit your lip nervously, and he froze, worried about what you were going to say. “i know i want to be with you. no matter what.”

“thank you,” yeonjun whispered, his heart beating faster. maybe, it was obvious by the way you were nearly lying on top of him, constantly trying to snuggle closer. maybe it was obvious by the way you didn't leave when you found out he had known for a month and hadn't told you. but he needed that clarification as much as air and almost as much as he needed you. “and don't think about not noticing earlier, okay?” he said, as if reading your mind. “it wasn't that obvious as it feels it was,” he caressed the soft skin on your lower back, sending shivers all over your body, as you replied with a quiet ‘okay’. “good girl.”

a few weeks had passed when you were finally ready to talk about it, as the thoughts, feelings and emotions had finally settled down in your chest and you could try to organize them in some way. you didn't know why you had reacted that way—going into denial and pretending it didn't exist for weeks. it wasn't a big deal at all, as it barely changed anything. if anything, it only saved you from all the midnight anxieties and midday worries about one of you meeting their soulmate—you both already had. long ago and in the best way possible.

of course, you didn't wake yeonjun up at 6 a.m. on sunday to talk about it—on sleepless sundays at 6 a.m. you were usually busy with something else—you simply started the conversation while cuddling on the couch and watching a movie. warmth spilled inside your chest as you realized how ‘serious conversation’ had changed throughout the year—starting at the table while eating dinner, drifting into cozily sitting on the couch facing each other, and eventually ending up just cuddling, where there was no need to see each other's faces anymore—you felt everything.

when you apologized, yeonjun playfully slapped your thigh, saying that even if you decided to never talk about it, it wouldn't change anything between you or about the bond, and he'd never mention it either, simply trying to lessen all the possible injuries because he never wanted to hurt you. you murmured that it would be the same for you, but you just didn't want him to think you had kept quiet because you’d had a change of heart—you hadn’t and you never would.

“why did you feel it then?” you asked quietly, gently tracing random patterns on his chest with your nail. “the cuts from the roses, i mean,” you added even quieter, unsure if he even had an answer. you knew he had spent years researching the bond, but it wasn’t easy to find the wild roses soulmates who had met each other—or, it turned out, recognized each other—and wanted to talk about it, so maybe he didn’t exactly know the way it worked. “it’s fine if you don’t know.”

yeonjun shook his head. “i’ve been thinking about it for the whole month,” he admitted. “and i feel like my solution is so easy, that it can’t be true, because none of the wild roses i talked to ever mentioned it to me,” he paused but shook his head. “but maybe they barely fight… it was our first fight, and it happened… three? four months in?”

you leaned up on his chest a bit, his words picking your interest immediately. yeonjun kept surprising you when it came to researching the bond—he never seemed like someone who would hunch over books and a laptop, making notes on every little important thing he found about the wild roses soulmates, or spend sleepless nights reflecting on everything he knew and brainstorming. you still had a hard time imagining university student yeonjun, who had done all of that while majoring in arts and being a really good student.

“so, the second rule in fleur de destin was about distance, right?” yeonjun looked at your nod, and lost the trail of thought—you were looking at him like that again. like he was the smartest person you had ever met. like he was about to turn your whole world upside down, and you couldn’t wait for it, like it was the most expensive gift. he knew he’d never be able to live without it now that he had tasted it. he cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. “it doesn’t say ‘soulmates’ or ‘wild roses’, it says ‘souls’. the reflection of pain increases with the distance between souls to make them want to lessen it.”

it felt like the thought had appeared in your head on its own, and it was earth-shattering. “it’s not about bodies, it’s about souls,” you mumbled, your eyes widening, mouth slightly open. it made perfect sense—it was so simple yet so genius at the same time. he was a genius. 

yeonjun couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and pecking your lips quickly, pulling you out of your monumental discovery and your admiration for him. you gave him a soft slap to the chest for making you flustered, but it only made him want to fluster you more, yet he still tried to keep himself in check. “it’s also about souls,” he corrected. “i think, while we had no emotional connection, it was about the distance between our bodies, which was… not so far?” he said uncertainly. “considering we were neighbours.”

you nodded a few times, the thought continuing to unravel in your head. “but when we got one, the distance between our souls started to matter too,” you picked up his thought—it felt like you were slowly untangling a ball of threads, and yeonjun watched you, ready to help any moment, as he had long since unraveled his own. “and we…” you paused, pressing your lips together, memories of the stupid, completely unnecessary fight resurfacing. 

“and we had a fight,” he finished for you, cupping your cheek. “and there’s nothing wrong or bad about it,” he pecked your lips. “you helped me see that i was unfair to both of us and what we have,” he watched the way you pressed your lips together harder, trying to believe him. “there’s nothing wrong with fighting if we talk it out and learn to be better, okay?”

you pouted. “okay… why are you so… blue?” you tried to tease him, but it didn’t quite sound like it—more like a childish attempt at offence. 

but yeonjun only chuckled, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours—he knew it was a compliment and a sign of gratitude. he knew you like the back of his hand. “because my baby needs me to be blue right now,” he whispered. “and i’ll be anything she needs,” he pressed his lips to yours, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other tugged at your leg,, guiding you to straddle his lap. he deepened the kiss, brushing his tongue against your lower lip, but even before you could part your lips, he leaned back slightly with a quiet curse. “sorry. you’re so distracting…” he whispered, breath warm against your lips.

you tried to clear the fog that almost immediately filled your brain—the effect yeonjun had on you was outstanding. “you’re no better,” you murmured, still struggling to tear your gaze away from his lips, stretched so beautifully in that knowing half-smirk, half-smile. you loved it when he looked like a cat who had just stolen the biggest fish. “i…” you shook your head, trying to refocus. “uh, i wanted to ask why you didn’t say earlier,” you admitted, finally looking him in the eyes. 

“oh…” yeonjun licked his lips nervously. “at first, i had no idea how to tell you,” he confessed, running his fingers through his hair. “and it was getting worse with every passing day because then i had to explain why i hadn't said earlier. and then…” he paused, memories filling his mind—fear of rejection, of getting his heart broken, and worst of all—of being a liar. “i was scared. scared of ruining everything and of your reaction. and…” he let out a shaky breath. you pecked the corner of his lips trying to give him a bit of strength, and he smiled tiredly. “and it felt more and more like misinterpretation.”

“i know,” you whispered. “i feel the same now… it doesn’t feel real, even though the way i felt you spraining your wrist was more than real,” you said, laying your head back on his chest.

yeonjun sighed—the guilt was almost as strong as it had been on the first day. he just couldn’t believe he hurt you because of his own carelessness. “i’m still so sorry for that…” he murmured, wrapping his fingers gently around your right wrist and caressing it with his thumb, before bringing it to his lips.

you shook your head. “i’m happy i could take half of your pain away. remember the third rule? ‘taking half of the pain of your lover is a blessing, desired by many’,” you reminded him, despite perfectly knowing he knew these rules by heart in both languages. “it was much easier when i was next to you,” you admitted. “it was… the one i couldn’t understand along with the fourth rule. fifth? ‘when they’re truly close, pain subsides and pleasure grows instead’?” you asked, and yeonjun nodded, chuckling at your rough translation, but you continued. “and you looked hella hot in the wrist bandage,” you teased, earning a chuckle. 

“you’re always so horny, darling,” he laughed, squeezing your thigh.

you rolled your eyes teasingly, making sure he saw it. “i wouldn’t be, if you weren’t always so irresistibly hot, choi yeonjun,” you shot back, sticking your tongue out, and he laughed, shaking his head. but there was still one thing that you couldn’t get out of your head—you’ve been dating for so long, yet you’d never properly seen his soulmate mark, too scared to wander into something so intimate, especially if it connected him to someone else. but now… “can i…” you cleared your throat. “can i look at your mark now?”

yeonjun froze—he had never realized he hadn’t ever shown it to you properly, except for teasing you every time you looked away when he was changing, “baby…” he cupped your chin. “you could’ve asked it half a year ago, and i’d have undressed faster than ever,” he joked, trying to lighten the mood, before sitting up. he lifted his arms to tug the tank top off before pausing for a second to peck your lips. “have i told you you’re breathtaking in the last five minutes? i feel like i’m failing in my duty of being a man worthy of you.”

you felt your cheeks heat up as you pinched yeonjun’s arm, crawling away from his lap to give him space to take his tank top off and turn around. you weren't surprised when he made a show of tugging it of, making sure you saw his muscles at the best angle, but you were more than thankful, your eyes glued to his arms as you nearly felt your mouth fill with saliva. he smiled smugly—the way you openly and sincerely fed his ego on a regular basis… no one could fight his insecurities the way you did. he made a mental note to make sure you were thoroughly aware of how thankful he was that evening.

surprisingly, yeonjun felt… completely okay with showing you the mark. he expected to feel exposed and uncomfortable, but instead, he was calmer than he had ever been when it came to the mark, simply letting you explore it. you, on the other hand, were far from calm, your heart pounding like crazy. the second you saw the mark, you were sure you forgot how to breathe for a moment. you traced it slowly with the tip of your finger, your hand trembling. it was so, so close… if only you had been a bit more brave and asked earlier…

you let out a shaky breath, sure your voice would tremble as bad as your hand. “jjun, can you… stand up, please?” you asked quietly, and yeonjun threw a puzzled look at you over his shoulder but stood up nevertheless as you followed him, tugging your t-shirt away. 

he didn’t even have time to ask you anything before you wrapped your arms around his middle and pressed yourself to his back, his hands subconsciously covering yours on his stomach. he loved it when you hugged him like that—usually sleepily nuzzling into his shoulder, not wanting to be far from him as he cooked breakfast early in the morning—but now, your heart was racing, and he felt it perfectly against his back. he almost turned around to ask you what was wrong, but you broke the silence earlier.

“they align, jjun,” you whispered into his skin, and he instantly understood why your heart was beating so fast. there were myths about aligning marks, but none of the wild roses ever mentioned it, so he had brushed it off as another lie without a second thought, never even considering checking it with you. “so…” you swallowed thickly. “is it enough to… be sure we’re soulmates?” 

your voice sounded so small, almost scared, that yeonjun immediately turned around in your hold, wrapping his arms around you, both of your hearts now beating in sync—the hearts of soulmates, confirmed at last. “you should rest, mouse,” he murmured into your hair. “let’s go to bed, and continue later,” he said, feeling your nod as he grabbed your t-shirt from the couch, helping you put it on and leading you to the bedroom. 

yeonjun knew you were overwhelmed—even though the news wasn't exactly new, and it was definitely good news,it was still too good, too much to process all at once. he had gone through it already—it felt like shedding the heaviest weight you had carried on your chest your whole life, but the problem was, you had learned to live with it, learned to breathe with it, and now, when it was finally gone, each breath made uncontrollably came too freely, too strongly, giving you more oxygen than you needed, making your head spin; and it was taking too much strength to control each one. but he was more than happy to help you find a new way to breathe.

when yeonjun laid down and you clung to him without wasting a second, he chuckled, pulling you closer. he reached for the nightlight on the bedside table, realizing he had forgotten to turn it off a few hours ago. his hand found the book instead, and he paused before wrapping his fingers around it, taking it with him.. “darling, can i tell you something?” he asked, not wanting to overwhelm you more without your permission. “it's about the book, though.”

you murmured a quiet ‘yes’ into his neck, trying your best to stay awake and listen to him. you didn't really want to think about anything even remotely connected to soulmates right now, but you also knew that yeonjun had always known your limits like the back of his hand. whatever he had to say wouldn’t disturb you or make you feel like too much—you were sure of that. still, you nuzzled closer, just in case you were a bit less stable than either of you expected. and he was warm, softer after the vacation, and you simply wouldn’t leave his side if you could help it.

“so i bought that copy of fleur de destine from a library,” yeonjun started and, before you could point out that libraries usually don't sell books, added. “let's just say i paid a really bad late fee for being overdue on my whole life,” he explained, your soft sleepy laugh being the most beautiful song to his ears. “and when i was looking through it for the first time, i found a folded paper tucked between pages…”

yeonjun saw it as if it had happened just yesterday. he had just started researching about his bond after returning home and only wanted that book for the page about wild roses, since it was believed that despite the bond having only five rules there, each one was completely true. the book was so beautiful, though, that he ended up looking through it fully—he only translated the wild rose passage, but the rest was aesthetically pleasing. and then, between the pages about the daisies bond, he found a little note. the translation was terrible—it hadn’t taken much for him to put two and two together and realize it was written by a child—but it was undoubtedly about his bond. 

the note became just as important as the book, if not more—whenever he thought he couldn’t continue researching because his head pounded with how much information there was and how actually little of it had at least some value, whenever he got angry at yet another so-called fact turning out to be a myth, whenever he just wanted to give up, he looked at the note. at the simple words written by a child’s hand, trying to translate an old-fashioned french—both in language and meaning—into something they could understand. he was almost certain half of it barely made sense to them, but they hadn’t given up. and he, a grown-up with anything he could possibly need basically at the tip of his fingers, couldn’t give up either. 

yeonjun barely remembered the way things had been translated there—the correct translation had long since replaced the child’s work—and the note was tucked back between the pages where he had found it. he never forgot it, though, sometimes pulling himself up from the lowest moments of his life solely by the thought of some child who had been dedicated enough to finish a task that probably seemed impossible. 

your eyes were closed, but you still listened to the story attentively, cherishing each one of the stories from yeonjun’s past and not wanting to miss a single one. your peaceful listening was disturbed, though, when he started sitting up, shifting your legs across his lap and tugging you closer so your shoulder rested under his arm. you immediately wrapped your arms around his waist, laying your head on his shoulder and getting ready to listen further. 

yeonjun opened the book on your lap, taking out the folded paper but setting it aside as he flipped to the endpaper, where a small envelope was glued, holding the names of everyone who had borrowed the book. “usually, these lists stick out, right?” he asked, and you murmured a quiet ‘yes’, having a hard time keeping your eyes open and focusing on a bunch of yellow-ish papers in the dim room. “and i thought for a really long time that they took it out before giving me the book,” he said, grabbing the tweezers from the bedside table and carefully pushing them into the envelope to fish out the tiny paper. the action fully woke you up. “but a few days ago, i found out it was just too small and had been pushed inside.”

you knew the action too well—when you put your name on the paper in the copy you borrowed, you had accidentally pushed it too deep inside. the librarian had to hunt for tweezers to pull it out, grumbling the entire time, and maybe a few more times whenever you visited the library after that. but it couldn’t be your copy, could it?.. you took the paper carefully from yeonjun’s hand, looking at your own name written last in your handwriting.

“so…” yeonjun started, picking up the folded paper and holding it out to you. you took the note, carefully opening it, eyes quickly running over the lines. “i think it’s rightfully yours?” he watched as your fingers traced the old writing on the torn-out page from a school notebook.

when you had written it, you were full of hope—hope to meet your soulmate, to ask them about each bruise and scratch you had felt, to tell them about each of yours, because somehow, you had been completely sure they’d be interested to know the way your mom didn’t even scold you anymore for scraping your knees on the asphalt, especially after they had healed and reopened for the third time, and you had thought your clumsiness was funny. you had planned to ask them who their favourite power ranger and pokémon were, and probably tease them for being so basic about choosing red and pikachu. 

you smiled at the memories—how silly and childish it all was. and now, here you were, snuggled against your soulmate, reading a translation that felt like the worst work of your life, while his lips pressed gently to your temple, murmuring words of love and gratitude into your skin.

“you were helping me stay afloat in the worst moments of my life for so long…” yeonjun murmured, his hand caressing your thigh, kisses moving lower by the side of your face until he pressed his lips right under your jaw. “keep me afloat til the end of our days? i promise to do the same and much more for you,” he whispered, peppering kisses over the column of your neck, as his hand moved between your legs. 

“do wild roses die at the same time?” you asked, the question more of a thought out loud, but yeonjun froze before letting out a chuckle into your neck, making you giggle at the tickling feeling.

“baby, you’re being horny when we’re talking about my sprained wrist that hurt you, and think about death when i’m ungodly close to flipping you over and making you go dumb for my cock long before i touch you even with my fingers.” 

you pouted, parting your thighs and making more room for his hand—he immediately got the hint, tracing the outline of your pussy through thin, already wet fabric and making you gasp softly. “i—i can be horny too! can you imagine how many times you can make me go dumb for your cock? and in how many ways?” 

yeonjun groaned a rough ‘menace’ into your neck and pushed you down, making you lie across the bed, as he towered over you, quickly tugging your panties off and throwing them somewhere—tonight he was going to stuff your mouth with his fingers, not some stupid fabric. “i’m starting tonight,” he promised, pushing your t-shirt up to your neck to fully open the mark on your chest, groaning at the sight of a few layers of his marks, new and bright over the old fading ones, before continuing, “and i’m making a list, baby.” 

you whimpered at the way he had bitten into the skin on your ribs, arching your back, as he moved his bites lower. “can i—ah!—choose favourites?” you squeaked, as he slapped the thigh he put on his shoulder, before biting into the soft flesh inside of it and working on a mark.

yeonjun murmured something in thoughts, before shrugging and pressing his lips to your pelvis. “you can, but i know you’ll choose the ones that make you go dumb the fastest,” he chuckled, digging nails into your thigh and waist, as he watched the way you arched your back so beautifully. he was going to absolutely ruin you now. “which are my favourites. but it’s obvious. we’re soulmates after all.”

← to chapter 2 | ♡ you're here ♡

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[2plolo]

Starting Gideon the ninth: wow, what a great book about complex lesbian necromancers being cool and emo and gay, with a great cast of supporting characters, and an interesting and mysterious plot! Cant wait to see what happens next!

Post Nona the ninth: this book is about humanity. It is about the soul. It is about love and It is about power and every devastating and wonderful emotion the human brain is capable of. It is about the meaningless bags of flesh that hold what is really important. It is about Christianity, and applying real human nature to its laws. It is about the end of the world. It is about a guy named John kickstarting the craziest butterfly effect ever. It is about

AND ITS NOT EVEN OVER YET!

[joemama-2]

┊ ❛ ❛ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐬𝐬 ❜ ❜ ┊

pairing: gojo x fem reader

synopsis: as an ambitious journalist, you’re determined to keep your cool while interviewing Gojo Satoru, the entertainment world’s most magnetic star. but his playful smirks and flirtatious banter make it impossible to ignore the spark simmering between you. when he leans in and invites you to his private room, you tell yourself it’s all part of the job—until the dressing room door closes, and the air grows heavy with unspoken possibilities. his touch is casual but lingers just long enough to make your pulse race, and his whispered promises are as intoxicating as the man himself. tonight, you’ll learn there’s a difference between getting the story and being part of it.

wc: 9.9k

tags/warnings: smut, slight praise, vaginal penetration, pussy eating, cursing, missionary, nipple sucking

Tonight’s a night of luxury, fine wine, expensive clothing, flashes, kisses being shared, awards handed out, and best of all…the interviews. 

You’re up and coming, still considered a newbie in the world of journalism even though you have been doing this for almost a year now. But compared to your other counterparts who have years of experience, you understand why. A bright, young face with a compelling aura that just draws people in. Every celebrity you’ve met has come up to you afterward to just rave on about how nice it was talking to you, how authentic it felt. And that’s what you aim for all the time. 

At the end of the day, these are real people and a lot of the media seems to forget that. When you’re interviewing them, you don’t want it to seem like a forced meet-up with an intrusive journalist. No, you want it to be like they’re talking to a friend. You want things to just flow smoothly—naturally. You’ve even exchanged numbers with a few of them, waving and delivering a small hug as they pass you on the red carpet to pose for pictures. 

It’s a strategy that’s worked wonders for you, and tonight, you’re counting on it to carry you through what might be the biggest interview of your career. Gojo Satoru, the golden boy of the entertainment industry, is notoriously hard to pin down—charming one moment, evasive the next. The man oozes confidence, with his piercing blue eyes and a devil-may-care attitude that has the world wrapped around his finger. A brilliant actor, dancer, and singer. A literal triple threat. The man is good at everything he does. And he looks damn good while doing it. 

Your editor’s words echo in your head as you adjust your press badge: “Get something different. Something memorable. Everyone’s heard the same old answers from him.” Easier said than done when the man is practically untouchable, his responses carefully curated to keep people guessing. You would’ve assumed his media training would be on point, considering he’s been a household name since he was just an infant. 

A true nepo baby. 

There’s a microphone in hand, your camera man, Ito, stood beside you. You glance at him, having to lean in slightly over the buzz of other chatter, photographers telling whatever celebrity to move right or left, other interviews being conducted, the whole sha-bang. “You ready for this?”

The younger man nods with a goofy smile and throws a thumbs-up. “You know it.”

“Remember, get my good side.”

“Every side is your good side, Ms. Y/N.”

You wave him off and swivel your head back around. Titling it as you lift up on your tip-toes for any sign of the snowy haired man. Nope, not here yet. You sigh and drop back down to normal height, anxiously twirling the microphone in your hand. You’re wearing a simple, but elegant black dress. Silk with no sleeves and the back is cut out—still modest enough to now outshine the real important people of tonight. You’ve paired it with gold jewelry, your hair down and tamed, with tiny black heels. Fine makeup with a red lip to top it off. 

“He’s not here yet. Let me guess,” you murmur to Ito, keeping your voice low. “He’s going to be late, sweep in like he owns the place, and flash that million-dollar smile that makes everyone forget they’ve been waiting.”  

Ito snorts, adjusting the camera. “You mean the Gojo Satoru trademark entrance? Yeah, sounds about right. At least he’s consistent.”  

You roll your eyes, but there’s a flicker of nerves in your chest. You always get nervous but this time, it feels a little extra. He may not even stop for you, don’t get your hopes up.

Gojo’s reputation precedes him, and while you pride yourself on keeping your cool, you’re not immune to his charm. The last thing you need is to fall into the same trap as every other reporter who’s walked away from an interview with stars in their eyes and nothing of substance to show for it. 

Scanning the area, you catch sight of a commotion near the entrance, the buzz growing louder. And then you see him.  

He’s impossible to miss, standing tall and radiant in a custom black suit that hugs him in all the right places, his albino hair tousled just enough to look effortless. His sunglasses—because of course he’s wearing sunglasses to a fancy event—sit perched on the bridge of his nose, only barely hiding those infamous blue eyes. He’s laughing at something someone said, his presence magnetic enough to pull all attention his way without even trying. His manager, Nanami Kento, walks with him. Occasionally muttering something in Satoru’s ear with his certified stony expression. 

“Showtime,” Ito mutters, lifting the camera.  

You take a deep breath, straightening your posture. You got this, you got this. He’s not the only charming one. Plastering a big, warm smile. You begin your stride over, hellbent on capturing his attention. 

He and his manager are walking down the carpet, already ignoring the reporters that call out his name like he’s some sort of god. Satoru occasionally smiles for a few of the cameras as most of the other actors are silently making room for him on the red carpet. Once he’s done with his pictures, he’s heading inside the venue. Then you’ll lose your chance. So, you have to catch him before he does. 

You quicken your pace, moving with purpose. Weaving through the small crowd as Ito is practically stumbling over his feet to follow you. Chin tilting up and raising your voice loud enough so he can hear. “Gojo Satoru, a quick word, please,” you call out, your voice carrying through the crowd, smooth and confident despite the flutter of nerves in your chest.

And as if on cue, Gojo’s head turns ever so slightly in your direction. That was quick. Maybe it’s the fact that you reiterated your call out to him as more of a statement than an annoying plea. You don’t hesitate, smiling and judging Ito to begin filming. You can already see the glint of his pearly whites, the blue twinkle in his pearly eyes that makes women and men alike swoon. He lifts his glasses down slightly like he’s getting a better look at you. His manager is tugging a bit on his elbow to keep him moving, but he simply yanks it out his hold and strides over to you with that trademark grin. As he makes his way toward you, every step exuding confidence, you remind yourself of your goal: keep it professional, keep it memorable, and don’t let him get under your skin.  

Some of the other journalists must think they finally have their shot with him, only for their hopes and dreams to be shattered when he approaches you instead. You shuffle closer to him, sparing a quick glance at the camera to ensure it’s rolling before craning your neck up at the man himself. 

“Gojo Satoru,” you greet him, flashing your most practiced smile as he stops in front of you. “Thank you very much for taking the time to chat. How’s your night so far?”  

He tilts his head, the lopsided smile on his face nothing short of mischievous. “Even better now,” he says smoothly, his voice low enough to make your stomach flip.  

Oh, he’s good, you think, your grip tightening on the microphone. But so are you. So, this is how it’s going to be. Fine. You can play that game too. 

You force yourself to focus, keeping the conversation light and breezy despite the electric charge in the air between you. “Glad to hear that. I’m sure you’re used to all the attention by now, but do you ever get nervous before big events like this?” you ask, leaning in slightly as if you’re just two people having a casual chat.

He chuckles, a sound that almost feels too intimate for the public space you’re standing in. “I thrive on it,” Gojo replies, his eyes never leaving yours, his gaze both teasing and intense. “You know, it’s all part of the game. The bigger the crowd, the more I shine.”

You smile, impressed by his confidence but careful not to let it throw you off your rhythm. “And yet, you still manage to make it look effortless.” You tilt your head slightly, playing along, knowing how easily the conversation could turn into one of those meaningless exchanges. “Is there anything you don’t do effortlessly?”

His lips quirk upwards, that signature grin spreading across his face. “Maybe one thing,” he says, his tone dipping lower, sending a shiver through you. He pauses, his eyes scanning you briefly before locking back onto yours. “But I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”

The air between you two thickens, the words laced with double meaning. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, but you refuse to let it show. He’s toying with you, but this is your interview, and you’re not about to let him steal the spotlight. Not just yet.

Clearing your throat, you switch the topic. “So, you’re being nominated Best Actor for your show ‘Jujutsu Kaisen’.”

He grins, clearly enjoying the direction you’ve taken. “I wouldn’t say ‘nominated,’” he teases, his eyes sparkling with that signature arrogance. “I’m going to win, obviously. But it’s nice to be recognized by the industry.”

You nod, the banter light, but the tension lingering in the air between you two keeps your mind spinning. You can’t help but wonder if he’s as confident off-screen as he is in front of the cameras. Before you can ask him to elaborate on his confidence, Gojo steps closer, his proximity sending a wave of warmth through you. “So you believe you’ll win this award, no doubt?”

“No doubt.”

“That’s very confident of you.” You chuckle. 

Gojo’s lips curl into a smile, his blue eyes never leaving yours as if he’s savoring the moment. “Confidence is key but also very underrated,” he replies, his tone playful but with an edge of something more intense. He leans in just slightly, enough that you can smell the subtle cologne he’s wearing, clean and fresh with a hint of spice. “Besides,” he adds, his voice dropping lower, “when you’re as good as I am, it’s hard not to be confident. And I mean, a lot of people are too afraid to show they know what they’re capable of. But me? I’ve got nothing to hide. I know exactly what I bring to the table.”

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to let your smile slip into something more flirtatious. But his words have an effect—something in you shifts, intrigued and undeniably drawn to his arrogance. "So, you don’t think anyone’s competition?" you ask, arching an eyebrow, testing the waters.

Gojo's lips curve tighter into a knowing smile, a flash of teasing flickering in his eyes. "Competition?" he echoes, his voice thick with challenge. "There’s no competition when you’re in a league of your own.”

You swallow, trying to maintain your composure despite the growing heat between you. “I can see that,” you respond, your voice just a little steadier than you feel. “But what’s your secret? How do you manage to stay so… sure of yourself?”

Gojo chuckles, the sound smooth and low, as he runs a hand through his messy white hair. He looks around briefly, as though assessing the situation, before his eyes lock back onto yours. “It’s not about being sure of myself,” he says with a tilt to his tone, his words carrying an underlying promise. “It’s about knowing I can make anything work. Whether it’s acting, dancing, or…” He trails off, his gaze flickering briefly down your figure before snapping back to your eyes. He chuckles charmingly.  

The moment hangs between you two, the air crackling with an undeniable charge. You feel your pulse quicken, but you force yourself to stay focused on the interview. “Well, I’m sure a lot of people would love to know how you make it all look so effortless,” you respond, keeping your voice neutral. “Any advice for those of us who aren’t quite as… naturally gifted?”

Gojo’s grin widens, and for a brief second, you swear you can see a flicker of something more in his eyes. “It’s not just about talent,” he says, leaning in a little closer, his voice dropping to a more intimate level. “It’s about owning the moment, owning the space you’re in. You have to make people believe in you, even if you don’t always believe in yourself.” His intonation is almost hypnotic, and you can feel the pull of his words.

Your breath catches, but you can’t let him see how he’s affecting you. “Sounds like a lot of pressure,” you reply, trying to keep the conversation light. “How do you handle all that weight?”

Gojo’s expression shifts, his playful grin faltering for just a second, his presence overwhelming. “Pressure’s nothing,” he says, his eyes scanning your face with an intensity that makes your skin tingle. “If you’re not feeling it, you’re not doing it right.”

Before you can respond, the sound of a camera shutter clicks in the background, reminding you of the reality of the situation. You’re still in the middle of a crowded red carpet, surrounded by flashing lights and the buzz of other reporters. But somehow, standing so close to him, it feels like it’s just the two of you in the world.

His eyes soften for a moment, like he’s sensing the shift in the air between you. “But hey,” he adds, his tone playful again as he steps back slightly, breaking the moment, “don’t worry. I’ll make sure to win this award for the both of us. Maybe then you can interview me again… under better circumstances.”

You smile, lightly huffing a small chortle as Ito lowers the camera and stops rolling. Nanami begins tugging on Satoru’s sleeve again, attempting to urge the man to walk forward. But Satoru doesn’t budge, leaning down close to your ear. The suddenness causes you to gasp a little, body tensing before leaning closer to hear what he has to say. 

“I have a room nearby. Take a left at the end of the carpet, then a right past the VIP lounge, can’t miss it. If you want, I’d be glad to answer more of your questions once I have my award.”

He’s pulling back and looking away, strutting down the carpet before you can even process what just happened. Eyes wide and lips parted, you slowly look over at Ito who gives you an equally baffled expression. “That was…something. I felt the tension even behind the camera.”

You shake your head and regain your bearings, hitting his arm. He dramatically lets out a huff and rubs the spot. “Don’t be stupid, that’s just how he is.”

“Well, yeah. But it seemed extra with you.”

Your lips purse, eyes flickering over to where an enormous space has been made for the man himself to pose for every single camera aimed at him in every pose possible. If you didn’t find him attractive, you would’ve been annoyed by his arrogance—his cockiness. But maybe that’s what you like about him, in some weird way. At least he has the looks to go with his loud personality. “Are you gonna…go?” Ino asks. 

You hesitate, unsure of whether yes or no would be the most appropriate answer in this case. Hell, that entire little thing seemed the exact opposite of appropriate. You remind yourself that that’s just how he is. However, you still haven’t gotten a good enough word from him and that tiny, maybe two minute interview will no doubt be overlooked from your boss. 

Something different, something more. 

And so that’s how you’ve landed yourself in this precarious situation in the first place. It’s late—around twelve in the morning. And this supposed ‘meet-up’ feels more like a booty call than anything else. You won’t voice that thought aloud, of course. He’s sitting on the cuck chair in the corner of his…dressing room? It feels more like a five star hotel room. You’ve taken purchase on the edge of the bed inside, hands tucked into your lap. You’ve opted out of the dress you wore for the event, landing on a simple tee and jeans. Your recorder beside you, with your notebook and pen placed underneath your hands. 

He’s just been eating. 

Eating carelessly. 

It’s already been close to twenty minutes and you don’t know when you should bring up the whole reason you’re even here for. After a few more grueling seconds, the air having been filled with his loud chewing far longer than you have patience for. You clear your throat. “Um…Mr. Gojo? Do you mind if we—”

“Have you ever had Mediterranean food?” He cuts you off, jabbing his white plastic fork in your direction. 

Your eyes flick to the fork in his hand, then back to his face. The man looks completely unbothered, leaning back in his chair as though he has all the time in the world. His long legs are stretched out in front of him, crossed casually at the ankles, and his tie is now undone, the top buttons of his shirt popped open. He’s the picture of relaxed arrogance, and it’s both infuriating and—annoyingly—endearing.  

“Uh, yeah,” you say hesitantly, thrown off by the abrupt change in topic. “Once or twice.”  

He hums, jabbing his fork into another piece of grilled chicken and popping it into his mouth. “Then you’re missing out. There’s this place down the street? Incredible. You’ve gotta try it. I’ll have them send some up next time you’re around.”  

You blink at him, unsure how to respond. Is he really talking about food right now? After inviting you here in the middle of the night and keeping you waiting for nearly half an hour while he scarfs down a late-night feast? And is he trying to hint at another rendezvous? Yeah fucking right. Your fingers tighten slightly around your notebook, the patience you’ve been clinging to starting to wear thin. “Right,” you try again, keeping your voice steady, “I appreciate the recommendation, but I was hoping we could get back to the interview. So may we—”

“But you get it, right?” he says, leaning back in the chair, his legs spread out wider, his posture entirely too relaxed for someone in the middle of an impromptu midnight interview. “It’s addictive. This hummus? Unreal. Whoever catered tonight deserves an award more than I do.”

You thin your lips, unsure whether to laugh or remind him why you’re actually here. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” you say diplomatically, gesturing to the plate in his hand. “But I was hoping we could, you know, get started?”

Gojo hums thoughtfully, scooping up another bite with his fork. “You’re right,” he concedes, though the mischievous glint in his eyes suggests otherwise. “But here’s the thing—you can’t do an interview on an empty stomach. Or when the food’s this good.”

You sigh, biting back a retort as he takes another slow, deliberate bite, chewing like he has all the time in the world. “Mr. Gojo—”

“Satoru,” he corrects, grinning as he sets the plate down on the small table beside him. He wipes his hands on a napkin and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he meets your gaze. “We’re not on the red carpet anymore. Call me Satoru.” 

His sudden shift in demeanor catches you off guard, the playful air taking on a more serious edge. You glance at your recorder, then back at him, your pulse quickening. “Alright, Satoru,” you say carefully, your fingers tightening around your pen. “Let’s make this count.”

He smirks, tilting his head slightly as if daring you to keep up. “Oh, don’t worry,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing. “I always do.”

You nod and fumble for a moment before flipping open your notebook. “Ah, well, I was hoping to dive a little deeper into your creative process—how you approach roles and what inspires you.”  

Gojo leans back again, the smirk never leaving his face. “My creative process, huh? That’s such a professional way of asking how I make the magic happen.” He chuckles, his gaze flicking over you with an intensity that makes your skin prickle. “But I’ll bite. It all starts with... you.”  

You freeze, brows furrowing. You don’t know if he’s teasing you or if he’s just being his usual cocky self. “Me?” you manage to say, trying to keep your composure.  

“Not you specifically,” he clarifies, though the playful glint in his eyes suggests otherwise. “But someone like you. Someone intriguing, who makes me want to figure out what makes them tick. That’s where I find inspiration.”  

The air in the room shifts, the casual atmosphere taking on a sharper edge. You’re getting a little annoyed at the fact that he’s answering the question but also trying to throw you off balance. Either way, you’re determined not to let him see you lose composure.  

“That’s interesting,” you respond, forcing a smile as you jot something down in your notebook, “Is there any way you can elaborate?.”  

His laughter fills the room, low and rich. “Isn’t that what I just did?” he teases, his tone dripping with playful arrogance. His fingers drum lightly on the arm of the chair as he watches you, a predator sizing up its prey. “I thought I was being pretty clear. Inspiration comes from people—complex, messy, fascinating people.”  

That sounds like an insult. You tap your pen against your notebook, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. “Right, but I was hoping for specifics,” you respond, doing your best to keep your tone professional despite his relentless charm. “How do you translate that into a character? What’s the first step you take when preparing for a role?”  

Gojo leans forward again, his elbows resting on his knees, and suddenly the air between you feels far too tight. “The first step?” he echoes, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. “I find the humanity in them. Even in the villains, the assholes, the broken ones. There’s always something real there, something raw. That’s what I latch onto.”  

You nod, quickly jotting down his words even as your pulse quickens. He’s finally giving you something substantive, and yet the way he’s looking at you makes it hard to focus. “That’s... an interesting perspective,” you manage, keeping your eyes on your notebook. “So you try to connect with the character on a personal level?”  

“Exactly,” he says, his voice dropping an octave. “It’s like peeling back layers, you know? Finding the parts of them that no one else sees. The parts they try to hide.”  

The weight of his words hangs in the air, and you can’t help but feel like he’s talking about more than just acting. You glance up at him, and the way he’s watching you—like he’s peeling back your layers—sends a shiver down your spine.  

“I see,” you say, clearing your throat in an attempt to break the tension, “that certainly explains why your performances feel so authentic. You make it sound almost... personal.”  

“It is personal,” he replies, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smile. “Every role I take on, every scene I play—it’s all personal. That’s why people connect with it. They see themselves in it.”  

You can’t help but be impressed, even as his words unsettle you. He’s infuriatingly good at this—at keeping you on your toes, at blurring the line between sincerity and seduction. But you’re not about to let him derail you. Not when you’ve finally gotten him to open up.  

“Do you ever find it difficult to separate yourself from the characters you play?” you ask, leaning forward slightly despite yourself. He sees this, scooting his chair closer subtly.   

Gojo’s smile widens, and for a moment, he looks almost amused. “Now that’s a good question,” he says, his tone laced with approval. “But the answer? No. I don’t separate myself from them. That’s the whole point. If I did, it wouldn’t be real.”  

His response leaves you momentarily speechless, and he seems to relish the effect he’s having on you. “Anything else you want to know?” he prompts, his grin turning devilish. “Or are you ready to call it a night?”  

Your grip tightens on your pen, and you force yourself to sit up straighter, refusing to let him see you flustered. “I’ve still got a few more questions,” you say firmly, meeting his gaze head-on. “If you’re up for it.”  

“Oh, I’m always up for it,” he quips, leaning back in his chair with a smirk that’s equal parts infuriating and captivating. “Hit me with your best shot.”

With another nod, you look up from jotting your notes to see him sliding his rings off his slender fingers. For a moment, you do nothing but focus on the paleness of the digits. You remember him saying in an interview how his fingers were six inches long. You thought he was joking no doubt, doing it all for his thirsty fangirls. But now that you’re looking at them in person…he was actually telling the truth. Your gaze slides up to his forearms that are revealed from his messy, cuffed-up sleeves. Then they travel down his fingers to his small waist, finally to his thighs. Mentally cursing yourself, you glance back at his fingers that flex freely once they’re free from the constraints of the metal. You gulp down the dryness in your throat, an intrusive thought sneaking way into your brain—wondering about what it would feel like if they were—

“A little shameless of you.” He chuckles. 

His voice snaps your eyes back up to his. You recognize the playful glint in them, your cheeks heating with embarrassment. “I—sorry. That’s inappropriate of me.”

Gojo leans forward for the nth time, resting his elbows on his knees as his lips curve into a smug grin. “Oh, don’t apologize,” he drawls, his tone oozing amusement. “I’m flattered, really. Most people just stare at my face—nice to know my hands are getting the attention they deserve.”  

You let out a nervous laugh, gripping your pen tighter to ground yourself. “Um…it’s not like that,” you protest weakly, though the heat in your cheeks betrays you. “I was just... lost in thought.”  

“Lost in thought, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening as though he doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. “Thinking about anything particular?”  

Your heart stutters, and for a moment, you forget how to respond. His gaze is too sharp, too knowing, like he’s reading the very thought you’d just shoved to the deepest recess of your mind. “Just about the interview,” you manage to say, your voice smoother than you expected. “I was trying to figure out how to phrase my next question.”  

“Sure you were,” he teases, leaning back again and sliding his hands into his pockets. The movement draws your attention to the way his pale blue button-up shirt stretches over his broad chest, and you quickly force your eyes back to his face before he can catch you staring again.  

“I was,” you insist, determined to salvage what’s left of your dignity. You clear your throat and flip to a fresh page in your notebook, desperate to steer the conversation back to safer territory. “Now, about your approach to emotional scenes—how do you tap into those raw feelings on set?”  

Gojo chuckles, clearly enjoying the way you’re scrambling to regain control of the conversation. “Ah, so we’re back to work now? Alright, I’ll play along.” He taps his chin thoughtfully, the playful edge in his expression softening just a fraction. “Emotional scenes are all about honesty. You can’t fake it—not if you want the audience to feel it. You have to find something real, something that hurts, and let it bleed into the performance.”  

His answer catches you off guard with its sincerity, and for a moment, you forget your embarrassment entirely. “Something real?” you echo, bending forward slightly. “So you draw from personal experiences?”  

“Sometimes,” he admits, his voice lower now, more serious. “Other times, I imagine what it would be like to lose something—or someone—I care about.” His eyes darken briefly, a flicker of something unspoken crossing his face before it’s gone, replaced by his usual cocky smirk. “But enough about me. It’s always about me, what about you, hm?”  

You blink. “About me? I’m sorry but… I only came here to ask you questions.”

Gojo leans back in his chair, scooting closer in his chair. “Exactly,” he says, waving a hand lazily. “It’s always about me. The questions, the cameras, the lights. Don’t you think that gets boring?”  

You tilt your head, once again caught off guard. “I... can’t imagine someone like you ever finding the spotlight boring,” you reply carefully, unsure of where he’s steering the conversation.  

He grins, a little too self-satisfied. “Fair point. I do wear it well, don’t I? But that doesn’t mean I don’t get curious. You sit here with your little notebook, all professional and serious. But who are you when the recorder’s off? What makes you tick?”  

The shift in focus has your defenses rising, and you straighten your back slightly. “I’m not the one being interviewed, Mr.—Satoru,” you correct yourself when his grin widens at your formality.  

“No,” he says, tilting his head and giving you a once-over that feels far too perceptive. “But doesn’t mean I can’t ask, does it?”  

You let out a nervous laugh, holding your notebook a little closer. “I don’t think that’s how this works.”  

“Rules are boring,” he replies smoothly, leaning forward just enough to close the distance between you. His voice drops slightly, his tone more teasing than serious. “Come on, throw me a bone. A favorite movie, a weird hobby, your go-to midnight snack. Something.”  

You hesitate, his gaze pinning you in place. It’s not like you have anything to hide, but the sudden spotlight feels unnerving. “Midnight snack?” you echo, deciding to humor him for the sake of moving things along.  

“Yeah,” he says, his eyes lighting up like you’ve just agreed to a game only he knows the rules to. “You know, since you’re obviously not here for Mediterranean food. What do you eat when you’re burning the midnight oil?”  

You press your lips together, trying not to smile despite yourself. “Popcorn,” you admit finally. “Plain, with just a little salt.”  

“Popcorn?” He raises an eyebrow, looking genuinely intrigued. “Huh. Kind of classic, but I can respect it. Guess I’ll have to stock up before our next late-night chat.”  

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks warm at his casual mention of a “next time.” “I wouldn’t count on that,” you say dryly, but he only smirks, clearly not taking you seriously.  

“We’ll see,” he says, leaning back again and waving a hand. “Alright, you’ve indulged me. Ask away again. I’m all yours.”  

The shift back to the original topic throws you off balance, but you take the opportunity and flip open your notebook, determined to keep the upper hand this time. “Great. Let’s get back to your latest role then—”  

“But popcorn, huh?” he interrupts, clearly not ready to let it go. “You don’t strike me as a plain kind of person.”  

Your pen pauses mid-note, and you give him a pointed look. “Do you always talk this much during interviews?”  

He grins, unapologetic. “Only when I’m having fun.”

You sigh, setting your pen down and narrowing your eyes at him, though the warmth in your cheeks betrays your annoyance. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to be a professional, you’re awfully good at derailing conversations.”  

Gojo smirks, he fixes you with that signature, infuriatingly confident gaze. “What can I say? I like keeping things interesting.” His voice dips just slightly, low and teasing, and the way his eyes sweep over you feels more deliberate now, more pointed and slower. Like he’s appreciative. “But if I’m being honest… I don’t mind the view either.”  

Your breath hitches, his words make your stomach jump. “The view?” you manage, your voice more balanced than you. 

He cocks his head, his smirk widening. “You,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Sitting there, all serious and composed, trying so hard to keep this professional. But I see the way you look at me.”  

Your heart stutters, your cheeks flushing hot. “I’m not—”  

“Oh, you are,” he interrupts, his grin turning wolfish. “First my fingers,” he flutters his digits in a wavy motion.  “Then my thighs,” he pats his lap.  “Don’t think I didn’t notice, sweetheart.”  

Your jaw drops slightly, heat creeping down your neck. “I was not—”  

“Sure you weren’t,” he drawls, leaning back in his chair and stretching, his shirt pulling just enough to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. His voice lowers, smooth as silk. “But if you want to keep staring, I won’t stop you.”  

You swallow hard, gripping your notebook like it’s a lifeline. “Mr. Gojo, I don’t think this is appropriate.”  

“Satoru,” he corrects, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “And who’s being inappropriate? I’m just making an observation.” He leans forward again, his voice dropping to a near whisper, intimate and teasing. “Besides, don’t you think it’s a little unfair? You get to ask me all these personal questions, but I can’t ask any about you?”  

You shift in your seat, your pulse racing. “That’s not how interviews work.”  

“Maybe not,” he murmurs, his gaze darkening slightly as it locks onto yours. “But we’re not exactly following the rules, are we?”  

The tension in the room thickens, his words hanging in the air like a challenge. You glance at the door, a small voice in the back of your mind warning you to cut this short, but another part of you—one you’re desperately trying to ignore—is drawn to the way his eyes seem to drink you in, the way his voice wraps around you like a warm, dangerous promise.  

“I’m here to work,” you say finally, your voice firmer now, though it betrays a slight waver.  

“And I’m here to have a good time,” he counters, his smirk softening into something more intimate, more dangerous. “Who says we can’t do both?”  

You stare at him, your mind racing as you try to find the words to put an end to this—whatever this is—but he leans closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper.  

“Tell me,” he says, his breath ghosting over your ear, “what’s the real reason you wanted to meet me tonight? Because I don’t think it’s just for an interview.” 

You force yourself to not visibly react and jolt from the way he’s reached into your personal space so nonchalantly. “Then you’re mistaken. Because I have no other reason to be here if you won’t comply.”

“Oh yeah?” He chortles, glancing down at his fingers that barely skim along your thigh. If possible, his smile widens at the little startled gasp that falls from your pretty lips. “You want me to comply? Comply in what way?”

“H-hey,” you reach out to grip his fingers, effectively stopping their ascent. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

When he pulls back enough, he stares into your eyes. It almost scares you just how blue they are up close. You don’t think you’ve ever seen something as majestic as them. Though saying that aloud will feed into his ego. 

He tilts his head slightly, his smile turning wicked, like a predator playing with its prey. “What do you think I’m doing?” he counters, voice dropping to a husky whisper. The air between you crackles, and despite yourself, your grip on his fingers falters, his warmth sinking into your skin like a brand.  

“Satoru,” you begin, your voice shaking ever so slightly, “this is highly inappropriate.”  

“Inappropriate?” he echoes, coming just a little closer, his lips quirking in amusement. “I was just trying to get comfortable. Didn’t realize I’d make you so flustered.”  

Your breath catches, his words striking a chord you’re not ready to acknowledge. “You’re awfully bold for someone who’s supposed to be answering questions,” you manage, your voice sharp despite the fluttering in your stomach.

“And you’re awfully composed for someone who’s blushing so much,” he counters smoothly, his eyes flicking to your cheeks.

“I’m not blushing,” you snap, your tone defensive.

“Of course not,” he replies, his smirk returning. “Just like you weren’t staring earlier.”

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you glare at him, attempting to regain control of the situation. “I’m not flustered either,” you retort, though your trembling fingers and flushed cheeks tell a different story.  

He chuckles, low and intimate, and it sends a shiver racing down your spine. “If you say so,” he murmurs, leaning back slightly but never taking his eyes off you. His fingers slip free from your grasp, but the ghost of their touch lingers, a reminder of just how easily he’s unraveled your composure.  

“You’re impossible,” you say, your tone sharp despite the unsteadiness in your chest.  

“And yet,” he counters, his grin softening into something more dangerous, “you’re still here.”  

You open your mouth to argue, to remind him that you’re here for work, but the words catch in your throat as he shifts again, this time resting his chin on his hand, his gaze trailing lazily over you.  

“You’re fascinating, you know that?” he says, almost to himself. “All buttoned up and professional, trying so hard to keep me in line. But I wonder…” His eyes flick to your lips, lingering for a heartbeat before meeting yours again. “What would it take to make you unravel?”  

You stiffen, the heat rushing through your body making it harder to maintain your composure. “You’re crossing a line,” you warn, though your voice is weaker than you’d like.  

“Am I?” he asks, his tone teasing but his gaze piercing, as if daring you to tell him to stop. “Or are you just afraid of what might happen if I keep going?”

Your eyes dart all across his face, heart rapidly beating, so much so you think it’ll pop out of your chest. And yet, you slowly look back down at the hand that was just touching you. You feel yourself giving in the longer you stare. 

He follows your gaze, then moves back up to your face. “You like them, don’t you?”

You nod, despite yourself. 

“Knew it,” he smoothly quips back. “Do you want to feel them again? Maybe for longer?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with anticipation, and you can’t seem to swallow the lump forming in your throat. Your mind races, torn between the desire to pull away and the undeniable pull he has on you. His words—his voice—are like a drug, wrapping around your thoughts, clouding your judgment.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, but the intensity there makes it harder to keep your composure. “You’re... bold,” you murmur, trying to keep the tremor from your voice.

Gojo’s lips curl into a knowing smile. “Bold? Maybe. But I’m just asking what you want.” His tone is smooth, low, coaxing. “No need to be shy about it. You’ve been looking, haven’t you?”

Your eyes flicker briefly to his hand again before locking back on his face. His question seems almost too straightforward, too easy, and yet you can’t seem to lie. You feel the heat rising in your cheeks, the truth lingering just beneath the surface. “Maybe,” you admit softly, your voice a mix of hesitation and curiosity.

A soft chuckle escapes him, and his gaze sharpens. “Maybe isn’t an answer.” He leans in slightly, just enough to make your pulse spike. “Tell me, do you want to feel them again? Really feel them this time?” His voice drops to a near whisper, each word deliberate, measured.

You hold your breath, your entire body humming with uncertainty, but you can’t bring yourself to say no. The desire building within you makes your thoughts scatter, your defenses slipping away the longer you look at him. “I... don’t know,” you reply, the words barely audible.

Gojo watches you closely, his eyes darkening with something dangerous. “Mind if I find out for myself then?”

------

There’s a lot of things that you’ve never done in life. 

Skydiving, bungee jumping, going backpacking, and making out with an A-list celebrity who’s name holds so much power. Well, that last one you can cross off, actually. 

You really don’t know how things have changed so quickly and abruptly. One minute you’re writing down the answers to his questions and the next he’s on top of you. 

You don’t think you’ve ever made out with someone for this long. But it feels surpassingly really good. Maybe it’s the way he’s keeping things slow, but purposeful. His hands run along the sides of your body, occasionally gripping your hips or rising high enough to brush along under your breasts. His lips are expertly working your own, leaving you gasping for air when he pulls away for a few seconds before diving in like a starving man. His tongue prods inside your mouth, dancing along yours in a sultry dance. Rubbing it and sucking on it a few times. 

You feel him smile against your lips when the arms around his neck bring him in closer. 

The kiss deepens, and with each second, you're losing yourself more in the heat of the moment.

His body presses against yours, warm and firm, and the sensation is so overwhelming that you can't tell where you end and he begins. Every breath, every shift of his lips, ignites something inside of you that you can't ignore.

His hands are everywhere now, roaming with an insistent hunger, fingertips brushing over your skin like he's savoring every inch. The low groans he releases when you kiss him back only fuel the fire building between you. He's so confident, so sure of what he wants, and you're too far gone to stop him. The logical part of your brain—that small voice telling you to slow down—is drowned out by the intoxicating thrill of being here, of being with him.

Your hands find their way to his shirt, pulling it free from where it's tucked in, fingers trailing underneath and over the hard planes of his chest. You feel him tense for a moment, as if considering pulling away, but then his hands tighten around you, pulling you even closer. His lips are everywhere—on your neck, your jaw, your ears—each kiss leaving a trail of warmth that burns deeper into your skin.

You gasp when his teeth graze your collarbone, a quiet moan slipping out before you can stop it.

That sound, that reaction from you, seems to drive him even further. "God, you taste really fucking good," he mutters between kisses, his voice thick with desire, making you shiver beneath him. “Almost can’t get enough.”

The weight of his body on top of yours feels right, too right. There’s escaping it now, no turning back. His touch is electric and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to remember what it felt like to breathe without him. 

With one final, hard press against your lips, he pulls back. Shifting to his knees, looking down at your sprawled out figure beneath him, cheeks flushed a beautiful red, lips kiss-swollen, dilated pupils that match his. He grins and works at the rest of his buttons with one hand. “What happened to that pretty dress you were wearing earlier?”

“I…I changed.” You shakily mutter out, oblivious to the hint of rhetoric in his question. 

“Yeah, I see that. But why?”

“Because it was uncomfortable.”

You attempt to sit up and help him, but he promptly guides you back down. Freeing his shirt, revealing a chest that looks like it belongs to a Greek God. It’s lean, but muscular. It’s perfect, you think to yourself. And you really want to run your tongue along it. “Uncomfortable?” He asks. 

You nod. 

“That sucks. I would’ve liked to taste you in it.” He’s working on his belt now. “Maybe next time? Wear it again for me?”

“I don’t know if there’ll be a next time.”

He laughs out, tossing the leather to the side and unbuttoning his slacks. It’s only then do you realize the obvious tent in his pants. Your eyes widen momentarily, if it already looks this big…how will it look once he’s naked? “There’ll be a next time.”

He hovers over you again, his fingers deftly walking at the button of your jeans, lips sucking a small mark into the side of your neck. His other hand on your thigh slides up towards your hip, grabbing the hem of your shirt and slowly starts to pull it up. “Now I wonder,” he murmurs, his lips leaving your neck and moving back towards your ear, “if I asked, would I hear a ‘no’ come out of you?”

You’re shivering, breathing labored. Your hands are holding onto his shoulders to keep you grounded. “…no.”

He smiles, kissing your cheek in a gentle manner as his hands simultaneously unbutton your jeans and pull your shirt up. “So, I don’t suppose I’ll hear a ‘no’ for getting a small peek at you, will I?”

“No,” you breathe out, shoving your face into his neck. 

With a soft coo and ‘shh’, he’s removing your shirt from over your head. Then working on ridding you of your pants. “I hate jeans, makes things so much harder.”

Your legs tense up once they’re exposed to the cold air. He places his palms to your knees, carefully widening them enough to make space in between. “Have you ever been ate out?”

The question makes you feel more embarrassed—more vulnerable. 

You swallow, your heart pounding in your chest. The question catches you off guard, making your skin prickle with both unease and something else you can’t quite name. You hesitantly shift, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I have,” you manage to say, your gaze avoiding his as your cheeks flush. 

“Good?” He licks at the inside of your knee. 

Your face scrunches, brows knitting in the middle. “Y-yeah, somewhat.”

“Liar,” he chides, placing small kisses to the spot he just licked, looking up at you. “Can I try?”

And how could you say no? “Yes.” You reply quietly, watching his grin disappear behind your heated center. Eyes fluttering when he breathes warm air against it. Jolting your hips up, to which he holds them down in a gentle grip. 

A wet spot has already formed on your panties. Unbeknownst to you, it boosts his ego. “And I haven’t even touched you yet.” He takes a taste through the fabric, silently simmering with enjoyment at the way you  squeal. Licking once more before nuzzling his nose against your heat. He inhales deeply, like it’s a sweet flower bathed in honey. Once he’s satisfied, the speed at which he sparingly removes your underwear startles you. 

But so does his mouth. 

“Ah..!”

Your hand instinctively grips his snowy locks. He makes a noise of approval, lips locking around your puffy clit and giving a soft, but also harsh suck. The air practically removes your lungs, back arching off the bed. Mouth hung open, grip tightening around his hair. After a few seconds, he moves down to your fluttering hole. 

His thumb and pointer finger spreading your folds to see you clenching around nothing. His cock throbs in his pants, begging to be released. Not yet, however. You first. His tongue swirls around your hole, licking up every single remnant of juice before digging in. Feeling out every ridge with his wet muscle, eyes closing in delight. His hands bring you closer by your hips, shoving your pussy in his face. The tip of his nose is rubbing against your abandoned clit in a teasing way that makes you hungry for me. 

All you can do is gasp and moan out, pathetically rubbing against his mouth before his hands grip you back down in place. Forcing you to feel every amount of pleasure he can give to you. And god, does it feel heavenly. Your free hand is holding onto the sheets below you, crumpling under your fingertips. 

Lewd sucking noises are coming from him. It’s obnoxious, just like when he was eating his food from earlier. It’s almost like he’s doing it on purpose. His tongue does a certain move that has you seeing stars, moving in and out at a rapid pace, then circling up to and around your clit before plunging back to your needy hole. 

His thumb decides to partake, rubbing heated circles into your clit. “Nnn..nrgh…w-wai—” The words slip from you, just like your orgasm does. You don’t even know you’ve done it before he’s lifting his face up, revealing the pearlescent traces of your release. He doesn’t bother wiping it, instead leaning down to your lips. You taste yourself. 

It’s a new taste, one you’re not entirely excited about, but the thrill of it all is making your clench. Shaky thighs being groped by his wandering hands before looking straight down at you. “I’m kind of jealous, you know?”

You’re too fucked out already, half-lidded eyes and mumbling back a simple “what?” to him. 

He tsks and easily slips two fingers in. Keeling in on yourself, grasping his forearm for support. “Hey, don’t get all dazy on me now. I’ve just started.”

“I-I’m not…” you protest back weakly, your effort to meet his stare goes awry when you notice him frustratedly pulling the button off and zipper down, yanking the slacks down. With it goes his boxers and you’re shown a thin and curved cock. An angry red mushroom tip. A couple of veins run up his shaft, zig-zagging. He’s already leaking, pumping himself a few times. 

A small groan leaves him, placing a hand beside your head. There’s a cinch between his white eyebrows, his face red and a tad bit sweaty. His lips are downturned slightly. After some heavy breathing, he looks back down at you. Silent seconds take over, nothing but the feel of your body against his, your short breathing, the way you look so ready but nervous at the same time. His face softens. “You can take it, yeah?” 

His gaze is intense, but there’s something warmer in his eyes now—something that feels almost reassuring, like he’s giving you a choice. The way he watches you carefully makes your heart race, unsure of whether it’s fear or anticipation that grips you. You swallow, trying to steady your breathing, your fingers nervously clutching his shoulders. 

The room feels charged with tension, every muscle in your body taut as you process his words. You can feel eyes stuck on you, oddly tender, and for a moment, everything feels suspended in time. 

"Yeah," you finally manage, your voice a little shaky but resolute. "I can take it." 

His eyes soften further, a trace of a smile tugging at his lips, as if reassured by your response. “Yeah, you can. You’re not a virgin, right?”

“No.”

“Mm,” he hums, nodding briefly before glancing down at his hardened cock, achingly close to where it needs to be. “How do you like it?”

You ponder his question in your mind quickly, not trying to drag out the moment any longer than it should be. “I…I like it hard. Fast, but slow too. I just want it to feel genuine, not like you’re only seeking your own pleasure.”

“Yeah?” The corner of his lip perks up, rubbing his tip along your cum soaked folds. He laughs softly under his breath. “Funny, that’s how I like to give it. Maybe we’re a match made in heaven.”

The humor of his you once found annoying—well, still annoying—feels strangely wholehearted. Like he’s trying to make you laugh and relax your tense muscles. And you do, he meets your look again. Bending down with a soft, saccharine kiss to your lips. The kiss feels more tender than before, like he’s trying to convey some hidden emotion to you behind it all. Or maybe it’s because he likes feeling you moan into his mouth as he’s slowly sliding his cock in. 

He mirrors your whimper, moaning out in relief. You feel so snug around him, so tight. “So warm.” 

For a minute, he doesn’t move, just basking in your heat. It feels like a warm blanket, he almost—almost—thinks he might cum right then and there with how good you feel. Satoru has had pussy before, good and not so good. “Fuck…oh fuck….y-you feel…really good…”

One thing that makes you the most weak…a vocal man in bed. You tighten around him, his whine gets a little higher-pitched. If this were a different situation, you think you would’ve poked fun at him for it. “Ngh…I—I am?”

“Mmmmnghm.” Is all he can reply back with before he’s moving back slowly, then back in. 

Your nails are now digging into the skin of his back, legs locked around his waist. “Be careful, mkay?” 

“W-what? Why?”

“Because I might cum faster with you holdin’—fuck—onto me like this.”

You can’t respond before he’s pulling out with a greater force and driving back into you with a harder one. The motion alone jolts your body up, causing your tits to jiggle from beneath their cups. You see the way he’s eying them hungrily, so you do him the favor of pulling them down beneath your breasts. They spill out and he’s immediately on them. Sucking and twirling a wet path around your perky nipple before showing the other breast the same excitement. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, yes…”

“A-ah! O-oh! Mmmngh!”

You almost feel baffled. He’s moaning more than you are. 

His mind is filled with the warmth of you. “Fit like…a f-fuckin’…ring….!” He grunts out, followed by a broken laughter. “I think I’m obsessed.”

He’s leaving marks on your chest, but you don’t protest or even feel them. You’re solely focused on the way his cock is hitting every single spot in your pussy that you don’t even know could be reached. Eyes rolling back, clinging him closer. His tip kisses your g-spot repetitively. His balls slap against your ass, the sound is skin against skin with squelching noises fill the room. It’s erotic, completely provocative. But he’s actually living up to his word, and it seems like he’s more worried about making you finish for the second time tonight than reaching the line himself. 

As the minutes go by, he’s moving harder. Barely giving you any time to breath from the force of it, but you’re not complaining. 

“S-sat…oru…!” You whine out, biting on his shoulder in an attempt to keep your noises lower. 

All that does is spur him on even more, his moans getting louder. The grip on your hip and tit tightening as he pounds his cock into your pussy with complete ease. “So wet, so wet, yeah…oh god, fuck…”

He’s mumbling at this point, but so are you. Each of you is blinded by the pleasure you feel, the passion that’s being emitted and the marks on your bodies that are carved in. His cock twitches, his pace relentless. 

The look he gives you feels manic, hair plastered to his forehead, chest heaving up and down, nostrils flaring in and out. Your hair is messy, laid out beneath you. Mouth parted and dirty sounds exiting it. “I wish I could take a picture right now.” He comments slowly, feeling your thighs tighten. “It feels like your pussy is vibrating,” he chuffs. “Close?”

“Ngh…y-yes!” 

“Yeah, me too, pretty. You first, r-right…behind….you….”

You don’t need to hear anything else. Finally letting go, a whimper-whine coming with it. When he looks down and sees the white ring form around his cock, he’s done for. Quickening his pace, gripping your hips with both hands. “Yeah…yeah…yeah…” 

He moans in a pornographic way, an eruption of warmth fills you, leaving you in more of a blissed out state. A mixture of cum slowly dribbles out your spent pussy, he fingers it back in all the while his cock is still lodged between your folds. Slumping down on top of you, his face on your shoulder. 

The sounds of heavy breathing are heard next, no words. Your chest heaves against his and your legs are like jelly. Slowly loosening their hold from around his waist and falling down to the bed on either side of him. 

The silence is almost deafening, punctuated only by the sounds of your labored breaths. His hands move to your back, tender yet firm, as though he's holding onto the moment. The heat between you both is palpable, your bodies still connected in the aftermath of whatever just transpired. His thumb traces slow, soothing circles against your skin, and you can feel his breath matching yours.

You blink, trying to gather your thoughts, but everything feels hazy, like the world has slowed down just for the two of you.

Your body feels like it's still vibrating from the intensity, each breath a little deeper than the last as you struggle to regain some semblance of control. He shifts slightly above you, pressing against yours in the most familiar way, a warmth that you can't quite pull away from.

Slowly, you tilt your head to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his with an unspoken understanding. He regards you with a tenderness, something different than before. 

His fingers lightly brush against your cheek, as if reassuring you that the silence, though heavy, isn't uncomfortable. "Are you okay?" His voice is low, rough, carrying more than just the weight of the question.

You nod, your lips curling into a small, uncertain smile as you lean into his touch. "Yeah, are you?" You don't know exactly what you feel, but in this moment, it's enough to be with him like this.

“Better than okay,” he proudly huffs, carefully sliding out of you, keeping aware of your facial expressions. “Stay here.”

He’s climbing off of you and standing up from the bed. His knees buckle a little, forcing the limbs to walk over to a cabinet in the other corner. His dick flapping as it softens makes you chuckle. When he looks over, you hide it with a cough. 

You hear him look for some things through drawers, glancing back over, it’s a rag that he wets under the sink with warm water. He comes back over, carefully opening your legs back up and cleaning up the sticky mess between them. He works gently and slowly, making sure his movements aren’t too hard or fast for you. 

A thought suddenly hits you. 

“Hey…” you take your time sitting up once he’s down, seeing him lick something off the tip of his thumb. “When you said you were jealous earlier, what did you mean?”

“Oh, that?” He leisurely asks, grabbing the water bottle nearby and taking a sip before holding it to your mouth. You oblige. “I meant I was jealous that someone else got to you before I did.”

“O-oh…” he swipes at the water drop at the corner of your mouth. “But…why?”

“Why?” He repeats, chortling. A sudden soft peck is placed on your lips. “Because I’ve seen you interviewing all those people and I’ve  been waiting for my turn. And if you didn’t already notice, I think you’re a very beautiful woman. Inside and out.” He pokes lightly at your thigh. 

You blink, as he’s once again managed to throw you off the railings. 

“So next time don’t bring all…this,” he lazily gestures to your notebook, pencil, and recorder, rolling his eyes. “Just yourself, that cute dress, and a smile. I’ll pick you up for dinner down the street.”

a/n: hope u guys enjoyed this :) i haven't written a smut piece in a while so im not toooo confident about my work in this. anywho, reblogs and comments are apprecaited <3 thank you all!

[kykyonthemoon]

Where The Osmanthus Whispers

In another universe where you and Zayne grew up together without ever being apart, you have the chance to celebrate his birthday with him.

Happy birthday to our dear Zayne!

── .✦ Zayne x F.Reader (MC)

── .✦ Tags: AU, fluff, sweet, trope: childhood friends to lovers, really soft fluff, i was literally melting while writing this piece, birthday fic

── .✦ Word count: 2k2

── .✦ Ky Ky's notes: This fic was inspired by Zayne's birthday card "Eternal Attachment", especially the part where he and MC imagined what would happen if they grew up together.

For all the Zayne's girlies out there, I wish you have a blast on his birthday and all the days to come.

── .✦ Masterlist ♡ Request a fic - closed for the time being.

Where The Osmanthus Whispers

"Thank you for taking care of our boy, as well as celebrating his birthday with him on our behalf."

You responded to the two individuals on the laptop screen, saying: 

"It's nothing to worry about at all."

"Every year, we are fortunate to have you there. Otherwise, we can't bring ourselves to relax. Even though Zayne is a grown-up, taking care of his health and spending time dating are still things that concern the two of us the most."

When you were unsure of how you should respond, Zayne's mother piped up: 

"Oh my! Why did you mention that? Look how she's blushing! Surely they're really happy together, right, dear?" 

Auntie immediately turned around and asked, startling you. You attempted to clarify: 

"Ah, the truth is we aren't..."

"I know you'll take excellent care of Zayne. But hey, if he does anything to upset you, make sure to call and let me know! I will always stand by your side!”

"Auntie, we are not—"

"That is all!" We have to go now. We entrust Zayne's birthday celebration to you again this year!"

"—dating…"

Beep. Beep. Beep.

You grumbled and glanced at the screen where the call had just ended. Zayne's parents traveled away from home for business, but every year they sent him presents from the places they visited. This year, as previous ones, the present package was delivered to your address. Surely Zayne's parents knew he was too busy at the hospital all day and night to return home, so they sent it to you instead.

Every year, it was just you and Zayne celebrating his birthday together. When you were children and his family was still around, you went to his house to celebrate. Now that he had grown up, Zayne no longer wanted to throw large parties. Sometimes he even forgot his own birthday. If it were not for the wishes and presents from his parents, or the cake you brought to his place, he would probably let the anniversary slip away into oblivion.

Come to think of it, Zayne's present was sent to you, his birthday party was organized by you, his parents somehow always assumed you two were dating... If only it were like that!

You reclined back on the sofa and turned on your phone. The first name that appeared on its contact list was invariably Zayne. You tapped the call button.

After a ring, Dr. Zayne's face emerged. He was not in the office, and the scene behind him made it clear he was in the hospital cafeteria.

“I'm here.”

You smiled as a greeting. “Is Doctor Zayne on his lunch break?”

“Several colleagues invited me to lunch. What about you? Not skipping lunch, are you?”

“Nope.” You replied. “Your parents have just called. Your present has also arrived at my door."

The corner of Zayne's mouth, which was always straight, curled up a bit before swiftly returning to its natural shape. But you managed to capture that moment. 

“I will fetch it after work.”

“Hello, Doctor Zayne! Can I ask you something about this morning's meeting?” A female voice sounded very close. That was not Yvonne's. Zayne nodded back to the person whose face you could not see, then he said to you:

“Is there anything else you want to share with me?”

"No." You answered a bit bluntly. Something ugly and unpleasant began to awaken in your mind. 

“I'll see you later then.” 

Zayne spoke. Then the screen switched off. You laid down on the sofa and glanced up at the ceiling, mind buzzing with the conversation at Akso Hospital a few days before.

Long story short, you were telling Nurse Yvonne about your plans for a celebration on Zayne's birthday. Greyson overheard it and volunteered to help. During the discussion, he mentioned:

“Recently there have been a lot of female interns coming to the hospital. They all appear to be big fans of Doctor Zayne. Aren’t you jealous?"

"Erm…" You were confused for a second. 

Greyson shook his head, as if he had no choice but to deal with the situation. "You're too subjective. Although Dr. Zayne is incredibly devoted and trustworthy, a little jealousy like this may spice things up and bring the two of you even closer to each other."

“I… Wait, what are you talking about?…”

After then, you were forced to spend half an hour listening to Greyson as the "guru" of your relationship with Zayne. Apparently, he, like everyone else, believed you and Doctor Zayne were romantically involved. You attempted to find a way to clarify it, but Greyson did not give you a chance. So you wondered how a person who claimed to know so much about love like himself could still be single.

In your room, you rolled back and forth on the sofa. At last, you decided to stop being concerned about it and focus on arranging Zayne's birthday party, which was just around the corner.

Everything went according to plan. Even Zayne, who was undoubtedly aware of the surprise party planned for him, followed your requests in a more obedient way. Thanks to the help of Doctors Riley, Greyson and Yvonne, the birthday party at the villa in the woodland happened especially warm and pleasant. Zayne was also genuinely delighted.

But it was not the only present you had prepared for him. As a child, Zayne's parents once told him, "The blessing given to you by the first stranger you meet on your birthday will supposedly come true". That was why you made the effort to ensure that the first person he saw on his birthday morning every year was you. This year was no different.

Zayne arrived at the destination on time. The modest food truck you rented in the forest was stocked with sweets and pastries. Zayne sampled all of the treats, but his absolute favorite was the frosted sugar cookies that you made by yourself. Following that, he proposed that you two go for a stroll around.

The osmanthus woodland was dyed yellow. The mellow fall sunlight, along with the crisp air, was quite pleasant. The dry leaves rustled under your feet as you ventured alongside Zayne. After a time, you decided to break the stillness:

“Last night, I dreamed of something very strange.”

Zayne slowed down and looked at you, wondering: "Is there any dream of yours that isn't strange?"

You threw him a glance, then laughed:

“It really was! Well, I dreamed of us in another world. There, Zayne moved far away from me when he was a child. We didn't keep in touch anymore. When we grew up, you became Doctor Zayne, and I was your patient.”

Zayne remained silent so you could finish your narrative, but he gazed at you as if he were anxious that your dream would come true and the two of you would be separated for a prolonged amount of time.

"In my dream, I always regretted not being with Zayne on your birthdays... But, if we really lost contact with each other many years ago, do you think we would see each other again?”

"Of course." Zayne responded without thinking too much. "Because of your negligence and lack of knowledge about health care, you would most likely need to visit the hospital on a regular basis. Then we would meet again."

You frowned. "Look who's talking! Last year, you tried to work on your birthday. It wasn't until late at night that you returned home to celebrate with me. If you didn't get a break this year, you'd definitely spend the entire day at the hospital, right?"

Zayne's footsteps came to an absolute halt. You had both just arrived at the lakeshore. Sunlight and osmanthus flowers appeared to pour gold into the lake. Shimmering. He turned to you and replied:

"Since someone took the trouble to organize a big birthday celebration for me, I must participate wholeheartedly. Otherwise, she would be extremely sad."

You smiled.

“I know that Doctor Zayne constantly prioritizes the health of others. But to me, your health is equally important. Come to think of it... The me in that dream didn't get to celebrate birthday with Zayne every year... She had many regrets. If we hadn't grown up together, things would be very different now, right?"

“That's right,” Zayne replied, “The me in your dreams would not have someone to celebrate his birthday with every year. The box containing his presents from someone important would be empty. No one would ask him to help with homework but ended up falling asleep instead. He would not know who to comfort with ice cream. His sleeves would not get wet because someone's hand was holding too tightly when they went to the beach for fireworks together. His shadow beneath the moon would be very lonely on the long road..."

Zayne hesitated. He reached out to pick up the yellow blossom that had just fallen onto your hair. 

“But even so, he would try hard to see his childhood friend again. They would be together again, making up for all the regrets during the time they were apart. They would always have each other in the later years. Just as we are now.”

For a moment there, you were unsure of what to say. Emotions surged in your heart, driving you to cry. You suppressed it, turned to face the lake and said:

“I really admire the me in that dream. Because she was free to express her feelings to Zayne… Because she wasn't…”

"Wasn't?" Zayne inquired out of curiosity.

"Nothing. I'm just wondering, if we weren't friends who grew up together, would things be clearer? For instance,... your parents, colleagues, classmates, patients, and others would not misunderstand the relationship between us..."

"Misunderstand?"

Confusion appeared on Zayne's face. You observed a golden flower descending onto his hair. Standing on tiptoe, you assisted him in taking it down. All of a sudden, Zayne grabbed your wrist. His eyes locked with you.

“Are you saying others are misunderstanding us?”

"Yes." You responded quietly. “They think we're… well… dating.”

“Are we not?”

"Huh?!"

The wind whistled. Flowers and leaves rustled together. Above your head, below your feet. But the sound of your heart beating was louder and clearer than anything. Zayne's hand traveled gently around your wrist, eventually grasping the osmanthus flower you were holding. He separated your fingers so that they would interlace with his.

"In the past, when I was about to leave home to attend a far-away school, there was a girl who gathered all of her courage to tell me this, 'Zayne, don't date anyone! I'll grow up soon! Wait for me!’ I kept my word to her. But it appears she has already forgotten what she told me."

The skin on your face was heated. You made an effort to turn away to hide your shyness, but Zayne frantically ran his hand through your hair, keeping your face toward him. You muttered:

"I was still a kid at that time... You skipped many grades and transferred to Linkon… I was so afraid we wouldn't be able to see each other anymore…”

You had said those words, that you wanted Zayne to wait until you grew up. You did not dare to consider the possibility that he would grow up before you did and eventually date someone else. You would no longer be able to be with him. Those childish words of yours were still kept in his heart until this moment.

“That's why I tried to study hard and looked forward to visiting you every weekend. I waited until you graduated, until you started your career. I counted every day off to be by your side. I don't expect you to recall what you said to me in our childhood. But, given how you are always at my side, taking care of me, and sharing your life with me, I assumed everything was obvious by now. That we belong together.”

“Well…” You tried to reorganize the words in your tangled emotions. Zayne and you had always been together like this. You had long been more than just friends. But you were always terrified of crossing that boundary just to discover he would not have the same feelings for you. The bridge of your nose burned slightly as you pressed your face against Zayne's massive palm, which had always protected you.

"I regret not expressing my feelings properly to you sooner." Zayne spoke gently. He took a step forward and hugged you. “Honestly, I am not good with words. I believed that simply being close to you was enough to convey my feelings. But it concerned you even more, which was not my intention."

You smiled softly, arms wrapping around Zayne's back.

"I wasn't certain I was that special in Zayne's heart. So I kept hesitating, doubting you, doubting myself... Now I understand. I know that I am able to freely express my feelings to you, just like the girl in my dream. Thank you, Zayne.”

Zayne's breath merged with yours, carrying the aroma of osmanthus and pastries. He whispered:

“Then I should learn to express my emotions even more. Starting now.”

Zayne's golden gaze focused on the corner of your lips. His fingers caressed your face in such a delicate manner. You smiled, eyelids half-closed. He leaned down to offer you the most tender kiss of all. Osmanthus blossoms fluttered in the breeze, delivering to you and Zayne the blessings of autumn.

[cherryspicest]

I'm here for you

Part 1 Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader

Might not be the happiest Christmas, but surely she’ll make your holiday count.

Only if you could put in the emptiness of your heart inside the white blanket and leave it under throughout the day, you could’ve done it. Yet it was impossible, only to see yourself sitting on the white comfy bed with a pillow atop your legs, blanket tucked in between and your tummy as you rest your arms over the pillow. The pouring snowflakes outside the window was not enough to count Christmas’ for you—unless she replies back with a text.

You didn’t receive any message from Sullyoon again after she greets you Merry Christmas. Though it is a holiday season, a time where she would spend more of her day with her relatives, her active status that shows online throughout the day clears out the good thoughts running up in your mind.

A few hours ago, you called her friend Lily on the phone to ask about Sullyoon, and told you she is with them while you hear clanking bottles in the background. Even with the urge of asking her to give the phone to her, you rather shrugged it off—letting her enjoy the time with her friends even if she has left you like this. 

Enjoy your Christmas love! Call me if anything happens—You type into your phone, unmotivated

You feel pity for yourself, and yet still rather play stupid with all these scenarios that she would sometimes leave you. Throughout your life, losing your girlfriend is what you swore not to happen. One risky action driven by emotions is a sure path for the end of such promise.

You immediately throw the pillow and the blanket when you hear three soft knocks on the entrance door. Expecting it to be your girlfriend, but rather it was Wonyoung—your best friend—standing in front of you in a tight red dress, enough to shape out the perfect curvature of her body. She carries a paper handbag in the other hand with a small christmas tag stapled in it.

“Merry Christmas!” She greets with a sweet smile. 

Her usual smile - cute voice tone combo she always does never gets tiring. The fact that she only shows that side to you gives you the reason to value it. 

You let her in shortly. Her heels make soft thuds in every of her step while she makes her way towards the kitchen table to place her carriage. When she notices you never had anything to prepare, nor even ingredients and food around the kitchen, she flips around to look at you with widened eyes. 

“No food? You haven’t prepared anything for yourself?” She asks, and you push your lips. “Where’s your girlfriend?”

The silence from you was enough for her to take as she scoffs in disbelief. “That bitch didn’t even visit you here, Y/n?”

“Hey, you can’t call her that. She’s still my girlfriend though.”

“So what?” She rolls her eyes and groans. “Where is she?”

“I’m just letting her enjoy Christmas with her friends right now. If she’s happy there then, can I even do anything? I just want her to be happy.”

“No Y/n, you’re stupid. You’re here fucked up around your small apartment, looking helpless, and expecting her to show up in your door when she entirely chose to stay with her friends..”

“Wonyoung, she’s my girlfriend.”

“As if I care?” She raises an eyebrow. Her voice tone went deep and natural. “Plus I know things better, she’s your girlfriend, I’m your girl-best-friend. No wonder she doesn’t have the word best compared to me—because she’s .”

“Alright, no need to say it again.” You interrupt her, and she smirks.

The amount of slurs she said to your girlfriend was enough to make any guy pissed, though you’re not one of them as you take her words completely normal. That abrasive attitude would always show up whenever Sullyoon does something that she wouldn’t like. Insults, jokes, slurs everywhere like a typical male gaming lobby. 

“Chicken bucket? Fries? Steak? What do you want?” She continues scrolling on her phone, not bothering to look at you. “Caviar? Milk Tea? It’s all in me, don’t care if it's priced like Dior or Versace.”

“It’s your money.

“That’s why I’m asking you? I want my money to be wasted on something that would make you happy at least.”

You sigh. “You’re so cheesy, can you stop it for once.”

“I’m not being cheesy.” She grins. That pissed off look seems to disappear right away. “Just pointing out the reason why I’m asking you that.”

No buts, no what ifs, chicken bucket is what you chose, and Wonyoung came to agree with your decision. Tapping the add to cart, buy, then that’s it, the food will adjust for your lazy asses because you can’t head to the chicken store 2 streets away from your place.

The delivery arrives earlier than expected. There was no reason for Wonyoung to flex the thick amount of folded money inside her wallet before she opened the door—-and yet she still did. That action was unnecessary, but it's typical of her, she’d do such things to prove how lucky you are to be her best friend. 

“Are you attending some red carpet event with that dress?” 

She chuckles while pulling the bucket out from the paperbag. “You like it?”

“Probably yeah, it’s just funny you have to wear some luxurious shit just to visit me here.” You grab a drumstick from the bucket and take a bite. “I look poor around you.”

“I’d still appreciate it though.” She grabs a drumstick for herself too. “By the way, did she even greet you?”

“She did, atleast.”

“You even know the place is? Whom she is with?”

You sigh and grin. “What’s with the interrogation, Wonyoung? You sound like my mom whenever I arrive home.”

She pushes your shoulder, enough to move you an inch away. “Hey, I’m asking you? I don’t need your stupid side comments.”

“Come on, she’s with her friends, that’s it, I know she’d be safe anyways. The place?”

“Green flag Y/n?” 

You cross your arm and smile, proud of being called as one.

“No, you’re stupid. If I could only hit you with my heels right now, I would have right now.”

“Go ahead.”

“Uh? You’re really challenging me to do so? You know I don’t say shit that I wouldn’t do.”

You keep your attention on the TV in the living room . “Go ahead.”

Wonyoung’s words were never meant to only scare you away. You ready yourself when she puts down her drumstick over the table, and reaches for her heel. She raises her shoes at you, and you manage to grab her wrist at time. You feel her pushing you more and more, not minding what and where the direction you’re both into.

“You’re so weak, Wony.” You tease, and she lets out a hiss. Her narrowed eyes show how much she wants to win against you. 

“I hate you so much.” 

She groans, and seems to boost up her inner strength. You feel her force get heavier. In a moment, you start to move backwards, her expression is enough for you to see her desire to contest against you. It all stops when your back meets the refrigerator.

Your world seems to pause, everything feels slow. While your grasps are at both Wonyoung’s raised wrists, you didn’t realize how close you were both. Both of your eyes gazing into each other like two interlinked bridges that never get separated. Your breaths are the only ones you can hear between, yet it never stopped you from admiring your best friend’s visual.

You let go of her wrists, it was a weird feeling to remain that composure. The sense of awkwardness struck out of nowhere yet it is a better thing to shrug it off. 

When you make your way back to the table, she follows shortly in a slow pace like a little girl who broke a glass. She grabs her paper bag closer to her, revealing a wine bottle in her hand just as she pulls it out. It was the typical holiday type wine that rich people give their close ones, obviously the same level of status as them where you can’t relate. 

“Someone wasted an amount of stash again.” You joke.

“It’s just wine.” She rolls her eyes. “Stop acting like you never went to the same school as me. You think you forgot how your mom even paid for my private taxi when it was too late at night already.”

“It’s my mom, not me.” You notice her wandering around the kitchen as if she’s finding something. “And, the wine glasses are in the 4th cabinet up there.”

Clumsy Wonyoung as usual, always the struggle of finding something. She’d be losing her pens every single time back in freshman years where she’ll make up an excuse of her pen teleporting in an unknown dimension.

She hands you the glass, then pours the wine carefully in it. She does one for herself then motions to clank with you in which you accepted.

“A great holiday ahead.” She smiles, then sips into her wine glass. 

She’s too luxurious for you. The way you’d drink the wine glass like a milk in a cup, hoping it doesn’t look embarrassing, while she drinks it too formally as if you’re a CEO of some known brand.

Lowkey, you’re expecting some message from your girlfriend on your phone—-yet there was none. A single vibration from your pocket is enough to keep you alive—and there was none even. At least, Wonyoung is here to keep you stable and promising, a true friend who’d never leave you.

“Fuck, the hell even happened to her,” you mutter, pertaining to your girlfriend.

“Sorry?” Wonyoung pauses. 

She notices the phone in your hand which gave the reason for her smile to disappear slowly. She knows it, always your stupidity, but rather not show it to you and decided to continue sipping in her wine glass. 

“Ok, let’s do this,” says Wonyoung as she unexpectedly snatches your phone, then hides it behind her. “No phones tonight, we enjoy this day together like how we used to do when we were still at the same school.”

“Come on, give it back.” You walk closer, effortfully trying to grab your phone back.

“What if I don’t?” 

She places the phone on her other hand, giving you a hard time reaching it unless you wrap your hand around hers.

“Friendship over then.” 

“Is that so?” She stretches her arm down. 

That phone is what all you wanted, and the urge of snatching it back from her is heating you up. No matter how awkward things may be, you come closer and grab her wrist behind, ignoring the close proximity between you and her as if you are cuddling like couples. Her grip on your phone was surprisingly strong that it might take you a little why before you can forcefully free it. 

She looks at you in mischief, then a smirk forms into the corner of her lips. 

“Let’s break our friendship then,” she says softly, and you feel the warmth of her breath on your neck, “chingu geu isang-eul wonhanikkayo”.

“So what did you just say to me?”

“Want me to translate it for you?” 

A quick second glance on your lips, then she leans forward to press her lips into yours. There was no time to react, nor escape in this scenario. You feel your heart skip a beat when you feel her lips on yours, slowly accepting the fact she’s kissing you right now.

The kiss was getting deeper. She slowly wraps her arms around your neck while she pulls you even closer. You feel her tongue asking for entrance, and there was no reason for not to welcome it. She lets out a soft moan when you wrap your hands around her hips. Now it’s a make out session—with your alluring, old best friend that you’ve known more than any you’ve met.

You wanted it so badly. These hormones heat you up as if you wanted to get undressed and finish right away. Yet there was a hold back, a sense of stop like there were chains around your wrists, no matter how much you wanted to continue, it does not let you.

Placing your fingers on her chin was enough for her to stop and pull away. 

“Wonyoung, I can’t. I’m sorry, this is ridiculous.” You shake your head while you avoid her eyes, pulling away as you distance yourself. “I can’t cheat on my girlfriend, you know this is wrong right?” 

“I know it’s wrong,” she contests. “But that’s the only way for you to understand my feelings. 

“Wony–”

“Yes, you’re right. I fucking love you, and I don’t understand why do you have to be numb throughout the years we’ve been together.” She keeps her eyes locked at you. “Because every time I confess, you always think I’m fooling with you, or either way I’m drunk, crazy, or stressed. And here my stupid ass is going to pretend it is because I don’t want to embarrass myself!”

The atmosphere between you two seemed to set upside down when you once heard that deep natural voice from her—it was a cue for her seriousness. Your feelings are mixed like scattered tin cans, nothing specific, hard to distinguish. You just wanted to leave and smell the fresh air outside to calm yourself down, yet you didn’t want to leave Wonyoung like this either.

“I don’t understand.” There’s nothing you could do but leave your mouth open. “That must be the wine.”

She forces a smile, scoffing as she begins to nod lightly while her eyes appear teary. “Yeah, must be the wine, this fucking wine. It’s always me or any shit you would see just to make me look crazy.”

“Come on, do we have to come at this point? Wonyoung you know it’s hard for me to understand this, I have a girlfriend, and . . . “

She picks up her small sling bag from the bar chair, and looks at you, fixing her hair. “I know, you have Sullyoon. It’s my fault as well, I shouldn’t have been this fragile likewise.��� She sniffs and moves a few strands in her hair. “I think it’s better for me to go, Merry Christmas.”

“Wonyoung.”

Calling her name was not enough to make her stop from walking out of your apartment. The silence was loud, and you flowed with it.

You find yourself standing emptily  like a mannequin as you watch the door close itself. Everything that happened flows quickly, one an action that can’t be undone, and it’s all gone. That kiss is enough to change how you see your best friend anymore.

[melodyanqel]

Just Keeping Swimming | cs

summary: a fun summer day where a father taught his daughter how to swim.

pairing: idol!husband!father!san x non-idol!wife!mother!reader

genre/tags: fluff, idol au, established relationship, married couple, cuteness, father-daughter bonding

wc: 600+ words

a/n: seriously a lot of cuteness!!

A newly radiant sun emerges from springtime, wrapping everyone in warm and brilliant rays. It’s a hot summer day and the best thing to do is bathe in a pool to wash away the heavy heat. 

“Appa! How do you swim?!”

The sweet voice came from an adorable child in her cute Hello Kitty swimsuit with a tutu and her silky dark hair was up in a bun. She swings her legs back and forth on her parents’ bed. Her idol father, ATEEZ San, hears his little angel from the bathroom. He comes out only in his swim trunks and muscle swim t-shirt and bends down to have Sooah in his arms. She hops into her father’s embrace. “I’m not an expert but I’ll do my best to teach you,” San informed Sooah. 

She then squishes his cheeks with her tiny hands. “Appa is the best at teaching!” She tries to motivate him with so much cuteness. San smiles widely and gives her millions of kisses on her face. “You’re the best, my angel!” He couldn’t stop doting on his daughter since the day she was born. Sooah is the apple of his eye, after all. Her precious laughter rings like a beautiful melody. 

San gives her one last kiss on the cheek and pulls away to stand up and grab his phone off the bed. He texts the love of his life about heading off to the pool. You were busy at work and sad that you couldn’t have fun with your little family. But as promised, San will send you fun pictures and videos. 

Cheers, cheers

Under the hot sun right now

Go away, go away

Throw away all hesitation, throw away all hesitation

The father and daughter walked hand-in-hand to their apartment complex pool while singing "Wave." Luckily, it was just them at the pool, which was peaceful and quiet. 

“Alright, baby. Ready to go in?” San gently applied sunscreen on Sooah’s face because the love of his life would get furious if she saw her daughter red like a cherry. Sooah nods her head enthusiastically. “Yes, appa! Samchons say if they can do it, then I can too!” She mentioned her seven uncles or ATEEZ who are her best friends. 

With the earnest response, “Yes, you can! Now don’t get overly excited because it’s okay to make mistakes. Right, baby?” San reminded his angel to accept mistakes so she could learn from them. Sooah nodded, understanding her father’s statement. 

After taking some pictures to send to you and his members, San dives into the pool first. It feels rejuvenating because every day it’s been hot like fire. “Come over here. I got you, darling.” He let out his arms. Sooah strides and wraps her tiny arms around his neck. She has on a kid-size life jacket for safety. 

San swam with Sooah in his arms to the center of the pool. “I’ll be letting you go, now. Are you fine with that?” He wants to make sure Sooah is comfortable about swimming on her own. “Yes, appa!” She responded. San then carefully lets go of his child and watches her reaction. 

Sooah giggles happily. “Appa, this is fun!” She naturally moves her legs back and forth underwater. It brought a huge smile to San’s face. “You’re doing it, baby! Good job!” He cheered. “Okay, now follow my lead.” San begins to move his arms and legs slowly because he doesn’t want Sooah to get left out. She imitates her father and is swimming beside him. 

San stops to catch a breath and Sooah does the same. He brings her into his arms to shower millions of kisses once again. Sooah laughs in delight at her father’s affection. “You’re amazing, my love! Tell the samchons and mama about your new talent when we get back!” He nudges his nose against her cheek. 

More like San bragging about his beautiful angel to the world. 

[spideystevie]

bad for business

summary: steve’s good for your heart but he’s really bad for business word count: 4.5k a/n: me every time i post after being mia for months: who’s missed me! this was technically supposed to be inspired by bad for business by sabrina carpenter and then suddenly it wasn’t. not even sure there’s much of a plot but alas! also feel a little rusty at this right now, it’s been a while since i’ve really written anything but i’ve missed steve a crazy insane amount. love you, miss you, hope you all enjoy this <3

You’re late. You’re never late. 

The bell above the door to Dottie’s jingles as you hurry inside. Your fingers work on muscle memory to tie your apron around your waist as you slide through the mismatched seating arrangements inside the diner to get to the back office. 

You’re not sure if the way your stomach flips is from it being full of a single gulp of coffee or because it’s more than an hour past when you should’ve been here. The time punch on your card reads 9:07 am and your stomach lurches. Definitely not the coffee. 

It’s a Sunday, arguably your busiest day in the diner and arguably the worst day for you to show up like this. No doubt Dottie has noticed but you’re hoping against hope that she didn’t. God, what are you going to tell her?

Sorry Dottie! My super hot, super charming boyfriend wouldn’t let me out of bed this morning! Won’t happen again! 

Your face feels warm, like you’ve just spent an extensive amount of time in the sun in the middle of July. You knew you shouldn’t have stayed over last night, but you were so tired and Steve’s couch is way more comfier than yours. It really doesn’t help that his bed isn’t any different. 

“Lots of traffic this morning?” you jump, notepad falling out of your hand. Susan starts to snicker as you drop down to pick it up. There’s a smirk on her face when you rise to full height. Her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her name tag is crooked on her apron. You’re not sure you’d consider Susan one of your closest friends but you find yourselves pulled together considering she’s the only other young person working here. 

“Oh you know…,” your voice rises in pitch and you clear your throat, hitching one shoulder up to your ear in a shrug. “Sometimes you just hit every red.”

Susan’s eyes narrow. There’s only one working light on your usual route to work. Coming from Steve’s adds only two. Not to mention, you didn’t drive yourself today. Steve dropped you off, promising to pick you up at 4 on the dot when your shift ended. Susan pops her gum in her mouth, not convinced with your fib.

“Right.”

“Yeah. Now if you’ll excuse me, Cliff is waiting for me in his usual booth,” you hurry past before she can ask you anything incriminatory. You hear Dottie before you see her, on your way to grab the coffee pot. 

“You feeling okay, sweetie? You’re normally here right on the dot. An hour isn’t like you.”

Dottie’s older than most and she’s been running the diner outside Hawkins for a whopping 30 years now. She hangs out behind the counter and loves to chat with the regulars and get to know those just passing through. With rosy cheeks and gray streaked hair almost always pulled out of her face in a bun, she’s almost like another mom with how long you’ve been working here. 

You snag the excuse she basically throws you out of the air. 

“Had a bit of a rough night, but I’m feeling a lot better now, Dot. Didn’t realize I had overslept until I heard the birds chirping outside. It won’t happen again,” you say. 

You didn’t oversleep actually. Whatever natural circadian clock inside of you wakes you up at almost the same time every workday but Steve can be quite convincing when he wants to be. Your heart does a little sigh of his name. Steve. You swallow and try to blink away the image of him.

Dottie gives you a sympathetic smile with a concerned tilt of the head, taking your flustered mannerisms and the way you wipe your palms against the sides of your jeans as lingering symptoms of whatever she thinks ailed you last night. She squeezes your bicep, the press of her mixed metal rings cool against your skin.

“Take it easy today, okay? You let me know if you need anything.”

“Course, Dottie. Thank you,” you give her a smile and grab the coffee pot. 

Cliff sits at the same spot every morning. A little booth along the window wall, three down from the door to the diner. He looks a bit rough around the edges, his coat well loved and worn and his hands weathered from years of hard work. He’s worn the same baseball cap every time you’ve seen him and he’s always got a copy of the morning paper open and propped in front of his face. 

He spots you out of the corner of his eye and scoots his empty mug closer to the table’s edge. You smile and pour the coffee, leaving enough room for his two packets of Sweet ‘n’ Low to be stirred in. 

“Anything new this morning, Cliff?” 

You’ve only known Cliff on his own, but you know he used to come with his late wife Winnie for coffee every morning before she passed. He’d summarize the big news and events and she’d do the crosswords on the back. Now, you let him summarize to you and he leaves the paper on the table for you. You do the crosswords on your break. 

“Same old, same old. They’re thinking about rebuilding the mall that burned down in Hawkins a few summers ago. You hear anything about that?” He sets the paper down to the right of his coffee mug and grabs two pink packets of sweetener. You watch him tear the paper and pour them in. When he looks at you, you shake your head. 

“First time I’m hearing of it. My boyfriend used to work there before it…you know,” you mention, unable to stop the morsel of information from slipping out. A twinkle sparks in Cliff’s eye, a small smile on his face as he diverts his attention back to his mug. The spoon he’s stirring with clinks against the coffee stained ceramic walls. 

“Are you ever gonna bring this boyfriend of yours around here so I can actually see that he’s real?” He’s teasing, tapping the handle of the spoon against the rim of the mug and setting it in the gap between the coffee and the newspaper. You roll your eyes but a smile lifts your cheeks. 

“I don’t know if that’d be too good for business around here,” you joke. 

“And was he the reason you were late giving me my coffee this morning?” He's quick to cover his smirk with the coffee mug as he takes a sip. Your mouth falls agape and you fluster, shaking your head and laughing shakily. 

“Ha ha, very funny, Cliff. No, he was not. There was traffic!” Cliff makes a face at this and you don’t blame him. Has the traffic excuse ever worked for living in a small town, you wonder. “And I had a rough night and accidentally overslept, is all.”

He grabs his morning paper again and opens it up. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

The rest of the morning starts to fly by in a blur. You recite your favorites off the menu to a couple passing through from Chicago. Refill Cliff’s coffee twice, each time dodging whatever he tries to insinuate about your tardiness this morning. Sneak an extra pancake onto little Sofie’s plate with a wink. The early morning breakfast rush blows through and things start to quiet down. 

You’re wiping down the table adjacent to Cliff’s booth. His mug is empty and he’s left the paper for you like usual. The bell rings as he opens the door to leave. 

“See you tomorrow, Cliff!” you call after him and he raises a hand in a wave as he walks through the door, thanking the young man that holds it for him. 

You have to do a double take as you swipe the paper off the table. It’s not just any young man in passing holding the door, no it’s Steve coming inside Dottie’s. It’s Steve standing at the entrance in his usual Levi’s and a white tee with sleeves that seem to strain around his biceps with windswept hair and a bright smile when he sees you. 

There goes your heart again with the sigh of his name. Steve. Though maybe this time you think it was your voice instead, airy and soft. You can’t believe he’s here. It’s nowhere near 4’o’clock. You’re aware of Dottie’s eyes on you behind the counter and Susan’s from across the diner and nearly every regular scattered about as well. 

Your knees wobble at the sight of him, the disbelief fading away and giddy smile falling into place as he meets you next to Cliff’s booth. Cliff, who’s standing outside the diner and staring and you worry he might come back inside to hound you and insist you introduce him, but he doesn’t. 

Steve wraps an arm around your waist, fingers hot against the side of your stomach through the layers of your apron and shirt, and dips to press a kiss to your cheek in greeting. There’s a rush of a swoon that goes down to your toes, the bulk of it getting stuck in your abdomen and swirling like crazy.

You’re in the middle of a greasy old diner but Steve’s somehow tucked you away from prying eyes and into your own little safety bubble. He’ll be the death of you one day. Your heart’ll just keep expanding until it can’t fit inside your ribcage anymore and has no choice but to explode from adoration and kill you. 

“What are you doing here?” you wonder aloud, eyes scanning all around his face, taking in every freckle and crinkle and mole. You pause for a minute on his lips and then you blink and find his eyes. He’s smiling at you, in a way that tells you he caught that and you feel struck by that feeling of being caught in the July sun again. He looks around the diner and everyone’s attention goes back to what they were doing before.

“Thought I’d surprise you! Also, it’s supposed to rain later and you didn’t take a jacket so I brought you one.”

Only then do you notice the gray fabric in his other hand and your heart twists and flips and oh god, you think this might be the moment it explodes. He presses it into your hands, the newspaper crinkling against it. 

“What’s that?” he asks as you go to thank him. Your brow cinches for a minute before it smooths in comprehension.

“Oh! Cliff,” you point towards the door he’d just walked through, “one of the regulars, leaves the paper behind for me every morning so I can do the crosswords. A little tradition we’ve got going on.”

“A tradition? Should I be concerned?” He jokes and you laugh. 

“Oh, definitely. Cliff’s your biggest competition,” you throw back and now it’s his turn to laugh. A glittering light fills your chest. You glance over to where Dottie is engaged in conversation with a middle aged woman just passing through. She can’t hear you from this far but you drop your voice nonetheless. “No but, he did give me a bit of a hard time about his coffee being almost an hour late this morning.”

At your pointed look and sly smile, Steve winces, fingers pressing a quick squeeze against your side. An embarrassed blush blooms on his cheeks, bridging across his nose. “Right. Sorry.”

“Forgiven,” you lean up to press the quickest flash of a kiss to his cheek. You wrap your arms around the newspaper and jacket, holding them to your chest. “Do you wanna sit for a minute? I can get you some coffee? Although be warned, Dottie might come up and talk to you.”

His arm drops from around your waist and he nods. “Yeah. Yeah, coffee sounds great.”

You smile and motion him into Cliff’s booth. When he sits, he insists on holding onto the jacket and newspaper for you and you let him. He watches you take Cliff’s mug away and walk to Dottie behind the counter to get him a fresh one.

Dottie bumps her hip with yours as you pass and you give her a look. The pot’s nearly empty and you wait the few minutes it takes for it to fill, eyes catching on Steve while you wait. He’s stopped staring and has instead taken interest in the comics in the paper. 

“He’s handsome,” Dottie’s voice snaps you back into your senses. You glance at her and she’s got a special look in her eyes to match the smile on her face. You check the coffee pot that’s filling up quicker than normal. But your focus drifts back over to Steve, who senses your gaze and looks over to you and flashes a big grin. 

“Yeah,” you sigh, “he is.”

Dottie looks between the two of you and then takes a look around the diner. It’s not the usual Sunday hustle and bustle, post early breakfast rush and the impending rain could be the indicator for that. She's got Susan and Judy’ll be coming in any minute now and Pam right after at 12. When she looks back at you, you’re watching the last few drops of coffee fall into the pot. 

“Take the rest of the day,” Dottie says. Your eyes snap up to meet hers over the coffee pot between you.

“What?”

“Go sit and have coffee with that boy of yours and then go home,” it doesn’t sound like a suggestion, more like an order but you look around the diner and hesitate. 

“Dottie, it's Sunday. I can’t just leave this early on our busiest day of the week.”

“There’ll be other Sundays busier than this one. And you need your rest after the night you had. We’ll be okay, now go,” she pushes. You bite back a smile as you relent, kissing Dottie on the cheek as you pass with the full coffee pot and two mugs gripped tightly in your other hand. She shakes her head watching you cross back to the third booth from the door. 

Steve lights up when you enter his line of sight but his brow furrows at the two mugs held in your left hand. You set them on the table and fill them both with the fresh coffee before setting the pot down on the table. He watches you slide into the empty spot in front of him. The same place you assume Winnie occupied when she’d come here with Cliff. 

“Dottie’s letting me off early,” you say, grabbing an almost obscene amount of Sweet ‘n’ Low packets and dumping them into your mug. “Can you hand me a creamer?”

Steve finds himself staring at you, doctoring your diner coffee to how you like it, hearts for eyes and a wistful smile taking permanent residency on his face. When he doesn’t hand you the creamer right away, you look up, only a little confused but mostly amused at the blatant and overwhelming display of admiration across his features. 

“Steve?”

He blinks in quick succession and clumsily reaches for a creamer while you giggle and god, it’s killing him that he hasn’t kissed you right yet since he’s been here. You hold out your hand and he sets the mini pod on your palm, your fingers brushing his as they enclose around it with a thank you. 

He watches you finish stirring in the creamer, the coffee in your cup now a light shade of brown. You take a sip, both palms wrapped around the mug and your eyes on his when you set it down on the table. 

“You look nice,” you say, eyes dropping down to the simple white tee he’s wearing. When you look back up at his face, his smile is cheeky and his cheeks are flushed. It takes an incredible amount of self restraint not to kiss him across the table.

“Yeah? The plain white tee is really doing it for you?” he leans closer over the table, voice dropped just the slightest bit. You mirror his movement almost like there’s a magnet pulling the two of you together. Steve pulls one of your hands into his, weaving your fingers together across the table. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” there’s a flirtatious thrum in your voice that makes Steve grin. His mouth opens to respond, another silly flirty quip back when Dottie appears at the side of the table. 

“You kids want anything to eat?” 

The sound of her voice sends Steve jumping back against his seat, like he’s 15 and getting caught doing something he shouldn’t be. You lean back slowly, amusement clear on your face and a question in your eyes. Do you?

Steve looks from you and up to Dottie who watches with a knowing gleam in her eye. He starts to shake his head but then his eyes fall back to you and he’s repeating the question to you with his eyes. You consider it for a second and then shake your head slightly which Steve repeats to Dottie.

“No, we’re alright, thanks,” he says and Dottie nods. She grabs the coffee pot but doesn’t move. 

“Heard a lot about you…” she trails off and Steve’s eyes widen just a tad. 

“Oh! Steve. Harrington. Steve Harrington,” he fills in the blank for her, even reaching out his hand for her to shake. 

“Dottie. She talks a lot about you, Steve. Sometimes I don’t even think she realizes she’s doing it.”

You try to cover your face with your one free hand and groan, “Dottie.”

Steve lets out a small laugh and squeezes your hand, always finding it endearing to see you flustered. You slowly move your hand away, to which Steve gives you a quick wink which only makes you want to hide away again like you’re 16 with a crush. 

Dottie pulls him into an easy conversation. How is Hawkins? Where’d you both meet? And: Do you have a job? I expect only the best for my girl here, you know. And: you’ll have to come back and have something more than just coffee next time. 

By the time she’s finished and gone off to engage with the newest patron in the diner, your coffee’s finished and Steve’s has gone cold. You watch Dottie walk off and when you look back, Steve’s staring at you, soft and kind. His gaze makes you squirm. 

“I like her,” he says. 

“Uh oh, do I have to worry about having competition now?” you joke and Steve shakes his head with a laugh. 

“You don’t have to worry about anyone else, you’re the only one for me,” he confesses, rubbing his thumb against your hand. There’s that feeling like your heart might explode again with a sigh of his name, Steve. Though this time, you’re positive you’ve said it outloud.

“Steve,” you tilt your head, voice soft. He lifts your hand to kiss your knuckles and if you don’t kiss him in the next minute, you’re going to have a problem. As if he can sense it, Steve sticks a five on the table and grabs the jacket he’d brought for you as well as Cliff’s leftover newspaper.

He holds his hand out to you to help you out of your side of the booth and you take it, his palm soft against yours. You make it to the door and then pause. 

“Oh! Gotta grab my bag from the back,” you lean up to press a kiss against his cheek. “Meet you at the car?”

Steve nods, squeezing your hip briefly. He watches until you’ve disappeared into the back office before he walks out to his car. You come out not even a minute later, apron off and over your arm and bag hanging off your shoulder. There’s a slight skip in your step. 

The air smells like rain, an earthy petrichor that makes things somehow feel lighter. Steve’s leaning against the passenger side, the door already open and waiting for you. When you’re close enough, he hooks a finger through your bag strap to pull it off your shoulder. It gets caught on the crook of your elbow when you reach up to cup his cheeks with your hands. 

He’s confused for the briefest of seconds and then your lips are on his and he forgets about the bag on your shoulder. His hands fall to your hips, one of his arms wrapping tight around your waist. Something inside both of you is cheering, finally. 

You don’t think you’ll ever tire of kissing Steve. Both of you fit perfectly into the empty spots of each other, as if you were carved from the same stone upon creation. It’s a kiss almost far too explicit for outside Dottie’s diner midmorning on a Sunday but you can’t bring yourself to care. That is, until you need to come up for air. 

You pull back, Steve chasing your lips and winning. You’re almost smiling too much now for it to work, your hands sliding from his cheeks to the sides of his neck. This time, he pulls away and your chests rise and fall in sync. 

“Been needing to do that since you first walked inside,” you breathe out and Steve lets out a laugh that you can feel reverberate through you. He kisses you again, quick and soft and his hand moves to take your bag off your shoulder again. 

“And why didn’t you?” he jests, stepping back enough for you to get into his car. One of your hands rests on the top of it, the other hanging loose at your side. Steve wishes he had a camera on him just to capture you in that moment with the sun hitting you in just the right way, playful adoration in your eyes. 

“Because,” you shrug, stooping to get inside the car, holding a hand out for your bag when you’re situated. Steve passes it over and closes your door, jogging around the front of the car to get in the driver’s seat. 

“Because…?” he pries, sticking the key in the ignition but not yet turning it. You’re pulling your seatbelt across your chest, turning your head to smile at him as you click the buckle into place. 

“Because Dottie might’ve gotten suspicious as to why I was so late this morning,” another pointed look his way and Steve shakes his head, turning the engine over and quickly buckling in his seatbelt. He shifts into reverse, checking his rearview mirror and then slinging his arm across the back of your seat. 

It’s like a feast for your eyes. The stretch of his arm, a long expanse of muscle right by your head that carries a strong whiff of his cologne. The swift, smooth, one handed feel on the wheel. You’re staring unabashed, only getting knocked out of your reverie when he responds. 

“I’m never living this down.”

He glances at you, his arm dropping from your seat to shift into drive. You lean your head against the headrest and shake it with a smile. 

“So what was your excuse then? For being late?” 

He pulls onto the street to take you back towards Hawkins, his right hand leaving the wheel and dropping to find your hand. You take the liberty of slotting your fingers into the spaces between his. 

“Oh you know. Rough night being sick. Oversleeping. Like something out of Steve Harrington’s playbook for getting out of work,” you tease. He scoffs, sparing you a quick amused glance. You lift your hands to your lips in response, your smile hiding behind the kiss you press to his knuckles. 

“And did it work? Did she buy it?” 

“Oh, of course. Why do you think she let me off so early?” 

Steve looks over at you again and sees the slight smirk on your face. He shakes his head with a slight laugh. 

“Wow, you’ve been hanging around me too long. I’m rubbing off on you.”

“Like that’s such a bad thing,” you roll your eyes, turning your head so your cheek rests against the leather of the headrest. A gooey softness melts into your gaze. “You’re one of the best people I know.”

Steve smiles, his cheeks blooming with a slight twinge of pink. He doesn’t say anything, just takes his turn lifting your joined hands to his lips to litter kisses along your knuckles. Your heart goes mushy, such has been the case since you started dating Steve. The mush liquefies, seeping through your body with a shiver when you notice the picture he’s got propped on his dash. 

He’s had to have just added it recently. A grainy film capture of the two of you, you think Max must’ve taken it if you remember correctly but you haven’t seen it before. You’re both leaning against the hood of his car, Steve’s arm around your shoulders and your hand lifted to hold his hand that hangs there. A big toothy grin is spread across your face, your head tilted slightly against Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s not looking at the camera though, he’s looking at you with a lopsided smile, adoration spilling out of him clear as day. 

“When did you add that?” you ask, pointing at the picture with your free hand. Steve glances down at it and immediately breaks into a smile.

“Just the other day. Surprised it’s taken you so long to notice it,” he replies, looking over at you and then back at the road. You’re about to ask if you can somehow get a copy of your own when he says, “I have a copy for you at home, don’t worry. I’ll make sure you get it before you go back to your place.”

You smile at him, one that’s soft around the edges, a perfect mirror of how you feel. It feels so wonderful to be known and seen by somebody the way Steve knows and sees you. Making sure to get two prints of that picture of you. Bringing a jacket to work for you for the rain that doesn’t arrive until that afternoon as you’re about to leave his house to go back to yours. 

He uses it as an excuse to keep you with him for another night, something you weakly protest against because the roads aren’t completely slick yet and you can get home just fine. But he insists, his eyes round and pleading and really you can’t deny that you’d rather stay with him anyway. 

Even if it means you’re tired again in the morning and rushing to work. You think being with Steve is a worthy price to pay, you never thought you’d be so glad to be so tired. 

And, at least you’re not late this time.

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 1: I'LL BE YOUR PLASTIC TOY

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, suggestiveness, making out, light bullying

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i am here to ruin everyone's lives. apologies in advance

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

March, 2008

“Hey, Twigs. Wanna see something cool?”

His honeyed voice chills your spine, his breath warm right by your ear. You roll your eyes as you turn to face Satoru, grinning with all his teeth as he tugs at your wrist. 

“What is it, Satoru?” you sigh.

“You have to follow meee,” he sings, pulling you away from the table you’re setting and towards the side of the porch. It’s secluded. Private. “Bring the spoon.”

With furrowed brows, you oblige. It isn’t like you have a choice. You had followed him around like a puppy ever since you’d met him as a child. You continue to, regardless of your determination to separate yourself from him.

His favorite shadow. His little pet.

The two of you aren’t as close as you were when you were children, but it’s still impossible to refuse him when he has a request. You blame it on your mother and her professionalism. You figure you had inherited it from her. That hyper-politeness. You find that you blame the ocean blue of his eyes more often. Always sparkling. 

He walks a few feet away from you, still grinning. You blink at his tall figure. He's currently dressed in a baby blue dress shirt (sleeves rolled up, of course) and black slacks. His Sunday best for the fancy brunch at the Gojo Estate. Every April, your mother summons you to help set up, then rewards you with a plate and time to play with the other kids. She would continue her work, serving the family and their guests. You would pretend that you weren’t part of the staff.

There hadn’t been a point in you staying for the afternoon in years. Only if Satoru begged you to, and even then, he hadn’t bothered to do so since junior high.

“You’re going to get me in trouble,” you huff, crossing your arms. You wipe your sweaty hands on your smock.

“I’d never let you get in trouble, you know that,” he smirks. “Now, throw the spoon at me.”

“What?”

“Just do it.”

“I want to throw way more than a spoon at you right now.”

“Relax, Twigs. Do this for me. Please?” he pouts. You can see his bright blue eyes peeking out of his black sunglasses, framed by snow-white lashes. It was unfair how pretty he was. How easily he could persuade you. 

Sighing, you throw the spoon in his direction. It stops right in front of his face as if there’s an invisible wall. He laughs in victory when he sees your confused expression. 

“What was that?” 

“My Infinity. I’ve perfected it so that it’s automatic. Took me a lot of willpower before but now it’s as easy as breathing.”

“Congratulations,” you reply dryly. 

It was typical of Satoru to be invincible. Untouchable. It had been a quality of his since birth, now manifested into a literal power to aid him against threats. You’d been on the outskirts of such threats when you were younger, but Satoru would always spare you the details.

Watching him grow in his adolescence had been like watching a sprout bloom. It shot toward the sky exponentially until it became a tree in record time. You, meanwhile, were still a sprout. A window, they’d called it. Able to see the horrors produced by human nature but unable to do anything about it.

Your head snaps up, alert when you hear your mother yelling your name from the porch. She points a hard gaze at you, then softens it when she sees Satoru.

“Satoru-kun, do you mind if I steal her for a minute? I need some extra hands for the tamagoyaki.”

Satoru nods, expressing his courtesy to your mother in his usual charming poise. It used to work on you before, but it often irks you now. The way he dazzles people to get what he wants. You would rather die than admit it was a characteristic of his that you envied.

He tugs at your braid before you walk away.

“See you later, Twigs,” he calls after you. A playful lilt to his voice. 

“You won’t.”

Satoru has you memorized. Since the two of you were five years old, he considered you his mirror image, though you never believed him. 

Often, when he sees you now, his heart leaps the tiniest bit in his chest the same way it did when he was thirteen. He’s gotten better at ignoring it. He’s perfected the art of ignoring you ever since high school started.

He likes to indulge during times when you’re not looking. At the moment, you’re concentrated on a flower arrangement, a blush painted on your cheeks from the heat. He’d watch you do this when you were kids, too. Your face would be in a concentrated frown, tongue peeking out. Nimble fingers perfecting an ikebana arrangement. 

Sometimes he missed it. He decided long ago that it would be better if he didn’t.

You two had been inseparable since the day the Gojos' hired your mother as a maid. He remembered you hiding behind your mother’s legs, chewing on the end of one of your braids. You would stay in the guest house of the Gojo estate with your mother, and you would become Satoru’s best companion. 

Both of your mothers would arrange playdates. Satoru’s mother wanted him out of her hair. Your mother wanted to work without your constant interruptions. You were needy, an only child, but Satoru would always please you with his company. It was why you adored him.

He’d show you all his toys and teach you all the games that his extended family would show him to make you feel included. He’d have you sleep in his bed, which would go under the radar until the two of you were fourteen. It would be innocent and wholesome. Satoru would show you the stars he’d learned about and you would look at him as if he’d hung them in the sky himself. 

Satoru often reminisces about the shape of your body to this day. Sometimes, he misses it when he’s alone in his king-sized bed in the winter. Even with the heat on, there’s still something missing, and then he thinks of you.

When you were kids, you’d sleep together, legs and arms intertwined. Drool on the same pillow. Wake up to an abundance of pancakes from your mother.

You had been half a friend, half a plaything. Satoru’s counterpart. Feet kicking each other under the breakfast table. 

At age five, you’d seen the same curse together. A harmless thing, chameleon-like, with eight legs on each side. It had a nasty face, one that you had recognized from your nightmares. It had been exciting at first, knowing that you shared the same ability as your best friend. You believed that you would grow with him and become as talented as him.

But that was an exaggeration. Satoru's parents knew how isolating it would be for their son to be the strongest. Your technique never came.

Satoru acted as your protector, then. Expelled the small, vicious curses in the corners of your room like they were bugs. You’d watch him train, his body overgrowing with knobby knees as you sat on the sidelines. And while you grew up with him, you only got smaller in his periphery. Always lesser. Always weaker.

It’s the reason you’d grown apart. At least that’s what he tells himself. 

Satoru had grown into a tall, arrogant child. He treated school as a hobby and still made the highest marks, which angered you to no end. It didn’t matter to him, anyway, knowing that he’d become a company's CEO or the best jujutsu sorcerer in the world. He had his future in the palm of his hands. You were not a part of that. You weren’t even sure of a future of your own.

Sometimes he would have nightmares of you dying in his arms at the hands of a curse too big for him to control. During adolescence, he experienced many threats to his safety. He knew he couldn't live with himself. He couldn’t bear to see you endure the same. 

So, without explanation, Satoru Gojo pretended you didn’t exist. He exchanged the necessary niceties in school and when you'd come over with your mother, though he'd never ask you to stay the same way he had when you were kids. He was often occupied with new friends, anyway. Often busy working on his technique. Nothing that was your business, of course.

You resented him for it. 

Now, you’re enduring your last year of high school with him, and you are trying so badly to be good. You should aim to make good enough marks to attend a decent university on a decent scholarship. God knows you aren’t fit for the world of jujutsu sorcery. 

In a way, you’re okay with the mundanity of your life. Satoru’s absence in your heart convinced you of that. 

Satoru’s attendance at school is only an illusion of normalcy for his parents. His mother insists on it. Barely a sorcerer herself, she had wanted to give her son the option of living a normal life. With his grades and wit, she knew that he could easily be successful as a businessman or a doctor. 

Despite this, Satoru knew he would enroll in Tokyo’s Jujutsu Technical College with Suguru. He had met Suguru when he was fifteen, trying to exorcise a curse that only got snatched by a dark-haired thief, one who would end up as his best friend. 

Satoru saw Suguru as his only equal. He had no one else to relate to about jujutsu sorcery. 

Certainly not you.

But still, he was closing another year of high school, his last. Then he could be free from his parents’ restraints. It was easy for him to be the best and make the most friends. It was a shame that he’d have to leave them all behind. 

You’re a ghost in Satoru’s wake. Always near, never faltering yet never consuming too much space. As the school year progresses, he ignores you like a mosquito bite. Harmless but still itching his skin. Always reminded of your presence even when you do nothing to draw attention to yourself. 

And then there are times that you do.

“I’m sorry, sensei,” you mumble, stunned in the doorway of the classroom.

It’s a nondescript weekday in May, one that’s wet with rain, which explains your damp hair and clothes. Your appearance conjures a succession of snickers. The sound of low laughter taunting you and whispers gossiping about you.

You’re too tired for it. You don’t want to be here at all.

“I’m disappointed,” your teacher relays. “You’re usually never tardy.”

“It won’t happen again,” you muster.

You hear more whispers. It hangs on your shoulders as you sit in your seat, still and heavy as you attempt to take notes.

Should’ve worn something more sheer, than she’d get the attention she wants, huh?

Nah, not like her tits are even good enough to be seen like that.

Bet she’s hiding something from all of us. Maybe we can get her to strip in the girls’ locker room and give us a show later.

“Shut the fuck up,” a voice growls. You hear it, turning your head, and your eyes fall on Satoru’s fiery blues. 

You wonder if the feeling of his gaze searing into the back of your head is worth mentioning. It makes your face hotter, the flush of humiliation warming your neck as your peers snicker at you.

You manage to get through class without crying. Haru, a boy you were closer with in previous years, offers his sweatshirt to you as you collect your things. 

“She’s good,” Satoru interrupts as you strip off your damp sweater. Within seconds, he has you under his arm. He ushers you out the classroom door. His oversized jacket drapes over your shoulders.

“Gojo,” you hiss. “He was just being nice.”

“Or he wanted to see you in a wet t-shirt. I don’t think white was the best move for today, by the way.”

Your face heats up when you look down. You realize the extent of skin that’s visible from the sheerness of your damp white shirt. It mortifies you more when you realize that Satoru had caught it first.

“Right. Thanks,” you mumble, hiking up your bookbag tighter on your shoulder. 

“So helpless sometimes,” Satoru sighs. He shoots you a devilish smile that combats your scowling frown. “Why don’t you call me by my first name here?”

“Because we’re in school and it’s polite.”

"Twigs, are you scared of being associated with me?"

He blocks the door of your locker, leaning against it and towering over you. Satoru had always taken up as much space as possible without a care in the world. You were the opposite -– always compartmentalizing yourself to be smaller. Malleable. Amicable.

He’s too close for comfort, nearly breathing down your neck. He only moves when you kick him pathetically in the shin.

Satoru’s smile only grows bigger as you ignore him. He wonders if he could get your fuse to blow in front of him right now. This place is usually where you’re composed, regal, and expedient. One of the school’s top students. 

He knew you had an edge to you, wild as you were when he had known you as a child. But you had only grown to be responsible and sensible. He thinks that his mother would be relieved if he acted more like you.

“Coming home with me or what?” Satoru quips. The way he says it makes your stomach stir. It's an almost salacious suggestion despite its innocence. Satoru always made everything sound more exciting than it was.

“Why would I?” you raise a brow.

“My mother would like to see you. She told me she had some hand-me-downs for you to try on." You know I’d love nothing more than to see you parade around my house dressed like my mother in the 70s.” He grins in amusement.

“Okay, sure, whatever.”

“Yo, Satoru!” 

His head whips around to see one of his buddies, crowded around other jocks. Satoru is quick to leave you without so much as a goodbye. 

July, 2008

After your semester, you end up second to Satoru. It’s no surprise to you despite how much it infuriates you. You are never anything more or less. 

"Congratulations, Twigs," Satoru murmurs to you. He startles you from your thoughts. You slam your locker closed.

“Why are you still calling me that?”

“Because you’re my Twigs,” he pouts.

Yours. It’s a funny lie. Satoru Gojo was a lot of things, but he would never be yours. Sleeping with him in his bed as a child didn’t grant you that kind of closeness anymore. Within these halls, you walk past each other like strangers.

He pouts childishly like he always does. There’s a devilish spark in his blue eyes underneath his sunglasses, though you can barely make out his irises from his height. Satoru’s growth spurt had him at over six feet tall by the time he was sixteen. It was obvious that he’d only grow taller. 

You scoff, rolling your eyes at the nickname. If you were in middle school again, the notion would warm your heart. It had been a stupid nickname he’d tease you with ever since you were both ten. You had been angry at him for reasons that escaped you, climbing up the tree in the backyard of his estate as high as you could until he begged you to come down.

You wouldn’t, of course. You were always stubborn like that, and Satoru loved it. 

You were also much clumsier when you were ten, slipping your foot as you attempted to climb a different branch and falling into Satoru’s arms. It had been a miracle you didn’t break any bones, but thanks to Satoru’s freakish strength, you were unharmed. Only disheveled with leaves and twigs stuck in your frizzy hair. He had called you Twigs ever since. 

“I’m not your anything. Even if my mother is still your fucking maid.”

“Aren’t you my maid, too? My little servant?” he teases. 

You wonder if he knows how cruel it is, even if it’s a little joke.

“I’m nothing to you,” you mumble. You attempt to hold a faster stride on your walk home. Maybe you’d advance enough to leave him in the dust. You could be the best runner on the track team if you managed that.

But you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t leave him, couldn’t. Not a chance.

“What was that?” Satoru calls after you.

“Nothing!”

“Slow down,” he whines, running fast enough to follow your stride, much to your annoyance. Him and his stupid, long legs. His taunting smile. “Don’t you wanna come over?”

“Why would I?”

“Your mom’s probably there. And we can celebrate the end of exams.”

“I have… stuff to do,” you stammer.

“No, you don’t,” Satoru chuckles. “The semester’s over. Summer’s here, baby.”

“Don’t call me that!”

He laughs again, the sound twinkling in your ears like a beloved song. It makes your cheeks warm. You don’t want him to see it. 

Yet, he wraps his arms around you, chin nestled to your collarbone as if you were joined together. In a blink, the two of you are in his kitchen, with whiplash only an after-effect. You still hadn’t gotten used to his ability to warp.

“I hate when you do that.”

“You like it, I know you do,” Satoru taunts. “It excites you. I can tell because your cheeks get all flushed.”

“They do not!”

“Sure, they don’t, Twigs.” 

“You’re annoying,” you huff, dropping your school bag on a chair.

Satoru greets your mother with a kiss on the cheek as you follow behind him. She has tea prepared in the sitting room for you and him, along with dorayaki and matcha Swiss rolls.

“Your mom’s the fucking best,” he muses as he gobbles down a third roll. You watch him in feigned disgust. Sipping your tea, you mumble something unintelligible in agreement.

“What, you aren’t hungry?”

“No.”

“Try this.”

“I have. She’s my mom.”

“C’mon, Twigs, open up.” 

Satoru leans over the table with a Swiss roll between his fingers, waving it in front of your face. There’s no point in protesting -– he’d probably knock something over from his eagerness to annoy you. You part your lips to take a bite, and at the same time, he shoves it into your mouth.

“Satoru!” you groan.

“Stay still.”

You swallow your bite and he wipes his fingertips on the corner of your mouth. He’s close enough to feel your breath on his face, licking up the frosting on his thumb nonchalantly. He chuckles at the flustered look painting your face into a scowl.

“I’m done. I’m going to do the dishes.” 

You excuse yourself to retreat to the kitchen before you can so much as make eye contact with Satoru again. He has to be teasing you with his small touches. It’s something he would’ve done when you were twelve, yet the notion now would be different. 

The two of you were in completely different social spheres. He had separated himself from you years prior. It would be a rare sight for him to be so touchy with you in public, acting as if you were like him. 

Someone who had a big kitchen. Someone who didn’t have to think about expenses.

It’s a miracle that he leaves you alone as you clean the kitchen, washing dishes to keep your mind occupied. After you’re done, you decide to cut up a bowl of strawberries. You knew they were Satoru’s favorite. Knowing him, he’d still crave something sweet after demolishing all the desserts.

You nick yourself. A careless act — you aren’t paying attention, mistaking the sharp side of the knife for the dull one. It slices the inside of your thumb. Cursing under your breath, you hover your hand over the wound. You heal it within milliseconds without so much as a second thought.

This is when Satoru kicks at something. The wall or a potted plant, you don’t know. But it’s a plea for attention and it brings your focus to him, your head snapping up to meet his gaze and his childish pout. 

“I saw that,” he says, lowly.

You freeze under his scrutiny. You don’t say anything.

“So you’ve been lying to me.” It’s a seething accusation instead of a question.

He gets so close to you without you even noticing. He towers over you again, swallowed by the whole of his shadow, and his betrayed frown is petulant like a child’s. 

“Satoru—”

“You said you didn’t have a cursed technique.”

“I—I didn’t. Not until later—”

“When?”

Your eyes are wide as you look up at him, hands trembling. He takes a step forward, taking up more space. It reminds you of your worth. The mere fact of him belittles you in that way.

“When I was thirteen. My kitten, Aki. The stray. You remember him, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“He got hit by a car one day, and I couldn’t stop sobbing. And I was holding him in my hands all bloody. And then, I brought him back to life. It just happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

You search Satoru’s face. There’s a bit of betrayal in it, mostly surprise. It boils your blood in the slightest bit — because why is it so shocking that you ended up with a cursed technique? You may have hidden it from him for a few years, but was it something so unimagined for you?

You assumed that you would always be a plaything in Satoru’s eyes. Something so easy, so useless.

“It wasn’t enough,” you exasperate. 

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It doesn’t matter. None of it does, Satoru. It’s so—”

Insignificant. Small compared to you.

He waits, swallowing the lump in his throat. Eyes flaring like comets.

“It doesn’t matter,” you repeat. “I don’t even want to be a sorcerer, and even if I wanted to be, I could never keep up with you. I don’t see the point in pursuing this if I’m better off just studying at a normal university—”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Your technique is amazing. It’s like Shoko’s! You could’ve —”

“Satoru,” you emphasize. Your tone shuts him up, your hardened gaze, the lightning in your eyes bright and sharp. Menacing, even. You can sense the sound of him swallowing, a lump lodged in his throat loud enough for you to hear.

White lashes flutter. A frown is still displayed on his face. It’s now that he notices the slight bags under your eyes. Evidence of burden, of nights spent awake under the unforgiving moonlight.

You look at him in a way that feels damning — like you’re coaxing something from him. He knows better — knows that his anger is misplaced, that you’re right.

You having a healing technique is nothing compared to him. Even then, he knows that you probably aren’t interested in combat or the world of jujutsu sorcery in general. It doesn’t affect him so negatively. So what is he so angry about?

The question is in your eyes, pleading. He already knows the answer despite not admitting it to himself. He knows that the prospect of you having a cursed technique doesn’t mean you’re stronger than him. He assumes you wouldn’t surpass him, and wouldn’t think you to be someone who would even think about it. 

Satoru knows he’s angry because he feels very close to you. He had at least thought he was close enough with you to know about your cursed technique. It was finding out that you were hiding it from him that made him angry. Learning that you had it manifest in front of you and didn’t bother to fucking tell him about it.

He can’t voice any of these frustrations. He knows you’d yell at him, and criticize him for thinking he’s entitled to you. It’s inappropriate and unfair, but in his younger years, he often felt that he was entitled to you. He’d known you since you were so very little, so vulnerable. He had protected you from all those curses, hadn’t he? He held you in his arms in his bed for years. That had to have meant something to you. It certainly meant something to him. 

“Sorry. I just wish you told me earlier,” he says softly. 

You apologize. Meek beneath him, eyes avoiding him. 

“I know,” you sigh. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, Satoru.”

You don’t see him for a week and a half. It should be typical to you. It’s not like him to reach out or go out of his way to see you. He’d always been like that, giving you no expectations. And yet, his radio silence had crawled under your skin.

It’s stupid to expect him, anyway. There’s no reason for him to show up at yours, much more of a reason for you to show up at his, but you don’t need to. Your mother does that for her job and it has nothing to do with you.

There’s a Tuesday that’s so quiet, so plain that even the rain falters after two hours to only grant the town wet pavement. You’re curled up with a book in your living room when you hear a succession of knocks on your door. An erratic rhythm, the same as the special knock you would use with Satoru.

It’s him, of course. He smirks at you, an oversized t-shirt loose off of his lanky figure. You try not to fixate on the sweat of his exposed collarbone. You look him straight in the eyes through his pitch-black sunglasses.

He has a large bouquet in his hands. He grins at you. For the first time in a little while, you feel brave.

“Confessing your love to me this afternoon, are you?” you pester, a brow raised.

Something like that, Satoru thinks.

“You wish.” 

He walks past you, brushing your shoulders much to your annoyance. He sets the bouquet on your kitchen table in its little jar, peonies drooping despite how hard he tries to fix them.

“It’s from my mom to yours. As a thank you and a birthday wish and stuff.”

“Thanks,” you murmur. “That’s very sweet of her.”

He hums in agreement, rocking his heels back and forth as his eyes roam your house. It isn’t his first time here, but he acts the part, hands buried in his pockets as he observes you like a wild animal. 

“Will that be all?”

“Dunno,” Satoru shrugs. “What were you up to before I showed up?”

You shrug, too, attempting to mirror his nonchalance. You had long ago buried your paperback in a drawer, promising to return to it by the time Satoru left. But still, he lingers, in front of you, taking up unnecessary space in your childhood home. Too tall and too pretty.

“Just cleaning my room,” you lie. 

“Can I see it?”

“Why?”

“Been a while,” he shrugs. “I’m just curious.”

“Well, it’s a mess right now. I didn’t get very far.”

“Like I care,” Satoru chuckles. 

He stares at you for a bit, heartbeats passing the time in your head. Fuck, he’s serious. He’s already leaning towards the staircase.

“Okay.”

You’re hyper-aware of him behind you, eyes exploring the length of your body. If you had known that he would show up unannounced, you would’ve changed into one of your long dresses or a pair of jeans. At the moment, you feel too bare in your tank top and corduroy shorts. You feel like a child outgrown.

Satoru takes up as much space as usual, long limbs splayed over your tiny twin bed. You don’t permit him to sit on your bed, but he does it anyway. He looks at the pictures on your wall, takes in the sweet smell of your sheets. It’s similar to your clothes, your flesh. Your hair. He’d live in it if he could.

“How cute.” He gestures to a cat plushie by the head of your bed. 

“Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Satoru laughs. “It is cute. It’s so you.”

A certain fervor blossoms in your gut at that. The image of him stretched out on your little bed. Despite your closeness with him when you were younger, he had never spent much time at your house. It took you a few years to understand why.

“You should invite me over more often.”

“I don’t invite you over ever.”

“Well, you could start.”

“Why?” You stand by the wall, shifting your weight towards it as you lean backward. You cross your arms in defense, even though he hasn’t said anything to provoke you yet.

“It’s comfy here. I like it.”

“Thanks?”

He sings your name, beckoning you to him. You take three steps at most, holding your breath. Standing in front of his knees.

“Come sit, Twigs.”

“Told you not to call me that,” you breathe.

“Don’t care,” he grins. 

He reaches out to you, pulling you between his knees with a hand on your waist. He smirks at the sound of your gasp as he tugs at your wrist. 

“In my lap. C’mere.”

It’s difficult to refuse Satoru Gojo. His eyes drink you in, ocean blues glimmering and reflecting the afternoon sunlight. You’re still between his thighs. He tugs you without much effort, making you stumble into him. Your hands hold onto his shoulders as you settle into his lap. He holds the small of your back as you straddle him.

“Wanna try something.”

You say nothing. Your eyes flutter closed when you feel his fingertips grazing your jaw.

There’s a softness against your mouth. You don’t dare open your eyes.

You sense a sharp inhale behind the lips that kiss you, but they stay. Wetting between your mouth with the slight of a tongue. Tasting sweet like honeysuckle.

You whine, opening your mouth a bit more. You swallow down divinity. It's misguided affection that you had wished for when you were so much smaller. It might mean something bigger to you now if you thought about it for longer. You don’t want to. You refuse to.

But Satoru kisses you hard, excited and eager. His tongue peeks into your mouth and you taste strawberries. Lips soft and supple and melting against yours.

He groans, fisting your hair in his hand as he deepens the kiss, falling more and more into you. He smiles against your mouth as he coaxes a small sound out of you. It crawls out of your throat for him to taste with satisfaction. He’s always dreamed of you in his lap, but he could never tell you that.

You’re breathless, weak, and melting into him as he wraps his arms around you. Caging you in so that you can’t escape. So fucking warm in his embrace. 

It takes a second for you to notice the hardness growing underneath you. It prods your center as you mindlessly grind into Satoru’s lap. When you realize, you squeak in embarrassment, and he clutches you harder.

You sigh into each other, eating the other up. Heat surges through you, from your forehead down to your core, to your weak, sensitive legs. Hot from the feeling of him in your mouth. Hot from the proximity of your core to his.

You pull away, exhaling unevenly as you try to catch your breath. You’re shy under his gaze, unwrapping yourself and covering your body as if you’re naked.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re so cute,” he chuckles. “Acting like that was your first kiss.”

“What if it was?”

He raises a brow as you look away with flushed cheeks. You’re still on his lap and he takes the opportunity to remind you of this, shifting you in his lap and causing friction. Your eyes are wide as you quickly attempt to untangle your limbs with his.

“That was your first kiss?”

“Yeah.”

You roll your eyes at the sight of his leering smile. God, you knew this would happen. Satoru would never let you live it down.

“I’m going to kick you out—”

“No.” 

He grasps your wrist in his hand. It’s small compared to his palm, engulfing you. His other hand grips your hip firmly but softly. He only moves it to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

“How was it? Tell me.”

“Good,” you breathe. “Felt good.”

For the first time in a long time, he looks at you like you have invented something new. There’s a bit of astonishment. Wonder and admiration. Maybe you were getting ahead of yourself. You were easily deluding yourself with the expression of his sapphire blue eyes. 

“Felt good for me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why did you do that?” you ask, giggling nervously. 

“Just wanted to.”

“I want you to kiss me again,” you whisper.

“I want to do more than that,” Satoru mumbles. But he knows better. It’s the best decision for him to get you off his lap right now before he loses composure.

You both hear the sound of your front door opening as if it’s timed -- your mother. 

“I’ll kiss you later, okay?” Satoru murmurs.

“You will?”

“My parents will be gone this weekend. To Okinawa. You should come over on Saturday.”

“Okay. I will.”

[nova-anya]

The Romance Tropes Legacy Challenge

 Hello! Welcome to the Romance Tropes Legacy Challenge! (based on the Book Tropes Legacy Challenge by @callmerunaa)

______________________________________________________________

This is a ten generation legacy challenge featuring many elements from popular fiction tropes involved to make your sims’ love stories as unique (or stereotypical) as you wish!

Notes: –This challenge was inspired by @callmerunaa on Instagram and pinterest.  However, many of the generations are altered/changed completely to fit some of my personal preferences for gameplay style and I just thought I’d create a google document of my own way of playing. Link to Original: https://in.pinterest.com/callmerunaa/

–If you do play through these generations, please note that because of the nature of the sims,  some of the generations will require some ~imagination!~  Due to this, the story is definitely more… “storyline” based. 

–Not every generation has required aspiration/traits/skills to learn/ or jobs. For many of them, I have “No Requirement” if it is not important for the character’s story. You are free to choose your own based on the character and how you perceive their life continuing on. Even if I have provided certain aspirations, you are not stuck with this if it is not what you feel is right for the character. You are therefore free to change any aspect of the challenge to suit you and your gameplay style.

–The last two generations DO include occult gameplay. However, I may be including alternate versions if playing with occults is not your thing/ you would like to keep your gameplay more realistic.

–If you use this version, please tag me! IG: @novanyax Twitter: @xnovanya Youtube: novaanya

Episode One: https://youtu.be/14IoZ4XzLQU?si=BEW2B_ZjHKLJ5r8Z

Generation I: (High School Drama || Love Triangle || Opposites Attract)

World: Copperdale

Aspirations: Goal Orientated/Best Selling Author

Traits: Geek

Job: No Requirement

You hear your mother shout up the stairs that the bus is almost here and it’s time for school. You throw your hair in a messy bun and quickly finish getting ready before rushing down the stairs. Despite the full breakfast of eggs, pancakes, fruit, and bacon laid out on the table, you stuff a piece of toast in your mouth and fly out the door wishing your mom goodbye. Now it’s off to high school where you don’t exactly have many friends. You are captain of the chess team though, so at least you have that going for you. Unfortunately it does not do much in the romance department. You also have a huge crush on the football quarterback and honestly who wouldn’t? They’re so dreamy. But they’d never notice you. And then there’s the cheerleading captain who hasn’t always been the nicest to you. However, when you get paired with one of them for a school project, drama ensues…

Objectives: –Start as a teenager

–Have a negative friendship with the cheerleading captain and a crush on the football team captain.

– Become Chess Team Captain

– Get paired with one of them for a group project and from there… let drama ensue. 

– Go to prom with one of them.

Spouse Reqs.: – Must be either Cheerleading Captain or Football Team Captain

–Must have the “Active” trait

Child Reqs.: –No Requirement

Generation II: (Holiday Romance || Workaholic || Second Chance)

World: San Myshuno

Aspiration: Drama Llama/Fabulously Wealthy

Traits: Ambitious

Job: Lawyer (Private Attorney Branch)

In the city, your life is busy all the time. You don’t have time for friends or relationships and are instead looking forward to advancing in your career. You are adamant about keeping focused and not letting anything sway you from your goal. With the holiday season quickly approaching, you can’t help but roll your eyes at the festivities. Who cares about this corporate, capitalistic holiday anyway? Bah humbug! However, after your parents convince you to take a break from work and come back to your hometown for a few days, you meet an old flame, and they show you the true meaning of the holidays. Will whatever it is between you two survive past the holidays?

Objectives: –During your teenage years while completing the ‘drama llama’ aspiration, have the sim you break up with be the sim that shows up later in the challenge. 

– Gain the ‘wokaholic’ lifestyle in the city.

–Don’t have a romantic relationship with anyone while in San Myshuno. You can have hookups and friends, but nothing serious. Remember, your job is your life!

–Have a ‘second-chance’ romance with the sim from your teen years that you broke up with.

–After your holiday romance is over, decide if it will continue or it was just not meant to be. From here, you can decide to either become a single parent, either through a mistake or through adoption, or continue to be with the person and have a happy life together.

Spouse Reqs.: –No Requirement

Child Reqs.: –Have at least two children

Generation III: (Single Parent || Friends to Lovers || Learning to Love Again)

World: No Requirement

Aspiration: Live Fast/Super Parent

Traits: Family Orientated

Job: Freelance Career 

Now that you’re raising your child all by yourself, you’re trying to do everything you can to be a good and supportive parent. How quickly they grow up! Some part of you can’t help but miss your little baby. Learning all of these shapes and numbers, letters and animals from the perspective of a child really makes you fall in love with the world again after major heartbreak. Old memories of you and your happy days with your partner and child haunt your dreams. Even though you told yourself you would never love again, you can’t help but long for that sense of companionship and love. However, by some chance, you happen to find someone you just click with instantly. The two of you become fast friends and you find you don’t want to be around anyone but them (except your child). Low and behold, the butterflies you thought you would never meet again have found themselves nestled deep in your stomach.

Objectives: –Lose your partner somehow after having one child together (if it's multiples that's fine).

  –Go all out for all holidays and always make sure your child always feels included.

–Have a great relationship with your child.

– Don’t have a romantic relationship until your child is at least a toddler. You can wait however long afterward to start a relationship with your partner, but your child must have a good relationship with them first.

– You are more than welcome to have more children with your new partner but it is not an obligation.

Spouse Reqs.: –Your first partner must leave your life after your child(ren). Either death or a divorce. Either way, they are not in your life. 

–Your second partner must become a friend before a lover and have a good relationship with your child. 

Child Reqs.: –Have one child with your first partner.

Generation IV: (Workplace Rivals to Lovers || PR Relationship || One Night Stand)

World: Del Sol Valley

Aspiration: Admired Icon/Master Actor-Master Actress

Traits: Self Absorbed

Job: Actor/Actress

On the bustling set of Del Sol Valley’s latest blockbuster film, tensions run high between you and your leading co-star. As actors, your chemistry on screen is undeniable, but behind the scenes, you're locked in a constant battle of egos and competitiveness. When a scandal threatens to derail the movie's publicity, the studio executives devise a plan to salvage their image: a fake romance between you and your co-star. Forced to put aside your differences and play the part of smitten lovers for the public eye, you reluctantly agree, knowing that your careers hang in the balance. But as you navigate red carpet events and staged paparazzi shots, something unexpected happens. A sizzling one-night stand blurs the lines between your fake relationship and real feelings. With the world watching your every move, you and your co-star must decide whether to keep up the charade for the sake of your careers or risk it all for a chance at true love.

Objectives: –As a child, join the drama club and remain until your graduation.

–After graduation, immediately move to Del Sol Valley and begin your life as a poor, struggling actor/actress.

–As you work your way up the acting career and have at least 4 stars of fame, begin a “secret romance” with a co-worker whom you do not have good compatibility with, encouraged by the PR Team. Of course this will take some creativity with the sims but you should play this however you have the means to!

– Have a one night stand with said co-worker and let feelings ensue.

–Whatever happens after this one night stand is really up to you. If you decide to continue with the relationship and make it official, kudos! If you decide it doesn’t mean anything and you’re better off apart and with another celebrity that’s fine too!

–Put a celebrity tile down on the Walk of Fame

Spouse Reqs.: – Must be a co-worker/ have at least four stars of fame.

Child Reqs.: –Have at least two children (at least one boy who is not the heir)

Generation V: (Brother’s Best Friend || Unexpected Feelings || Slow Burn)

World: No Requirement

Aspiration: Goal Oriented/Computer Whiz

Traits: Bookworm

Job: No Requirement

As the child of world famous celebrities, you’ve never had many friends of your own. So instead, you find yourself eager to stick to your books and computers. Your brother, however,  is the talk of the town– always getting into scandals and dating someone new. He is constantly surrounded by friends who may have less than wholesome intentions. After all, you are who you know.  Speaking of, you’d always seen your brother's best friend as just that—your brother’s best friend. Growing up together, he was a constant presence in your life, a comforting one, whom you never thought of in a romantic light. But as the years passed and you both matured, something shifted. It starts with small moments—lingering glances that last a beat too long, casual touches that send shivers down your spine. You brush them off as nothing, attributing them to your overactive imagination. After all, he is off-limits, forbidden territory. He's your brother's best friend, and crossing that line would risk everything. But as you spend more time with him, you can't deny the growing tension between you. The easy banter turns into charged silences, and every smile feels like a secret shared between just the two of you. With each passing day, the walls you've built around your heart begin to crumble, revealing feelings you never expected. As you grapple with the unexpected rush of emotions, you wonder if he feels the same way. Can you risk everything for a chance at love with your brother's best friend, or will you let fear keep you from following your heart?

Objectives: –As a child, constantly spend time with your brother, either pestering him or hanging out with him and his best friend.

– Don’t have a best friend growing up, or many friends at all.

–You may have relationships growing up, but your BBF is never far away. Remember, he is your endgame.

–Do not get into a relationship with your BBF until you are a young adult.

Spouse Reqs.: Must be your brother’s best friend

Child Reqs.: No Requirement

Generation VI: (And They Were Roommates || Sworn off Love || Forced Proximity)

World: No Requirement

Aspiration: Drama Llama/Master Chef

Traits: Foodie

Job: Culinary (Chef Branch)/Restaurant Owner

You’ve spent countless nights in the kitchen, crafting exquisite dishes that you know would impress even the finest critics– each plate is born from your passion and dedication. It is your passion and life’s work to own your own restaurant so you barely have time for anything else– let alone romantic feelings. Let alone romantic feelings for your annoying roommate who always seems to get on your last nerve. They’re a whirlwind of annoyances– leaving messes everywhere, blasting music, and interrupting your perfectly maintained peace. But you do need the rent, and you’re barely home anyway. After a while though, their quirks become endearing and their laugh infectious. You eventually find yourself drawn to the very person who once drove you up the wall. Despite your resolve, love – or something like it –eventually finds its way into your heart until it's undeniable. This unexpected romance has swept you off your feet and navigating this difficult situation along with the unexpected feelings has you all turned around. Can you find room in your heart for more than just the smell of deliciously tasty dishes of your own design?

Objectives: –Join the culinary career in the chef branch.

–Do not get into any sort of relationship with anybody. Hooking up is fine as long as there is no actual romance between you

–Get a roommate to help with the bills.

–The relationship between you two can either be playful annoyance or actual animosity. However, one day something happens to change your feelings for each other.

–Becoming a restaurant owner is up to you, depending upon the quality of your dine-out pack. If you have the skill and willpower, go for it!

–Become a five-star restaurant owner if you do choose this career. If not, reach the top of the culinary career (chef branch).

–Once you and your roommate act upon these romantic feelings, it is up to you to decide how to proceed.

Spouse Reqs.: Must have been your roommate at some point.

Child Reqs.: Have at least one daughter who will become the heir.

Generation VII: (Mafia Boss || Accidental Pregnancy || Arranged Marriage)

World: No Requirement at first/ Eventually Tartosa or San Myshuno

Aspiration: Successful Lineage

Traits: Family Orientated

Job: No Requirement

You have always been so careful to plan your life out and make deliberate, thoughtful choices. You’d always been taught to keep your head down and your dreams modest. But a chance encounter with a captivating stranger has turned your world upside down. One night of uncharacteristic passion leaves you with more than just your memories. You’re pregnant. And not just with anyone’s child, but with the heir of a powerful mafia boss. As the reality of your situation sinks in, you are left to grapple with your fear, confusion, and the looming presence of the mafia world that has now laid its claim on you. You know your life will never be the same and looming threats surrounding you have you more anxious than ever. Navigating this new and treacherous terrain has you seeing the world in a new light and your new husband is as ruthless as he is protective. You must now find a way to safeguard you and your unborn child all while your heart begins to betray you. Among this world of shadows and danger at every turn, you discover that sometimes fate can lead you to a destiny you never thought possible– where love and danger walk hand in hand.

Objectives:  –Get all As in school.

– Be well into your career, on your way to the top of whatever career you choose.

– After an unexpected night of passion, engage in unprotected woo-hoo with a sim who happens to be the son of a mafia boss or a mafia boss.

–Get pregnant with his baby.

–From here, your life is uprooted. You are no longer surrounded by your own family and friends but are instead  whisked into the life of a mafia wife where danger awaits at every turn.

– You are now in a forced/arranged marriage to the mafia boss/’ son. This relationship is up to [the player]. Whether he is cold on the outside/warm on the inside, actually kind of a himbo, or actually kind of an a-hole, however you take the story will certainly be interesting.

– If you decide to stay in the mafia after the birth of your child is up to you. They could be protected by their mafia family and raised in the mafia life, or you could whisk them away from the dangers of growing up in this family. Many different factors can affect this.

–However, your child must still have an essence of their father. How deep this goes is up to the player.

– No matter how you play this out, your first child (the heir) must grow up SPOILED.

Spouse Reqs.: –Must be the son of a mafia boss/must become the mafia boss.

Child Reqs.: –Must have at least one child with the above spouse who will become the heir for the next gen. They do NOT have a good relationship with their father. 

–They are spoiled rotten.

–However you decide to have children after that is up to you.

Generation VIII: (Bodyguard x Client || Annoyance to Lovers || Protective Streak)

World: No Requirement 

Aspiration: Admired Icon/Party Animal

Trait: Party Animal

Job: None

You never even wanted a bodyguard. Let alone this stoic imposing figure whose presence felt suffocating at best and a constant reminder of your father’s overbearing control at worst. You resent their watchful eyes which feels like an intrusion into your every move. They, as a figure, represent the golden cage you grew up in and how your life will never truly be your own. You’ve grown accustomed to pushing boundaries and testing limits to see how far you can go before they intervene. And they always do. A stern glare or sharp word only fuels your defiance. Every exchange is snarky and exchanged like daggers. They see you as a reckless child who needs constant supervision while they are an obstacle to your freedom. However, danger from your fathers’ enemies lurks just behind every corner and you find yourself leaning more on your bodyguard than you care to admit. One night where emotions run high and adrenaline is surging, you are faced with the reality of whatever situation you have gotten the two of you in now. Walls come crashing down and in the heat of the moment, the attraction between the two of you is undeniable. What started as animosity has transformed into a passionate and fiery love. In this unpredictable world, you have found a love that has defied logic and reason and ignited itself with the intensity of a wildfire.

Objectives:  –As the spoiled rich child of a mob boss, they are going to make sure you are protected all the time. Have a bodyguard who lives with you and follows you everywhere. 

–Go out to every party you are invited to.

–Have mostly mean interactions with your bodyguard or simply ignore them whenever they are in your presence.

–Have something occur that lands you into trouble, where your bodyguard must come save you from the danger.

–From here, have some sort of relationship blossom between the two of you.

Spouse Reqs.: —Must have been a previous bodyguard.

Child Reqs.:  –Have an ok relationship with the next heir. You are not particularly the most LOVING mother, but you do want the best for them.

Occult Generations:

Generation IXa: (Human x Vampire || Rich Bachelor || Masquerade Ball)

World: Forgotten Hollow

Aspiration: Drama Llama/No Requirement/Any of the Vampire Aspirations

Traits: Music Lover

Job: Any sort of artsy job: writer, painter, photographer, mixologist, comedian

You’d never had many job prospects or really even any life prospects as you settled into becoming a young adult. You have a job but it isn’t anything permanent, or really anything you could make a living off. Thankfully your family is comfortable enough to support you. You find that you just don’t have the passion for anything. Everything is too corporate. Too boring. The one place you could escape to, however, is your music. The sweet melody of playing an instrument gives you the ability to lose yourself and forget all of your problems for a while. You decide, with much encouragement from your parents, to pursue a degree in fine arts. Then, in the darkened corners of the library, you meet them: a captivating stranger whose gaze holds ancient wisdom and a hunger you can’t quite place. As your bond deepens, you are whisked away to a small town– the bloodsucker’s home. Here you navigate the complexities of their world including politics and the unfortunate circumstance of you being human. However, after being invited to a masquerade ball to welcome you to the town, you find yourself surrounded by those who are much more interesting than the humans you grew up with and a world where vampiric intrigue and desire runs rampant. You decide to take the plunge into uncharted waters and grow a deep bond with one of the guests and now your whole world has changed. Your maker, your lover, your one has changed your life entirely. Now it is up to the two of you to navigate this new world together.

Objectives: –After graduating high school, you may get a job but it must be low paying and something your parents would not approve of.

–You soon are heavily encouraged to go to university by your parents and apply to either Foxbury Institute or The University of Britechester.

–It is here where you meet a vampire who you are immediately enamored with. 

–Quit university very quickly after this encounter and go with them to Forgotten Hollow.

–Have a masquerade ball/some sort of party to welcome you to the town where every vampire in town is invited. It is here where you meet the one. 

–Be turned into a vampire by your lover

–Turn others into vampires and live like vampire royalty.

Spouse Reqs.: –Must be a Vampire

Child Reqs: –Do not have children of your own but instead, you will adopt one of your “turned” as your child and raise them as your own. 

Generation Xa: (Vampire x Werewolf ||Forbidden Love || Love Will Find a Way)

World: Forgotten Hollow or Moonwood Mill

Aspiration: Soulmate 

Traits: Romantic

Skills to Master: No Requirement

Job: No Requirement

The ancient feud between vampires and werewolves has existed for millenia. Hatred runs like a river through the land and split the two worlds in a way that no one would ever dare to cross. And at first, you don’t. You are a loyal and determined child of the night who would never even think of going near one of those grungy dogs. But then you meet… them. Under the glow of a silver moon, your eyes meet and their presence ignites a fire in your cold, immortal heart. It is forbidden from the start, a love that defies the rules set by generations of hatred. Yet, you can’t stay away. Every secret meeting in the shadowy forest, every whispered promise under the stars, only binds you closer. Your romance is one for the ages. A true and pure love that you never even thought was possible. However, neither of your families would see it this way. In fact, they would see your love as the ultimate betrayal– a crime punishable by death.  Yet, the thought of a life without them was more terrifying than any punishment. Will you find a way to bridge the gap between the chasm of hatred between your people, or will your love story end in tragedy, as many before have warned? 

Objectives: –Have a good relationship with your parents and siblings.

–Don’t go to high school or drop out of high school before you can go. After all, you must protect your identity and everything to do with vampires must be hidden from the mortal realm.

–Meet a werewolf on the full moon and it is here where you happen to fall in love.

–Keep your relationship a secret from your family.

–Eventually the truth of your relationship will come out and it is up to [the player] on how the families will react.

Spouse Reqs.: –Must be a Werewolf 

Child Reqs: No Requirement

Non-Occult Alternatives: 

Generation IXb: (Betrayal || Hurt/Comfort || Love Triangle)

World: No Requirement

Aspiration: Drama Llama/No Requirement

Traits: Jealous

Job: No Requirement

Your whole world is shattered the moment you come home one night to discover your fiance’s betrayal. The life you have planned meticulously has crumbled before your very eyes and now you are left to question everything. It is here in your darkest hour when an old friend comes back into your life and offers a shoulder to cry on and a warm heart–something you thought you’d lost forever. Slowly you find comfort through the pain and eventually find the hurt beginning to ease thanks to your old friend. Just as you are seeing this glimmer of hope and maybe something more than friendship, a new charismatic and alluring figure enters your life. They awaken something deep inside of you and stir up emotions you thought you were too deep down to be experienced again. Torn between the safety and comfort of your friend and the exciting possibilities of someone new, you find yourself in the middle of a love triangle. As you navigate this intense web of emotions and feelings, you begin to discover love again and heal from the heartbreak and trauma of your past.

Objectives: –Get into a relationship in high school and get engaged immediately after graduation.

– At some point, stumble onto your fiance cheating on you with someone else.

–Find comfort in an old friend and lean on them in your time of need and healing. There are definitely some underlying feelings for them fluttering beneath the surface.

–Have an encounter with a new person that immediately catches your attention. From there, feelings develop between the two of you.

–Choose between the two love interests (or have both!).

Spouse Reqs.: –Be one (or both) of the two love interests you find comfort in after the betrayal of your partner.

Child Reqs.: No Requirement

Generation Xb: (Enemies to Lovers || Sports Romance || Forced Proximity)

World: Britechester

Aspiration: Sports Enthusiast

Traits: Active

Job: Soccer Team Player (University)

From the moment you set foot on the university’s soccer field, you knew it was not going to be easy. Every soccer match between Britechester and Foxbury is hard fought and hard won. But you never expected your biggest challenge would be feelings for your fiercest rival– another member of the soccer team. They’re everything you’re not– confident, brash, charming, and undeniably talented. You can’t stand the way they smirk when they outplay you or how cocky they act when they are praised by the coach. Yet, there's an undeniable spark every time you clash. It’s not just competition; it’s chemistry. Your teammates see it, the coaches see it, and deep down, you feel it too. Everything changes when your coach announces a major change to how the team will work. You and your rival are to be co-captains for the rest of the season. The team’s success depends on you two working together, setting aside your differences to lead and inspire. Resistance is futile—your coach makes it clear that if you don’t cooperate, the team will suffer, and so will your chances of making it to the championship. With team drama, injuries, and sidelined players, you find yourselves having to rely on each other to keep grades up as well as the team spirit. Extra practice sessions and mandatory study hours late at night in the commons lead to the crumbling of walls and you see a side of them you never expected to see. Will you let this connection between the two of you blossom into something more or will your fierce pride keep you from finding true happiness with the one meant for you?

Objectives: –Join a soccer team as a child and continue sports activities into high school.

–Get accepted to either Foxbury or Britechester on a sports scholarship in which you play on the soccer team.

–Have a good relationship with most of your team– except for ONE member who just keeps getting underneath your skin.

–Reach “Playmaker” level of the Soccer career.

–Gain the “Energetic” lifestyle.

–Gain romance with the one member who keeps getting underneath your skin and see where the romance takes you.

Spouse Reqs.: –Must be your old soccer team player teammate

Child Reqs.: No Requirement

Thanks for Playing! <3

[xzaddyzanakinx]

| So, So Right | pt.1

Stepbro! Anakin Skywalker x Innocent Reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: eventual smut, inappropriate relationships

Info: Modern AU, Anakin is whipped, Anakin literally worships the ground you walk on, Not Profread

It had been almost 4 months since your world was shattered and the pieces were glued haphazardly back together. Everything had happened alarmingly fast, one day it was just you and your mother, the next she was bringing home a stranger. He was nice, he made your mom happy and that was enough of a reason for you to love him as well.

That was until one night Obi-Wan and your mother came in to the living room where you sat typing away on your laptop for a college class. Obi-Wan cleared his throat to catch your attention, once you looked up and saw the nervous smiles on their faces you got a nauseous feeling in your stomach.

“Can we talk for a second?” Your mother asked tentatively, almost afraid to ask.

“Yeah sure. What’s up?” You raised an eyebrow and carefully put your laptop on the coffee table.

“We’ve decided it’s time for you to meet my son.” Obi-Wan smiled, “the year is almost over, he will be coming home for the summer.”

Your mind spun, this could mean the end of your normalcy. This was a serious step, of course you knew he had a son, but you had never even spoken to him, much less seen him.

“That’s a couple weeks away. Uh- well thanks for telling me?” You said confused.

“Yes but, honey, look at me.” Your mother’s sweet and calming voice pierced through the fog attempting to form in your mind. “He’s coming to visit this weekend!”

“Like this weekend? As in tomorrow?” You asked, standing up abruptly.

“Yes, he will be here tomorrow afternoon. We want to take you both out to dinner.” Obi-Wan nodded, reaching out to encourage you to walk over.

“Okay,” you forced a smile, trying to hide your nervousness, “what’s his favorite desert?”

Obi-Wan chuckled, pulling you into an embrace where you were sandwiched between him and your mother.

“Blondies.” He whispered and gave you an affectionate shoulder squeeze.

You tossed and turned all night, unable to get comfortable and desperate to turn your thoughts off. You so badly wanted to make a good impression on him. You knew enough about him to know he played Lacrosse, he was such a good player and had so much passion for it that he had considered majoring in sports management. Though quickly realized engineering and mechanics was the perfect fit for him. He was tall and pretty, a scar across his eye from his teenage years. That was it, that was all you had. Plus the fact you now knew he liked Blondies.

So the moment your alarm had went off you rolled out of bed and got to work. Baking was your passion, culinary school was the perfect fit for you. You dreamed of opening a pastry shop, and you used every spare minute to hone your skills. The process was easy, cookie dough and brownie batter, slap it all in a pan and throw it in the oven.

Now that you’d taken them out to cool, you found yourself restless and incapable of sitting still. This was going to be a long day.

Over the next few hours you packaged away the Blondies in a cute pastry box with a pink tag that you’d written ‘Anakin’ in beautiful calligraphy, showered and watched a few episodes of your favorite show, and now you sat at your vanity.

Staring at yourself in the mirror, hyping yourself up to meet the most important person in Obi-Wan’s life. Carefully applying your makeup, not too much, just enough to accentuate your natural features and lengthen your eyelashes. Painting your nails and nude-ish pink and slipping on a soft baby blue dress with matching shoes.

Descending the stairs while your hair flowed gracefully down your back in loose curls. Obi-Wan and your mother sat at the kitchen table chatting, immediately looking up when you entered the room.

“Oh! You look lovely!” Your mother clapped her hands and her lips curved into a genuine smile.

“Beautiful.” Obi-Wan beamed, he had really taken to the roll of father figure for you, and it showed in moments like these. He treated you as his own flesh and blood.

The car ride went quickly, and soon you were entering the restaurant. Watching the crowd from the waiting room, in fitted black dress pants and a black button-up stood a sandy haired boy. Obi-Wan rushed over and clapped a hand on his back, pulling him into a crushing hug. You stood with your mother, watching the scene unfold with adoration.

“Ani!” Obi-Wan outstretched his arms to gesture to you. “Here she is!”

His gaze lingered on your face before traveling down and back up, his cheeks a bit pink and his eyes wide.

“Hi! It’s nice to meet you again Satine.” He nodded and took your mothers hand between his two large ones.

“I’ve heard quite a bit about you.” Anakin turned to you, his height making you feel smaller than before. You introduced yourself as Anakin seemed to drink in every word.

The hostess soon called for your party, and brought you to a large round table near a floor to ceiling window. The view was gorgeous and the table setting was just as elegant. The dinner was going smoothly, Anakin was easy to get along with. He seemed genuinely interested in everything you said, you were so relieved that you didn’t even notice the hunger in his gaze.

That had been weeks ago, and it felt like an eternity. The dinner ended with a bombshell of an announcement, Obi-Wan and your mother were engaged to be married.

Now Anakin had moved in, the wedding date was set and Obi-Wan had put his house on the market. Your room was right next to Anakin’s, and you had a shared bathroom connecting the rooms. You didn’t mind, in fact you quite enjoyed being so close to him.

The friendship had blossomed beautifully, spending time with Anakin was your new favorite thing. He kept you company when you were flitting about the kitchen with your apron covered in flour, helped you with chores, read to you at night and he even walked through the neighborhood with you and quickly discovered your fear of the large dog at the end of the cul-de-sac when you practically jumped into his arms when it barked at you. He didn’t make fun of you like you expected, he held you to his chest and whispered calming words until you were ready to continue, after that his hand was practically glued to yours in a comforting grasp at all times.

Today was the beginning of his new summer job, he’d be working at the local car shop as a mechanic, he was absolutely ecstatic. Of course you were equally excited for him, but you held a bit of worry in your heart, what would you do all day without him here?

“Goodmorning princess,” he called from the shared bathroom, you almost always kept your doors open so you could easily get to his room and vice versa.

You hopped up quickly and rushed to sit on the bathroom sink while he brushed his teeth. He greeted you with a sleepy kiss to your forehead, leaving a soft smile on your lips.

“Are you excited?” You asked.

“So excited.” He grinned, spitting toothpaste foam into the sink and rinsing it down.

“Good! I-I’ll bring you some lunch okay?” You said.

“Perfect. I’d miss you too much if you didn’t.” He gathered you up in his arms, hooking his forearms under your thighs to hold you close to his chest while you wrapped your legs around him, resting your head in the crook of his shoulder. He walked you over to his bedroom, gently laying you in his still-warm sheets.

“Ani?” You asked as you watched him strip from his pajama pants and sleep shirt.

“What is it babe?” He asked as he walked to his closet in just his boxers.

“What am I supposed to do all day while you’re gone?” Your lip stuck in a pout.

“We talked about this,” he said gently, sliding a white shirt over his head and throwing some jeans on the bed before making his way to you.

“I’ll be back everyday at 5:00. You’ll have from 8:00 to 5:00 to do whatever you want! Call up one of your friends, see if they want to set up a weekly hang out or something.”

He carefully tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear, you could see the pain in his eyes at the thought of you being upset.

“I know. I will.” You sighed, scooting closer to rest your head on his knee.

“I gotta do this to get the experience, so I can open my own garage. How else am I gonna make sure you get that big cake shop hmm?” He caressed your cheek with his thumb, making you nod in agreement.

“You’ll see me at lunch, and once I get home, I’ll take you out to see a movie. How that sound?” He asked, taking notice of your sour expression.

You perked up at the thought, it had been a while since you’d been to the theater.

“Yes! That would make up for it I think.” You said playfully.

“Good. Now I gotta go before you convince me to stay.” He laughed, smoothing your hair and standing up.

Throwing on his jeans and a belt before tugging on his brand new pair of work boots. He took one last look at you, pressing his lips to his thumb and transferring the kiss to your bottom lip in a gentle swipe. He left you there, alone in his room. His blankets smothered you with his scent and you slowly let yourself fall asleep.

You groggily awoke to the feeling of the mattress being weighted down. A gentle hand shaking your leg to get your attention. Your sleep filled eyes barely registered the figure at the foot of the bed, Obi-Wan. You rubbed your eyes with your knuckles as he spoke.

“What’re you doing in here?” He asked.

“I came to tell Anakin bye and I fell asleep.” You laughed, sitting up.

“You almost had me worried,” he smiled, “I didn’t see you in your room when I stopped to tell you that your mom left for work and I was on my way out.”

“Sorry!” Your eyes widened, “oh I didn’t even think- I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s okay, don’t apologize.” He stood up, getting ready to leave. “Have a good day!” He called as he left the room.

Once you gathered the energy to pull yourself out of the cocoon you’d made in Anakin’s bed, you headed downstairs to make yourself breakfast and to assemble a bag lunch for Anakin.

You called a few friends, only one being free every week. Your childhood friend Ashley was more than happy to have a standing date with you every Thursday, she seemed excited to spend more time with you. As you ended the call you hopped into your car and set on your way to Anakin’s new job.

You stepped out onto the pavement with your old beat-up sneakers and shorts with a black crop top. The ground around you practically sizzled from the heat and you quickly made your way inside into the sweet relief of air conditioning. You strode up to the desk and tapped the bell on the counter, a man came out from the back after a few seconds.

“What can I do for you missy?” His voice was gruff and his shirt was stained beyond repair.

“I’m Anakin’s step-sister, I brought him lunch.” You lifted up the bag and smiled.

“Right, he told me you’d be coming.” He smirked, taking in your appearance before turning on his heel and yanking open a side door.

“Skywalker! Your girl is here.” He shouted, and moments later Anakin came rushing through the door, unzipping his work jumpsuit so that it hung from his hips, his white undershirt covered in sweat.

“There she is!” He grinned, enveloping you in a tight hug, breaking the embrace to place a possessive hand on the small of your back, leading you outside and back to your car.

“How is it? Is it fun? Do you like the people? Who was that guy? Is he your boss?” Your rapid fire questions had Anakin laughing as he cracked open his can of Pepsi.

“Slow down,” he grinned, pulling out his sandwich and chips. “Yes, it’s fun and all the people are super nice. And yes, that man is my boss, his name is Gary.”

“He doesn’t mind that I’m gonna be here everyday does he?” You asked.

“No, I told him you’d be bringing me lunch. He’s fine with it, gave me a teasin’ though.” He laughed.

“Why?” You questioned confused.

“Ah no big deal, he’s just jealous that I’ve got such a sweetheart like you.” His hand found yours and his thumb brushed your knuckles lovingly. “Thought it was weird my step-sis tolerated me enough to bring me food.”

“Huh? That’s mean!” You huffed, “I don’t tolerate you, I love you!”

“I know baby. I know.” He brought your knuckles to his lips and placed a chaste kiss there before taking a bite of his sandwich.

“Guess I’m just lucky.” He shrugged with a teasing smirk.

You watched with adoration as he downed his food, he was starving, as if this was the only thing he’d eaten in days.

“I’m gonna have to pack you more tomorrow.” You said, dusting crumbs off his shirt. “Do you need me to bring you a snack? Are you still hungry?”

“I’ll be alright for today, we’ll just get some food before the movie tonight.” He said, taking his palm to your cheek.

He stared, his pupils blown wide as he gazed down at you leaning into his palm. He was always so soft and gentle with you, he made you feel so loved.

“C’mere.” He whispered, cradling your head now between both hands as he drew your face closer. Pressing a kiss to your nose and then to your forehead. “Thank you for always bein’ so sweet to me.”

“You deserve it.” You grinned, quickly pecking him on the cheek. “You should probably get back.”

“I know.” He sighed, putting his trash into the lunch bag and setting it in the floor board of the car.

His gaze lingered on your lips, and quickly shot over to the garage doors, all four were shut and so was the public entrance. He shook his head slightly.

“What’s wrong Ani?” You asked, eyebrows furrowed.

“Nothing princess. Just thinking.” His voice was soft. “I love you.”

“I love you!” You responded happily, throwing your arms around his shoulders and burying your face in his neck. A soft groan escaped his mouth at the feeling of your lips grazing accidentally across the sensitive skin.

Anakin’s head swam as he thought to himself, about the last few weeks, the way you so willingly gave him affection, how you didn’t seem to realize how your touch affected him, that you didn’t seem to understand that the attachment between the two of you was far from normal. He should be ashamed, taking advantage of your innocence like this, you didn’t know any better. He should be disgusted with his actions, with his anything but pure thoughts. But he couldn’t help himself. You were you, and that was enough of a reason for him to throw his morals and better judgment out the window.

He made a decision right then, with your arms around him and his lips pressed against the crown of your head. He was yours, you were his.

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics

@tsugumiholic

@kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch

@cherrylooney

@star611

@tahliac11

@exquisit3corpse

@jellydodger

@arzua10

Let me know if you wanna be added/removed!

[upat4amwiththemoon]

Heyy can i request a wanda x fem reader oneshot where r is the queen of a nation which is similar to Wakanda and the avengers need this nations help for something (sitting on the throne looking badass moment ) and she is graceful and so badass like: sitting at dining table uses knife to point towards empty seat, “oh. sit, please.” R has powers and helps them out. Wanda being head over heals and finally them dating. I am sorry for the long request 😭

Mother Nature

Summary: A queen so powerful, myths have been written about her. An island so mysterious, no one knows where it is.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x female!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 2505

a/n: listen…this got a little out of hand

Tags: @thought-of-you-and-me @rafecameronswhore @sayah13 @wandsmxmff @emsmultiverse @natashamaximoff69

masterlists | guidelines

Dragonstone is a volcanic island in the North Atlantic Ocean, just below Greenland and Iceland, but it’s not visible on any maps. Not many know of its existence, as the island is surrounded by such powerful magic, making it invisible to the naked eye. If anyone were to sail towards it, violent storms and currents will make even the strongest of ships sink. It has become a myth to the outsiders, an area such as the Bermuda Triangle, where everyone disappears into the nothingness. This keeps the island, and its population, in safety and peace. They have fought no wars, nor have they suffered in the hands of man made concepts.

However, the fights have started to get bigger, sometimes having the faith of the whole Universe in their hands. That much they figured out after Thanos. Which is why the Avengers know of Dragonstone, and its Queen, and how to get her help.

Everyone holds onto their seats as the Quinjet’s autopilot navigates through the dark clouds, often going through turbulence. “Are we sure this isn’t actually just some freak of nature spot? Is there anything here?” Tony grumbles as he tries to fasten his seatbelt impossibly tight. “We have very expensive cargo on board, and by that I mean me and my suit.”

“Fury seemed confident in his knowledge.” Steve reminds, slightly more calmly, though he is also nervous.

Wanda has her eyes closed. She tries to stay inside her mind, ignoring everything going around her. Air traffic has never been her favorite, but this is next level. The Quinjet does sudden dives and turns, throwing anything loose around. This is why Fury said to fasten everything to the walls and roof, but like usual, Tony didn’t take the advice to heart.

She can feel Natasha’s hand holding her own, calming her down slightly. Wanda doesn’t personally know Fury that well, but she knows Natasha thinks very highly of him, so she is pretty sure he wouldn’t lead them to their certain death. However, she can’t be sure, as this is starting to feel like a wrong way to the supposed island.

“Why couldn’t Fury come here himself? Or the Queen to us?” Kate almost shouts at a particularly violent spot.

“Because when we ask for help from royalties, we show them respect.” Steve states, his *all the younger generations have forgotten respect* personality every old person has shining through. “Did none of you learn this in Wakanda?”

No one gets to answer him, as the Quinjet starts going up, up, up full speed, making everyone yelp. After it has reached the correct altitude, it goes down headfirst. For a moment, the team is sure something has gone wrong, that they are plummeting towards their death. But right before it hits the water, the Quinjet turns the right way and continues flying forward, now in a completely calm climate.

They instantly calm down, letting out breaths of relief and relaxing their tense muscles. Natasha is the first one to get out of her seat, going to the cockpit and looking out the window. “Well, at least the island is real.” She calls out. The others start to pile up in front of the window.

At first glance, it looks like they’re flying towards a big pile of rocks, but at a closer look, they can see the rocks form big walls and even a bigger castle on the island. They’re in awe of the view. The water and air are so calm now that they’ve gotten past the barrier.

They stare out the window while the Quinjet lowers itself to the ground, right outside the walls. Once they step outside, they see two people waiting for them. “Welcome to Dragonstone!” One of them smiles. “My name is Sylvia and I’m the Queen’s advisor. And this,” she gestures to the person next to her, who is wearing an armor, “and this is Calen, they’re the head of protection in this island.”

They bow their head down as a greeting, not saying anything to the guests. The look on their face is serene and their posture is straight, like a proper soldier’s. Sylvia on the other hand shows more excitement through her body, even though her hands are behind her back, they’re still wiggling around, and the smile on her face is one that can light up a whole room.

“Thank you for granting us access to your island.” Steve speaks up, being the unofficial spokesperson when it comes to formal situations.

“Fury is an old friend of Gaia, any friend of his is a friend to us. Now, if you’d follow me, I’ll take you to the castle to meet our Queen.”

They start trekking the land towards the castle, first walking on the bare land and then moving to narrow walkways as they go inside the walls. Most of the walk goes by in silence, the team taking in their surroundings. They’ve never seen anything quite like this.

Wanda drags her hand along the stone fence, her fingers going along the bumps and ridges of it. She smiles. The magic of this island feels different than her own, but not in a threatening way, it feels like it’s dancing with her own.

Finally they get to the castle’s entrance. The huge wooden door opens inward, two other soldiers pulling it. Calen and Sylvia greet them as they go past them. “The Queen is in the throne room.” The latter tells the group, leading them through hallways before stopping in front of a door.

The door to the throne room is also wooden, but it’s a lot more decorated compared to the other ones. It’s carved from top to bottom with different pictures, making it look like a story. Calen pushes the door open, letting everyone walk through it before closing it again. At the end of the room, the Queen sits on her throne. The royal seat has been made out of purely white stone. The backside of it is tall and the sides are wide enough for the Queen to lay her arms there comfortably, but it still looks delicate.

“Gaia.” Sylvia lowers her head in respect and Calen goes down to one knee to bow. The Avengers, quite hesitantly, bow in some way too, bot sure of the island’s customs.

“There’s no need for that.” The Queen’s voice makes all of them rise. Sylvia and Calen take their respective places near the Queen, while the team stop in front of the stairs to the throne. “I hear you are friends of Nicholas Fury.”

Wanda stares at her in amazement. The way she looks so soft yet regal makes her heart pound faster than normal. She can see her chest moving up and down as she breathes, the armor like steel plate moving with it. The dark blue fabric is thick for colder weathers, but flowy enough to move easily. Wanda’s eyes move up to the top of her head. The crown on her head looks like it’s made out of steel as well. It makes her look sharp and strong. She looks majestic sitting on her throne.

“We are,” Steve smiles, “thank you for agreeing to meet us, your Highness.”

“Please, Y/N.” She states. “That’s the name my mother gave me.”

“Y/N. I’m sure you’re aware of a recently defeated threat from space called Thanos.” He continues once she nods, “unfortunately the other worldly threats don’t stop there. We’d like to ask your help to prevent these kind of attacks more efficiently.”

“Certainly.”

Wanda shudders from the way Y/N says the word. Her pronunciation, the slight rasp of her voice and how she rolls the letter r, make her feel dizzy. She is sure the look on her face is stupid, and lovestruck, her eyes wide and mouth slightly parted. The whole conversation going on is going past her. Only thing in her mind right now is something she really shouldn’t be thinking about, but she just can’t stop herself.

“Would you give me the honor of joining me for dinner today? We even have enough guest rooms if you wish to rest before your trip back to America.”

“We would be honored to join you.” Natasha answers. She has been glancing at Wanda during the conversation with a grin on her face, she can read her face easily, knowing what the witch is fantasizing about.

The Queen stands up, her dress falling perfectly to her feet. “I’m glad to hear that. I shall see you in the dining room in an hour, in the mean while, Sylvia will show you where you can refresh yourselves.” Sylvia nods and gestures for them to follow her. Wanda keeps her eyes on Y/N as she walks away, noticing a small smile growing on her face.

After an hour, the Avengers gather into the dining room by Sylvia’s lead, where Y/N is already waiting for them. “Gaia.” Sylvia says before leaving the room.

Y/N stands up, pointing towards the empty chairs. “Please, sit.” She says with a smile, sitting down once again when they get around the table. Wanda sits next to her. She can see the small details of her breast plate from this close.

The table is already fully catered with different foods and desserts. It works like a buffet, everyone takes what they like to their plates. “Can I ask you,” Wanda starts when her plate is full, “why do they call you Gaia, if your name is Y/N?”

“Gaia is a title of sorts. Every queen before me was called that as well, because we keep this island alive and safe. It means Mother Nature.” She explains with a gentle smile on her face, holding eye contact with Wanda as she talks to her. “It is an honor to be called Gaia.” Wanda nods, not able to look away from her stormy eyes.

“How does the next queen get chosen?” Tony asks.

“It’s more faith than decision making,” she pauses, looking for best words to describe how their queens get their role, “we’re born to it, but not in a traditional sense. We are born from the previous Gaia, they mold us from magic.”

“So, there’s no…” he moves his fingers around in a promiscuous manner, which makes Steve look at him disapprovingly. They’re in front of the Queen after all.

But she only finds the situation amusing. “No. Children born in a traditional way are random, and our queens need to be precise. They’re all women and they all have powers. They need to be born from magic.”

Although they don’t really understand the process, and none of them want to ask about the specifics of it, they still find it fascinating. It’s a whole new country with completely different customs compared to theirs. Wanda especially listens to her intently. Her smooth voice practically drilling its way into her brain.

“Can the queen have relationships? Even if they don’t have any part on the next generation of rulers.” The question makes Wanda’s head snap to look at Natasha, who has a wide grin on her face.

“Yes. There are no rules on relationship. The partner just has to know they have no rule over the island.”

Satisfied with the answer, Natasha nods, sending a discreet wink towards Wanda. Her cheeks turn a shade of pink. She tries to hide it by eating the food.

They keep a light conversation going while they all finish their food. Once the plates are empty and the stomachs full, they start leaving the table and go to their rooms. The Queen doing the same. However, she isn’t alone for long.

There’s a knock on her bedroom door.

“Hello, Wanda.” Y/N smiles, the door now open wide. “Would you like to come in?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Wanda steps into the room, the door closing after her. She looks around the room, trying to keep her eyes off of Y/N’s thin night gown. A big bed is in the middle of the room, it has light blue veil over it and a white fur on top. A window, almost the size of the wall, is on the right side of it, but it’s already covered with dark curtains. Otherwise the room is quite plain. A wooden dresser. Mirror with steel decorations. What catches Wanda’s eyes are the tapestries on the walls. They’re bright and colorful, each one having its own story. “Beautiful.” She mumbles.

“They tell our history.” Y/N steps beside her. “Every queen makes one. These are the oldest ones, the rest are in the library, visible for everyone. One day mine will be there too.” She sounds proud when she speaks of her ancestors.

“Your mother, is she still alive?”

“No. The crown passed down to me when I was thirteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N turns to her with a smile. “Nothing to be sorry about. She’s with her mother and grandmother, and so on. And one day I will see her again, until then, I will make her proud by keeping the people on this island safe.”

However beautiful the idea is, Wanda still feels sad for her. She knows what it’s like to lose your mother young. But she doesn’t comment on it more, clearly it’s not something appropriate to discuss now. “The magic. It feels different here.”

“Yes, it’s not the same as yours. The magic is part of me as much as it is a part of the island. We’re connected. We can sense each other. I can control it and it can influence me.”

“That’s why they call you Mother Nature?”

“Sort of. There’s a long history there. But yes, my ability to control the sea and the air around us is a part of it.”

“Maybe you’ll be able to tell me some day.”

Her smile widens. “Maybe.”

Wanda smiles too. She notices how Y/N’s eyes twinkle in the dim light, as if they had their own light source. “You’re beautiful.” The words stumble out of her mouth. She had no intention on making any mind of move this soon, but she couldn’t help it. This felt like a right moment.

With a small giggle, Y/N looks down, trying to cover her warming cheeks. She doesn’t usually get nervous, but Wanda sounded so sincere. “I’m flattered you think so.”

“Do you think you could go on a date with me? Later, of course. Do you have any rules on that?” The nervousness starts growing at the bottom of her stomach again, the lapse of confidence leaving her body quickly.

“There are some rules, but nothing major. I could definitely go on a date with you, I’d actually really like to do so.”

Letting out a breath, Wanda nods. Her hands are moving her rings around. “Great. I- uhm, that’s great.” She laughs quietly. “I’ll leave you now. See you tomorrow.”

“See you.” Y/N gives her a small wave, smiling widely even after the door closes.

[soulofapatrick]

Your World Hasn’t Stopped - Joel Miller x reader

Summary: Tommy watches as Y/N helps Joel through the panic attack of seeing someone who looks like Sarah

Words: 670+

Warning: panic attacks

Notes: This is just Joel Miller Drabble to test my ability of writing from an outsiders perspective - not my favourite but it’s a first try

Tommy’s POV

I just watch as Joel grabs his jacket and storms out, letting out a sigh as even after all these years he’s still as stubborn as he used to be which means I’m going to have to go after him or this conversation is never going to happen again. I climb to my feet, grabbing my own jacket, throwing back my whiskey and relishing in the nice burn before heading out into the winter air. 

Joel’s standing outside, leaning against one of the street lamps and eyes focused intently on a Maria’s younger sister. I know why, I had the same reaction when I met her as she’s the spitting image of Sarah. It took me weeks before I could even approach Cristina as she broke my heart every time she smiled at me and the fact I could have been a great uncle let alone an uncle. 

I go to catch up with my older brother and apologise for the way things were handled back there but Maria is grabbing my arm, nodding towards the two girls Joel arrived with, the older is running over to Joel as he’s bent slightly as if having a panic attack. Ellie, the younger just watches from a distance as Y/N reaches Joel, hands going to his face as if it’s the most natural thing. 

“Hey, hey, you need to breathe,” She’s saying, slotting herself between Joel and the street lamp so his head falls to her shoulder. She moves her hands from his face to his hair, carding them through Joel’s greying hair and she’s whispering in his ear. I’m too far away to hear it but they way Joel slowly melts into her means whatever she’s saying is working. Joel may not know it but from here it’s obvious to see he’s already found his person, he just needs to let her in as he’s still so guarded about romance from Sarah’s mother. I’m still angry at her for just up and leaving Joel and I with Sarah while she ran off to live her life. They were both young when they had Sarah so as much as I don’t blame her I would have thought she was responsible enough to stay and raise a baby. 

Joel’s suddenly standing upright and the pair are just staring at each other, Joel’s chest still heaving as he tries to regain composure and by the looks of it still on the brink of a panic attack. Something crosses Y/N’s face and she’s moving her hands back to Joel’s face before guiding his face down to meet hers. I feel like I should be looking away but I can’t help the swell in my chest because his life hasn’t stopped. He thinks it has but the way Ellie yells ‘finally’ and the way he seems to fall into this kiss shows otherwise. He has a family right here, a woman who loves him and a daughter but the stubborn fool is too closed off to see it I believe. 

“You’re okay,” Y/N breathes when they part, eyes searching. 

“You kissed me,” Joel retorts, body tensing but he’s not pulling away or making any move to shove her away. 

“I read that if you hold your breath it stops a panic attack to when I kissed you, you held your breath,” She explains and the air leaves his shoulders until she grins cheekily and adds, “Maybe you should have panic attacks more often if you’ll let me kiss you.” 

“Shut up,” He grumbles, pulling her laughing figure into a hug that has Ellie quickly running over to join in. The teenager practically jumps at them, sending the three of them to the ground with a cry of surprise and then laughter as Joel and Y/N let her join the hug that’s now in the snow. 

Maria’s squeezing my shoulder and pulling me away to let them be a family with reassuring words that for once I truly believe: 

“He’ll be okay.” 

--------

Tag List Form

[astralnymphh]

patterned palmistry ⋆ | ellie williams headcanons

༺ ellie x witch!reader headcanons/scenarios ༻ ☽𖤐☾

✧˖ ° 🕯 bright blessings!

an: being the witchy little gremlin i am i just had to throw some hcs together for myself but ofc i'd share them here🙄ive been practicing witchcraft since i was 15 so it felt fitting to incorporate it whenever i brace my delusions at the bootycrack of midnight that r all abt ellie 💀 regardless this def isnt gonna be my only witchy hcs post i just didnt wanna spoil all my ideas right away <3 tags: MDNI, slight nsfw (no detailed smut), boob jokes, witchcraft (obv), tarot, palm reading, mostly convos, flirting, not mentioned in the writing but u 2 r alrdy dating, playful bickering, more natural casual writing with some bigger words, no specific religion tied to the practice, generally a fluff piece, lowk cute moments. °________________________⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆__________________________°

I. ☆ ellie definitely had a peak in curiosity the first time you mentioned you immerse yourself in the world of the craft, her ears perked figuratively and were tuned in to learn what that entails. she may not forfeit a nip of skepticism right away but she's more than happy to engross herself in the idea of it. you'd stay up till first light rambling on about the 'rituals', 'divination', the history tied to it and why you practice it. you'd be lying in bed adjacent to her, heavenward to the ceiling, but interwoven in a warm and loving cuddle with her palm residing on your lap whilst you chatted.

"mmmmh-" ellie's hum churns 'round your bedroom, "so that's why you collect rocks."

"crystals."

"same thing," she drones an inwardly giggle, "which crystal will give me superpowers?" a witty remark springs from her tongue.

"babe.." you pout, acting offended yet none is taken.

"didn't mean it like that, y'know I believe you, it's all just new to me." ellie tapes an assuring kiss to your temple, "tell me about your favorite crystals, hmm?" 

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

II. ☆ now because of this, anytime you're out on patrol and delight the opportunity of scavenging, she always keeps in mind to find you flowers, rocks, unused candles and other oddities of nature.

"hey babe! I found a black candle for'ya." ellie bolstered a long glass cylinder filled with an opaque charcoal wax, wick still intact, "and- ..some wild lavender." her other arm swings from behind her back, twines of dusty purple lavender upheld in a pinch.

"fuck yeah, needed this stuff.." you graciously tweak the lavender from her, whiffing up its poignant scent.

"always on the lookout.." her voice resembles her proud countenance outwards, essentially, a dorky smirk.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

III. ☆ obviously, the second you mentioned the art of tarot to her, she begged for a reading. whenever a card flew from your shuffling motions, she'd patiently wait for you to place it before her and then she'd swipe it up and admire the art piece detailing the cardstock.

"whew! look at the boobs on this one!" 

"oh- my god, of course you'd point that out." you snatch the card from her, shamelessly ogling the nude depiction that had her attention.

"you're looking at them too!"

"cuz' you said something 'bout it!" you flick the card towards her face, noting, "those are some nice boobs though." 

"why thank you~" 

"wasn't talking about you, idiot!" 

"eh, but.. urs' are the best." her hoarse tone binds a nonchalant flirtiness in its rumble.

"oh really? should we compare the.. four?"

that really stole her attention.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

IV. ☆ the first time you entertained her with a palm reading, it had her all dappy and touched to the essence at the paltry contact you made with her hand. your fingerprints drafting her calloused palms with such a gentle focus on every river lining her hand. she just wanted to smother you with kisses.

"and… this is your heart line." your finger hovers the crevice of her palm-pads stretching from index to pinkie, "ah.. it's a broken one.."

"is that.. bad?" her juniper eyes study your expression meticulously.

"it just means u're closed off, stubborn, have some emotional trauma.. stuff like that." you mindlessly fiddle with her fingers, "lines can change though, so.."

she nods, taking in the insight. she licks her slightly chapped lips clean, "am I stubborn?" her voice rises partially an octave, bending playfulness in her question.

"mm.. no."

"why'd you hesitate?"

"well- the only times ur' stubborn is refusing to let go whenever you hug me- ur' a life-size sloth!" 

"I like huggin' you though." a puppy pout frowns on her lips, "you're like a pillow!"

and oh, how your heart capers a beat, "is that all I am, williams?"

her swift speech conjuncts, "whaddid' I say about that name?!"

"I don't know, I think you like it." 

"nuh-uh I don't!"

you pepper a haste kiss to her knuckles still forcepped in your clasp, totally deterring the crime you've just committed when a half impish half taken aback smile creaks her lips.

"c'mere." vaults from her tongue before she lunges her body forward and tackles you in a saucy position riddled with love bites. guess you'll be reading her palms in a different way tonight.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆ V. ☆ an bonus hc, you'd totally mention out of the void about her tattoo n the mystic meanings surrounding moths, like, its for sure one of the topics you'll ramble about one night cause you just feel so wise for knowing. "y'know, moths play a pretty large role in the metaphysical world." "really? i mean, i knew they had some kind of.. 'symbolism' to them-" ellie's hand rolls over the knoll of her forearm, reading the bumps glamoured in that beautiful inking. "yeah, like- luna moths represent transformation, renewal.. oh! and death-head moths are an omen of death.. an- and black witch moths mean either good luck, or bad-" ellie is amused at your prattle shown by her raspy giggles, legitimately having to conceal her scrunched face. "what?" "nothin' you- you're just so cute." "stop.." the embarrassment catches up to you, now having to hide your face to the shadows beneath your hands. her finger cranes out to hook and uncover your nerdy grin, assuring, "never stop tellin' me bout this stuff, ok babe?" a wide delighted beam syncs on her cheeks. goddess above, her dimples and nasal lines are to die for. ⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

𖤐

in general; she's a curious dork n will ask you oh so many questions, i mean, she loves space and a futuristic sci-fi comic for crying out loud, she's alrdy so imaginative so ofc she'd be open to a realistic amount. she'd also be so respectful and helpful n defend ur practice with so much love. maybe she'd pick up some little traditions and customs like folding letters a specific amount of times, drawing little pentacles, mixing liquid in specific directions, just the simple things that grow on her.

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

a couple of guys have been throwing around doc being ace in the tags of my recent post so naturally. i have thoughts. allow me to subject you to them:

i agree. that man is asexual. clara is also asexual. i would think both of them are a little bit bi as well!

not that either of them think too hard about it though. if you ask them they would say they are 100% attracted to the opposite sex and for the most part that's true. but doc totally had some sort of vaguely homosexual rivalry with another scientist while working on the manhattan project and clara probably had a crush on another girl when she was little. also the 1980s has a lot more Gender than the century previous so once the shock of women wearing pants wears off she's going to be like hold on a sec.... they're kinda cooking in this century

(clara would not use those words in that order fs but that's the only way i can convey that lmao)

none of them would look into those experiences. they'd just assume oh every girl thought this one specific other girl was like super pretty and smart and cool growing up. every scientist has an infuriatingly stubborn yet brilliant and objectively good-looking rival in the same department. that's just how it is!

bisexual tangent over. back to asexualism

doc and clara are more the "enjoy each other's company" couple than anything like sure they'll kiss or whatever and that's nice but they'll have infinitely more fun talking about their interests

they'd probably only get schnasty because they know that's just what couples are meant to do. like they'll try it once and they'll agree it was a solid 7/10 experience but do you know what's a guaranteed 10/10 every time? 49th reread of journey to the centre of the earth!! woohoo!!

which brings me. to the real point of this post. where did jules and verne come from.

as an ace doclara truther i initially subscribed to the "they travelled in time to adopt a couple of orphans who were otherwise going to die and be lost to time" bc it's cute and it's like how doc saved clara so now they're in love. but the more i thought about it i was like hold on. something's up here

because doc spent 10 years building that train so the first thing he'd want to do with it (besides going into the future to get parts for it to fly) is return to let marty know he's alright right. like in the movie sure he picked up einie first but that's bc that's einie

so unless those boys are freshly picked up off the great depression streets logically i do not think that can be the case. as nice as this headcanon is

so my next thought was like ok. we can still make this adoption thing work. maybe these orphans have naturally occurred in the 1880s (<- certainly one of the string of words i have made)

but we know doc. sure he's had his moments of flipping the bird to the space-time continuum but in general he tries his best to keep it intact i think

taking up a blacksmithing job? minor improvements to the lives of the citizens of hill valley. probably not going to cause anything major. also he needs money. marrying a schoolteacher? she was going to fall off a cliff and die originally so it's not like that's going to make anything worse. (although now a lot more kids are literate in this timeline so something is definitely different. but also what is she gonna do, not teach?)

but adopting two kids without knowing their fates beforehand.... risky business. who knows who those two are supposed to be. and it's not like they can pick up two kids who they know for sure would probably pass without their intervention bc doc is a doc from the future but he's not THAT kind of doc from the future.

so with that said. begrudgingly. i think jules and verne are biologically theirs. unfortunate for the adoption headcanons but that's the only logical way i can see it

not to say the adoption headcanons are wrong and bad i just don't know how they could obtain two children without worrying about messing things up. so if anyone has any ideas how please enlighten me

[wings-of-ink]

Ask Guidelines

For the sake of streamlining my inbox, please follow the guidelines below when submitting Asks. I appreciate all your questions, but I simply find that I lack enough free time to spend with them. Some weeks are busier than others for my inbox, but I personally feel it's a bit unfair to those of you who may be waiting a long time for a response. Plus, I do need some "me" time now and again, no matter how much I love sailing around on here.

*UPDATED 12/22/24

Reaction/Response-style Asks must remain paired down. These are lots of fun for all of us, but they take up a majority of the time I spend on the inbox. When you submit a request like this, please only specify up to 2 characters (ROs, side characters, etc…) you want to know the answer for (I will throw in some or all of the other characters if I have time and/or can answer quickly). If you do not specify, I will pick for you based on how quickly I can answer.

Please do not submit multiple Asks with the same question for the other characters. This will just eat up my time, and I do not want to delete them, but I will have to.

If your question has been asked before, I will try to find a link to it for you (most of these I have tracked in a document so it doesn't take long). I haven't yet put together an FAQ since I really don't get a ton of repeats for the same questions. One day, I may make a searchable document with them.

*NEW* "Spoiler" Asks. I am trying my hardest to limit spoilers for readers. Some things are going to spill with the nature of a work like this, but I want to keep that to a minimum. This is for the benefit of old readers who still want to experience things in-story and for the new who may have recently started following.

It is still okay to send these questions in – and theories too! I love seeing where your head is at on events and where you think it may be going. I just may not be able to answer certain things and in some cases, I may not be able to post a response. It just really depends on the content.

I will make determinations on these on a question-by-question basis. Sometimes the question itself contains a spoiler (even if it's just a name) that might affect a new reader's experience.

I will make tags to warn when I answer things that may have info others don't want to see.

I'm going to try something new to get the best of both worlds in this. I will compile these asks and make one big new post to address them every so often (weekly/monthly). This will enable me to fully control what is immediately viewable. I will tag up and note what potential spoilers will be on these so you know if it's safe to click to read more. The downside is that my Anonymous Askers won't get notified and will need to watch for this post. Because of this, I may work out a proper schedule to drop these.

Comments are still very much welcomed. If you by chance do not want a response posted, please simply let me know if that is what you prefer. I generally like to post at least a little response to these for you, but if that makes you uncomfortable, please let me know in the Ask.

Music suggestions are welcome (for instance if a song makes you think of a particular character).

Art suggestions are welcome (if an art piece makes you think of a character and such).

Story theories are welcome too!

Error Reports are still welcome with some guidelines.

Game-breaking errors of course are super appreciated so I can address these ASAP.

Coding mishaps (you can see code in the text or something is clearly not coded correctly) can go either to the Asks or to the Google Form, but the Google Form is preferred due to frequent repeats to the Inbox. Reports on Tumblr are tagged as "gc whoopsies" so you can check if the issue you found has already been addressed here.

Typos and grammar issues – please send these in using the Google form linked in the game and on the pinned post. It's been handy getting these in my inbox since I can fix them right away in my main Twine file, but there are a lot of errors in GC, and they're going to fill my inbox and I have no control over repeats.

Asks that are long/wordy are still okay, as long as they meet the other Ask criteria. I don't mind reading a lot since I can still do that fairly fast (and I totally understand the need for context or if you have several comments to make). I can be wordy myself, so I get it, sometimes you just want those details in there. You may not get a super long response in return, but I read every word.

Try to space out your Asks in general. I will leave this to your discretion and trust that you to not submit several in a short window of time.

NSFW Asks are totally okay with me. There is not much outside of my comfort zone. If something is too far, in my opinion, for a public response - I will simply delete it and pop a courtesy post out to try and signal to you that it is one I cannot answer.

I was hoping to avoid placing any rules on my inbox, but I never anticipated this many followers or that anyone would have quite so many questions or comments about my work. This is to ensure that I keep myself controlled more so than any of you. I have so much fun chatting with you and answering questions, that the IF writing and planning ends up delayed. Since that's why we're here, I need most of my free time to go to the IF(s) and any extras.

I will make updates to this post as needed. There will be a link to at the very end of the Pinned Post too. If the inbox gets a bit crazy or is too much to juggle during crunch times, I will continue to pause it during those so I can catch up.

Take care, everyone! ^_^

~Lunan

[spdrvyn]

I loved your post about Miguel x autistic reader and I really want more pleease

overwhelmingly peaceful

summary: you found your place in spider society, but that didn't take away from the fact that it can get intensely noisy. you don't hesitate to turn to where you know for sure you'll be safe.

tags: fluff. suggestive joke/s. autistic reader. reader is gender neutral. hobie's here too i guess. author doesn't know how to write british slang.

notes: i'm really glad that you guys enjoyed the autistic reader drabbles i posted so i'm more than happy to write this request! projecting even more in this one, thank you for letting me self-indulge <3

The mere existence of The Spider Society was always enough to astound you. You thought that people didn't Miguel enough credit for basically building the place from the ground up, not to mention how many times he's had to travel to different universes to recruit all different kinds of Spider-People.

Of course, you were more than honored to be one of those people. There was a very good chance that you just got lucky to be on his team, Miguel caught you in that one moment where your abilities were at their peak and your light was really shining through. Luck or skill, you didn't care. This was the result of it, you were content with that.

Unfortunately, the society has its downsides. Considering the sheer amount of spiders that pass through, the hustle and bustle is too hard to ignore. You can't exactly carry around headphones every time you're there because where would you leave them just in case you'd be tasked to another mission? So you just tried to avoid the noisiest places, even then, it's hard to get any semblance of quiet.

"Oh my god," you mumbled to yourself, as you silently glared at the cafeteria table next to you. Charisma was just a natural trait to any spider, with that came very boisterous laughter from other people too. Surely, they were nice people, but in front of your salad? Really?

"You good, mate?" Hobie intervened, he leaned his head to the side to get a better look at your face, a small grin came onto his features. "Lads beside you 've always been that noisy. Can get them to shut their traps if you want."

An inaudible sigh left your lips as you shook your head, combing the hair out of your face. You gazed down at your untouched food for a moment, you liked hanging out with Hobie. He understood you and he was funny, but you weren't quite sure if you could handle being in an environment like this right now.

"No, no- it's fine." He raised a brow at your lie. "Okay, it's not. But you don't have to do that for me," you picked up your small take-out box of salad and juice, "The canteen is just too much right now for me, sorry."

Hobie shrugged, picking up a fry and expertly throwing into his mouth. "No problem, always got my drummer to bother. You going to hang with your boyfriend now, eh?" His smile turned more cheeky and you stared at him meanly to take away from the fact that your cheeks warmed at his comment.

You huffed and stomped away, "Oi, you didn't deny that!"

Miguel's office (a.k.a man cave) was dark and decrepit. For some odd reason, also liked a smell of any kind. You designated each area of the headquarters with a scent, but his area lacked any of the sort which you enjoyed. Not to mention, silent.

It wasn't like he really allowed any loud noise anyway, he had a strange list of items that were prohibited from entering his corner. Bells, blenders, on occasion, phones but that was from one time Gwen forgot to shut her alarm off and she got a small lecture on being considerate because the acoustics caused every sound that passed through to reverberate and increase in volume.

That means it would only make sense for Miguel to also hear your footsteps from a mile away, his platform already lowered for you to hop on and he's hunched over his desk. Sparks fly (not just from the sight of him, I swear) from the spot that he worked on and if you're not mistaken, there's a band wrapped around his head which meant he was wearing goggles.

You set your lunch tray down on the one empty spot on his desk before approaching slowly, you bend down to rest your hand on his shoulder and to lean your head against his. "What are you working on now, beautiful?"

Miguel put down the small soldering tool and took off his goggles, putting the freshly made panel closer to his eyes. "People submitted suggestions to make the wrist devices less bulkier," he blindly wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you onto his thigh as he pressed a kiss to your cheek. "Why are you here?"

"I'm an assassin, I've come to take your life." You spoke lowly, ominously. When Miguel doesn't turn to face you, you pout. "The noise in the cafeteria is overwhelming," you shift and properly situate yourself on his lap.

"I was just about to head out for lunch," Miguel sighed, before placing the panel in a small container.

"So... back to the cafeteria? People are sure to go speechless from catching a look at you," you joke, but there's a somber fry in your voice that he doesn't ignore. His warm breath tickled your neck as he pressed brief pecks down the column of your throat, the low hum he let out vibrating against your skin. "Are you that hungry, hermoso?"

"What I meant was," he paused, brushing more hair out of your face, properly tucking it behind your ear. "I was going to head up to my place for lunch. Where there's no people?"

You breathe a small 'ohhh' and Miguel chuckled, "That checks out, actually." You nodded. "Obviously there's no people, would've been weird to have anyone there two nights ago when we–"

"Okay, that's enough." Miguel cut you off, nearly smiling from ear to ear. "Get your lunch, mi sol."

"My hero."