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[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Nineteen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader AO3 - 3.2k words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. Pregnancy and things that come with it. PTSD, anxiety, despair, depression. A lot of internal monologue.

“I need to borrow your car.” Marshall’s eyebrows shoot straight up into his hairline.

“Excuse me?”

“Your car.” You spit, barely containing the tremble in your voice. Your throat is tight, hundreds of thousands of pounds sitting on top of your chest, crushing you, your heart. “Marshall-“

“I’m confused why you think I’d let you borrow my car.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, the thin shred of patience you’ve been holding onto finally ripping apart.

“I have put up with you for years. I have dealt with your shit, your relentless pursuit of anything that walks, your lack of interest in your own patients. I have covered for you. I have babysat for you. You owe me.” He blinks, and then pats his pocket, scrutinizing your expression.

“Are you okay?” You glitch for a second. The orchestrated denial, evasion slips away as you grapple with his question. You’ll never be okay. Never.

It snaps back like a rubber band. Like a backhand across your face.

“I’m fine.” You’re not fine. You’re drowning. You’re at the bottom of a well, stone walls cracking and crumbling at your feet. “Keys.” He drops them into your outstretched palm with a sigh. “You can pick it up at the south station in a few hours, okay?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes…” A plan is still rapidly taking shape, forming from bits and pieces of roads laid out before you. “My mother is sick, and not answering the phone. I’m worried, trying to get over there as soon as I can.” He nods, unphased by the glaringly obvious hole in your lie.

“Of course.”

You have no one to blame but yourself.

The girl in the mirror blinks back at you with judgement in the quiet of the bathroom. She regards you with disgust.

Foolish.

Hot water flows over your knuckles, your palms. It burns, too hot to be sensible, scorching your skin.

It’s pain you deserve.

This is the only time you’ll give yourself for now, the only time you’ll break until it’s safe again.

You shatter to pieces. You scream into your hands, sobs cracking your ribs, cleaving you apart.

It was all a lie.

And you’re the one who fell for it. You’re the one who believed it was real, that they were true. You believed you could walk in the sun, and you only have yourself to blame.

You try to burn their faces from your mind, incinerating your memories to ash. Johnny’s eyes, his easy smile, the lilt of his accent when he’d say your name. Simon’s low murmurs and comfort in the dark, the way they molded themselves around you, held you.

They tricked you, but they made it so real, so believable. So sweet as they wrapped you up in a web, dripped poisoned honey into your mouth from their own.

Lies. They’re full of lies.

Steam rises from the bowl of the sink, and you look yourself in the face again. You stare at the woman who allowed herself to be manipulated, who gave herself to two people who only sought to harm her.

But-

They gave you a gift, didn’t they? They gave you this chance.

Your palm hovers over your stomach, and you fill your lungs with oxygen.

Get it together. Get yourself together.

Your world crumbles beneath your feet, but you’ve done this before. You’ll do it again. Better, even, now with the stakes so high, higher than you could ever imagine.

You can do this.

Deep breath.

The foundation of your resolve cracks when you step through the front door and Penny comes padding down the hall with her arms up.

You meet her in a crouch, letting her cuddle you, small fingers twisted in your scrub top. “Hey Penny girl. How’s your day, huh?” She signs something and then points to the living room before smiling.

“Bocks.”

You retreat into yourself, burying the lump in your throat, swallowing your tears. “I love you; you know that?” You lick your thumb and wipe the corner of her mouth. “So much.” Lou clears her throat from the hallway, watching with a strange expression.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just tired, and forgot my work backpack.” You had forgotten how easy it is, to lie. How easy the mask slides on. It’s almost nonchalant, a practiced art.

You retreat upstairs before she can question you further.

In a sewn in pocket of a backpack shoved under the guest bed, is a cellphone. It’s a flip phone, old and clunky, always charged, but almost always off, except when it’s needed. Programmed with a single contact, a pre written text already in the drafts.

I’m moving again. I’ll keep you posted.

The response is always the same. Be safe.

There are too many items in your life now. Too many objects, too many things, and too little time to pick through them.

You stick to your rules. Pack light and easy. You can replace anything left behind once you’re somewhere safe. Nothing frivolous, self-indulgent, or even sentimental.

It’s tempting to take a permanent marker and scribble fuck you across their bathroom mirror, tempting to take a knife to the mattress and slice it to shreds. It’s tempting to rip their clothes to pieces, to soak their life in lighter fluid and strike a match. The anger pulses in your veins like poison, knowing you could never.

Even now, the idea of them hurting makes you feel sick.

Fool, you’re a fool. A silly, stupid girl who got caught up in a fairytale with no sense to save herself.

You take one last long look at the bed. The bed where you thought you were safe, the place where your nightmares eventually turned to dreams.

Tears burn at the back of your eyes, and it takes everything you have to stay upright.

Phillip terrorized you, beat you black and blue, stole your future, your life-

but it never hurt as bad as this.

Marshall’s car is, of course, is expensive. Something out of a fancy television commercial. It’s comfortable, fast, and drives smoother than butter.

It reminds you of Phillip. Of all the luxury and riches surrounding him, the mile high leg up he had since the day he was born. His entire existence carefully crafted and honed into something out of a nightmare, the mask of a monster slipping on and off as easily as yours.

You used to wonder if money really did buy happiness before you met him, and then you learned. Some people crave more. Some people crave violence. Destruction.

There’s no happiness for those who are rotten to the core, their souls as dark as night, their desires putrid and inhumane.

You never saw it with them, in them. You never felt it, the way you felt it in Phillip. They fooled the wariest heart.

Will your child be like them? Deceitful? Evil?

Will it be nature versus nurture?

The first piece of the puzzle is figuring out where to go, how far to run. You need a city or a town big enough to hide in, a hospital that’s in desperate need of nurses, and a flat that’s available immediately. No smaller islands in case you need a quick escape, no countries where you may struggle with the assimilation. Accessible by train. Primarily English speakers.

You briefly dream about something tropical and warm with a beach before you shake the thought loose in favor of the city that’s always been on your short list.

Edinburgh.

It’s painfully kismet, knowing you’ll bring your child to one of their father’s birthplaces, fitting in a sick, senseless way, but you have no choice. You vetted the city in the past, scoped out appropriate neighborhoods, chose a potential workplace. It’s been at the top of your list.

It’s the logical option.

The air is cold. It stings the tip of your nose, your ears, isolates your exhales and turns them into white puffs of fog. Your jacket is too light, too soft for this kind of weather, representative of all the clothing you have in your backpack, and your wallet weeps at the idea of a brand-new wardrobe.

Still, you don’t cry. The tears don’t come, they’re held back by an iron clad dam, an impenetrable fortress built around your heart. People move around where you’re stuck still on the platform, a round rock in the middle of a river, surfaced smoothed by the repeated flow of water.

That’s what you are.

A smooth surface, a still pond, a tranquil lake. Cohesion in its ultimate form, hydrogen bonds clinging to one another, casting a tightly knit net of water molecules over the whole of your being. Lies upon lies meshed to create perfection, an unblemished nurse, an agreeable personality, an overall uninteresting but more than perfunctory person. Forgettable.

Step off the platform, into the street. Slip beneath the surface, swim to the bottom, pack yourself away and assume your new life, new name, new existence, the glass surface hiding a turbulent sea.

Things fall into place. You get hired on the spot and find a great apartment almost immediately. Better than great, if you’re honest. It’s a generously sized two-bedroom, freshly painted, no landlord specials in sight.

“What do ye think?” You wince. The accent pulls a string, tugs on a chord buried deep.

“I’ll take it. I can give you three months’ rent up front,” you survey the locks, “if you can add a deadbolt.” The door only has a keypad lock, the fancy new kind touchscreen kind. You don’t trust them. The wires are too easy to manipulate. He cocks his head.

“Shouldnae be a problem.” He’s looking closely now, too closely, and you flash a smile.

“Thanks. I’m a bit paranoid, you know? New city, can’t be too careful.”

“O’ course.”

“So… how far along are ye?” You choke on the dry piece of scone in your throat.

“Sorry?”

“The bairn?” She points to your belly, and you shift the hospital issued zip up hoodie over your waist. Her face softens. “Don’t worry, I willnae tell.” You haven’t disclosed the pregnancy to your boss yet, trying to wait it out as long as possible to prevent getting fired, still holding onto hope that no one will notice. It’s common practice, something women around the world try to manage, tiptoe around until the last second. Sisterhood, you guess.

“Almost twenty weeks.”

“About halfway then.” Her name is Ally, you think, or with an ie, Allie maybe. She’s a float, the worst position in the hospital, and your envy is nowhere to be found. You’d rather work peds than be in her shoes.

“Yup.” The p pops on your lips apprehensively. Being noticed is a problem. You can’t lose this job, not after the all the energy and effort you’ve expended to make this place home. The apartment you’ve slowly furnished, the baby’s room you’ve now painted, all the broken pieces starting to fall into place.

“Boy or girl?”

“I don’t know.” You manage a weak smile. “I’m gonna wait, I think. Leave it as a surprise.” She claps her hands.

“That’s the best! I have two and did it the same way. It’s so fun.” The conversation wanes, her expression shifting into sympathy. “If ye ever need anything, I’m around. Okay?” Your jaw clenches.

It’s a reminder of how alone you really are. How you have no one to depend on, no one to go to, nothing holding you up. The extension of a helping hand almost brings you to tears, and you whisper with true gratitude.

“Thank you.”

You lose hold of the strings stitching you together as you stare at parts and pieces spread out around your knees, screwdriver abandoned, instructions crumpled up and tossed to the corner.

The ache in your heart is physically spreading. It’s crumbling your weary bones to dust, zapping your strength and resolve away until there’s only despair, desperation left in its wake. You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to stem the loss of the control, the tears slipping down your cheeks. “I can’t do this.”

It’s the first time you’ve admitted defeat, and your arms fall limp before wrapping around your belly. “I can’t. I can’t do it.” The words are stifled by gut wrenching sobs, the wave of hopelessness washing over you like a wall of water intent on destruction.

How will you do this alone?

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, slowly stroking over the curve of your bump, rocking back and forth. “It’s just you and me little sunbeam, and I- I don’t know how to do this. I’m going to mess it up.” That’s the crux of it, the heaviness weighing on your shoulders. You’re going to fail. You don’t know how to be a mom, you never imagined doing all this alone.

You wish they were here, you want them here, against all better judgement, and as you lay down on the carpet in the baby’s room, you close your eyes and allow indulgence, a fantasy where you’re not alone. Where you’re curled up on the couch between them, safe and warm. They tell you they love you, assure you how good of a job you’re doing, how wonderful of a mom you’ll be. A dream where they would hold you, wipe your tears, hold their hands to your belly to feel the baby kick. You’d experience all the firsts together, watch Penny become a big sister together, go through all of the highs and lows together.

The fantasy falls away as the cold creep of dread drags you back to reality.

They don’t love you.

They never did.

Your dreams are just that, dreams. Made up nonsense that never existed in the first place.  

Something is wrong.

His knees flex on the bench, attention fixated on the giant sliding doors at the entrance of the hospital.

He’s unsettled. It’s a rare feeling, but Phillip fucking Graves appearing in the hallway today like a nightmare that never goes away has thrown him off kilter.

“Have a man in surgery here. Flown in on a medivac this morning.”

He threw a barb at Johnny immediately after, a comment in jest, but there was something unusual about the glint in his eye.

It was a shine Simon recognized well. The ripple of a hunter, on a scent track of prey.

You’re ten minutes late now, but it’s not unheard of. You rarely, if ever, get out on time.

It never concerns him, except for today. A cloud lingers overhead, caliginous and heavy with rain, waiting for the right moment to change everyone’s day, to spoil it all.

It’s a bad sign, and he doesn’t know why.

When the clock hits twenty minutes past, he texts you.

No response.

He texts again.

No response, again.

When he calls, the phone doesn’t ring. He tries a second time, and then a third, before shoving it into his pocket and stalking inside to the information desk, conveniently placed right in front of the double doors.

“I need a visitor pass.” He towers over the poor girl behind the counter, and she blanches. “For the ICU. I have a family member up there.”

“O-okay.”

There’s only one person at the nurses’ station, a man, a doctor, who is regarding him with cold curiosity as Simon comes striding over, your name on his lips.

“Wait… you’re one of the boyfriends, right?” His tags reads ‘MD’ with his first initial and last name. J. Marshall. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know where she is. She ran out of here hours ago.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Asked to borrow my car and everything, said she…” He’s still talking, but nothing is registering. There’s a high-pitched frequency ringing in the back of  Simon's head, a whine turning to a roar, a tinny sound making the backs of his eyes hurt.

He leans into Marshall’s face, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. “Where did she say you could pick it up?”

“S-south station. Get the fuck off me-“ Simon shoves him backward, sending him flying on the rolling chair he was lounging in. “I’m calling security!”

“Don’t bother.” Simon doesn’t look back. By the time the call connects, he’s already on the first floor and almost out the door.

“She came home in the middle of the day.” Johnny’s pacing, hands in his hair, ignoring Simon’s pleas to sit down, calm down. “Lou said she seemed off.”

“Something must have spooked her.” He accedes, staring at a spot on the wall, trying to put it all together. You wouldn’t have run without a reason. After everything, after all this time spent together, building trust, building love, a relationship, it’s the one thing he knows for certain. You’re in danger, he can feel it.

Johnny stumbles, careening to the side, and Simon darts forward, tugging him into his chest, nose in his hair. His breath catches, once, twice, before it breaks into a wet cough, a cracked cry caught in his throat, crestfallen and agonized, and Simon tries to soothe him. “We’ll find her.” They have to, there’s no other option, no other paths that don’t lead to you.

“She’s out there alone,” Johnny shakes his head, “she’s in danger, she must be.” He knows it just as Simon does, knows you like he knows each line in Simon’s palm.

“We’ll find her love, we will.” The rest of it hovers in the air between them, the painful acknowledgment that maybe they’re not so different from your abuser, maybe they’re no better than the man who brutalized you. They’d chase you across oceans, across the globe to bring you home. They’d use all their resources, manipulate systems, act with violence, to see you again. To hold you.

“What if she doesnae want us to find her? What if…”

“That’s not why she left.” Simon’s resolute in his denial of the possibility. You haven’t run away from them. You ran from something, someone, hunting you. “We’ll fix it.”

It’s been six weeks since they’ve seen you.

Six weeks since they’ve seen your smile, the thing they worked so hard to earn, the curve of your lips that you graciously gifted them along with your trust. Six weeks, since they’ve heard your laugh, held your hand, rolled over and felt the heat of your body between them in bed.

The hallway is full of doors, but none of them lead to you.

Their smart girl, so clever, a fox in the woods, a master of camouflage, of stealth. Or, as Kate said-

your girl is ghost. This kind of wipe work is professional level… are you sure she’s a nurse?

In these moments, the quiet dark ones where Johnny stares at the ceiling in bed, he wonders if you’re more. If you held out on them, this whole time, if there’s something else.

It’s ridiculous, he knows that, but the ache in his heart demands answers, explanations, things he can’t provide.

“Close your eyes sweet boy.” Simon kisses his neck, thumb stroking circles into his collarbone.

“She’s out there somewhere, Si, on her own.” His voice cracks, Simon’s arms tighten.

“I know.” A phone buzzes on the nightstand, and Johnny jolts, heart leaping in his chest.

It’s a text from Kate.

>Finally got the footage.

[naburi]

WE CAN DO THREESOME

JIHYO X PORNSTAR X READER

TAGS: THREESOME, INTERACIAL

1.8K WORDS

Being one of the top employees this year, your manager rewarded you with a flight overseas. But there’s a catch, you can only go alone. Not wanting to be by yourself, you bring your girlfriend with you. After a long flight, you’re now about to enter your hotel room. The reason why it’s only a one man trip is laying on the bed waiting for you in her two piece bikini.

“Who the fuck are you?” Jihyo blurted loudly, the woman smiled before sitting up on the bed. “I have been booked to welcome you,” the busty woman said. In shock of the situation, you found your eyes glued to the body of the woman. Her curves are otherworldly. Her boobs and ass are too big for you to comprehend. Your eyes are wandering all over her body, trying to make sense of how sexy she really is.

“You’re in the wrong room, woman,” your girlfriend says while walking closer to the woman. “I’m here to welcome Y/N,” Violet Myers politely says. Jihyo quickly turns her head towards you, wanting an explanation. You're now making eye contact with the woman, her eyes looking so respectful, contrasting her enticing body that is only covered by pieces of fabric. You explained to your girlfriend that you didn’t know anything about this, your manager only said to go alone.

You and your girlfriend exchange glances as it clicks to the both of you. Violet notices that the two of you haven’t brought down your bags, she stands up to the bed assisting the two of you. She offers to order some drinks and snacks but you decline as you are not that hungry. The three of you are now sitting on the edge of the bed. The room is compact with one bed, a shower room and a small dining area. “You can leave now,” your girlfriend said while she’s in between you and the woman. She appreciates her hospitality but she just can’t stand her being in the same room as the two of you.

“I will not get paid, I didn’t do my job” Violet said. “What’s your job then?” Jihyo slightly raised her voice in agitation. “To give pleasure, I can also give any woman pleasure…” Violet said slowly while looking at your girlfriend. She put her hands on Jihyo's lap, caressing it slowly. Your girlfriend swatted her hands away just as she stood up. “Don’t touch me like that!” Jihyo said in shock. Your girlfriend looks at you, waiting for your reaction.

“I-I guess we should let her do her thing” you said.

“What? Are you out of your mind? Are you gonna fuck her infornt of me?” Jihyo said out loud.

“We can do threesome,” Violet quickly interrupted.

You go back and forth with the two women to find a middle ground. After what seems like an eternity of arguments somehow, you convince Jihyo to do threesome with her as you remind her about your relationship’s bucket list. You both didn’t expect to fill that checklist in this situation. Jihyo finally sat back down in between the two of you. Violet looks at you in the eyes, signaling that she will now do her job.

Her hands go back on your girlfriend’s thighs as she runs her fingers on top of her jeans. You hold Jihyo’s face as you pull her in a kiss. The woman’s hands are slowly caressing its way up. From the thighs, it’s now up on Jihyo’s exposed stomach. She felt violet’s fingers gently running on her abs as this made her moan. Violet’s fingers are touching up on Jihyo’s bra, indicating where her hands want to go. She reaches back on the lock of her bra to take it off. She tosses her bra at the other end of the room before she cups her big boobs in her hands. Your girlfriend's boobs are big but you just can’t compare her size to the woman that you just met. Jihyo moans in between your kisses as her boobs are being groped. As a woman herself, violet knows how to touch someone’s boobs. She continues to grope her boobs while her index fingers are circling on both nipples. Violet is teasing Jihyo into wanting more, which Jihyo did. She put her own two hands on the woman to indicate that she needed more. The woman obliged as she knew pinching and playing with her nipples.

This made Jihyo’s head pull back. She knows leaning her weight onto the woman as she looks like a mess. You take this opportunity to pull her pants down, revealing wet marks on her panties. You pressed her slit over her wet panties, acting like you’re trying to insert your fingers inside her. Your girlfriend’s hand now reaches into her panties and pulls it aside to give way to your fingers. Her slit is glistening wet. Your two fingers swiftly enter her as you feel her wet inside. Jihyo arches her back with sudden pleasure. Violet saw her neck wide open, she sucked her neck trying to give her hickeys as she also licked her in place. Jihyo doesn’t know being touched by a woman can be this good. Violet’s hands are groping her boobs while her mouth and tongue are busy in her neck. Her reaction after you insert your fingers encourages you to plunge your fingers more inside her. A splash sound can be heard due to how wet she is. Few moans have passed, and the woman decides to pull up Jihyo’s crop top, removing it before she lays her down. Jihyo is now laying flat on the bed, the woman moves to the side, kneeling as her mouth reaches onto her boob. Your girlfriend moans as she feels the woman’s tongue flicking her nipples. Seeing her other boob is free, you instinctively suck her boob as well. Jihyo’s moans erratically. Two mouths are sucking on boobs, two tongues are circling and flicking her boobs. This sensation is too much for your girlfriend as she has her first orgasm.

You stand up to remove your pants while watching Violet take Jihyo’s mouth, enticing her into a make out which Jihyo quickly accepts. The two women are busy exploring each other’s mouths as you align your cock on jihyo’s wet slit. You hold your hard cock as you push it inside of her. Your girlfriend moans while Violet’s tongue is inside her mouth as she feels your hard cock inside of her. You have her legs open as you are holding her thighs while you thrust your cock inside her. Violet continues to make out with her but knowing that you’re fucking your girlfriend in front of her made her feel hot. She knows cupping her own boobs, her boobs are the biggest pair of tits you have seen in your whole life. You have heard that everything is bigger in America but you didn’t expect it to be this big. Her hands looked too small to even grab her boobs properly as her boobs engulfed her slim fingers. You thrust your cock faster on her as seeing violet’s grope her boobs turns you on even more. Your thrust is now deeper and faster. With each thrust making a wet sound.

Violet can’t take it anymore, she removes her face away from your girlfriend to finally watch you cock plunging in and out on your girlfriend. She removes her top, revealing her big nipples and her bikini bottoms to give you a sight of her own wet slit. The woman grabs her boob on one hand and inserts two fingers on her slit as she continues to watch you Jihyo. The two women laying in the bed are watching you as your girlfriend is also looking at how your cock disappears and reappears in her slit. Your girlfriend arch her back again as she’s near her second orgasm. Hold her now by the waist as you thrust your cock even harder on her slit. Violet fingering herself faster as all of you watched her orgasm again. Violet takes your place as she goes to her wet slit to slurp her wet juices. Violet knows what she’s doing when her ass is up near the edge of the bed. You take this as a cue to stand up and position yourself on her backside. You give her massive ass a slap before your tip touches her slit. Massive maybe an understatement on how big her ass really is. Your hands are roaming on her massive ass, trying to make sense how big it really is. They look firm yet soft, grope her ass on all angles as you’re amazed at the sheer size of it.

You aligned your cock again to finally enter her slit, her walls are warm as both of you moan with your cock now inside her. This was the first time you felt another woman’s inside after starting a relationship with Jihyo. You pull your cock slowly, taking your time to feel your cock, moving against her inside walls. You thrust your cock deep in her again which put her mouth deeper on your girlfriend’s slit, she is now eating your Jihyo out. Jihyo’s eyes are closed as she’s still high off her orgasm. You thrust deep in her again, the sight of her massive ass waves up with every thrust. This made you continue thrust deep in her just to see her ass waves up again. Violet moans loud as she feels you're already going fast. You can’t help to fuck her faster as the way her ass move is hypnotizing. Violet continues to eat her out, your girlfriend's hands are pulling her hair as Violet’s tongue found her clit. You grab her while hips to fuck her even faster. You know that you're going too fast that you might cum too early but you don’t care. This woman’s body is made to be fuck like slut, and fuck her you did. Loud sound of flesh meeting echoes on all corners of the room as your hips collide on her massive ass harder with every thrust.

Your cock is twitching hard inside her, she feels this too as she climbs off the bed to kneel and have her face in front of your cock, waiting for your hot cum to go in her face. She didn’t need to wait long as you shot loads of cum on her face. Jihyo saw the two of you in that position and wants to join in. She kneels beside Violet as she licks the cum on her face before sharing your cum while making out infront of you. This sight made you harder in an instant, which they noticed. The two girls paused for a moment to look at you before they went to share your cock with each other.

[mintmatcha]

Inevitable Things : chapter eleven

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks. CONSULT AO3 FOR FULL TAGGED CONTENT WARNINGS

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Your mom used to tell you that love was a choice that she made every day. She woke up and chose to love your father, chose to put in the effort that a relationship needed, chose to stay by his side through the good and the bad. It was a point of pride to endure at all, a smile slapped on her face. She told you that until he left one night, bags in hand and another woman’s name on his lips. 

After that, love was no longer a choice. It was nights of tears and screaming matches, begging and pleading, obligatory phone calls and visitations out of state. Love was no longer a choice, but a shackle, something that you say at the end of a conversation because you must. Love is a pain you bear because you are human, and someone must hold these feelings you have.

Your mother still wants your father to call her. 

You wait for Touya to come home.

It haunts you all morning, as you twiddle away time before the convention floor opens again. You end up calling your boss with an update, only to chat with him over coffee. His niece is over again - she screams hi into the receiver- and his sister says hello as well. You try to end the call there, but he stays on, asking questions about who you’ve seen and how they've been. The conversation drags, but neither of you seem to mind.

“You aren’t watching Shouta.” It’s an observation, posed as a question. He’s speaking better today- you aren’t sure why. Death ebbs and flows.

“He asked me not to.” The truth feels right at this moment. It doesn’t betray anything changing between you two; Toshinori is probably aware of the tense air between you too. Now, it’s just tense in a different way, a way that makes your toes curl to think about.

“Don’t take it personally,” he says, “Shouta is a very private man.”

More so than you know, Yagi, you think. Aizawa is very different behind closed doors, behind that wall he’s so carefully crafted. You fear you’ve only cracked one layer of him only to uncover a different veneer.

At the end of the call with Toshinori, you let slip a little “Love you.” and he laughs, surprisingly boisterous for his frail lungs. 

“I didn’t mean it,” you try to say.

“It’s okay,” he says once he catches his breath. “I understand.”

 You don’t.

The rest of the morning is spent in your room, pouring over your emails. Technically, the company is on crunch time; your newer model hits the market within two months and panic has set across the office. Everything is ready, technically, but also nothing is; every day is a new little fire, begging to be put out. Being away on a friday was actually a gift, you realize now that you’re scrolling through what you’ve missed. Your inbox is filled with random issues and scheduled meetings for the upcoming weeks. Your DMs are alight with notifications too-- these, less urgent. 

Izuku Midoriya -> are you alive? or did Mr. Aizawa murder you?

Oh, if only he knew how quickly things change.

we're both alive and well somehow <-

Another message comes through, this one in a different tab.

Hizashi Yamada -> I see you online!

Trying to sneak some work in before I get out of bed. <-

Hizashi Yamada -> Send me your room number.

He arrives in less than five minutes. As usual, Hizashi is put together in a respectfully ostentatious way. His all black outfit might be velvet because of how it eats the light, equally matte and shiny all at once. It’s the type of clothing you wish you could pull off-- or afford --but he wears it so easily, with a confidence you could never have. No, you could never so gracefully enter a room and throw off a jacket like some supermodel.

“How was the presentation?” he asks as he flops into bed beside you. It's a different feeling than being next to Aizawa; he’s perched like a girl gossiping during a slumber party, hair tosselled on your silk pillow. You close your laptop and carefully place it aside. There’s no way you’ll be working with Hizashi around.  That was probably his plan all along.

“I didn’t go-- you didn’t go either?” You playfully shove him.  “You're a bad friend!”

“I woke up late.” He shrugs, feigning sympathy with a content smirk. “And had other things to do this morning, if you catch my drift.”

He throws in an unnecessary wink. Your cringe is a reflex- you don’t really mind hearing about Hizashi’s conquests, but it does make you think about last night again. All you did was kiss, but your skin prickles as if you did more, as if you want more. 

And maybe you do. You’ve been tossing the idea around all morning, trying to figure out exactly what you want, not only from the man, but from yourself, but every time you think about it too hard, the image of Touya flashes in your mind, and your thoughts are tumbling once again.

You think of your mother. It used to be your worst fear to become her, but each day that passes, you see more of her in your eyes, in the thinness in  your skin.

“You okay, babygirl?”

He points directly at the space between your eyes, where you’ll one day have the same worried creases your mother has.. “You’ve got a face on your face.”

You try to wipe away whatever he’s seeing, but it clearly doesn’t work. Hizashi looks at you harder, expression especially soft. 

“Oh, yeah, I’m just-” you shrug. Is there a word for what you're feeling? Ennui? Horror? Somewhere in between? “Shaking off a weird feeling.”

“Weird feeling-” Hizashi throws you a wink. “I think we call it a hangover.”

“I’m not hungover--”

Before you can protest, your friend gasps, so violently that you nearly jump out of your skin. He backs up, hand over his heart and jaw dropped to the floor. “Oh my god. Oh my goooooooodddd.”

“What? What? Am I dying?”

“Your neck!” Now he points to you with a fully straight arm, like he’s accusing you of being a witch. You slap a hand over the spot instinctively. “Hello, that’s a hickey!”

Oh. Oh no. You had been too distracted this morning to notice, but apparently Aizawa’s lips have left a mark on you. Heat flushes across your face; a hickey? Who do you think you are? Kaminari? You’ve had a secret for less than 24 hours and it’s already threatening to come out.

“You got laid last night? With who? Where? When? Tell me everything!” Hizashi pushes down in the mattress to bounce himself, jimmying you up and down in the process.

“Well, uh--” You can’t even begin to make something up. The irrational fears start to take over- what if he figures out exactly who’s mouth left that mark? Hizashi’s a whore-- he might know some sort of mouth forensics or something! Or, you don’t know, maybe you still smell like Aizawa, even 

“You dirty dog, is that why you didn’t see Aizawa’s thing?” Your stomach somehow sinks lower. “Because you and Tensei fucked?”

Tensei?

“Tensei?”

“Oh my god, you totally did. You’re all flustered!”

You had completely forgotten the man even existed. Beautiful Tensei Iida, the ‘sexy’ doctor Hizashi wanted you to have… it’s funny how things never work out the way you think they will.

“It wasn’t Tensei!” You scooch away. “And it’s not a hickey!” 

Hizashi sees through that lie. He crawls on his hands and knees after you. “You gotta tell me, please-”

Crap. He’s not going to let this go. Sex and all that comes with it is Hizashi’s catnip; once he’s gotten a taste of it, he’s deranged. 

Telling the truth certainly isn’t an option. You and Aizawa? The absolute nuclear fallout that would hit the office if that came out would be catastrophic. Hizashi can’t keep his mouth shut, so even hinting at what happened last night could be the end of whatever weird thing you and Shouta have, killing it before you can even name what it is. 

And being so close to launch? It could potentially hinder Aizawa’s image--

And your and Touya’s relationship.

“It was someone I met at the restaurant after you left-” Not completely a lie. “We just-- kissed, I guess. I didn’t want to, you know, do more.”

Hizashi kicks his feet in excitement. His shoes are on your bed- gross.

“Good for you, setting boundaries!” he says. “That’s growth!”

He goofs around for just a moment longer before settling.

“Why do you look so sad about it?” He’s quick to say.  “Did they do something?”

“No! No, it was nice, but-” you start. The truth feels heavy, yet silly at the same time. You know the reaction you’re about it get, and yet you say it anyway-  “I don't know, I started to think about Touya this morning and-”

Hizashi’s face falls so hard that you swear you can hear it. His hatred of Touya has never been a secret, but before Touya made his disappearing act, he at least kept his comments to a minimum. With no Touya, there’s no limit to Hizashi’s public loathing.

“I love you. So much.” He takes your hand in his. He’s still on his knees, hunched over you awkwardly, those damn shoes still on the bed. “But thought you were over this shitbag.”

You want to protest. He’s not a shitbag, he’s just having a hard time. He’s not a bad guy, the drugs just make him that way. He’s a good boy underneath all of the troubles, you know it’s true.

But you’ve run out of excuses years ago. All you can say is the truth: “I think I still love him.” 

Compassion contorts your friend’s face. “Oh, girl. Girl. You don’t.”

“Hizashi-” You try to slide away, but he doesn’t let you. 

“He treated you like garbage for years. Years!” The blonde squeezes your hand. “And he wasn’t loyal, he wasn’t safe, he wasn’t kind or sober or-” 

“It's not like he abused me or something.” You say it so quickly that it feels tinny on your lips. Both of you go quiet for a second and Hizashi throws his hands up in surrender. He ducks his head low, not in defeat, but in a humble act, like a dog that’s pushed it’s boundaries a bit too far.  With a sigh, he sits back on his knees, allowing there to be space between you.

“I didn't say that,” he says carefully.  “It doesn't have to be abuse, that doesn't mean it's healthy.”  

There’s a hesitation, then he reaches out his hand again. You don’t take it, but he keeps it there, in the air, waiting for you.

“I just care about you. I know ‘muri and I get a bit too pushy and wild sometimes, but it’s because we want you to have fun for once. We-- we want you to be with someone that makes you feel good-- who thinks you’re the best thing in the world,” Hizashi says. “We want you to get what you deserve and Touya isn’t that.”

A different type of warm runs over you- a watery one, one that stings at your eyes. You aren’t sure where the well of emotion has come from, but it’s there, bubbling just under the surface. You try to sniffle without giving yourself away. 

“Would it be so bad to let yourself move on and try something new?” Hizashi smiles.  “Let yourself have a little fun for once?”

Reluctantly, you take his hand. He squeezes and coos, pulling your hand into an awkward faux-hug, right about his heart.

 “Let yourself have fun, let yourself live.”

“I’m gonna try to try.”

--

The convention itself goes smoothly. More people ask about Yagi, but the word seems to be spreading: he’s not here. He’ll never be here. The air is bittersweet, but Hizashi always recovers it for you. He keeps the conversation flowing back to work and the bed, with much more ease than you’ll ever have.

The only time you see Aizawa  is when he’s in your periphery. He’s in the corner, caught in some conversation with people whose names you’ve already forgotten. Tensei’s by his side, basking in the probable praise, while Aizawa just nods along. The presentation must have gone well, you gather from the attention they’re both getting. That’s both good and bad; the work deserves credit, but Aizawa…

What a heavy secret to carry. What a prominent shame. He didn’t want you to see, but he was okay with all of these strangers ogling him like a science experiment. 

Does that make you more important than those strangers? Or less?

You try to look for an opening to leave, but one never seems to come.

Only once do you catch him staring back at you, his expression too far away to be read. The thump of your heart steps out of rhythm for a moment before you get yourself together.

“I see you eyeing up Tensei,” Hizashi teases. “Are you sure he isn’t your mystery man?”

You deny it, but Hizashi is unconvinced.

----

The three of you finally reunite over dinner. This time, Hizashi swears he will stay the whole time.

This time, you don’t want him to.

You’ve settled into a different booth than you were in last night. Again, the chip basket is empty before Aizawa can arrive. He’s always running late for these things, either through lack of effort or lack or lack of time management. If he didn’t have a presentation tomorrow, you’d be annoyed, but you decide to give the man a break.

Though, you do wonder if you’ll be allowed to see this one. You’ll have to go, right? It’s about your company.

“I still can’t believe you managed to pick up Tensei with Aizawa right there.”  Hizashi leans back into the booth.

“It wasn’t Tensei,” you insist. “And he was distracted.”

“By what?”

You aren’t a quick liar. 

“Some girl.” Or a good one. “They went off together.”

You know you’ve fucked up by the look on Hizashi’s face. He sits up, staring at you from over his glasses with a slack jawed amazement.

“You're lying.” He sits up even more. “You're lying straight to my face right now.”

Fear thrums you so hard that your stomach almost revolts on impact. 

“I’ve never seen Shouta pick up a stranger, ever.” Hizashi throws his hands up in the air for effect. “Never, ever. Not even in college! ”

Looking back, you should have said he was struck by lightning. That would have been more believable. From what you remember, Aizawa doesn’t date very often - or at all. You can’t remember if he’s ever brought someone to a work event or even mentioned a partner.  (Which makes you feel equally bad and… special. Are you an exception to his rule? Are you different? 

…Or, more likely, he’s just a private guy. But you can pretend.)

“Well, uh, I dunno what to say.” You still haven’t come up with a better lie. “Ask him yourself.”

“I will!”

Good. That gives you time to text Shouta and warn him about that shit storm he’s about to enter. The two of you can come up with a lie that makes sense and won’t send Hizashi screaming. Suddenly, you’re grateful that Aizawa can’t show up on time for-

“Again with the chips?”

Fuck!!

As if summoned, Aizawa is behind you, shrugging off his jacket. He’s in the same suit as he was earlier, but a lot more disheveled after making it through the day. The social interaction really took it out of him; no wonder he’s so quiet at the office. You pat the seat next to you and he practically slumps into it.

“Please tell me you aren’t escaping again tonight,” he says to Hizashi.

“Oh, no, I’m not going anywhere, trust me.” That smile sets the whole table on guard. “I have too many questions.”

“If you had questions, you should have shown up to the talk,” Aizawa says. “Which went well, by the way. Thank you for asking.”

“You didn’t give me a chance to ask, asshole.”

“Should have been the first words out of your mouth.”

“Well, sorry, Mr. Sensitive. I didn’t think I needed to stroke your ego today! Should I start singing your praises now, or after we verbally jack you off for a bit?”

“We are in public, Mic, stop talking about jacking off.”

“How was your presentation, oh smart one?”

“It was--”  Aizawa stops himself mid sentence, brow furrowed as he turns directly towards you. “You’re being quiet.”

“Me?” you point to yourself as if you don’t know the answer. The accusation makes your heart race- or maybe it’s those sharp eyes, boring down into you. 

“Why are you being quiet?” he says with an accusatory glare. “What did you do?”

Hizashi erupts into a giggle and the attention is finally turned away from you. 

“I heard that you went home with someone-”

Aizawa’s gaze snaps to you.  It takes effort to press your lips down and keep a neutral expression; anxiety is trilling inside you, high and frail and wild, like a little flute in a marching band finale. The man tilts his head just a bit, eyes sharp and questioning, clearly trying to interrogate you while completely silent.

“Where did you hear that, Yamada?” Aizawa’s tone isn’t flat now. No, it’s pressed, stressed; he thinks you’ve told him everything. You try to gesture with just your eyes -- three normal blinks and wide eyes, like a makeshift morse code. This obviously fails.

“Little miss girl here-” Hizashi waggles his eyebrows and Aizawa’s pupils dilate with fear-  “told you you went home with a stranger from the restaurant.” 

Realization hits Aizawa’s expression, then, relaxation. His whole body turns to you with a belabored sigh. “You little snitch.”  

The smile you’ve been trying to fight erupts across your face.  You burst into a nervous giggle, one that you have to silence with your own hand. This is a dangerous line you’re walking; Hizashi isn’t a stupid guy- he’s going to figure out something’s wrong if either of you slip up.

“It’s true?” Hizashi gasps. “What? You? You?”

“Is it really so weird that I had sex with someone?” Aizawa says.  “You do it all the time.”

“You aren’t a hook up guy!” Hizashi peers from over his glasses.  “You’re a ‘third date and a bottle of wine’ guy!”

“When have I ever had a bottle of wine?”

“Okay, ‘third date and an air of desperation.’ How's that?”

Aizawa  wrinkles his nose and bares his teeth, barking out a canned laugh. “Ha. Ha. Ha. Fuck off.” 

The shorter man sits back in his seat and uses his drink to gesture to you. “Why don’t you harass Miss Hickey over there instead?”

The attention shifts to you for only a moment before Hizashi waves you away with the back of his hand. He shifts forward on to his elbows, directly towards his friend..“She just made out with a guy, I don’t care about that-”

“-Hey!” you object. As if Aizawa isn’t the reason you’re bruised in the first place! The dark haired man is purposefully looking down his nose at you, expression taut. 

“Sorry, but I need every nitty gritty detail of Shouta’s night ASAP. “ Hizashi grinds you back on track.

The two of them have been friends since college, you remember. You’d never really been able to see the connection before; they’re both so different that they almost seem like they’d never mesh, but today they are huddled together like boys, mirroring each other’s movements. You wonder if there were lots of nights like these, gossiping over girls and wild nights.

Did Hizashi know him before the car accident?

“I’ll tell you later, Mic,” Aizawa says.  “After she’s gone.”

It’d be best to stay quiet, but you can’t bring yourself to be purposefully excluded.

“You don’t want to get dirty in front of me, huh?” you tease. Besides, you’d like to see what he comes up with. “I can handle it.”

He doesn’t take the bait. “I’m not a sharer.”

You turn away with a little shrug. “Hm.”

Aizawa almost doesn’t respond. The gears turn behind his eyes, slowly grinding away at his patience until he grits out a little: “What?” 

His knee bumps into yours under the table. It’s fleeting, but there. 

“I was just thinking-” you start. “Maybe you’re a bit of a coward.”

“Coward?” he replies.

“Afraid to gossip-” 

It’s Aizawa’s turn to huff. “Gentlemen don’t gossip.”

“Since when are you a gentleman?” Hizashi barks out a laugh.

With another exhale, Aizawa closes his eyes. A moment, then another passes, before he opens them again, one brow raised. It’s the same expression a teacher would give to the class after too much clownery. No wonder the interns are terrified of the man, you’d be scared too if you weren’t so excited to see where this is going. 

“You really want me to tell you what I did last night?” He’s deadpan. “Really?”

Both of you nod. 

“Fine.” He throws his hands up in defeat.  “I met this woman at the bar. Bought her a cocktail-”

“What kind of cocktail?” you interject.

“What?” Aizawa stares at you, lip curled in frustration. You’re making lying harder and you know that, but excitement is driving you forward. The risk doesn’t outweigh the reward quite yet. “I don’t know- something sweet.”

“Hm.”

“Margarita. The spicy kind. She tasted like it all night.”

Aizawa is alarmingly good at lying. He does it with a straight face, minus the telltale curl of his lip, but Hizashi doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy sitting on the edge of his seat. You’re still trying to reconcile all of the versions of him inside your head: the work version, the ‘lover’ you met, and this lackadaisical liar. 

“Keep going.” Hizashi urges.

“Then we went back to her room. Didn’t even make it to the bed.”

The way he lays down each word is slow, meticulous, purposeful; the narrative he builds is crafted especially for you, but you aren’t quite sure of his goal. 

“ Is that enough detail?”

“Boo-” Hizashi’s fanning the flame now too. “Not the fade to black storytelling!”

Aizawa ducks in close, resting on his forearms as he talks. His gaze flicks between you and Hizashi, but lingers much longer on you, flickering down to your lips every now and again. His timbre drops lower, gritty, rolling as he whispers. 

“We went back to her room-”

You’re watching his mouth a bit too intensely. 

“- I got on my hands and knees-”

He enunciates it slowly, so neither of you miss a moment. A shiver goes up your spine. There’s a weight to his breath, a genuine enjoyment. Would he get on his knees for you?

“And I  begged to eat her out.” 

He’s proud of it. Oh, he would get down for you. He’d plead for the privilege. His leg brushes against yours again, this time with pressure and purpose, and your skin crawls with excitement. It’s just a story. You know it’s not true. 

But the glint in his eye says that he wishes it wasn’t.

“And?” your voice shakes a bit. That’s his goal, isn’t it? To get you riled up? To make you regret forcing him into this situation?

Aizawa rubs the spot where his jaw connects with a slow, purposeful circle, like he’s trying to rub out a kinked muscle. It’s borderline boastful. “And that’s how I spent the night.”

Hizashi tips his head back and laughs so loudly that the table next to you stares. “Good for you!”

“Good for her,” Aizawa replies.

Hizashi rolls his eyes. “I almost forgot you’re a munch. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten any, so-”

“Watch it, Hizashi.”

You regret the question before you ask it. “Uh, what’s a munch?”

Both of them look at you.

“Well, it’s clearly not Touya,” Hizashi mumbles, and you shoot him a glare. 

“It’s a slang term for someone who really enjoys…” Aizawa trails off, cocking his head expectantly. 

“Eating pussy,” Hizashi finishes for him. 

Another thrill of excitement goes up your spine. Enjoys it? Is that even possible? The idea has you woozy. 

“Yeah, that’s totally not Touya,” you manage to say.

Hizashi makes another comment, but you can’t force yourself to focus on that. No, not when your heart is beating like this. It’s just words, a fake story, but there’s a silent promise to it as well. You wonder what would have happened last night if you said yes. Would he have spent the night between your legs, eating simply for your pleasure?

Want trembles in your hands as you pretend to check your phone. Is it pathetic? To be worked up over a silly little story, made up to cover your tracks? The waiter comes, you all order. Aizawa’s knee pumps against yours- once accidentally, once on purpose. You hope he doesn’t notice how you’re squirming in your seat, trying to ignore the way your body is craving pressure and attention. You think, maybe, if you move right, you could get the seam of your pants to hit just right-

What are you doing? This is pathetic. 

“I’m going to go to the bathroom.” You don’t wait for a response. Pushing up from the table, you turn down the back of the restaurant. The signs lead you into a little back hallway, tucked by the kitchen, where the lighting is respectfully dim. You have to wait a moment because the door is locked, but you don’t mind. It gives you time to mull over everything.

Maybe Hizashi is right; maybe it’s okay to try something new. It’s been years since you’ve felt this alive with someone, this excited to get something more. With Touya, sex became more of an obligation. Maybe it could be different with someone else. Maybe it could be something fun, something-

A hand catches you by the back of your shirt, not hard enough to yank you backwards, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.  A gasp squeaks out of you as you stagger back into the chest of the man behind you. You crank around to see- only to relax when you realize it’s just Aizawa.

“You scared me,” you mumble out a lament. 

“You little sneak.” With a thumb, he tilts your chin up, so far that you’re looking back at him. His other fingers press ever so nicely into the length of your neck, drawing you back into his chest. There’s nothing constricting your breath, but suddenly your lungs are empty, breathless, and your parted lips pull nothing in. Aizawa’s dark eyes are narrowed, boring straight down into yours.

Oh, he’s pissed. 

And, for the first time, that excites you.

“You like making me sweat, don’t you?” His free hand is looped around your waist, holding you much tighter than the other. “Almost getting us caught-- You make me so mad sometimes.” 

The kitchen is full of mumbled orders and the clang of dishware. It echoes through the dark hall you’ve trapped yourselves in, you aren’t alone, no matter how badly you wish it to be true.  

“Thought you liked me,” you whisper.

You swear there’s a subtle dilation to his eyes, involuntary. Real. “I do.”

He leans over and dots a simple kiss on to your forehead, right where your hair meets skin. It’s simple, soft, but, god, it sets everything inside you into this wet, wobbly, needy heat, something soft and harsh all at once.

“Even when you piss me off.” The hand around your neck twitches playfully, with no real constriction. 

It’s cliche, you think, how you just sort of watch each other, breathless, patient. Neither of you tries to make a move, locked together. He smells good. Not like anything you can name, just… good.  It’s the same good you feel in your chest and an equal good to how your hands feel when you reach backwards and grab his hips. 

“I’m starting to think you like making me mad.”

“Shouta-” you say his name because he likes it, because it makes him lean in closer to you-

The bathroom door flies open and you both pull away like you’ve touched a hot stove. The woman who exists definitely knows something’s up; she rolls her eyes and sends a text on her phone as she passes. The two of you share a look; you, relieved, Aizawa amused. It’s as if you're sixteen again, with this fluttering feeling in your stomach you can’t quite swallow down. It’s too bright to be anxiety.

Aizawa steps back a bit with a nod. Oh, right, the bathroom. You don’t actually have to go, but it would be silly to not go in now. Maybe you can just try to go-

You look back at your Aizawa.

Or maybe.

Or maybe you can have some fun.

With uncharacteristic confidence, you hook a finger under a button of his shirt and tug. Aizawa’s face goes bright with realization. He falls into following as you guide him forward into the bathroom, step by awkward step, backwards until the door opens against your weight. Aizawa glances around before the door closes after him, making sure to remain unspotted, then turns to you with a wicked, narrowed, glowering look. 

The bathroom is simple, but nice. The lighting is sharp and bright, the floor is white and clean. A decorative table is wedged into the corner, topped with extra towels and real flowers in water. Your brain can’t process more than that- not with a dark haired man wrapped around your finger. He has the forethought to lock the door behind him.

“What are you doing-?” he grumbles wickedly, ducking down to catch you in a kiss, but you don’t let him make contact. You dip away, drawing him further and further in, until you’re backed against the little decorative table. With his weight, he shifts you back until your ass is seated properly on that wiggly table, one hand back to brace yourself. Finally, he traps you, stubble rough against your cheek, lips soft against yours.

“I thought we were going slow,” he says into your lips. You don’t respond-- you can’t. Your breath is stolen from your lungs, the need to breathe replaced with the need for him, the need for touch-

You hook a leg over his waist and his hand flies to it, folding it higher, pulling it tighter. 

“Oh, you can’t help it, can you?” he mumbles. “One little story about eating pussy has you desperate for it, huh?”

“Y-you-” You hate that you can’t dirty talk smoothly like he can.

“Yeah?” He’s almost condescending. “Yeah? What does my girl want?”

Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat. Aizawa waits for it, hovering above you. Oh, he won’t give it to you until you really ask, will he? You have to physically brace yourself to say it.

“Will you kiss it?” you ask, much meeker than intended. 

“Kiss ‘it’?” You expect him to keep picking at you, but instead his hands are busy unbuttoning your pants, guiding them down. “Do you mean-”

His lips find your hickey and the spot aches under the connection. “Here?”

Creeping lower, he hunches over your chest. This time, he pecks at the hem of your shirt. “Here?”

Down he goes, on to his knees. This kiss lands in your stomach, right where the tightness of want sits-

“Here?”

“Shouta-” You’re mad and annoyed and you’d frankly settle for him kissing you anywhere at this point-

Hands slip your pants down past your knees. When the air hits your skin, you suddenly realize just how wet you are, how it’s bled through your panties and smeared across your thigh. Before you can process anything, his mouth is over your clothed cunt, wide mouthed and kissing. The drag of his tongue is a lot, even though the fabric; the contact has your spine flexing all on its own.

“Here?”

“There, there,” You’re clinging on to handfuls of his hair already. “Right there.”

But Aizawa doesn’t kiss you again. 

“In a public bathroom?” He’s watching you from the floor. Your leg is looped over his back. He’s surprisingly wide and thick under you; your legs have to spread so far to fit him. God, your body is plaint enough that it just gives to his pushing hands and demands.

 “You like it nasty.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond. Your brain is fried with a deadly combination of horny and embarrassed. Is this really what you want? 

“No, you don’t like it dirty, do you?” It feels like he’s reading your mind, hands kneading your thighs with a growing hunger. He plants a kiss where your legs meets your underwear and your cunt pulses in response. “My girl just needs it so bad, doesn’t she?”

Teeth sink into your inner thigh and you kick in response: another fucking hickey. The thing that got you into this mess-

“That’s right, my girl.” He’s talking to himself now, mumbling just under his breath. A finger loops under your panties, the same way your finger looped under his button, and there’s no time to feel shame before he exposes your pussy.  “You went home with me.” 

You expect him to go straight for your clit, to devour you with the fucking need that’s been building between you all goddamn night-

But, instead, he touches his lips to the crest of your mons and breathes. It’s hot, molten, pours down you like molten lava. It’s the faintest, tickling touch, but it’s enough, it’s more than enough. A moan rips out of you, so unexpected that you jump at your own voice. 

Usually, when you have sex, you’re worried about the small things. Whether or not you’ve shaved, whether you look thin enough or pretty enough, but now, the only thing you can think about is being touched, needing touch, desiring touch.

And the time.

“We-” He hasn’t even started and you’re quivering for it. “We gotta hurry before Mic-”

“I promised you-” Aizawa says, firmly. “That we’d go slow.”

Finally, gloriously, you feel the hot press of his tongue, dragging up through your excitement. Every inch he takes is painstakingly slow until he hits the nub of your clit. That contact is fast, fleeting, but it still sends you keening and gasping. Every important muscle inside you is bunched and coiled, filled with enough potential energy to set the whole fucking restaurant on fire. You’re going to cum. You’re going to cum from practically nothing.

The vase of flowers on the table is overturned. You don’t even remember knocking it over. Water pools under your ass and everything is wet, from you, to the mess, to his drool across your inner thigh. His mouth closed over you the same way someone would eat a peach, sucking with this absurdly lewd sound as if he’s afraid to let any of your excitement escape. His jaw moves slow - just like he fucking promised- and doesn’t miss an inch of skin as he closes his mouth, lips coming closed around your clit. The pressure feels heavenly against the already puffy parts of your pussy and your hands clasp his dark locks tighter. You aren’t sure if you’re trying to pull him away or pull him closer; your body is just reacting, like neurons are firing all on their own.

Fingers clamp around your thighs. Aizawa is groaning, voice so low it vibrates against you, as if he’s the one receiving it, not you. Enjoys eating pussy… the memory rings through your skull. Fuck, what an understatement; he eats pussy like he needs it to live. His eyes are lidded heavy with pleasure. Every lick and suck and touch along the tapestry of your cunt is wet and wild, but aggravatingly skilled. The heat of his mouth against your clit - firm, but not hard- is enough to steal your breath away.

Then, he pulls away, and your pleasure begins to unravel-- unfairly fast. You hadn’t realized how close to the precipice you had been until you started falling away. The feeling is disastrous. 

He speaks with a heady exhale, warm and not nearly enough. “You taste-”

“Shut up,” Now you’re definitely pulling his face back towards you this time. “Shut up, shut up, shut up-”

He silences himself with your cunt. 

This time, there’s no savoring. His lips and tongue are on your clit, sucking in mouthfuls of your folds, bouncing against the involuntary roll of your hips. Everything inside you is hot and sticky, thick like honey. You’re saying something, maybe, but it’s all high pitched and garbled. The rub from Aizawa's stubble sends a chill up your spine and the hot and cold inside you melts into something smooth-

You can feel your orgasm coming long before it hits, everything inside you pulling high and tight, like the ocean rolling before a wave. The crest hasn't hit, but it's going to come, you're going to cum-

And then you look down, and Aizawa's staring back at you, with those dark, hooded eyes, and you unravel. It’s not my other orgasms you've had: a full body feeling, like the flush to warmth you get when alcohol hits your stomach. It rolls, through you, away from you, against you- in every fucking direction until every ounce of tension is smoothed from your muscles. Boneless had always sounded silly, but now you understand exactly what it means; you slump back and try to catch your breath.

Aizawa’s movements slow, but never stop. He runs the flat face of his tongue against you until you gather the energy you shove him back. For a split second, a string of your cum ties between you and his mouth.

“Shit,” you breathe. Your surroundings feel more tangible suddenly. The sink drips, the walls echo the restaurant’s soft muzak, Aizawa’s cheeks glimmer with your wetness: it’s all suddenly real.

“I cannot believe-” He wipes his face on his sleeve.

“Shit,” you repeat. That was insane. You were insane! Your friend is waiting at the table, probably wondering what happened to you two-

“-that you let me do that. You came so--”

“Shit.” This is exactly what you needed. “I’ve never-”

Aizawa sits back on his knees with a stiff grunt. “Don’t tell me you’ve never orgasmed before.”

“No! I’ve totally-” You awkwardly shimmy up your pants and instantly regret it. It’s wet. It’s cold. “No one’s ever gone down on me before.”

Aizawa gives you the slowest, longest blink you’ve ever seen. Then, he shakes his head and stands up, brushing his pants off. You debate asking if his leg hurts, but decide against it. “How do you continuously say things that make me want to go insane?” 

He huffs about it, but you’re starting to unravel the strings of affection he weaves into his sentences. You shrug, biting back your smile.

“I’m just special, I guess.”

Eyes closed, he gives you a nod, tempering himself.

“Go back to the table before we’re caught.”

Fuck-- that’s right. You two have been gone for long enough that it's starting to get suspicious. Besides, there’s going to be a line outside the door if you don’t get moving soon- if there isn’t a line already. You quickly check your outfit and adjust your hair in the mirror; your skin looks brighter than usual. The power of an orgasm, you guess.

“Don’t  you want me to…?” You give a little jerk off motion and Aizawa rolls his eyes at the behavior-- as if he didn’t just eat your pussy in a fucking bathroom.

“I don’t want you to do anything to me,” he insists. He helps you off of the table with a hand, then ushers you towards the locked door. “I want to lay you down and eat you out until your brain factory resets like a cheap Macbook.”

He’s already done that, but okay, you could be down for more-

“But we are in a bathroom.” He gestures around him.  “In a restaurant.”

You add: “With Hizashi waiting.”

“With Mic waiting. He’s smart- he’ll figure us out if we aren’t careful,” he agrees. “Now, get out there and cover me.”

Suddenly, Aizawa leans over and kisses you. It’s not deep, but you can taste your musk on his lips and that makes your spine thrill with excitement.  It’s illicit in a way that makes you feel young and happy and, and, and-

And all those weird, indescribable highs you get when your brain is drowned in dopamine and oxytocin. For a fleeting moment, you reach out and grab his hands, holding on for only a squeeze.

“Your room tonight?” you ask when he pulls away. Your head is still racing, head still swimming-

He grimaces. “Yours has better pillows.”

“I brought them from home.” He was in your bed last night, in your pussy moments ago, but the fact he knows your pillow feels so strangely intimate. “I like silk pillowcases.”

The expression in his face softens, just at the crowed corner of his eyes. “Of course you do.” He jerks his chin towards the door.  “Get going.”

“Sho-”

“Get.”

And you walk out with wobbly knees.

[honeyedclementine]

beg for it

sevika x f!reader, smut, established relationship, strapping, top!sevika usage of 'good girl' (one shot, 1.8k words) ageless blogs, minors, and men dni

reply to be added to my tag list ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

it was rare these days that sevika came home in a playful mood. work was weighing down on her, silco's pressures getting worse and worse, but you understood, you always understood. you didn't pretend to know the extent of the work she did for silco and she never told you—you just sighed and tended to her wounds whenever she came home with them. that was how you two had met, in fact. you were one of the more notable healers in zaun, always caring for others with a gentle touch. she had come to you all those years ago when she first lost her arm and never stopped. somewhere along the way, things changed between you two and well, now you have a shared apartment in the lanes and make good use of your free time.

speaking of making good use, sevika is in a good mood when she comes home for once. it's a pleasant surprise when you hear the door while you wash up from dinner, arms wrapping around your waist—one warm, one cool. lips press into your neck and you sigh contentedly.

"good day at work, baby?" you hum, feeling the way her kiss intensifies at the pet name. she'll never admit it to your face that she likes it, but you know her and her body well enough to know what drives her crazy. her kisses grow playful as she nips at the crook of your neck, hands strong at your waist and thoroughly distract you. the plate you were cleaning slips softly into the warm soapy water of the sink as you grip the edge of the counter, eyes slipping closed.

"couldn't wait to get home," sevika mutters against your neck, biting and sucking a mark into it that you know will last for a few days. you love letting her mark you up—of course, always places you can cover up so you can maintain some professionalism when you need to, but you like knowing they're there. pressing fingers to bruises on your collarbones through your shirts, just to feel the hiss of old pain, remembering the nights you two shared. "to you."

you mewl softly against her touch, her flesh hand coming dangerously close to the waistband of your jeans. you can already feel desire pooling softly in the pits of your stomach, surely manifesting itself into a mess in your underwear. you groan as her metal hand climbs up the hem of your shirt, sharp fingers just barely grazing against an erect nipple. you moan softly, pushing your ass back against her hips and feeling her groan at the friction.

"gods, i need you," you moan, head hanging, hair falling into your face as you struggle to remain standing. she always has a way of making you weak in the knees while doing barely anything. "fuck me, please, it's been too long."

she picks up on exactly what you're asking for without you having to say much more, a chuckle falling from her lips as she pulls away from you. you mourn her warmth immediately, but her rough velvet voice washes over you as she says, "wait here, then."

a chill runs down your spine as you hear her retreat to the bedroom. she returns only moments later, this time without her jeans, a strap comfortable on her hips above her underwear. you bite your lip, tugging her close as soon as you can and smashing your lips together with the edge of the counter pressing into your back. she pulls away from you if only to tug your shirt over your head.

her hands roam your chest, flesh fingers teasing a hard nipple as she kisses along the line of your jaw, tongue exploring the hollow of your throat. her hands lower, undoing the button of your jeans and tugging them down until they're stuck around your thighs, taking your underwear with it.

she's impatient, it seems, not even bothering to remove the clothing completely before turning you around and pressing your stomach into the edge of the counter. you gasp at the strong hand she has on the back of your neck, relishing in the way she can just push you around as you see fit. you've always loved how strong she is, especially in times like this.

you gasp as the strap presses against your back, not quite where you want it. her fingers find your clit, pressing down slightly before dipping lower and gathering more of your slick desire onto her fingertips. "so ready for me already."

"fuck," you gasp as two of her thick fingers breach your entrance with little warning, stretching and preparing you for her cock. "i need you."

she leans in close, her teeth nipping softly at your earlobe, the tip of the strap just barely teasing at your entrance, not giving you nearly enough. you whimper at the contact, relishing in the warmth of her stomach pressed against your back. "beg for it."

you don't need to be told twice. "please, sevika, i need your cock, baby, please. i've been so good, give it to me, please."

"good girl," she coos, caressing your face with one hand as her lips dive against your neck once more, sucking more marks into the soft flesh.

you're practically shivering with anticipation as her metal hand tangles in your hair, getting a solid grip on it before she presses you down until your stomach is almost entirely flush with the counter. she angles the strap against your entrance, just barely pushing in as if she knows this is driving you absolutely insane. you whimper at the slightest touch, chest heaving as you crave to be filled by her.

after the initial tease, she slams into you with little warning, drawing a pleasurable scream from your lips. her grip on your hair and back keeps you where she wants you and you don't fight it, content to let her fuck you however she sees fit. despite her initial roughness, she eases you into it, rocking into you slowly and letting you get used to the fullness. you groan, making an attempt to shove your hips back against her, but the strong hand on the small of your back keeps you from doing so, causing a soft mewl to fall from your lips.

"gods, you're beautiful like this," she breathes out, so quiet you almost wonder if she even meant to say it out loud. as if trying to hide the statement, she picks up her pace, pulling out of you almost entirely before slamming back in and keeping that same rhythm over and over again.

your legs shake and you almost certainly would have fallen if not for sevika and the counter holding you up. her strong hands ground you, even as you press your face against the coolness of the counter, no thoughts in your mind except for sevika, sevika, sevika. you already know if she keeps this pace, along with the gentle hand tugging at your hair the way she knows you love, you're not going to last long at all.

"sev, baby," you moan, the words barely sounding real as they fall from your lips mingled with soft whimpers and groans. you can already feel your climax at the edges of your nerves as she fucks into you relentlessly. you can't get over how she groans like she can feel it, too, the kitchen quiet save for a mess of moans and the wet sounds of her cock pushing into you again and again. you can feel yourself leaking down the insides of your thighs, surely coating the strap in an absolute mess of desire.

"you're doing so good, so good for me," sevika coaxes more moans out of you with her soft words, your hands white-knuckling the counter as you feel your orgasm growing closer and closer. your legs feel absolutely weak as she slams into you.

your orgasm washes over you quickly, like a bucket of warm water being dumped over you as your nerves light up with the release of tension, clenching around her cock before spilling over it, making a mess of yourself. sevika continues fucking into you, barely even slowing her pace as her flesh hand moves from your back. she reaches around, trapping her wrist between your stomach and the counter as her fingers tease at your clit, applying pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves, clearly trying to draw another orgasm out of you.

you don't fight it, leaning into her touch as more incoherent moans spill from your lips, focusing only on the hand on your clit and the cock thrusting into you over and over again with little remorse. you love when she's like this—rough and unforgiving, not letting you go until she's done with you.

already sensitive from your first, it's not long before you're coming again, this time against her fingers and pushing back against her cock. her hand moves back to your hips, guiding you through is as her pace lets up only slightly. as you come down, her thrusts slow down almost entirely before she stills, her cock fully buried within you and her back pressed against yours against the counter. you ground yourself in the weight of her against you, your eyes watering slightly just from the pleasure of the stretch.

she kisses down the nape of your neck and your spine, sending shivers across your skin. after a moment, she pulls out of you slowly. you sigh, going to push yourself away from the counter, but she stops you with a hand to the small of your back. so, you stay there, hands braced against the cool counter as sevika sinks to her knees. you shudder as her tongue finds your inner thigh, cleaning up the mess she made of you.

her lips and tongue are careful around your cunt, knowing how sensitive you are right now. you sigh contentedly as she cleans you up before rising to her feet.

"baby—" you start to say, but you're cut off by her hooking her arms around your back and the backs of your knees, effectively sweeping you off your feet. you're grateful for the help, considering you're not entirely sure you'd be able to walk after that. "i can walk, you know."

sevika just tsks as she carries you to the bathroom, starting up the faucet and waiting for the water to get warm. "not if i've done my job right."

she sits you on the edge of the ceramic tub and you watch as she undoes the harness around her hips, tugging her shirt and underwear off—a silent confirmation that she'll be joining you in the bath. you reach for her hips, tugging her close as she bends down and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

as soon as the bath is full, she climbs in, the tub barely big enough for her tall form, tugging you in after her and settling you against her back. you sigh, letting your eyes slip closed as she presses a kiss to your temple.

you love when sevika has a good day at work.

tag list: @puppyels @njm63522 @fict1onallyobsessed

[fxstpace]

how you get the girl (teaser)

summary: when you lose a bet against your brother and he forces you to go on a blind date, the last thing you expect is to find your ex-boyfriend at your doorstep, with a bouquet in his hand and a confession on his lips.

pairing: yoon jeonghan x fem!reader genres: romance, angst, smut, exes to lovers!au, brother’s best friend!au (ft. brother!joshua hong) teaser word count: 0.6k

↳ warnings: profanity (full warnings tba)

“Hi,” he says. “Thanks for the shower.”

“No problem.” You swallow the hitch in your voice, gripping the chopsticks in your hand tightly. “I hope the water was warm.”

“It was.” Jeonghan hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering all across your kitchen before finally meeting your gaze. “Do you need any help?”

“Oh, uh, no. I’m just making ramen. Couldn’t find anything else, sorry.” 

You hate the way your throat dries and your mouth clams up. You rest your hip on the counter, keeping your body angled sideways so you can keep one eye on the stove without appearing rude. All these weeks, and Jeonghan still manages to render you speechless. It’s almost ridiculous.

He jerks, a movement bordering a shrug and a grimace. It’s rare to see Jeonghan so awkward, rarer still to see him floundering for words. If there’s one thing Jeonghan is, it’s a smooth talker. He can charm his way into anything, putting that honey-rich timbre and smooth baritone of his voice to good use. 

“I hope you don’t mind, but,” he finally says, “I put my jacket to dry by the washing machine. The rest of my stuff is in the hamper.”

“Oh. Okay.” You nod. Of course he remembers the exact layout of your apartment—he had been there when you went house-hunting, after all—but it still serves as a sharp reminder to what you used to have and everything you couldn’t salvage. You give the ramen a small stir.

“We didn’t get much of a chance to talk.” Jeonghan sounds casual, but you know better than anyone it’s just feigned. “Because of the rain, and all.”

“...Right.” You turn off the stove and carefully tip the ramen into two bowls. 

“How have you been?”

You force out a chuckle. “That’s redundant, Jeonghan.”

“Just being polite.” He is still calm, and it irritates you.

“Why did you want to meet me?”

Jeonghan lets his head drop, his long bangs falling onto his forehead. He’s let his hair grow out; it almost brushes against his shoulders. He still has the same lean, lithe figure he’s always had, though. It’s slightly disconcerting—familiar yet foreign at the same time.

He moves to lean on the counter opposite you, crossing his arms over his chest. “I can’t meet up with an old friend?”

“We both know your only friend is Joshua.”

“Ouch.” The laugh he barks out is dry. “I have lots of new friends now.”

Your fingers curl into your palm, nails digging into your skin. A tense silence fills the space between you both. Mechanically, you hand him a bowl of ramen and a pair of chopsticks. He takes them wordlessly, nodding his thanks. 

You pick up your own bowl and walk towards your small dining table. You don’t gesture for Jeonghan to follow—you know he will, anyway, just like how he walked into your life with no warning. Your first bite of ramen nearly burns your tongue. You bite back a yelp. 

“Careful, it’s hot,” Jeonghan warns, a hint of a smile on his lips. You glare at him and it vanishes immediately. “Sorry. But I’m serious—how have you been? We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“I wonder why that is.”

“Still the same, I see,” he says, chewing around a mouthful. “I’ve been good too, thanks for asking.”

“You’re an asshole, Jeonghan.” Your grip on the chopsticks falters. They clatter onto the table, but neither of you pay any mind to it. 

Jeonghan rubs some broth off the corner of his mouth, finally averting his gaze to his bowl of ramen instead of looking at you. You sigh, fighting the urge to crawl back into your room and pretend this isn’t happening.

↳ a/n: thanks for reading! please send an ask/reply if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Meet the Family 2

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your boss needs a last-minute favour for the holidays.(petite!reader)

Characters: Lloyd Hansen

Note: I love writing toxic people.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“Mr. Hansen--” You begin, choking on your error, “Lloyd, my flight--” 

“Christ, I told you, cancel it. I’ll add the difference to your next check,” he grits under his breath. 

You plant your feet, shifting despite your effort as he keeps his grip on your hand. He turns back with a grunt. 

“What’re you doing?” He asks. 

“No, what are you doing?” You throw back. “What the hell is going on?” 

“First, watch that sweet mouth of yours. Second, we’ve been through this, Pixie pie. You just need to play along,” he keeps his voice low and peeks over his shoulder. “Loosen up a bit.” He loosens his hold on you and runs his hand up your sleeve. “Hm, I guess I shoulda told you to dress up a bit.” 

“What?” You look down at your black cotton tea-length dress. You chose it for comfort but it’s not entirely frumpy. The ribbed stockings might not add much to the attire however. 

“Just...” He grabs your shoulders and nudges them back, “push the chest out a bit.” 

“Ugh,” you clasp onto his wrists, “stop. Okay. I’ll stay for dinner but I can’t miss my flight--” 

“You have to,” he argues. 

“You realise this is wildly inappropriate,” you say. 

“Do you really expect anything different?” He tweaks a brow. “You’re staying. I’m not doing this alone. I put it off for a decade already--” 

“Jesus--” 

“No blasphemy either,” he lets go of you and presses his finger to your lips. You growl and shove his hand away. 

“I want a bonus, a big bonus--” 

He hushes you and waves his hands. He leans back and once more looks over his shoulders. “Later. We’ll deal with numbers in private. Right now, you need to come meet your in-laws.” 

You squint at him. It’s an act, you remind yourself, but something about his commitment to it makes you uneasy. You know better than to believe a word that comes out of his mouth but there’s a degree of earnestness in him that’s unsettling. 

“Baby, please, don’t look at me like that,” he steps closer, “I need you to look at me like I’m the second coming, okay? We’re madly in love, you and I.” Your eyes widen and he sighs, “okay, you’re not scared of me.” 

You neutralise your expression and blow out a long breath. You shake away the tension and shrug. It’s as good as you can do. 

“Here,” he grabs your wrist and turns, guiding your arm through his, “just smile pretty for me.” 

He hooks your elbow with his and urges you onward. You steel yourself for the room of strangers as their voices drift through the archway.  

You enter the front room and quickly scan the space; there’s a large-mouthed hearth, lit and draped in evergreen and berries; a long cream sectional, a matching duo of armchairs, and a chaise in the same shade; a low glass coffee table with a golden perch and a console table in a similar style along the wall crowded with bottles and crystal; an area rug in a smooth white with patterns in dulcet beige and rich butterscotch; and the low din is cast by tea lights daintily set around the space in glass holders and candelabra. 

More pressing than the decor are the bodies that fill the room. You recognise Ransom as he speaks with an older woman with short white hair and thick-framed glasses. She wears a red pantsuit with a gold blouse. Very festive. 

You glance over at Lloyd and take him in fully. You hadn’t paid much attention for the whirlwind all around. He wears a pair of evergreen slacks and a sweater with a reindeer's face on the front. He wouldn’t even let you put tinsel on your desk but now he’s dressed like a kid in a holiday parade. 

“Looks like someone didn’t get the memo,” a tall blonde woman approaches with a glass of pale wine in hand. You try not to look with concern at her rounded middle; it sticks out starkly as her long limbs are thin and lithe. “A very grim Christmas indeed.” 

“Lillian,” Lloyd faces the woman about his own height. She has his eyes and his lips. You assume their relation before he declares it. “My sister, Pixie,” he gestures to her carelessly. 

“Older sister,” she preens and rests her hand on her swollen stomach. Your eyes flick away from the crystal in her hand. 

“By about thirty-one seconds,” Lloyd scoffs. 

“Oh, sweetie, it’s non-alcoholic,” she swirls the wine in her glass, “she’s so tiny and quiet.” 

“Ahem,” you clear your throat, “it’s nice to meet you.” 

She laughs, “oh, so polite. Entirely not his type.” 

You try not to react. You agree. You know the women that Lloyd really likes. You’ve screened their calls until they just give up on getting a second date. 

“Believe it or not, Lil, you’re not everyone’s type,” Lloyd retorts. “I think your ex-husband would agree. The second one too.” Lloyd lifts his chin and looks around, “is the third here or are we on number four?” 

“Lovely,” she spits. “Love you too, brother.” 

He shakes his head and draws you away from her. She raises her brows and her glass and sips. You let him take you away. You already despise most of these people. The room radiates with derision. Your family might have some grudges but there’s a general air of good will. 

“I need a drink,” he mutters. 

You gladly follow him to the table. He pours himself a tumbler from the boxy decanter. He sighs as he picks it up but stops himself from drinking. 

“Well, help yourself,” he says. 

You hesitate but not for long. You need something if you’re going to get through this. You pour yourself some chardonnay and sidle away from the table. You check your watch as you raise your glass. 

“Don’t fucking worry about your flight,” he hisses under his breath. “If I’m not getting out of this, you aren’t either.” 

“But why?” You ask behind the glass. 

“Not right now,” he warns and nods at another figure as they approach. “Uncle Benson.” 

“Junior,” the man returns. You drink your wine and don’t comment on the epithet. “Where’s the old man?” 

“Where he always is,” Lloyd replies. 

“Mm, and this is...” the older man looks at you pointedly, dipping his chin to do so. 

“Pixie. My fiancee,” Lloyd answers dully, almost deflating. 

“Benson,” the man offers his hand, “but a pretty girl like you can call me Benny.” 

“Benny,” Lloyd repeats to himself in confusion. 

You shake Benson’s hand, “um, thanks, nice to meet you.” 

“Mm, very nice to meet you,” he lifts your hand and smushes his lips to your knuckles. He clings to you, petting your hand. “You’re gorgeous, what’re you doing with this lump?” 

“Uncle,” Lloyd drones. 

“Adorable,” Benson inches closer, “my inheritance is bigger than his, among other things.” 

“Alright,” Lloyd snatches your hand away from him, “go have some water, Benson,” he growls, “think you’ve been into the brandy.” 

“I’d like to get into something else,” Benson snickers. 

You almost laugh, despite your disgust. You’ve heard that line before. Lloyd puts himself between you and the older man. “I think that’s why Carolyn filed the papers, huh.” 

“Oh, you little twat,” Benson snarls. “Fine, fine, I’ll leave you to disappoint her on your own.” 

Lloyd tuts and shakes his head as the man lumbers off. He turns around and drains his glass. It’s strange, seeing him in his natural habitat; he’s not so ‘alpha’ here. 

“Let’s get the rounds over with.” He grumbles. 

Your wine lasts you through the introductions. Two more uncles; Carter and Linus, along with their wives, Andrea and Angela. Then the full-blooded aunts; four of them, Raquel, Shanna, Beatrice, and Lana. All of them tall, blonde, and bold in their own way. Then a batch of cousins you can’t keep sorted; Ransom and his mother Linda, among them, with no explanation as to the rest of their tribe. 

Lloyd pours himself more whiskey. You abstain from a refill and stand near the wall, observing the wilderness of entitled trust-funders. It explains so much yet inspires so many more questions. You never expected Lloyd to be the dark horse. 

“Lonely?” The timbre startles you along with the twisting pinch on your ass.  

You yipe and snag the attention of several sets of eyes around the room, not least of all Benson, drooling over another snifter of dark alcohol. You swat Ransom’s hand away and face him amid the row of laughter. Despite the airs they put on, your audience is more amused than appalled. 

“Where’s your prince, huh?” Ransom asks. “All that whiskey and...” He holds up his index then lets it go limp, “don’t think it’ll be a very peppy after party, sweetheart.” 

You sniff and cross your arms. These people are at least consistent, grossly so. It makes you wonder why Lloyd was so insistent that you watch your mouth, especially when you’ve never stooped to his level before. 

“Is it much of a party if there’s only one attendee?” You counter. 

He narrows his eyes and tilts his head, “what?” 

“Nothing,” you shake our head. You don’t need to explain the joke. Besides, this is all fake. Don’t let it get to you. 

“So, how long did he wait to put that ugly thing on your finger?” Ransom asks. 

You shrug, “long enough.” 

“Did he do the whole schtick? Get down on one knee? Put the ring in your wine glass?” He prods. 

“I’ll let him tell the story,” you say. 

“Hm, never knew a woman so unexcited about a wedding,” he snorts. 

“Maybe I’m just unexcited by my company,” you back away as his hand jiggles at his side. You eye his fingers, wary of another pinch. 

“Fine, marriage is boring anyways. What’s his favourite position? I always figured he lets the ladies do all the work,” he snickers. 

You stare at him. Not quite as offended as annoyed. You could ask him which hand he uses but you are not letting Lloyd drag you that low. Why are you even letting him put your through this? 

“Hugh,” Lloyd appears and slides his arm over your shoulders. 

“Little L,” Ransom retorts dryly. 

“Shut up,” Lloyd sneers as you resist the urge to shrug him off of you. 

“Where were you then? Leaving your woman all on her lonesome,” Ransom rubs his fingers together subtly and you scowl at him. 

“Broke the seal,” Lloyd deflects. “What do you care? You wanna hold it next time? 

“Hands are too big,” Ransom cackles. 

“Speaking of,” you pipe up. “The bathroom, where would that be?” 

Lloyd clucks and looks down at you, “down the hall, opposite the kitchen.” 

“Thanks,” you carefully slip away from him, “I’ll be back.” 

“Wait,” Lloyd catches your arm and pulls you back. “Not without this.” 

He leans in before you can react. He bends to press his lips to yours and you can’t repress a surprised squeak. He purrs and the vibration makes your skin crawl. What on earth?! 

You part and ignore the stares you can feel all around. Not just from Ransom but the rest of the room. What is he doing? That’s so embarrassing. 

You force a smile, “uh, be back.” 

You spin and scurry away. That room, those people, are suffocating, and Lloyd, not least of all. You hide in the bathroom, locking the door, and you take the moment of stillness to think. Big mistake as it all starts to set in. 

You drove all the way here under false pretenses. It’s believable that Lloyd would forget to bring the gifts. That tracks but this? The whole pretending to be engaged? What is his game? Is he really trying to impress anyone or is he torturing you? Why? 

You can’t figure any of it out. You gave up trying to understand your boss ages ago, you suppose you should do the same with these people and just get through this. For all your trouble, the food better be fucking delicious. 

You let yourself out of the bathroom and flatten against the door as you nearly collide with another person. Lillian nearly stomps right over you as she holds her stomach and rushes down the hallway. She lets out a sigh. 

“Oh, are you done in there? I’m splitting at the seams,” she trills. 

“Um, yeah, all done,” you sidle away from the door. 

“Could I trouble you for some help?” She asks. “This thing,” she pats her stomach, “I can get down but I can’t get up.” 

“Hm?” You furrow your brow in confusion, “help?” 

“We’re both girls,” she giggles. “And we’ll be sisters soon enough, won’t we?” 

“Um.” 

“You know, a pregnancy at my age, I really can’t strain myself,” she explains. 

“Oh, er, I guess--” 

“Thanks, sweetie,” she nudges you back into the bathroom. You have no choice as she heard you through. 

You stare at the wall as she slams the door and hustles over to the toilet. She pulls up her white dress and turns to sit, her silhouette a blur in your peripheral. You flick your eyes to the ceiling and bounce on your heels. 

Her stream flows out and fills the tense silence. She sighs. 

“Thank the lord,” she groans. “I swear, the little twerp is right on my bladder right now.” 

“Mm,” you nod and glance at the door. 

“I knew we should’ve gone with a surrogate,” she sniffs. “A piece of advice, when he puts one in you, make him suffer.” 

“Puts one...” you blink. “Um, I don’t...” 

“I mean, he’ll have to start trying as soon as the wedding night,” she laughs. “He’s getting up there. His swimmers won’t be as fast, will they? And the way he drinks, they’ll be too groggy to know which way is which.” 

“Um, we’ll worry about the wedding first--” 

“Enjoy it. Once you’re tied down, it’s not very much fun,” she says as she tears of tissue. “Alright then, darling, I need you.” 

You do your best not to see all of her. She reaches for you and you get close. You pull her up to her feet and she squeezes past you to the sink. You look at the toilet and shut the lid, flushing it with a push of the button. She washes her hands with a hum. 

“You’ll be so adorable when you’re big. Like an overstuffed teddy bear,” she chimes. “He’ll love that. He always did hate feeling small.” She twists off the faucet and dries her hands. “You must make him feel like the man he wishes he was.” 

You just look at her. You have no true reason to defend Lloyd, but because she’s so smug it irks you. You look her in the face, even if you feel ridiculous having to look up. 

“Well, he can piss on his own, so I think he’s just fine,” you step around her and swing open the door. The silence that follows you is the only satisfying thing about that night. 

[spicy30]

Modernness of 1400s 006

Pairing: HOTD x Fem!Modern!Reader

Extra: The reader is noted to be bilingual (Spanish speaking) and is familiar with the majority of Latin-based languages, No use of Y/N

Rating: 18+

Not proofread

Tags: @fan-goddess @meowmeowmothermeower @bunxia @your-favorite-god @coolalienstatesmansports @georgiatesulitsyeykite @qwerrtsworld @wegottastayfocus @dakota-rain666 @talilosha @the-deep-dark-abyss @101crows @agustdeeyaa @ggglich-exe @illjhhlisa @deepeststarlightmoon @cluelessteam @a-fruity-snack @i-zenin

Side note: I don't know why it won't let me tag ppl.

WC: 8.9k

“Princess Helaena?” You entered looking at her. She looked up, putting one of her twins down. It still freaked you out that they were born out of sibling incest. “I have…brought a gift and a proposition.” You spoke quietly as you entered the room looking at the twins. 

You bowed and sat before her while she looked at you with a tilted head and wide eyes. It almost hurt to look at her. She wasn’t too far off from your age yet she held such wide child-like eyes. A child with two children. However, Helena was… breathtakingly beautiful. Of course, all Targeyens were as you quickly came to learn. Even the ones you didn’t like were beautiful. Though you don’t think anyone could hold a candle to the woman in front of you. You shook your head when you realized you were staring for a little too long at her. 

“Sorry. I have bought treats for your children and you, along with a gift that I thought you might enjoy.” You cleared your throat and had the snacks brought in. You smiled at your latest creations. While solving the genetics problem, you figured you needed brain food. Though your version of brain food included what was on the platters they had brought in. 

Potato chips, french fries, and popcorn! After nearly three weeks of starving yourself of junk food, you were feigning for something. 

“What are those?” Helaena asked. You picked up a crisp and bit down on it and it let out a crunch. 

“Potatoes with salt. This one too.” You picked up a fry and ate it. “And this is corn, but it is popped. I call it popcorn! It also pops when cooked. Try them, I think your children might like them more than you and I.” 

You watched Helaena eat one and smile as she chewed and you nodded knowingly. It wasn’t long before she called the twins over and they too began eating the treats. As Jaehaera and Jaehaerys took off with the plate you brought out something wrapped in a napkin. “I made this for you. I was told you liked sweets?”

She nodded and looked curiously at the cloth. Should it be anything like what you had her taste she was looking forward to this. She watched you unwrap the cloth, and there was a golden brown circular thing sprinkled with what looked like sugar. In the middle was something purple and it was glossy. She took it and smelled it before taking a bite. It was soft and the filling tasted like plums. Once more she smiled and you nodded knowingly again. 

“So uh,” You grin toward Helaena. “I hear you like dragon riding.”

… 

“Oh man….” You grimaced looking down at the paper. 

Bb:½ 

BB: ¼ 

bb:¼ 

Bb or BB taken. (HC)

Bb:½ 

BB: ¼ 

bb:¼ 

Bb or BB taken (EC)

JV: ¼ LV: ¼ JOV: ¼ 

¼ * ¼ * ¼  = 1/64 or 1.56%

JV: ¼ LV: ¼ JOV: ¼ = 1.56%

1.56% chance of having present phenotypes. 

You redid the math twice before finally moving on to the assumed father who would have dark hair and dark eyes. Keeping the assumed possibilities…it skyrockets, seventy-five perfect that one child is born with dark hair and dark eyes. 

¾ * ¾ * ¾ = 27/64 ≈ 42.2% 

42.2% chance of having present phenotypes. 

You took a deep breath as you cradled your face in your hands, double-checking the math in your head. There was no mistaking it. Officially and deemed by science. Jacaerys Valeyron, Lucerys Valeryon, and Joffery Valeyron were bastards. 

It was visible to anyone to see their parentage, but now here it was in numbers further damaging them. Were you wrong? No. You had checked the math dozens of times. Your math wasn’t wrong, but were you wrong? Wrong for doing this? Was it right? You only did what was asked of you. You suggested it. You were wrong. Were you? This could ruin lives. You could ruin lives. Is that why you’re here? Truly here? Why were you here? Why was this wrong? It was wrong. You were wrong.

You spiraled. You turned your head away from the table and his scent invaded you. You inhaled deeply balling your fists. Jacaerys coat still hung on your chair. Were you wrong?

A knock sounded on your door and you rushed to hide your work and hide Jacaerys’s coat. Stuffing his coat into your suitcase while you tossed the rolled-up paper under your bed you scrambled to your feet to open the door. 

There stood the last person you wanted to see right now. Jacaerys. You put on the best smile you could and extended your hand to him to beckon him inside. That night as you watched the movie your thoughts ran rampant. 

You wondered as you watched him become engrossed in the movie. Such innocent wandering. So many innocents here. You bit your lip. You were unsure of what to do. Go to Otto and tell him? No…you should probably hold off for a little bit. 

…

“Mayhaps, we can have a painter paint your pictures so that you may have them forever.” 

You snapped your head up. “Really? You would do that?” Your lips formed a wobbly smile. “It would mean the world to me to have them painted out.” You reached out in the dark for his hands holding them close to you. “Thank you Jacaerys Valeryon, really. Thank you.” 

Too many innocents. 

There would be too many innocents hurt. If you had proven him a bastard, what would become of his mother’s claim? The last woman they voted against because she simply was a woman. If it was proven Rhaenrya had no true heirs other than her last two children, she would be labeled a whore. You can only imagine the riots and the insults that will be thrown, and then those that would be slaughtered.

As you walked Jacaerys out you were silent thinking over your next steps. If you truly were here to make a change, if you had to change the course of history, then here and now would influence everything for centuries to come. You would influence centuries.

“Good night Prince Jacaerys.” You bowed. It was the first time you had addressed him as much. Your mind swirled with thoughts. To reform civilization. To speedrun progress. You shut the door and looked back towards your fan watching it spin.

“I am here to make a change.” You murmured as your eyes focused towards the window. Your brows furrowed as you nodded. “Okay. I will. I am…”

With that, you pulled another piece of parchment paper and went to grab the finished genetic problem. Rhaenerya must become Queen. If she became Queen, it would bring about a new era and you would make her reign the best there ever was. An era of change and progress brought about by women. The seeds of equality between man and woman would be planted by you and your first seed would be implanting Rhaenyra as Queen. 

There could be no doubts about her children’s legitimacy. So you rewrote the entire equation. Minor differences made big changes and soon with extra scribbles and making the problem more complicated than it should be…that night you were able to legitimize Jacaerys Valeyron, Lucerys Velaryon, and Joffery Valeryron. 

You looked towards the window, squinting your eyes as the sun began to rise. It had taken nearly a night, but your new and revised equation would serve you well. Standing up and grabbing the old equation you walked over to the fireplace. Once you burned this paper, the truth would be burned and your plan would begin. Without a doubt, you tossed it into the fire and it burned bright. You felt the heat lick at your face as you watched the paper shrivel and burn. 

You would speak to Otto and Alicent after your week away to the Riverlands with Helaena. 

…

You dragged your luggage as you walked to the Dragon pit. You struggled to keep up with Heleana who only offered a smile. 

“Wait here, I will bring out Dreamfyre.” She spoke and you nodded and watched her enter the pit. 

You didn’t know what to expect. Yes, you had seen Vermax, but no other dragon since. You didn’t even know what other dragons they had. You knew Aegon had one, but did Aemond have one? What about Daemon or Rhaenerya? Lucerys? You didn’t know. Were there wild dragons? Is there a place where they’re from? Were there other kinds? Like in how to train your dragon. Maybe large sea beasts! You gave a gasp and a smile bloomed on your face. Could you claim one? Oh, shoot! Maybe an ice-spitting one or one like toothless! However, a fire-breathing dragon is still pretty cool. 

The ground rumbled and you looked as a large claw came out. You stepped back in fear and shock as the very large dragon came out with a roar with Helaena on top. Her dragon was certainly prettier than Vermax in your humble opinion. Dreamfyre was pale blue with silver markings, silver crests, and pale blue wings. She was breathtakingly beautiful. However, that didn’t do much for your pounding heart as Dreamfyre snarled at you. 

Maybe riding a dragon wasn’t a good idea. Dreamfyre was a lot larger than Vermax. You watched the helpers strap yours and Helaena’s luggage to Dreamfyre whilst speaking Valyrian. You were still a bit salty about the fact that you could understand next to nothing when they spoke. 

You watched as Helaena giggled and smiled as she hugged Dreamfyre’s snout. You smiled at the sight though you stood off far in the distance awkwardly. 

“Do you like her?” Helena asked as she turned around looking towards you. 

“Like her? Of course, I do!” You grinned pushing back your fear. Helaena gave you a sweet smile. “How or why is she so big?” You asked with a laugh hoping to cover up your nervousness.

“Dreamfyre is about one hundred-” She began softly while petting Dreamfyre. 

“One hundred!? Years!” You cut her off and your volume made Helaena jump a bit. Dreamfyre was quick to snarl as you gave a small whimper and put your hands up backing away. “Sorry! Sorry. It’s just- one hundred years you said!? How old can they get!? How big can they get!?” You asked keeping your eyes on Dreamfyre making sure you could make a run for it if the situation called for it. 

“I don’t know. I know Balerion was about two hundred years old when he died and he was much larger than Dreamfyre and Vhagar is a couple of decades older than Dreamfyre. She is the biggest of all dragons. She is called the Queen of Dragons.” As Helaena spoke your jaw was slightly agape listening to her. Did you have any animals that were like that? Live to what sounds about two to three hundred years? Trees maybe? Tortoises can live for a hundred or so, no? What about crocodiles? Parrots? No, they only lived up to like fifty or sixty. 

You cleared your throat and nodded pointing at the dragon. “Is she safe to approach?” The last thing you wanted was to be burned alive. Not after you just had your dramatic moment of committing to what you were going to do for the rest of your foreseeable future here. Or even worse, get some part of you burned. That would be ugly, and painful. High chance of getting infected as well. Not a good way to die. It was a miracle you hadn’t caught anything. Didn’t they have smallpox here or something? Most importantly has the black plague already passed?

Helaena smiled and nodded as you stepped closer with caution. You say the way Dreamfyre eyed you. She didn’t seem the most pleased with you. Helaena guided your hand towards Dreamfyre scales. You gritted your teeth in fear and leaned back against Helaena. “Wait! Shouldn’t you let her smell me first or something!? Tell her to not bite my hand off!” 

“Dreamfyre won’t bite you,” Helena assured you but it did nothing to calm you. Not as long as Dreamfyre kept looking at you with a look that stated ‘If Helaena wasn’t here you’d be toast. Literally.’

Your hand touched her warm scales and Dreamfyre gave out a huff. You retracted your hand quickly and stepped away, giving out a little squeal and shaking your hands. You took in a deep breath before nodding to Helaena who only gave you an innocent smile. “Okay, I’m ready. To the Riverlands.” 

As you adjusted yourself in the seat you held on tight to Helaena as she commanded Dreamfyre to fly out. Whilst you gritted your teeth Helaena only gave sounds of contentment. Well, at least one of you was enjoying it. As Dreamfyre picked up height you looked over the lands of King’s Landing. You’d like to see these lands a bit better. It would be nice to find a lake. Preferably walking distance or something. You needed to get out more anyway.

“Can we fly closer to the ground, below the clouds? I’d like to look down.” You asked. You assumed Helaena obliged though you could’ve done with a warning as Dreamfyre plunged. You have a high-pitched scream as Helaena only laughs enjoying the weightless feeling.  

Your grip is tight around her waist as you breathe heavily with wide and concerned eyes. Shaking your head you look around watching the unused green lands. Usually, when you look down in airplanes you would see lands cultivated by agriculture. It was almost strange just seeing green undisturbed. In the distance you squint your eyes and what looked like a lake. It wasn’t too far from King’s Landing. You tapped Helaena and pointed to the water. She looked confused but obliged. You gritted your teeth once more and hung onto Helaena for dear life as Dreamfyre made a sharp turn to the right. It only took a minute to reach the lake. It was in the middle of a small valley and coming from a small waterfall. You looked to the southwest and saw that King’s Landing was still in view. If you had to guess it was about three to four kilometers (≈ 2.45 miles) You gave a small nod. Yes, this distance would be good. It wasn’t too far. It was within walking distance. “Helaena, do you know who owns these lands?” 

Helaena shrugged and shook her head. “Who are the Lords near here?” You asked and Heleana paused to think about it. 

“House Rosby, but I think this might be too close to King’s Landing. It might just be the King’s Land.” You gave a hum listening to Helaena. If this was the King’s land, that would work better for you. 

You nodded then told her you were ready to go to the River Lands.

…

“I have already been unseated once before Daemon.” Rhaenerya urged. “Let me at the very least see the children home.” 

“You were unseated due to the uselessness of Laenor, I am not Laenor. I will not leave my brother. The Hightowers have ruled for long enough.” Daemon spoke unbothered by his wife’s dilemma while flexing his thumb. There was some stiffness but the pain was now gone. However, his nose ached. A cunt you were. 

From what he had heard you had left for the Riverlands two days ago with Helaena in search of an herb. He had also heard that you have been whoring yourself out, maids apparently seeing love marks on your chest and your late outings, but who was he to judge? 

Daemon Targaryen. That’s who he was, so he would judge you. He would judge your unusual way of speaking, your lack of manners (had you been a Valyrian woman perhaps he would have overlooked it), and your radical ideas. Everything about you grated him, quite the stroke of luck you must have to be favored by the Queen and his brother. He would’ve had your head by now if it had been anyone else. 

“You should see Jacaerys and Lucerys home.” Daemon looked up from his hand towards Rhaenyra who had a surprised expression apparently not expecting him to agree. “That girl is a minx. Not only does she have the Queen and King’s support, but Aegon and Helaena take a liking to her as well. Jacaerys already seems interested despite being engaged to Baela. I will not have my daughter being left for a slut that can be found on the street of silk.” It would be an embarrassment to him, his family, his heritage. A woman of non-valyrian descent takes the husband from his daughter who is not only fully Valyrian but a dragon rider no less.

“Jacaerys will not father any bastards with that girl much less leave Baela for her.” Rhaenrya held Daemon’s hand. “When I am Queen, I will send her far from here.”

“I’d like to have her executed. Have you yet to see how long Jacaerys spends on Dragon Back during the late hours? That girl has shown him something and now he spends his night searching for them. The boy searches for artists, those who paint portraits, why do you think that is?” Daemon tears his hand away from Rhaenrya. 

“She has healed my father Daemon. What Maesters could not do for over twenty years she has done in a fortnight. If my first action as Queen was to execute her the whole council would call me cruel.” Rhaenrya does not doubt that you have been worming your way into her family, but as it stands she does not have a valid reason to behead you.

“She is despised by the citadel and shows to have no regard for the seven. That girl has plenty of enemies around her, should you behead her, the Old Town will be more favorable to you.” Allies for Rhaenrya’s rule were needed. The first female monarch would need to appeal to everyone. 

“You hate the seven and the citadel. You care little for them, why would we try to please them?” Rhaenrya raised a brow towards her husband. 

“Frame this right and the small folk will despise her. You will be Queen, the first Queen of Westeros.” Daemon looked up towards Rhaenyra as she stood with her hands on her swollen stomach.

“She will likely earn a pardon from Alicent. A sum will be paid to her and the girl will leave back to wherever it is she came from. I will not behead the woman who has saved my father. Once her usefulness is no longer needed then as you said, the Citadel and the High Septons will call for her banishment.” Daemon looks at his wife as she sits down rubbing her belly. You need to go. Now. 

You were quite cumbersome. His brother refused to hear any criticisms of you and with Alicent in his ear, you were untouchable. You had clearly allied yourself with the greens and here in King’s Landing other than a few loyal gold cloaks, Daemon had no one to track you properly. Much to his displeasure Rhaenrya had kept him on Dragon Stone when they married. 

It was a sore spot for him. He left his niece with the impression that she would be able to handle herself and keep the Greens in control. Clearly not. He had no idea how to keep you in check; you did not fear him as much as you once did. That night that he had you running away from him, those days were far behind you. He could only assume that you were wrapping up any princes and princesses you could get your hands on to keep you safe. You had nothing to your name other than the protection of the Greens and now regrettably the future heir to the Iron Throne. 

Your cards were being well played and Daemon felt as if he was the only one truly playing against you. The only one who could see the wolf in sheep's clothing. The only one who saw your scheming and your seduction. The only thing he couldn’t see from you was your end goal. The Iron Throne? To conquer? Conquer what? All of Westeros? You had no dragon and no Valyrian blood as was visible. Mayhaps a spy from strange lands to bring down the Targaryen dynasty. Why? Some free cities weren’t fond of the Valyrians.

Daemon pressed the secret door and walked through the hidden halls of Maegor’s holdfast. As he fastened his cloak around him he heard steps echoing. He paused and listened. More likely than not a rat trapper. He waited and a figure passed him and an unmistakable scent. A conniving little girl you were. When and how did you discover these halls?

His hand itched for his ancestral sword; Dark sister. 

Fuck.

 He had left it in the room, if he were to go back for it he would lose you. Would he get another chance to rid himself of you once and for all? He clenched his jaw and followed you without any weapons. He followed you through the halls. You took twists and turns. Did you know where you were going? Did you know he was following you? Why weren’t you running then? Finally, you stopped and he stopped as well. He saw you press your hand to the wall. There was no door there. You didn’t know where you were going.

He grinned and crept behind you. He heard you give a small gasp and before you could run away he grabbed the hood of your cloak and some of your hair. It would be a while before anyone would find your body. A rip sounded and you were running away from him. He chased after you. You turned the corner. He ran faster but as he turned the corner he felt pain shoot through his face. He groaned but went to punch you, however, you seemed to duct or he misdirected the punch in the dark, he didn’t know, all he knew is that shoved into a nearby wall and suddenly your scent invaded his now bleeding nose as he watched you run back the way you came.

Swallowing the pain he grunted and stood up running after you. Much to Daemon’s displeasure you did eventually find a door and ran out. He chased after you but lost you as you jumped down the stairs and just before you disappeared into the streets of King’s Landing you seemed to turn around. You both stood there, Daemon from the top of the stairs holding his nose and you with all the people and streets of King’s Landing behind you. 

You flipped him off. 

He grunted in frustration as he watched you walk and disappear in the masses of King’s Landing. That was the second time you had caught him by surprise. 

A couple of days later he learned that you had been dealing with madams of whore house in the Street of Silk.

…

The moment you felt the humid air hit you your smile immediately evaporated. The humidity was your worst enemy. It wasn’t long before a castle came into view. It was built upon what looked like a swamp.

“Where are we?” You asked Helaena. 

“Riverrun. The ancestral castle of House Tully. The current lord is Grover Tully.” You hummed as Dreamfyre went to land, though as she roared it startled you causing you to lose your grip on Helaena and nearly slip off. You screamed as you managed to grab onto a rope on the saddle. Helaena gasped and attempted to grab you and in her haste steered Dreamfyre into a sharp left turn. 

You scream again as you help the rope tight. You didn’t dare look down. “Just land her!” You yelled and Dreamfyre dove and you screamed. Maybe a dragon wasn’t such a good idea. 

The sudden change as Dreamfyre gilded whipped you and the rope snapped. You screamed as you were launched into the swamp. You sank into the murky waters and your survival instincts kicked in. You desperately swam upwards, or what you thought was upwards. You were sent into the water spiraling. You were running out of air. As you swam upwards you gave a groan fighting the urge to not scream. A Charley horse now plagued you.

Great. 

Trying to calm yourself down you swam up mermaid style trying to preserve your energy. You took in a large breath as you broke through the water. You aligned yourself into a backstroke position letting your cramping calf float as you swam backwards towards land hearing Helaena shout your name. Dreamfyre had launched you pretty far and now much to your embarrassment people were watching you from the castle as you swam back to shore. 

Finally when you could stand you grimaced as you did your best to get out of the murky water. What if there were crocodiles or worse!? Clearly, things that didn’t exist in your world existed here. Who knows what was in the waters? You made a sound of desperation as you limped out of the water and fell on the grass.

As you rested on the grass you heard buzzing in your head. Great. Of course, swamps and mosquitoes went hand in hand. You swatted it away as you stood up and limped towards Helaena. 

“Are you hurt?” She asked, looking down at you worriedly. 

“Just a cramp.” You paused as an intrusive thought entered your mind. Good lord. What if you caught Malaria!? Your face contorted into one of disgust against your will and suddenly goosebumps covered your arms and your hair stood on end. Under no circumstances could you get bit by mosquitoes or anything here! 

A male voice called out to both you and Helaena. You turned and greeted the…well actually he looked to be around your age, he had a young face. 

“My Lord.” Both you and Helaena greeted each other. The boy or was it a man(?), looking at you with a concerned expression. 

“My lady you appear to have taken quite a fall,” he commented, and although you were completely soaked the back of your neck and face felt hot. 

“Yes, I took a fall…” You trailed off unsure what to say. The faster you leave the place the better. At all costs, you must avoid sickness. The lord invited you inside as Dreamfyre took off. You eyed the dragon from the corner of your eye. Good riddance! The dragon didn’t like you but went a step further and embarrassed you! Madness!

As you limped, Helaena called your name out worriedly as she went to your side. You held your hand out as you gritted your teeth trying to not make any sounds as you went forward. 

“My Lady! You are hurt.” The young lord went to your side. 

“Yes, I swam up too fast. Diver’s cramp. It’s sore, nothing to worry about. It should be better by the morrow” You purse your lips as you hear yourself. ‘By the morrow?’ You had spent entirely too much time here. You were now speaking as they were. You didn’t know how to feel about that.

“Shall I have a knight carry you inside?” Lord Tully offered. You thought for a moment. Well, it would be nice. Lord Tully took your silence as a yes and suddenly you were swept off your feet. 

You hissed as you grabbed onto the knight. “My leg, ser! Please!” 

“Apologies my lady.” The knight was quick to readjust his hand. All you could do was stare at the knight and give a simple smile as his hand was now a little bit higher than what was proper, even by your standards.

Fortunately, you, the young lord, had the insight to send for a bath prepared for you. As the knight carried you up the stairs you were especially grateful. Walking after a fresh cramp was always the worst. Finally reaching your room you smiled giving a friendly tap. “You are a very strong user.” You nodded as he thanked you before leaving.

Much to your displeasure inside the castle it was still very much humid. What you wouldn’t give for your fan right now. This was so much worse than King’s Landing. As you peeled yourself out of the wet dress you limped towards the bath in your room. You sank into the warm water. Honestly cold would’ve been better, but this was fine. 

You scrubbed yourself and waited for your things to be offloaded from Dreamfyre. Find what you came for and go back to King’s Landing. Tomorrow you’d have to go out and you’d be fully covered too, unfortunately.

“My lady, Lord Tully, has asked if there is anything he can offer.” The maid entered your chambers placing your belongings on the side of your bed. 

“Do you have alcohol?” You turned to face the maid. Bug spray had alcohol, no? Your mother used cinnamon to keep away pests such as fruit flies from fruit. Is cinnamon exported from ‘Essos?’ Is cinnamon a thing?

“Alcohol?” The maid asked, tilting her head. 

“Ale, beer, wine. Preferable ale or beer.” You clarified. “Along with that, do you have cinnamon?”

“Of course, I will send for Ale and I’m unsure. We have not imported any goods from Essos. I will ask the kitchen. Anything else?” You shook your head and dismissed her as you began scrubbing yourself. If you didn’t find what you came for there would be a serious issue. At this point, you might need this just as much as the King. 

‘Oh shit!’ You landed on the hard floor and pain shot up your legs as your feet tingled. You groaned as you stood up and looked behind you. Of course, it was Daemon. You stood there trying to ease the pain in your feet. They didn’t exactly have great shoes in this era and the best you had was some sandals and that wouldn’t be any help. If only a second suitcase had washed up with you as well. Where was that second suitcase anyway or the rest of them? Not only did you have your clothes but some sneakers as well. 

On top of that, your hand ached. You weren’t particularly skilled in punching people. You were running out of tricks to sucker punch this man. He wouldn’t just give up! You raised your hand flipping him off before running off. 

‘Sucker.’

It wasn’t long before you reached your destination. You dug into the pockets of your sweater and pulled a piece of paper and of course your prototypes. That night when you returned from your first-ever dragon ride. You had seen a run-down shop that looked like it was going to go out of business. 

Beggars can’t be choosers and this time, you were no beggar.

You knocked on the door and a rancid-smelling man answered. You gave a mute smile trying to breathe too much.

“M’lady this is a late hour.” The man spoke and once more you fought to make a face. 

“Imma busy woman. This is the only time I have.” You looked inside where his family rested—a poor living space. You purse your lips. “Well? It’s rude to not invite someone in.” 

His wife came quickly behind him. She smiled and immediately you were able to see her poor dental hygiene, but there were slight and subtle changes since the last time you saw her.  “M’lady it is quite the mess inside, but please do come.”

You stepped in and luckily it was only messy, not nasty. “Nonsense. It is homely. The unique quirks and the evidence of family is what makes a house a home.” 

‘Smooth.’ You smiled to yourself. The woman was quick to offer you a chair and you gladly took a seat. You pulled out a paper. A little contact of your making. “I can see you have been using my product?” You smile showing off your pretty teeth. “Your teeth are looking better already.” You hammered it in. You needed this deal to go well. It could spell out riches for you.

“Yes! I have gotten so many compliments on my teeth recently, M'lady. This combined with the mint we already chew, I reckon I’ll have teeth as good as you.” The woman beamed and you grinned. 

“That's the idea. I have better teeth than the King himself.” You leaned over the table covering the side of your mouth. “And between us, some would say even better than the Queen herself.” You grinned once more making sure your pearly whites were on full display. “You have a daughter, yes? Start her young and make sure when her teeth are loose, have her pull them out. Don’t let them layer your teeth like a shark. Follow this and she’ll have better teeth than me and of course, a smile is everything. It can make or break someone. Good teeth are the mark of beauty. A man could be missing an eyebrow but the first thing you will notice is a smile. A smile that could win many high suitors.”

Hook.

The man and woman turned to each other with a look you knew anywhere. “You flatter us m’lady, but our daughter would never wed a lord. We’d have no dowry or lands to give.”

Line.

“With this contract, I assure you, a dowry won’t be a problem.” Once more that look appeared in their eyes. The look of ambition. 

And sinker.

“What do you offer m’lady?” The man asked and you grinned. 

This deal was as good as closed. You slid the contract over with a jar of ink and a pen or a feather. “I’ll go over the details, I wouldn't want to blindside you.” You spend the next hour explaining the details of the contract. It was a five-year contract and if both parties were satisfied then the contract would be extended.  

“Well folks gotta make their livin’ normally I’d give a seventy-thirty, but I like y’all. I give it to you for sixty-five-thirty-five. I get sixty-five percent of all profits and you keep thirty-five percent. Sounds good?” You handed over the pen and then looked at it confused. You purse your lips. What's wrong? You were sure you sold it. Answered all their questions, kept the numbers high, and sweet-talked them. That's how you close a deal. Shame them if they don’t think it’s a good offer. 

“We can’t write.” The woman mumbled out. 

‘Shit.’ Did they even know how to do math right? It all depended on their competence. 

‘Note to self, don’t rely on others for a job well done.’ 

“You can’t do math?” You raised a brow.

“Course we do m’lady. We have a shop, we just never learned to read or write.” You smiled. Good, all that matters is counting coins. 

“Alright, we'll have thumbprints, just like this.” You coated your thumb in the black ink and pressed it on your side of the contract. They both followed. 

“When will we start selling these…what do we call them?” The man asked after wiping his thumb on a cloth. “And how much do we sell them for?” The wife asked her husband. 

“Call them…” A brand name was everything. Miswak wasn’t marketable. Maybe you’d steal names from Crest or Colgate. “This brand will be called…‘Sapwood Smiles’ and calls the brush by brush and of course, the charcoal…call it whiting crest. Your slogan could be ‘Timeless Oral Care for Modern Living’ or maybe ‘Your Natural Smile Solution’ or something catchy.” 

“What is ‘oral?’” The man asked as you took back the paper, rolling it up in your hand.

“Oral means mouth in short terms. Oral health is what makes your mouth healthy. Oh, maybe you can do ‘Oral Care Reimagined, Naturally.’ Natural remedies always appeal to a certain demographic.” You stood up and prepared to leave. After all, you had one more stop to get to. “The shipments will arrive in a week or two. I will personally deliver myself. You will sell the biobrush for one copper star and one groat. The whitening crest or just crest will be sold for two copper Groats and one halfgroat. However, should they purchase two it will be the price for two copper stars. Give them a deal. Save them money. After all, I sympathize with the commons, I myself came from humble beginnings. I know what it is to live at the bottom.” And you also knew that you needed to play just a little dirty to get ahead. 

With that, you nodded and bid them goodbye and once more pulled your cloak in over your head. One last meeting in the Street of Silk. You would bet that this idea would be the real money maker. At least the fastest way you could start making money now. You were sure this would catch fast within the brothels.

…

“I’m afraid of the rats,” Helaena murmured as you braid small braids in her hair. You both had been talking all morning about anything and everything. Such a barbaric world this girl lived in. 

“The rats?” You question. Aegon had told you about his sister-wife's strange sayings. 

“No one listens. The rats will come bearing a hollow savior.” Helaena continued and you furrowed your brows. Helaena turns to you with a sad smile. “A dawn of gilded skies, a great age shall rise. A betrayal…” She trailed off looking deep into your eyes. Her lilac eyes seemed to drown you. You felt a sharp pain on the sides of your jaw travel to your tear ducts and your waterline began to fill with tears. It’s like she wasn’t even there. As if she weren’t speaking to you. “A betrayal’s kiss shall usher in the forlorn.”

You drowned within her gaze. A deep pain bloomed in your chest as if you were struggling to breathe. As if you were drowning in waters that brought you here. You couldn’t understand why it hurt. It hurt so much and you felt her cold hands on her cheek. 

“If you will deliver us.” Was her final whisper before she stood up leaving you in the room. Tears streamed down your eyes. Only when she left the room did you feel your breath return to you. You bent, gasping as tears fell onto the carpet. What was she talking about? 

It took you quite a while before you were finally able to get your heartbeat under control and your breathing steady. You shook your head before you limped over to the cinnamon brought to you. Deciding it would be best to distract yourself from whatever that was you began melting shavings of soap. Once it has melted you pour it into the warm water that was bought for you. Then you splashed some ale into the cinnamon water mixture. Once that was settled you let it sit while you stretched your calf lightly. 

Wouldn’t want another cramp. 

Aegon was right. His was creepy because what in tarnation was that!? Most importantly, why did you cry? You couldn’t understand what you were seeing but in that moment it felt like you were drowning or something heavy was sitting atop your chest. Thinking back, you swore you heard pleas and what was this whole thing about ‘If you will deliver us?’ You were NOT a godsent nor a prophet. That misunderstanding nearly got you killed on your first day by Daemon. That was the last thing you wanted to be. Too much responsibility entirely. Not to mention you weren’t one for religion. What god exactly would you be receiving prophecies from? The smith? You scoffed out a laugh at the thought.

Religion here wasn’t something you had paid much attention to. The Great Sept of Baelor seems to be like their cathedrals. Perhaps one of these days you should pay a visit to them, see if their artwork compares to that of catholicism, or if there are any similarities with any other religions. 

The Seven represented by a seven-pointed star reminded you of paganism. No doubt the seven would be villainized like the pagans were. Throw in the excuse of the star looking too much like the star of the pagans and of course, there are the ‘seven deadly sins’ otherwise known as the carnal sins. The Seven were called ‘new gods’ and there were also those called the ‘old gods.’ To your understanding, they were the faith established here by the First Men…or was it Rhoynar or maybe the Andals? No, the Andals brought the faith of Seven, right? Then who is Rhoynar? 

What other faiths were there here? In your world, many faiths exist, including Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, and Judaism just to name a few. From what you can recall the Eastern part of the hemisphere is much more diverse in terms of religion. In the Western part i.e. the Americas, Christianity dominates with its subsections through the continents. Of course, there is Catholicism that dominates both Central and South America, then there is North America with Mormonism, Orthodoxy, and Protestantism. The Eastern part which contains Asia, Africa, Europe, and Oceania, to your knowledge was more diverse. Thought Europe was largely held by Christianity, Italy housed the smallest country in the world inside of Rome; Vatican City was home to the Catholic religion, then the UK held the Church of England, but a majority of Irish are Catholic, then you have Asia which holds many religions but the most prominent are Islam and Buddhism no? Was it Hinduism? 

Either way, you wonder if Essos would be the same. Hosting many different types of religion as opposed to just two. The short amount of time you’ve spent here in the Riverlands you’ve learned that beliefs are separated by region. The North goes by the ‘old ways’ while the South abides by the ‘new gods.’ You’d like to go North one day. You much preferred the cold to the hot and humid South. However, Dragon Stone was nice. A constant breeze was always nice. 

You stood up and limped over to your bowl. You’d have to leave it to sit for another hour or two. That was fine, you couldn’t go out today to find what you needed anyway. Your calf was still pretty sore and you didn’t want to force it. Besides you needed a way to test your little concoction to see if it would work and for that, you need to catch some mosquitoes. Annoying little things. 

Dressing yourself you walk out of your room with a slight limp and a glass jar in your hands. You greeted the Lord Oscar Tully who assigned you a guard as you walked out. You made sure you were covered, even if it meant you’d sweat like crazy in this humid heat. It was fine however, it meant it would attract more pests. You walked out with the knight trailing behind you. You went to sit in a nearby log near still water. That's where mosquito eggs were laid and consequently where you could find the blood-sucking mosquitoes. 

Before you sat down you kicked the log making sure there was nothing in it. After kicking it a few more times and nothing came out you sat down. Slowly you lifted the sleeve of your dress and waited. It was humid and you were sweating quite a bit. It wasn’t long before I heard buzzing. Your head twitched as a response but you sat and waited. 

“My Lady?” The guard questioned. 

“I’m collecting mosquitoes for an experiment. I do hate these things, if all goes well, trust me, you’ll love me. These things can spread diseases, you know? I’d rather not catch any when I go out tomorrow, that means not being bit by these little bloodsuckers.” You explained that the mosquitos landed and you swept them up putting them in the jar.

You could feel the judgment radiating off the man. Oh well. You could make a fortune out of this. You needed the money and of course, there wouldn’t be any generated until next week. You had to pick up the shipment of miswak from the ships and had to grate charcoal. Once you had the money you’d generate jobs as well. Now that King Viserys was going back into politics before you’d make Rhaenyra queen you had to stabilize yourself first. The King seemed to like you a lot better than his younger brother and his daughter did. 

Of course, once the ‘truth’ about Rhaenrya’s children was out your protection from anyone would fly out the window due to you being of no use to Alicent and Otto. Speaking of Alicent ever since those rumors about you spread well she hasn’t been as inviting as she once was. Your time was running out and if you didn’t play your cards right, the rope would be cut and the guillotine blade would fall on your neck. 

King Viserys was your best option to solidify yourself. You need to make yourself invaluable and of course, do a little PR. If your head would be cut off, then you would need riots in the streets. That started with giving the people basic human necessities which was easy enough. They lived like trash. 

As you continued to catch mosquitos you racked your brain. A swear system would be nice. Certainly would be great for your nose. How you hated the smell of King’s Landing. You could smell the shit from five miles away. Not to mention it would get rid of that awful chamber pot. You hated using that thing. It was times like that made you miss the modern world.

Actually, everything makes you miss the modern world. It was torture living here. What you wouldn’t give for a nice hot shower, bug spray, air freshener, cars, trains, electricity, AC, the internet, or really anything from your time. How did the water system work? How did the plumbing system work? Speaking of which, you needed to develop a better water filter, which was easy enough. You already had a concept in your mind. 

You looked into the jar and decided that was enough. Capping it you stood up and walked back. 

“What are you going to do with them, my lady?” The guard asked as you both walked back towards the castle. 

“Test a bug-repellent spray.” You said you were uninterested as ideas ran in your head of how to solidify your position before you installed Rhaenyra as queen.

“How would that work?” He asked in a small mumble as if embarrassed to be asking. A smile bloomed on your face. How you loved explaining things. 

“Hurry on inside and I’ll show you!” You grinned at the man as you both began walking inside with haste. 

Once you both were inside you sat down on the nearest chair and sat down the jar. You then sent a maid to fetch your bowl of cinnamon water. 

“Okay, I want you to watch.” You put your hand over the jar holding it there. “Mosquitoes use three ways to locate prey. Mosquitoes, the females in particular, have a great sense of smell and that’s because only they suck blood. That is how they produce eggs, males on the other hand only feed off fruit because their needle-like proboscis isn’t strong or sharp enough to pierce human skin like the female is.” You grin up at the man and the other who had come along.

“Pretty interesting isn’t it? When they are near you they can smell the sweat or more specifically certain compounds within your sweat that you emit which draws them in. Next is the carbon dioxide you exhale.” You looked up and gave a big inhale. “We inhale oxygen.” Then you exhaled. “And exhale carbon dioxide.” You smiled up towards the guards who gave a nod simply agreeing with what you said. “Finally, what I think is most cool and what you’re going to see right now, is that they can sense body heat. Look.” You took your hand away and where your hand was resting were mosquitoes.

The guards let out a sound of amusement looking at the jar and seeing how the mosquitoes lined the imprint of your hand. “Because of the strong sense of smell, one can exploit that, and theoretically, make it a weakness. See if I opened this jar and placed my hand above the assumption that they would feast on my palm, but…” The maid returned with your bowl and you wet the palm of your hand. Then you twist open the lid placing your soaked hand. “With this, it produced a strong smell that in turn disoriented them thus repelling them.” You placed your hand and just as you predicted they did not get near you much less try to feast. 

More sounds of amusement sounded throughout the hall. Quiet the crowd you had, including the Lord Oscar Tully and Helaena who had curious eyes yet laced with something else. You looked away from her. “Now to show they would take the opportunity to eat I’m going to let them try to eat on my other palm which is not coated with my formula.” You capped the jaw and let the mosquitoes reorient themselves before you offered your other palm and they saw as they went to feed on you. Before they bit you took your hand away. No chances were going to be taken.

“What is this ‘formula?’” The Lord asked and you turned to him. You had two choices. One: You could sell the formula and make a quick buck or two: You could do some charity. A good image here would be good. The Riverlands are in the middle of everything. The word would spread. You needed a good reputation, only now did you realize you needed one everywhere, not just in King’s Landing. 

You smiled as you announced the name of your formula. Of course, you named it after yourself. You will be known throughout all the lands of Westeros.

…

“No more freaky tellings, yes?” You asked Helaena cautiously as you rubbed your formula all over your legs and arms. While Helaena did look a bit dejected she nodded as she too rubbed your formula over herself. “Okay then, let’s find that plant!”

“Five shadows shall creep across the age of light…seeds of-.” You heard Helaena mumble as you both walked into the forest. A sudden weight on your chest began to press down.

“Helaena!” You called her and she looked at you with innocent eyes. “Stop. Listen.” You stopped and a serious facial expression overtook your face. “I don't know what you’re saying and it’s not that I don’t want to listen, but it makes me…deeply uncomfortable and brings up memories I’d rather not remember. Please, stop it.” 

You watched Helaena blink and nod before turning away. Great. Now you feel bad, but it had to be done. You walked cautiously about the surrounding green. This was taking forever and you just wanted to go back to King’s Landing where it wasn’t as humid and your fan was constantly on. 

“What are you looking for, my lady?” The same guard from two days ago asked. Both you and Helaena had taken a guard whilst you went to search for your plant, though after you had told her to stop Helaena had left elsewhere. Hopefully not too far. The last thing you needed was a lost princess. 

You continued to walk forward looking around. “It is a bushy annual plant, ranging from 1 to 6 feet tall, depending on the variety and growing conditions. It has a central stalk from which multiple branches emerge, creating a symmetrical shape.” You moved a branch out of the way avoiding the vines. “Its leaves have serrated edges and are deeply lobed, usually with 5 to 9 narrow, pointed leaflets radiating from a central point. The color ranges from light to deep green, occasionally with purple or reddish hues under certain conditions.”

A breeze hit you and you picked up a familiar scent. You smiled as you went forward trying to catch the smell again. “The leaf and stem itself are often sticky. Then of course there are the flowers it has. The flower produces clusters of small, dense flowers in the female plants.” You spoke and a light green color caught your eye. 

“Plants can be male or female?” The guard asked, confused, chasing after you. 

“Not exactly. Plants can have male and female genitalia. Some can even change their gender and can self-pollinate creating exact copies of themselves, while others rely on pollinators such as bees or hummingbirds just to name some.” You saw Helaena playing with a spider that was entirely too big for your comfort. You grimaced watching the spider crawl on her hand. “Come on Helaena, it could bite you.” 

You saw her look up and nod before releasing the spider.

Ew. 

You smiled and dragged her along. If you found this plant, it would be gold. “Pollinators?” You heard the guard murmur as you felt another breeze and once more there was that scent. You were grinning from ear to ear barely suppressing your smile.

You broke through a treeline and there it was.

“What is that?” Helaena asked. 

You walked to the tall plant taking a bud and inhaling that unmistakable scent. 

“Yerba Buena.”

Note: And the plot finally begins. Pls talk to me! Let me know your thoughts! Also I can confirm that hiding behind a wall then surprise attacking them with a punch does work! But it hurts if you don't know how to punch right.

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[jaeyunluvbot]

i miss you, i'm sorry

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 angst, exes to lovers, happy ending

word count 𝟅𝟈 5.3k

NOT PROOFREAD

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Your apartment felt too quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy on your chest. Felix stood in the middle of the living room, his hands in his hoodie pockets, his face unreadable. It was one of the rare times you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that scared you.

“You deserve better than this,” he said, voice soft but firm, tinged with an unfamiliar edge.

“I deserve you,” you argued, your voice cracking. Your hands trembled at your sides, and you didn’t know if it was from anger or heartbreak. Maybe both.

He shook his head, his lips pressing into a grimace as he avoided your eyes. “Y/N… I can’t give you what you need. I’m always gone, and when I’m here, I’m still not here. You’ve been patient, more than I deserve, but I see what it’s doing to you.”

Your chest tightened, and the tears you’d been holding back finally spilled over. “I’m not asking for anything else, Lix. I know it’s hard, but I love you, and I thought—” Your voice caught. “I thought you loved me too.”

“I do,” he said, and his voice cracked in a way that made your knees feel weak. “That’s why I’m letting you go.” You could see tears welling up in his beautiful eyes and that made you want to run to him even more, but you hold yourself back, not sure he’d even want you near him.

You watch as he grabs his backpack off the floor, sending one last look at you, sighing when you refuse to meet his eyes, “I’m doing this for you, Y/N, I love you too much to keep doing this to you.”

You finally look into his eyes and he feels his heart splinter into pieces as he sees your red-rimmed eyes, tears slowly falling down your cheeks, “if you loved me, you’d stay.”

He sighs once more and turns away from you, heading towards the door, “I hope you can move on and find someone better, I’ll send the guys to pick up the rest of my stuff later.”

You desperately want to grab him, to scream in his face that he’s hurting you more by leaving, but instead you watch him go, shoulders heaving as you struggle to breathe.

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The sound of the doorbell pulled you from the haze you’d been lost in for the past week. For a moment, you debated not answering it. The idea of facing anyone felt unbearable, but the bell rang again, persistent and sharp.

With a deep breath, you wiped at your face, hoping to look somewhat composed, and opened the door.

It was Chan, Hyunjin, and Seungmin.

“Hey,” Chan said softly, his eyes scanning your face. His usual warmth was shadowed by hesitation, as if he didn’t know how to approach you in this state.

You tightened your grip on the door, leaning against it to steady yourself. “Hi.”

“We, uh… We’re here for Felix’s things,” Hyunjin said, his voice quieter than usual. He glanced over his shoulder, like he wanted to be anywhere else but here.

You nodded, stepping back to let them in. The apartment felt too big, too empty without Felix’s presence, even though his things were still scattered around. The members hesitated for a moment before stepping inside, their movements careful, almost reverent.

“Is he okay?” you asked, breaking the silence as they started packing his things into boxes.

Chan looked at you, his expression softening. “He’s… coping, I think. This wasn’t easy for him, Y/N.”

You laughed bitterly, crossing your arms over your chest. “Right.”

Hyunjin stopped mid-step, his eyes flickering between you and Chan. Seungmin nudged him gently, silently urging him to keep packing.

“It’s not like that,” Chan said gently, setting down a stack of books. “You know how much he cares about you. He just… he really thought he was doing the right thing.”

“The right thing?” you echoed, your voice rising. “By leaving me? By letting you all pack up his stuff, he can’t even face me, won’t even give me a say in ending our relationship?”

Chan’s shoulders sagged, and for a moment, he looked as lost as you felt. “I tried to talk him out of it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “We all did. But he wouldn’t listen. He thought you deserved better.”

“Better,” you repeated, shaking your head. Tears stung at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. “He doesn’t get to decide that for me.”

No one had an answer for that, and the silence that followed felt suffocating.

Hyunjin was the first to break it, his voice soft. “For what it’s worth, Y/N… he looked just as broken as you do right now. Maybe more.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to turn away before they could see the tears spill over. “Just… take his stuff and go.”

Chan hesitated, but eventually nodded. “We’ll be quick.”

As they carried out the boxes, you couldn’t bring yourself to watch. Instead, you stared out the window, focusing on the city skyline in the distance. It wasn’t until the door clicked shut behind them that you let the sobs escape, your chest heaving as you crumpled onto the couch.

Somewhere deep down, you wanted them to tell Felix how broken you seemed. Maybe then he’d realize that this “better life” he wanted for you didn’t exist without him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Felix thought throwing himself into work would dull the ache.

Rehearsals became his only reprieve, every movement, every beat, an excuse to avoid the hollow pit in his chest. He stayed at the studio later than anyone else, perfecting choreography that didn’t need perfecting, re-recording verses that were already flawless. The other members noticed, of course they did—they weren’t blind.

“Lix,” Chan said one night, watching Felix push through yet another round of dance practice. The rest of the group had gone home hours ago, but Felix stayed, drenched in sweat, his breaths coming in short gasps as he went through the routine again.

“What?” Felix snapped, the sharpness in his tone unusual but expected.

Chan frowned but didn’t press further. He could see the exhaustion in Felix’s eyes, the weight he carried every time someone mentioned your name.

On stage, Felix was the picture of professionalism, his radiant smile masking the storm raging inside him. Fans screamed his name, but every cheer felt empty. He told himself it was for the best, that this was what you deserved—a version of him you didn’t have to suffer through.

But at night, when the noise died down and the hotel rooms felt too quiet, he’d reach for his phone out of habit. Your contact name stared back at him like a wound that refused to heal. He couldn’t delete it. He couldn’t let go, even though he already had.

Felix watched your Instagram, knowing you’d unfollowed him, but he still scrolled through your old posts, searching for pieces of the life you were living now. The last thing he wanted was to see you suffering because of him, but even the thought of you smiling without him sent a fresh wave of pain through his chest.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

If Felix was drowning himself in work, you were drowning in everything else.

Your days blurred together—wake up, force yourself out of bed, put on a happy face for your friends. Nights were worse. They were quiet, and the emptiness left too much space for your thoughts.

You told yourself not to look. Don’t check his Instagram. Don’t search his name on Twitter. Don’t go down the rabbit hole of fancams and updates from the tour. But your resolve never lasted.

Every night, you found yourself scrolling through endless pictures and videos.

The first time you saw him on stage, glowing under the lights with that smile that had once been yours, it felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. You stared at the screen, taking in every detail—his expression, his energy, the way he interacted with fans. He looked happy.

But he wasn’t, was he? You knew that smile better than anyone. You could see the cracks if you looked hard enough.

“Y/N, you have to stop,” your best friend said one night, catching you mid-scroll. “This isn’t helping you.”

You nodded, wiping at your eyes and setting your phone down. But it didn’t stop. It was a habit you couldn’t break, a lifeline to the person who’d once been your everything.

You replayed your last moments with him over and over, the way he avoided your gaze when he said it was over. The way his voice broke when he told you that you deserved better.

Better.

You weren’t sure what that even meant anymore. All you knew was that you felt worse every day, no matter how hard you tried to rebuild your life.

Even hanging out with friends felt hollow. You laughed, you smiled, but your heart wasn’t in it.

Because no matter how far you tried to move on, a part of you was still stuck in that apartment, watching the love of your life walk away.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few months later, the tour was over. Months of grueling travel, sold-out arenas, and sleepless nights had finally come to an end. For the first time in what felt like forever, the members of Stray Kids stepped into the familiar comfort of home.

But for Felix, it didn’t feel like home.

The others were buzzing with excitement, already talking about their plans—family visits, long naps, or eating meals they’d missed during the tour. Felix stayed quiet, dragging his suitcase through the apartment like a ghost.

Chan noticed, of course. He always did.

“Hey, man,” he said softly as Felix sank onto the couch, staring at his phone. “You alright?”

Felix nodded without looking up. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Chan didn’t push, but his frown lingered. Felix hadn’t been the same since the breakup, and no amount of screaming fans or bright lights had been able to fix that.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You hadn’t noticed they were back.

You’d stopped checking their social media, stopped asking mutual friends about Felix, stopped torturing yourself with glimpses of a life you were no longer part of. It had taken months, but you’d learned to keep your distance. Deleting most of your social media apps had been the first step to begin healing from your pain.

It wasn’t that you didn’t miss them. You did. The boys had been like family to you at one point. But being around them would only open wounds that had barely started to close.

When your phone buzzed that afternoon, you hesitated before picking it up.

It was a text from Hyunjin.

Hyunjin: Hey, we’re back! I was thinking maybe we could grab coffee or something? I miss talking to you.

You stared at the message, your heart twisting. You wanted to respond, to say you missed him too. But you couldn’t.

You set your phone down and ignored it.

A few hours later, another text came through.

Chan: Hey, Y/N. Just wanted to let you know we’re home. Hope you’re doing okay. Let me know if you need anything.

This one was harder to ignore. Chan had always been like an older brother to you, someone you could count on no matter what. But replying meant opening a door you’d worked so hard to close.

Your phone buzzed again, this time with a call from Jeongin. You let it go to voicemail.

“Did she reply?” Hyunjin asked, leaning against the counter as Chan checked his phone.

Chan shook his head. “No. I don’t think she will.”

Jeongin frowned, flopping onto the couch. “It’s weird, isn’t it? She used to always be around. It’s like… she’s just gone now.”

“She needs space,” Seungmin said simply, though his tone carried an unspoken sadness.

Felix sat silently in the corner, his phone clutched in his hands. He hadn’t reached out—not yet. He knew you wouldn’t respond. Why would you? He was the reason everything had fallen apart.

“She’s doing what she needs to do,” Chan said, though even he looked unsure. “We can’t blame her for that.”

Hyunjin sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I just… I feel like we lost her too, you know? Not just Felix. All of us.”

The room fell quiet, the weight of the unspoken truth settling over them like a heavy blanket.

Felix finally looked up, his voice barely above a whisper. “She deserves to be happy. Even if it’s without us.”

No one responded, but the silence said enough.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Your friends had insisted you show up to this date, practically dragging you to the salon earlier that day. “You need this,” they said, their voices full of determination. “It’s time to move on.”

So, there you were, sitting across from a genuinely kind guy named Daniel at a fancy restaurant, your hair perfectly styled, makeup flawless, and a little black dress that had you feeling confident for the first time in months.

Daniel was sweet, polite, and easy to talk to. You learned he’d just gotten out of a long-term relationship too—his ex had left him, and while he was still nursing the sting of it, he was trying to move forward.

You bonded over heartbreak and the awkwardness of starting over. He made you laugh with his dry humor and clever commentary on the overly pretentious menu.

But as much as you liked him, something was missing. No spark. No butterflies. Just… nothing.

You were halfway through dessert, smiling politely as Daniel shared a story about his college days, when your phone buzzed on the table.

“Sorry,” you said, glancing at the screen. The number was unfamiliar, but something in your chest tightened. “I should take this.”

“Go ahead,” Daniel said, gesturing for you to answer.

You pressed the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hi, is this Y/N?” a professional voice asked. “This is ASAN Medical Center. We have a patient named Lee Felix admitted earlier today. You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

Your heart dropped, the words hitting like a punch to the stomach. “What? Is he okay? What happened?”

“He’s stable, but we recommend you come in. We can explain more when you’re here.”

You nodded, even though they couldn’t see you. “I—I’ll be there.”

Hanging up, you took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. Daniel’s concerned expression cut through your spiraling thoughts.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You shook your head, grabbing your purse. “It’s… complicated. I’m really sorry, but I have to go.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, smiling gently. “Family emergency?”

“Something like that,” you muttered, standing up. You reached for your wallet, but Daniel stopped you.

“Don’t worry about it. Just go.”

You hesitated, then gave him a small, apologetic smile. “Thank you. And… you’re a great guy, really. But I think we both know this isn’t meant to be.”

Daniel chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, I felt that too. Go take care of your person.”

The phrase hit harder than it should have, but you didn’t have time to unpack it. You thanked him again and rushed out of the restaurant, your heels clicking loudly against the polished floors.

The taxi ride to the hospital was a blur. Your mind raced with questions, fears, and the nagging ache in your chest that you hadn’t been able to shake since the breakup.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The drive felt like it had taken hours, and by the time you reached the hospital, your hands were trembling, and you weren’t sure if it was from fear, anger, or something else entirely.

The fluorescent lights in the hospital hallways buzzed faintly as you followed the nurse toward Felix’s room. The air was sterile, cold, and too quiet, amplifying the pounding of your heart in your chest.

You felt like you might be sick. Every step felt heavier than the last, memories of Felix flooding your mind. The way he’d smile at you like you were his entire world. The way he’d whispered sweet promises  in the quiet of your shared moments. And the way he’d broken your heart when he told you he wasn’t good enough.

The nurse stopped outside a door, her face kind but indifferent. “He’s in here,” she said softly before stepping away.

You stood frozen, staring at the closed door. Your breath came in shallow gasps, and your stomach twisted painfully. Why am I even here? you thought. But you knew the answer—because even after everything, you cared. You always had, and probably always would.

After a moment of gathering your courage, you pushed the door open.

The sound of the door caught their attention immediately. Chan was seated in a plastic chair near the bed, arms crossed, while Felix was propped up against the pillows, pale and tired but unmistakably himself.

Both their heads whipped toward you.

“Y/N?” Felix’s voice was weak, his eyes wide with shock. “What are you doing here?”

“The hospital called,” you explained, still standing in the doorway. “They said you were admitted, and I’m… I’m still listed as your emergency contact.”

Chan frowned, standing up. “We didn’t expect—”

You cut him off, smiling softly, but clearly a little hurt. “I just… wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.”

Felix looked down, guilt flashing across his face. “I—sorry. I should’ve removed your name. That was selfish of me.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, brushing his apology aside. “I just needed to know you were okay.”

His eyes flicked back to yours, scanning your face as if searching for something. “You look… good.”

The compliment caught you off guard, and you shifted uncomfortably. “Oh, thanks. I was kind of on a date.”

Felix froze, his expression crumbling before he masked it. “Oh. I—” He stumbled over his words, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry for… interrupting your night.”

“It’s fine,” you said again, this time more curtly. “But now that I know you’re not alone, I’m probably going to go.”

You turned to leave, ignoring the tight feeling in your chest and the weight of Felix’s gaze on your back.

You were halfway down the hall when you heard someone call your name. Turning, you saw Chan jogging to catch up with you. His face was serious, his eyes tinged with urgency.

“Y/N, wait,” he said, stopping just in front of you.

“What, Chan?” you asked, your voice sharp, your emotions fraying. “What could you possibly want to say to me right now?”

He hesitated, then spoke in a rush. “Please. Don’t let him go.”

You blinked, his words not registering at first. “What?”

“You heard me,” Chan said, his voice quieter now, but no less urgent. “He misses you. I know he does. He’s been miserable this whole time, Y/N.”

Your stomach twisted. “Are you serious right now? He’s the one who ended things. He’s the one who said I deserved better. How can you ask me to fight for something he didn’t even want to fight for himself?”

Chan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “He thought he was doing the right thing. He thought he was protecting you. But he’s realized how wrong he was. I’m begging you, just… talk to him. Please.”

You shook your head, tears stinging your eyes. “I don’t know if I can. You don’t understand how much it hurt, Chan. How much he hurt me.”

“I know,” Chan said softly. “And I’m sorry. But I also know Felix, and I know he loves you. He’s just scared. And if you walk away now, I don’t think he’ll ever forgive himself—or me—for letting you go.”

You hesitated, his words gnawing at the walls you’d built around your heart.

“Just talk to him,” Chan pleaded. “If nothing else, you deserve to say what you need to say. Please.”

After a long moment, you exhaled shakily. “Fine. I’ll talk to him. But don’t expect anything, Chan.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” he said, relief washing over his face. “Thank you.”

With trembling hands and a storm of feelings swirling in your chest, you turned back toward Felix’s room, unsure if you were ready for what came next.

You stepped back into the room, your heart pounding like a drum in your chest. Felix looked up, his eyes widening when he saw you. He was startled, as if he hadn’t expected you to come back. Chan shot you a quick glance, then slipped out silently, leaving the two of you alone.

The door clicked shut, and the tension in the room was suffocating. You crossed your arms, standing by the door, unsure where to start.

“Why?” you finally said, your voice harsher than you intended. “Why now?”

Felix blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

You laughed bitterly, taking a few steps closer to the bed. “I mean, why are you doing this now? After months of silence, after breaking me into pieces and leaving me to pick them up on my own, why now? Why drag me back into this?”

He looked down, fiddling with the edge of the blanket draped over his lap. “I didn’t mean to drag you into anything,” he said quietly. “I didn’t even know they’d call you. But seeing you here…” He swallowed hard, his voice breaking. “It just made me realize how much I miss you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “You miss me? That’s rich, Felix. Where was that when I was crying myself to sleep every night? Where was that when I begged you to stay, when you left me?”

He flinched, your words hitting him like a slap. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” he murmured, his voice filled with regret.

“The right thing?” you repeated, your voice rising. “The right thing would’ve been to fight for us! But instead, you gave up, Felix. You left me.”

His hands clenched the blanket, his knuckles white. “I know,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I know I hurt you, and I hate myself for it. But I thought I was protecting you. I thought you deserved someone who could give you more than I could.”

You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s been for me? How much it hurt to see you everywhere and know I wasn’t part of your life anymore?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I was wrong. I miss you, Y/N. I miss everything about you. And the thought of you with someone else…” He looked up at you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “It kills me.”

Your heart clenched, but you forced yourself to stay firm. “You don’t get to say that, Felix. You don’t get to come back now, when I’ve finally started to put myself back together, and tell me you miss me.”

“I know,” he said, his voice desperate. “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. But I can’t go another day without trying. I love you, Y/N. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

You looked away, his words cutting through your defenses. “Do you know how hard it’s been for me to even think about moving on?” you said, your voice trembling. “I was starting to feel okay again. And now you’re here, saying all of this, and I don’t know what to do with it.”

Felix pushed himself up slightly, wincing but determined. “I know it’s unfair,” he said, his voice stronger now. “But I’m asking you to let me make it right. I can’t promise it’ll be perfect, but I swear I’ll do everything I can to make you happy. Just… please.”

Your chest heaved as you struggled to keep your emotions in check. Part of you wanted to walk out and never look back, to protect yourself from more heartbreak. But another part of you, the part that still loved him despite everything, wanted to stay.

“Do you mean it?” you asked, your voice barely audible. “Do you really mean it this time?”

Felix’s gaze was steady, unwavering. “With everything I have.”

Silence hung between you, heavy and charged. Then, finally, you let out a shaky breath. “If we do this again,” you said, your voice firm, “you don’t get to run. No more deciding what’s best for me without talking to me first. We fight for it, no matter how hard it gets. Got it?”

A tear slipped down Felix’s cheek, but he smiled—a real, hopeful smile. “Got it.”

You sighed, the weight on your chest easing ever so slightly. “Okay. Let’s try again.”

Felix reached for your hand, his touch warm and familiar. And for the first time in months, you let yourself hope.

You don’t end up going home that night, falling asleep in the hard plastic hospital chair, only waking up when the nurses knocked softly on the door to let you know that Felix was free to leave.

The two of you take a cab to your place, immediately crawling into your bed together, the memories held in your apartment no longer feeling like a crushing weight over you, but a reminder that the two of you can work it out.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

masterlist.

[imsquat]

yayyyy 😁👍❤️

[yougavememyopia]

Tags: Dubcon 18+, fem reader receiving, sub male yandere, kidnapping

-----------------------♡♡-------------------------

He wore you down.

You stopped pushing him and yelling almost half an hour ago. His face was buried in your neck, his nose brushing against a sensitive spot. You tried once more to push him away, but that only made him hold you tighter. One of his legs was over your waist, and one of his arms around your shoulders. He held you tightly, making sure you weren't able to escape.

It didn't matter. You couldn’t escape even if you tried, your hands and legs were tied. "Let.. go," you weakly protested, too tired to move your body.

"I told you an hour ago, I'm not letting go." He mumbled against your neck and then moved up to whisper in your ear. "I'm never letting you go. We're going to be together forever."

Shivers ran down your spine. His voice echoed in your ear. You were so tired and his hug was so comfortable.

"Augh... This can't be happening."

Your nose was invaded by the sweet smell of his cologne. His arms tightened even more, squeezing the life out of you.

"I love you.. I love you so much. Is it so bad to just let me take you? Please, let me have you. I'm tired of watching you be sad. I can make you happy. So, so happy..."

You scoffed. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"No." He began kissing your neck. It felt nice. The wet feeling of his tongue made you groan. "Doesn't that feel good? Don't you want this feeling to last forever? A cute boy like me... here for whatever you need."

You could feel his grin. He was trying to use pleasure to manipulate you. His hand moved to your chest, squeezing your breast in his hand. You gasped. The thin shirt made it clear how hard your nipples were already. He rolled it between his fingers. His other hand came in to join. Both of them palming and messaged your chest. He started moaning softly in your ear.

"Mmh... This feels so much better than when you do it by yourself, right? My hands are bigger, warmer..."

He became harsher with his grip, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Mumbling about how he can be there for you, how your life will be so much better with him. You didn't protest, just enjoying the arousing feeling he was causing.

"Should I go lower? You're clenching your thighs together. Do you want me to touch you? Please, can I? Can I? Please, please, please?"

He sucked on your earlobe, not waiting for you to speak before putting his hands down the waistline of your panties.

"I'm so excited. I've been waiting for this forever. Do you know how many times I imagined this? How many times I practiced for this day? Oh, please..."

He rubbed a finger over your slit, parting your folds. Grabbing the wetness from your hole to bring up to your sensitive numb.

"Ah.. fuck..." You both said at the same time. He giggled, moving down to suck your neck.

He rubbed his finger in a circular motion, making your body shake. You bit your lip, barely containing the sounds coming from your lips.

In contrast to you, he was moaning with no shame. Rubbing your clit impatiently, but trying to be gentle. "It's so wet. Is that how it always is when you're playing with yourself? It feels so good. Do you feel good? Are you enjoying it? Please be enjoying it. Please love me."

He stopped abruptly and pushed you on your back, climbing on top of you. "I need to see your face. I need to see you when I make you feel good. Ah, fuck, I'm making you feel good. I'm making you feel good!"

He had a stupid grin on his face as he leaned down. He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his hands caressing your hair and rubbing your side. You already made out for a while earlier, yet it seemed like he wasn't done with your lips.

"Ah.. I gotta stay focused. You're distracting me from you. Nngh... You taste so good. I love this. I love you. Fuck..."

He sighed, pulling down your underwear. He buried himself between your legs and started devouring you. You couldn't do anything but moan. He worked at a weird pace, going really fast but then slowing down. He couldn't keep his enthusiasm in check and clearly having no idea what he was doing. He had no patience.

"Augh.. pick a pace." You forced yourself to say between pants. "Feels weird..."

"S-sorry... Be patient with me, please. I promise I'll learn for you. We can... We can practice every night like this. Wouldn't that be nice? Wouldn't you enjoy it? Mh?"

He went back to sucking your nub, his fingers shakily pushing into you. One, then two, then three. Your body allowing him in easily.

"Nngh!" You groaned.

He chuckled, pulling them out and then back in. Slowly, and then he picked up the pace. "Ah.. you're so tight. It's soft in here. Mmh, I feel so happy. It feels so good. Please..." He continued to do that while his mouth was busy. He curled his fingers, trying to use all the knowledge he gathered. You wished you could shut him up, but you didn't have the strength.

"Mmph? You liked that? I'll do it more." He mumbled against you, picking up the speed as your thighs shook. "Nghh.. I wanna taste your release. I wanna feel you finish. You're squeezing around my fingers. You're close, right? Please come. Please, please, please.."

He moaned, continuing to beg you. You couldn't hold it back any longer. You squeezed his head with your legs and arched your back. He whined with you as you finished. He kept going gently, milking your release.

After a minute or two of licking you clean, he pulled back. He buried his head in your chest, panting. Kissed your cheek and then hugged you tightly.

"I'm all yours, y'know. You can tell me to do anything, and I'll do it. Just love me, please. Please..." He tilted his head up, making eye contact. "Did I do good? Did you like it? Hm? Was I a good boy?"

His eyes were getting glassy. You just stared back at him before nodding your head. Still fazed. "Yeah. Good... boy..."

"Mmh! I'm your good boy. Your good boy forever now. We can do this lots more, yeah? Please let me make you feel good again."

He unbuttoned your shirt. His mouth immediately went to take in your nipple in his mouth. He sucked greedily, his hand playing with your other breast.

This was going to be a long night.

[sturnina]

Rule number one

Dealer!Chris x Fem!reader

— tags;; drug use, a lot of curse words, no use of y/n, arguments, angst

— wc;; 1.7k

— author‘s note;; my take on dealer!chris since I find it concerning that people think it‘s a good idea for him to be a druggie, hope you enjoy <3

Rule number one is clear. You are aware of it, Chris is aware of it, everyone knows. The dealer does not take their own stuff. Because what happens then? It goes down way too fast. It is too dangerous.

Everyone knows. With an almost infinite supply of more, always more, it is a risk you cannot take.

And yet, you’re here. Standing in front of Chris, with a deep and dark pit in your stomach. Fuck. His eyes are clearly dilated, and his heart is racing—you can feel it through his shirt when you press your hand against his chest. He mutters something incoherent, a smile dripping from his lips.

“What was it?” you mumble, more to yourself. At least you’re alone with him, away from his brothers or customers. “What did you take?” you ask again, louder this time while gripping his chin and forcing him to look at you.

No. Wrong approach. Violence doesn’t help. But fuck, you need to know what it was.

“Was it K? Ketamine? Chris, did you take Ketamine?” you ask, slowly rubbing his shoulders. Oh, please let it be Ketamine.

He laughs and launches forward, embracing you tightly. “Shush Ma, you’re making me all worried,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your head. “It’s alright. It will be alright, trust me.”

The pit in your stomach deepens while the machinery in your mind runs at full speed. Racing heartbeat. Emotional closeness. Dizziness maybe? From the way he is swaying, you can tell he is more than a little lightheaded. **

“What do you feel?” you ask him, pulling away a little to look at him. “How are you feeling? Are you disoriented? Drowsy?”

Chris shakes his head, sighing deeply. “Doesn’t matter,” he mutters, his voice getting a slight slurred edge.

“Do you have a headache? Or an increased appetite?”

“No?” His voice is disinterested—he clearly could not care less. Unfortunately, this is all you care about at the moment. Increased body temperature, sweating, slurred speech…

“Chris, did you take MDMA?”

“Mmh…” he says, pulling you close again and peppering kisses to your head. “No, it was a longer name…”

“Ecstasy, Chris.” A slight undertone of desperation lies in your voice. How does he not remember the simplest things? “MDMA is Ecstasy. Did you take it or not?”

“Why does it matter?” he asks, pulling away to look at you. His movements are unpredictable and confused—clearly, he does not see the way you do right now. Even if just through his energy. “Come on, let’s go back inside and have fun. Dance with me, pretty girl, yeah?”

He grabs your hands, but you refuse. “You can’t go back in there,” you say sternly.

“But the party isn’t over,” he complains. “I still gotta dance… and deal.”

“You can’t. Deal, I mean.” A lump forms in your throat at the confused look he shoots at you through half-lidded eyes.

“What? Sure I can! Look, I still have-” The second he pulls out a small bottle of pills, you snatch it out of his hand. And you were right—it’s X, MDMA, clarity, whatever you want to call it.

“Chris you have to stop dealing.”

“I know you’re always worried about me, Ma,” he says with a sloppy grin. “But you know I have everything under control. No one’s going to get too dangerous.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” you sigh, stepping closer. “Chris, you have to stop dealing. You broke rule number one. You have a practically infinite supply of drugs, and you just started taking them. What do you think is happening now?”

He frowns, clearly having difficulties concentrating. Fuck, how long does Ecstasy last? You go through your memory, trying to find anything about it. From one up to… was it five? Six hours? Fuck.

“We’re going,” you say, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the room you searched for shelter from the party.

The second you step outside, into the main area, the music clogs up your ears. Smoke burns in your lungs, mixed with the smells of alcohol and sweat. You’ve never been a fan of parties like this, but you came with Chris more and more often, wanting to look out for him—even though you wouldn’t be able to do anything in an extreme case.

But today, you’re infinitely grateful for having come with him. Who else would force him to go home and not take another pill? His brothers don’t even know what’s going on behind the scenes, he’s taken care of that.

Back at your car, you force him into the passenger seat. Now looking at him, restlessly playing with the decoration on your glovebox, you’re almost relieved he did it. Just because it means he has to stop dealing. As soon as he’s sober, he’ll realise that too.

After getting into the driver’s seat, you lock the doors and reach out a hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Huh?” he asks, pulling out his iPhone.

“Not that one. The burner one.”

Frowning deeply, he crosses his arms. “No.”

“Yes. Chris, do it.”

“No way. That’s the only contact I have with customers and the supplier,” he protests.

“Exactly. Hand it over, I’m not asking you again.” Your fingers move twice in your direction, a sign everyone knows. Come on, you think, don’t make this more complicated.

“A’ight,” he mutters, pulling it out of his back pocket and going back to fiddling with something he found in your car. You couldn’t care less what it is.

“Good,” you mutter, quickly chucking the phone into the backseat from where you’ll pick it up later. For now, you need to get Chris home.

The drive back is silent, except for when he occasionally starts humming a melody and then abruptly stops, grinding his teeth.

“Don’t do that,” you mutter, watching him out of the corner of your eye.

“Stop telling me what to do,” he replies, staring ahead like a pouty kid. “I can take care of myself.”

“Clearly,” you scoff, a wave of anger bubbling up in your chest.

How could he be so careless? How could he possibly have thought that taking drugs as a goddamn drug dealer is okay? That it works? He knows the dangers of every drug. He’s seen people get completely wasted, slowly destroying their lives and the ones of the people around them.

Why would he do this to you? To his brothers? His friends and family?

Tears are burning in your eyes and you blink rapidly to focus your gaze on the street.

“Ma? ‘re you crying?” Chris asks. His voice is softer but clearly slurred now. The drug seems to be kicking in.

You open your mouth to say something, but not a single sound escapes your lips.

“Why are you crying, love?” he whispers.

“Why would you do that?” you finally ask. “You know drugs. You know what they do. You know they destroy lives. Fuck, Chris, what’s going on? Why did you take it?”

The car is silent, and nervosity settles in the pit of your stomach.

“Chris…?” you ask again. “Why did you take it?”

“I js wanted to try,” he mumbles. It’s clearly not the only answer, but now is not the time to figure out what exactly led him to be so stupid.

After stopping the car in front of your house—you won’t let Nick and Matt see him in this state—, you force Chris outside, into the cool air. He doesn’t react, even as you start shivering. You quickly fetch the burner phone from the backseat and lead Chris inside, pushing him through the front door and to the couch. He seems restless and refuses to sit down, so you let him wander around.

While he’s still in his drug-induced haze, you sit down at the kitchen island and open the flip phone. The first number is his suppliers’, you know that, saved simply as G. It rings only once before he picks it up.

“You run out this quickly?” he asks. No greeting, no nothing.

“No,” you reply. The tension is palpable, even through the phone.

“Who are you?” G asks cautiously.

“You will not supply C anymore,” you say, careful not to use Chris’s name. “Do you understand me?”

“Tell me who you are and I’ll consider,” he repeats.

“That’s none of your business. If you sell to Chris-” Fuck, fuck fuck. “If you sell to him again, I will find out and send the police after you.”

The guy chuckles. “Easy. I’m sure we can talk about this. You his girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, running a hand over your face.

“You worried about him or something?”

“Obviously,” you scoff. “I don’t want him to become an addict. That’s normal, I fear.”

“He wouldn’t. I’ve been supplying to him for a while, he does it for the money, not the drugs,” G says, apparently unimpressed. “Just stay out of his business, yeah? This is no place for little girls.”

“You listen to me, you little fuck,” you hiss, jumping up from the chair. “I know who you are and from where you supply. I know the faces of all the little dealers around here, and they’re all connected to you. I know what parties you go to, and what people you know. I’ve seen you. And I will get you if you deal with my boyfriend again. He took Ecstasy today. And trust me, I know what happens next. I’ve seen it happen. So if one of us ever hears from you again, you will be caught, I promise.”

A stunned silence fills the phone. The only sounds you hear is the clock on the kitchen wall ticking… and heavy breathing behind you.

You whip your head around. Chris stares at you with confused eyes. He reaches out for the phone, but his movements are too uncoordinated, and you dodge his hand.

“Is that G?” he asks, slurring his words more than before. “Why would you- what are you doing?”

“Making sure you don’t go down that path,” you say sternly.

Since you have no more to say to G, and you don’t care to hear his answer, you hang up the phone and guide Chris upstairs, leaving the burner phone on the kitchen counter.

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

“But ‘m not tired,” he protests, still energised from the Ecstasy.

This is going to be a long night.

masterlist

[dsireland86]

headcannon of noah taking care of you when depression has taken you under?! i’m feeling rather crap recently and not seeming to dig myself out the depression pit so need some sweet boy noah!

Anon, I know this is a bit late, and I apologize. I hope you're feeling better than you were when you requested this, but if not, hang in there friend. You're loved here ❤️ Hope your request brings a smile to your face.

Taking Care of You

Tag list:

@philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa  @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody @romanreigns-supreme @anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @rumoured-whispers @myownthoughts12 @sister-sebastian @nyxthedestroyerofworlds-deactiv @missduffsblog @bngurngheart  @somebodyllelse @xxkittenkissesxx @fadingangelwisp

@collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard

He noticed. Noah always noticed everything about you. The light had gone out of your eyes. The smile you normally wore didn't reach your lips. Your complexion, normally bright and shining, was dull and lifeless. It was happening again.

You laid in bed after calling out of work. The blinds were still drawn, making the room darker than it should be. Life was pointless today. You didn't feel like doing it. It was better beneath the blankets, safer and warmer. Nothing could hurt you here. Nothing could make you feel less of yourself than you already felt.

Call after call went unanswered. Noah was worried. Very worried. He got up earlier than normal, planning to leave the studio earlier today, but when you didn't answer plans changed. He had to leave now. Rushing home, thoughts filled Noah's worried mind over how bad it was this time, telling himself he would do whatever he needed to do to help you out of this.

He climbed the stairs silently, holding his breath. The door to your shared bedroom was still closed, just as he left it this morning. Dammit. Noah sighed, running his hand through his hair before opening the door. The room was dark. Rays of sunlight pressed themselves against the windows outside, begging to be let in, but the soul inside wasn't allowing it.

Noah climbed into bed next to you, facing you, watching as your eyes flickered behind their closed lids. You looked peaceful like this, but he knew better. He knew what was happening inside of that beautiful mind of yours. Noah ran his fingertips over the skin of your cheek, over your lips, and up into your hair. You roused, taking a deep breath and reaching for him. He gave you what you wanted; his arm. You wrapped yours around it, holding it close to your chest.

"Let me start you a bath. I can put some lavender oil in it." You nodded without opening your eyes. What felt like hours was only minutes when you felt Noah's arms beneath you, lifting you up and carrying you to the bathroom. Now, fully awake, he undressed you, and helped you into the tub. "Please, come in," you said woefully. "Of course," Noah grinned. With his back against the tub, you laid between his legs, back against his chest, running bubbles through your fingers.

The lack of enthusiasm from you was killing Noah. He wanted to see you smile again and hear you laugh and knew you would in time, but right now, there was no chance. He washed your hair, using his fingers to gently remove the tangles, and washed your body, helping you out once finished. The silence surrounding you both while he dried your hair was crushing, but Noah was hopeful it would return in a few days.

"You should eat," he told you, sitting at the bar in the kitchen after handing you a glass of water. You sat in silence covered in Noah's giant Anime band merch hoodie, picking at your thumbs and staring into nothing. Noah watched you helplessly, smiling at you whenever you would look at him, and each time his heart would break a little more.

"Have you talked to your doctor, maybe see about having your medicine changed?" Noah asked quietly as you laid on the couch with your head in his lap watching tv. "The medicine I'm on works. It's not meant to cure my depression, just help make the episodes less frequent." Noah let his head fall back into the couch. "This is the fourth episode this month, babe," he said gently. "No it's not," you said defensively, sitting up and searching Noah's eyes. "Yeah, it is," he replied softly, laying his hand on top of yours. Your face fell and tears welled up in your eyes. And then the dam burst and you wailed in sorrow, falling into Noah's arms where he held you until the tears stopped and you fell asleep on him.

Noah held your hand as you both sat in the waiting room of the doctor's office. He convinced you enough this time to call your doctor and talk about different medication. With his fingers laced tightly between yours, he sat and listened as you explained your symptoms and how you've been feeling. Hearing some of it wasn't easy to listen to. It crushed him honestly. But he was proud of you for taking the step to get more help and overcoming your fears. Lifting your hand, he placed a kiss on the top of it and for the first time in days, you smiled back at him and he saw the smile finally reach your lips, reassuring him you would be okay.

[bamsywrites]

And Comes Dawn pt 15

Pairing: Sauron/Halbrand x Reader, Isildur x Reader, Sauron/Halbrand x Galadriel

Summary: Sweet One overhears something she is not meant to.

Tags: manipulation, Saurons inner thoughts though they're pretty tame this time, insecure reader, confessions all around, angsty

Notes: this takes place starting at the scene from the gif. Not super heavily edited so let me know if there's anything glaring. As always leave feedback, I love anything and everything I get. And if you feel inclined here is my Kofi. (https://ko-fi.com/bamsy95253)

“ Whatever it was he did to you, and whatever it was you did, be free of it.” Galadriel spoke those words, and it was as if the final piece had fallen into place. The elf trusted him. It would not be hard to get to Eregion, and then it would only be a matter of time until he could forge his weapon. Until he could enact his rule, his control. To bring peace for all middle earth.

To bring peace for you. To ensure your safety.

Galadriel was a worthy ally, someone he'd want at his side. He was more certain now he'd likely need her at his side in order to achieve the optimal outcome. He'd do what he needed to that end, “I never believed I could be. Until today. Fighting at your side, I… I felt if I could just hold on to that feeling, keep it with me always, bind it to my very being, then I…”

“I felt it too.”

And she had fallen into the palm of his hand. It was a fun little game, one he hoped to continue. He looked at her, his hand moving ever so slightly towards hers. Whatever it took, he'd do it. For peace. For order.

For you.

He knew how you'd feel if you heard this conversation. The tension between you and the elf had lessened, but he could sense there was still an insecurity there that you had delegated her as more than you following a checklist of traits he could not understand. He knew you were wary of his interactions with her, fearing you'd be replaced, but you never spoke it. You never dictated who he could and could not spend time with, and he, perhaps surprisingly, offered you the same grace. He had no worries of the boy taking you from him. He knew you were smitten. However, he knew that the implications of his words to the elf would break you. He had only ever spoken to you of being better, of doing better, so speaking of the elf as if she was the key to his redemption would be a blow that he did not know if he could fix.

But your safety was what this was all for. He would do whatever he could to that end. He would fill the elf with lies, perhaps even hold her hand in his or kiss her, if only that meant a world where you did not die, where you did not feel pain or hunger or fear.

“Halbrand, the queen ...um…the queen Is looking for you.”

Your voice broke the spell between him and Galadrial. His fears crushed upon him, and he could not help but feel an overwhelming anger, an anger he hid with a shaky breath. He could hear the breaks in your voice, the thickness of tears unshed weighing down your words. You'd heard it all, and you were walking as fast as your feet could carry you in the opposite direction.

~

Your head was down as you walked away from them. His words ring in your ears.

Stupid girl. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl. Of course, he would not want you now. He was to be a king, and you were just you. You had no doubt he cared for you, but there had always been something with the elf. Lingering looks, touches that lasted a few moments too long. You were not upset that he could feel such things for another. There was a cloud of ‘What if?’ around Galadriel. What if you hadn't been on that raft? You had come to the conclusion that Halbrand and Galadriel would have fallen into that old trope of beautiful elven woman and mortal man.

It wasn't the ‘What ifs?’ that bothered you. You had plenty of those yourself. Without Halbrand, you are sure you would have fallen hard for a certain Numenorian. But as much as Isildur made you laugh, you never entertained the idea of anything more, and when touches lingered, you would call him out on it. And Isil respected you, respected your courtship.

No matter the what ifs’, you met Halbrand first, and your heart was his, and it was shut off to all others. Halbrand couldn't seem to do that with Galadriel, and that was what bothered you so. You were not important enough to him for him to let that go. It seemed he couldn't be happy with just you.

You weren't enough.

Your head was down, and you were furiously wiping away tears. You didn't want anyone to see your shame. You wanted to disappear. Perhaps the earth could swallow you up. You took some breaths to gain your composure before you made it to the village, but your lip trembled. You couldn't get his voice out of your head. You knew he was behind you. You didn't know how far, and you didn't care. You weren't interested in his explanations, how he'd excuse it or worse tell you his feelings have changed. Your feet carried you through the village. You ignored anyone trying to talk to you as you made your way up the ridge.

You sat there in the grass, you could see the people below. You could make out Halbrand, The Queen, Galadriel. You knew it was a triumphant time for your people. You knew it was the man you loved down there, but right now, you just wanted to be alone. You were exhausted from the emotional whiplash. You sniffled and wiped your nose, your cheeks felt raw and stiff from the tears.

You were broken from your thoughts when Isildur sat next to you. He said nothing, just sat with you. It was interesting how his presence lessened your despair, you didn't feel so alone. He was the one person you felt would not judge you or try to invalidate you. You both enjoyed the silence for a few minutes before he broke it.

“I would offer to stab him, but now that he's a king I fear that would not be the best course of action. Perhaps putting rocks in his boots, horse shit in his bed. We must get creative.”

You smiled, wiping the tears from your eyes. He looked to you and smiled softly, following your gaze to where you stared at Halbrand and Galadriel.

“I do not know what it is he has done, only that you'd only be here crying if it was him who had done something. Whatever you may need of me, I am here to offer it to you.”

You swallowed, wetting your lips with a nod. You were silent for a few more moments before speaking, “I feel as if I don't know his heart, not truly. Sometimes, I feel as if we are one and others, and it feels that there is this gaping chasm between us. His words and actions do not always agree, and I struggle to know what to believe. I believe he loves me, but I do not know if I'm the only one. I would understand if she did hold his heart, for she is most things I am not.”

He listened as you spoke, brow furrowed, “Most things you are not? I do not know what you mean by that, but I do know love is not a list to be marked off. It does not care if you are an elf, low man, or high man. It does not matter. If an elven king were to declare his love for you, would that change who you love? Or would you still love Halbrand? The answer to that is rather obvious, I think.”

“I wish he could be content with me. It seems he is restless. It seems….he wants something from her, something I cannot give him. That is what hurts the most. He has given me all I need and more and I have given what I can and yet it is not enough.”

Isildur was thinking of a response, fingers picking at the grass when you spoke so softly he almost did not hear it.

“I wish I was enough.”

His fingers stopped picking the grass, and he looked at you, “Is his opinion of your worth the only one that matters?”

You sniffled and looked at him, wiping your eyes.

“You put too much worth into what he thinks of you when it doesn't matter, not really. Are you enough for you? Are you happy with who you are?”

You sat there in silence. What he was saying made sense. It just wasn't what you expected from him.

“Your worth comes from your heart. Your kindness, your empathy. It comes from your values. From your mind. Your soul. It is not from being enough for Halbrand. Or for me. Or for anyone. Do not give anyone that control over you.”

~

He didn't chase you. It took everything in him not to. He hated it, the feeling of guilt that settled in his chest, how many scores of men and elves had he killed and felt nothing? He had sat with the elf while she cried about her dead brother, a brother he had killed, and felt nothing. But a tremble of your lip and tears in your eyes, and he was riddled with it. He still despised how you could make him feel. it gave you a sense of control over him.

No one had control of him like this, only Morgoth, and that control was taken from him through manipulation and torture. You had used no such tactics. You simply existed, and he was wrapped around your finger. You simply smiled, and he was on his knees. There was not a moment that went by that his mind wasn't consumed with you, thoughts of your safety, and thoughts of your future. Thoughts of how he was to keep you safe.

It was odd to compare you to Morgoth, but he could not deny that, to an extent, you were his master. Even if you didn't command him or lead his actions, he was doing all this so that he could be with you forever, so he could protect you. In that way, you were in control.

He didn't run after you, despite all that, because this conflict would benefit him in the long run. And to that end, it would benefit you. He needed to give Galadriel pause when it came to his feelings for you. He needed her to think his feelings for you were comparable to his feelings for her. He needed her to think that if he had to choose, he might choose her.

There was no choice, though. Not one where she was victorious.

His eyes followed you as you walked up the hill and sat. He could feel the sadness radiating from you even this far away. He would fix it. In time. His attention was pulled away as the queen spoke to him, and he confirmed himself the king of the Southlands. It was an ego stroke to have them chant for him. If only they knew. He smiled as he looked around, reveling in their chants and praise. His smile only faltered when he noticed who else was missing from the crowd.

The boy.

And when his eyes found you on that hill again, his blood boiled to see you weren't alone.

~

Isildur had given you space. His words had resonated with you. Before Halbrand, you had been confident and content in who you were. You had a past that you wanted to atone for, but you were not insecure. You knew who you were and what you dreamed of. You knew your worth, your strengths, your flaws. It all made you who you were, and you liked who you were.

It seemed love had changed that. You loved Halbrand. It would hurt to lose another person you loved, and so you worried and obsessed over it. Over your worthiness for it. But you knew you were worthy of love and happiness by simply existing. If Halbrand valued Galadriel over you, that was his choice, and while it would hurt, the sun would rise and set, and you would move on.

If you could overcome your father becoming a violent fanatic and warping your family into a murderous cult, you would overcome Halbrand loving someone else.

Your gaze wandered to Isildur with Berek and his father. It was far enough you could not make out the conversation, but you could tell it was a heartfelt one. You were glad for it. Their relationship had been too trained for too long.

The calm was broken as water erupted from the ground, screams filled the air, and orcs began chanting. You stood and watched in horror, frozen in place amongst the chaos. Then fire rained from the sky, and your body sprung into action. The children, the injured, they had to have help, and they couldn't be left alone. As soon as you started running toward the village, you were pulled back.

“No! You must not go,” Isildur demanded, his hands holding your wrist.

“Isil, they need help, they need -”

“They need you at the camp. They need you to heal them. Take Berek. I will make sure Halbrand is safe. That your people survive.” He held your face in his hands as he pleaded over the sounds of screams.

“What if you don't return?” Your voice trembled, and lip quivered.

“I would not give you my horse If I was not certain I would come back.”

He gave no warning before lifting you up on the horse,his hand squeezing yours, “If I do not return, I need you to know that I….I love you. Even if it is not returned.”

There was no time for a response before Berek was off, taking you to the Numenorian camp as fast as he could.

[blaire-apricity]

Hello I just wanted to say your a wonderful writer and I really like your fics and I just wanted to request for all the boys if you could some headcanons on how they'd react to a widow reader/MC like it'd interesting to think about a reader that actually was previously in love deeply with someone else and they got married to this person but due to some tragic circumstances this person ended up dying you can choose the cause of death whether it be an accident or sickness or something else entirely like how do you think they'd react to knowing that the reader loved someone else before them ? Like what if the reader is still in grief over there dead partner like they want to start a new relationship but they feel guilty how would they comfort them and such ?

Love Beyond Loss

ʟᴀᴅs ʙᴏʏs x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᯓ❅ ┆ synopsis┆ : How would the LADS boys react to you still in grief over your previous partner?

ᯓ❅ ┆ tags┆ : head canons, slight angst, comfort & possible OOC

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

𝐗𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫

Xavier didn’t mind that you’d loved someone before him; what mattered to him was that you were with him now.

What did trouble him, however, was seeing you still consumed by grief for your previous partner.

Each time he caught you gazing off with that same half-lidded, guilty look, his heart ached.

He longed to lift your spirits, to see you smile fully again, radiating like the stars he admired.

During your breakdowns or moments of doubt about your relationship, he was always there, steady and present.

“I’m here for you,” he’d remind you softly, pulling you into his arms. His face would nuzzle into your hair as he breathed in your familiar scent, offering you the comfort you needed.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

��𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞

Being a widow didn’t bother Zayne; your past love was a part of you, and that only deepened his understanding of you.

As a doctor, he’d seen the weight of grief many times and knew how overwhelming the process could be.

He never forced physical closeness, respecting your boundaries unless you sought it or he sensed you desperately needed it.

Despite wanting to hold you close, he understood the importance of giving you space to process your emotions.

“Take your time,” he’d murmur gently, his voice soothing as his hand stroked the side of your head with quiet affection.

Zayne never rushed your healing; instead, he patiently offered the time and space you needed to move forward.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

It was selfish of him, but Rafayel couldn’t help feeling a pang of sadness knowing someone else had held your heart before him.

He had waited years—decades—for you, and though he wanted your love entirely, he knew better than to let those feelings cloud his actions.

At first, he struggled with seeing you lost in thought, your gaze far away in a place he couldn’t reach. But when he saw your grief—the tears streaming down your face—it shattered him.

His own selfish desires seemed trivial compared to your pain; he just wanted to ease the sorrow that weighed so heavily on you.

Though you were slowly moving forward, he knew it wasn’t easy. He admired your strength and vowed to support you through it all.

“I’m never leaving you,” he reassured you in a quiet, steady voice. “You’ll always have me.” His words carried the weight of someone who deeply understood the pain of loss.

. . ────────────── ❅ ⁺.

𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬

Despite his arrogance, Sylus was surprisingly perceptive and emotionally attuned—especially when it came to you.

You couldn’t hide anything from him: the faint strain in your voice, the forced curve of your smile. He saw through it all, and that’s why you finally opened up to him.

Loving him felt natural, but guilt lingered, knowing a part of your heart still mourned your previous partner’s absence.

Before you even said a word, Sylus already seemed to sense your turmoil. When you poured out your feelings, his response was a soft, knowing chuckle.

“Why are you worried? You’re here with me now, aren’t you?” His words felt dismissive at first, but you soon realized it wasn’t indifference—it was certainty.

──────────────── ˗ˏˋ ❅｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽ ˎˊ˗ ────────────────

╰｡ Author's Note: This took me a while to fulfill- Aaaahhh. I've been spending time with my friends during my free time that I couldn't find much time (and motivation) to write. ( ⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝) Also thank you for the compliment! I also found out that you've taken a hiatus, I hope everything goes well over there! (૭ ｡•̀ ᵕ •́｡ )૭

To anyone that's interested, here's the link to mentioning list. ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

╰｡ Tagging: . ݁˖ . ݁ slitheringwaves . ݁˖ . ݁ @clairestella

[syoddeye]

consequence / needling

price x f!reader | 1.9k words series directory | ao3 tags: tattoos, feelings, social media, shitty exes a/n: good news and bad news. ☕

you’ve never been much of a dancer, but you find a rhythm all the same.

john divides time between work and leave. grouses about tying up loose ends and mountains of menial paperwork about said ends, but he’s with you more often than not. you think you’re handling his comings and goings well until he sits you down for a talk after informing you he’ll be gone for two and a half weeks.

at first, it feels like critique all over again, the kind that makes you shrink into yourself. your instinct is to freeze up, say little, agree with him, and promise to do better next time he’s away. but john doesn’t let you fold into yourself, and he doesn’t take easy answers either. he’s calm and direct and speaks with disarming clarity. for someone who can’t discuss what his job involves, he’s honest about its realities. there’s no judgment in his tone, just a measured precision that leaves you feeling exposed, then immediately comforted. for the first time, you’re not left twisting in the wind.

he wants you to make informed decisions. to minimize the surprises you’ll inevitably experience. no more gut reactions, no more panic.

i need to know you’ll be alright. with or without me.

and he isn’t simply referring to his deployments. he speaks about a future without him, should you choose to walk away. 

this isn’t for everyone.

john’s right, of course. you know in your bones but don’t want it to be true. instead, you let yourself believe in the possibility of things working out, following the moments that feel good and easy, however fleeting. winter helps—the light snow smoothing over the ugly edges of everything outside, making it easier to laze about with him. he spends more time at your flat than his own, though he won’t even hear of you merging households yet. you don’t press him. rushing things is what got you here. a deep bruise always prepared to remind you of its ache.

99+. terrifying. absurd.

the espresso machine hisses as you wipe spilled milk off the counter with the edge of your apron. the rectangular shape in your pocket taunts you. you haven’t looked at your phone since you clocked in, and the impulse grows harder to ignore with every flat white.

it’s stupid. it’s not like you drew anything groundbreaking—just a sheet of cats with coffee mugs modeled after old-school greeting cards. a cute warm-up, nothing serious. you wrote a corny caption, meowcchiato or catpuccino, posted it, and went to sleep. you considered it a modest success when you woke to a dozen comments and new followers. then, some big-name tattoo page shared it, and it ballooned.

your fingertips dip into the canvas only for a group order to pop up on the screen, signaling the start of the mid-day rush.

on break, you step out back. the cold air hits like a reset button, your breath visible in cloudy puffs. shivering, you stare at the tower of notifications on your lock screen and swipe.

your eyes saucer at four figures. a thousand and some change likes. hundreds of comments and shares. two hundred more followers. you scroll through the new names, quickly following a few artists and legit-looking shops back before you feel weird.

one account catches your eye despite a sea of requests in your messages. a local studio you’re familiar with.

>> hey, looks like we are neighbors. i like the cats. i don’t think i recognize your work. are you an apprentice somewhere?

rechecking the post, you flinch. you neglected to remove the geotag. shit. so much for total anonymity. you respond before you think too hard about it. embarrassment rolls off of you like the vapor from your breath.

> hi, no i’m not. this is just a hobby.

another chance to check your phone doesn’t arrive until you’re off, due to meet john.

>> really? if you’re at all interested, i’ve got a friend opening apps in a month or two. >> happy to chat if you want to drop by the shop.

it feels like a trap. something oddly shaped like hope makes you walk into it anyway with a reply.

~~~~

she’s in a rush, already glancing at the clock before she’s even out the door. her scarf is half-tied, her coat slipping off a shoulder as she reaches for her bag, but john can’t help himself. he leans in and kisses her cheek, then the line of her jaw, quick and light like a thief. she huffs a laugh but doesn’t pull away.

“you’re going to make me late.”

he kisses the corner of her mouth, the scar on her wrist when she tries to push him off, the warm skin beneath her ear. his hands crawl under her open coat and up her sides to reel in for another. he fixes her coat, fastens the buttons, and ties her scarf, all without letting her up for air. when she finally pulls the door open, winter funneling through the crack, he lets her go with a goodbye. she steps out mid-laugh, and he’s left standing, smiling to himself like a fool.

with nothing but time to kill, he makes himself useful. 

cece follows as he tidies. he knows exactly what his girl buys at the shop now, what brands, what alternatives. he parks outside her building and catches himself smiling, almost laughing, at how far this has come. how it started with that dent in the car he now leaves at her curb, the little heart she’d drawn on the note that came with it, an act to placate an angry stranger. now, she draws them on the back of his hand when they lie in.

later, he fixes supper, the cat weaving between his feet. greets her when she gets in with a thin slice of parmesan with honey balanced on his fingers. before she bites the morsel off its perch, she holds up her phone with a frown.

“what am i looking at?”

“he fucking painted it.”

~~~~

you find out through an old classmate, an acquaintance utterly ignorant of everything.

of course, ben painted the breakup, the prelude, and the aftermath, repurposing it all for artistic expression. you picture him pretending to suffer, draping his self-inflicted misery over their history like he’s the victim. the sheer audacity of it—painting your pain as if it’s a fucking concept—makes you want to scream. you don’t even know what’s worse: the paintings themselves, his self-congratulatory smugness in the captions, or the fact that you feel anything when you see them. the nerve to twist everything into his own narrative. it’s infuriating, his reduction of everything into a palette of pity. you know that temporarily unblocking him to spy helps nothing, but you can’t help yourself.

ben reinterpreted everything, made it about his genius and his torment the way he always did. and what bothers you most is that you’re still trying to find yourself in his work, even now.

at least hannah stays out of the literal picture for once. bad enough ben depicts her as some sort of savior. a heavy-handed and garish fucking pieta-like feature. 'ben wanted to paint it, you know…had it all mapped out. i convinced him not to.' the rat.

you stare at the hard line of john’s jaw as he scrolls, barely able to appreciate his culinary efforts because his predecessor ruined your appetite.

“my offer stands.”

“what?”

“i’m inclined to sort him out for you. i know a man or two who owe me.”

~~~~

she makes him promise he won’t sic someone on the ex, and he obliges. he makes her feel better, and she draws another lazy heart on his skin.

cheek pressed to his chest, she sighs.

“you gonna to say anything to him?” 

“what’s there to say?”

“i can think of some words to make a sailor blush.”

she flicks his nipple. “i already cursed him out and threw wine at him.”

“think he’s doin’ this because you told hannah to fuck off?”

rolling to her side, she toys with the hair creeping down his chest. “i think hannah and i are irrelevant. swap us out with anyone else, and he’d come to the same, self-centered conclusion.”

“for what it’s worth, i think his work is…trite.”

a tired laugh rattles out of her, and she pats his stomach. “oh, wow, someone check on the sailor. must be blushing.”

cheeky.

he sweeps over her in one fluid roll, pushing her to her back and sticking his mouth to her neck. he ignores her squeals and her half-hearted battering. she protests, something about him leaving a mark, and he lifts.

“put one on me?”

“a hickey?” her chest heaves from their game.

“no. a tattoo.”

the meticulousness john admires translates into everything, that much is clear, given his girl’s stringent cleaning and the amount of ppe. he didn’t think he’d be treated to some gutter punk special, but it feels as professional as an amateur can get. considering the other places he’s spent time with open wounds, her flat feels like a spa.

the amount of shit he’ll catch from the boys, however? that worries him.

they discuss the design again. it already took the better part of an hour to select one from her burgeoning collection—she refuses to call it a portfolio, despite all evidence—and placement took another fifteen. shaving, regrettably, took only a few minutes. odd and intimate. when she brushed the shorn hair off his left pec and swept it into a dust pan, he forced himself to breathe.

“are you sure about this? i’m not a professional. this is permanent.”

he readjusts and pats the naked patch of skin. “i’m aware.”

the bite of a needle is nothing. compared to the puckered scar from a knife wound in his right thigh—it’s a pleasant burn. helps that the hand guiding it is light, the pressure deliberate and contained. plus, her tongue wets the corner of her lips so often, and that, paired with the pinch of her brow? he’d endure worse. cute.

he will not embarrass her and say it out loud. he doesn’t say a word. she’s finally distracted from ben’s paintings.

but she speaks when she switches to color, dabbing excess ink onto a paper towel.

“alright?”

“never better.”

“because i’m not a mind reader. if you’re regretting this now, say the word.”

“i’m not regretting a thing. are you?” 

she doesn’t immediately look up from the needle, fiddling with it. when she does, she shakes her head. “not a thing. moving onto color now.”

she carefully drags red into the design, then gold. the firm, short strokes spark a brief flare of discomfort but let nothing slip. he can take it. the silence lingers, shorter this time, and again, she breaks it.

“remember that silly cats and coffee sheet?”

“yeah?”

“i’ve been, uh, chatting with a local artist about it. he wants to meet. talk shop, i guess.”

his attention snaps from his chest to her. sly thing, biting her cheek to keep her expression as flat as possible. “go on.”

she meets his eye for a second, pulling her hand back to swap to green. “he wants me to bring my collection, if you can believe it.”

that ugly, possessive monster in his head cocks an ear. focuses on the wrong detail. he wrestles it into the thick mud of his thoughts and resurfaces with—”sounds like he thinks you have a knack for it. we have that in common.” good show.

“he thinks i might be good enough to try for an apprenticeship.”

this time, she holds his gaze. uncertainty writ large on her face. seeking.

“is that something you want?”

“yeah,” her lip twitches. a flash of something crosses her face. a wince? “yeah, it is.”

[focusonkayjay]

between the ride and the roses (2)

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: biker/ motorcycle shop owner! jungkook x flower shop owner! reader, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, slow burn, angst, smut, fluff

Word count: 3.1k

Series summary: There's an insane turn of events when your calm and peaceful life is intruded by Jungkook, a biker boy who sets up his loud business right next to your own. Your paths cross under unlikely circumstances, starting with a clash of personalities but gradually you find yourself establishing a deeper connection with the annoyingly attractive biker jerk. You both have no idea what's in store for you guys as you try your best to put up with each other.

Chapter Warnings: still nothing major. let me know if i need to mention anything.

A/N: posting part 2 right away, because i absolutely cannot wait for you guys to read more ahhhh. however, i just want to apologize for any sort of grammatical errors. english is not my first language so, please bare with me. also, while i was writing this story, i realised i would love it if you imagine the town's setting and vibe as something similar to "Stars Hollow" from the show Gilmore Girls, except it's a little more modern. does that make sense lmao? anywayssss, let me know your thoughts hehehehhe.

part 2: thorns in the asphalt

Finally done with the motorcycle he was working on, Jungkook stood up and clapped his hands together, sending a puff of dust and grease into the air. He lets out a shaky breath as he wipes his hands against the damp rag and glanced around at the bustling shop from outside. It wasn’t perfect yet, but it was his dream finally coming to life.

The half-set-up motorcycle shop buzzed with activity, the sounds of hammers and drills blending with the faint hum of an engine someone was tinkering with in the back. The air carried a mix of oil, fresh paint, and the occasional whiff of pepperoni from the pizza his friends were devouring. Jungkook pushed open the side door to the main area, letting it swing shut behind him with a soft clang.

Yoongi, Jimin, and Hoseok—his partners in crime, both in business and in the gang—were gathered around a workbench repurposed as a makeshift table. Pizza boxes and soda cans littered the surface amid spare parts and tools.

"Hey Kook, want a slice?" Hoseok asks through a mouthful of food, lifting a greasy hand to wave a slice in his direction.

Jungkook shook his head, brushing past them towards the washroom. "No, thanks.” he muttered. A few moments later, he returned, his damp hands running through his hair as he leaned against the wall, eyes darting across the shop. Despite his attempt to focus on the chaos around him, his thoughts strayed to you.

He clenched his jaw, irritation flaring as he recalled your sharp tone and the unmistakable look of disdain you’d given him earlier. Yoongi glanced up from the catalog he was flipping through, sensing the shift in Jungkook’s mood. "What’s with the mood?" he drawls, his voice laced with mild curiosity.

"Is it because of the florist?" Jimin asks, his eyebrows quirking up as he tilted his head. The glint in his eyes revealed he already knew the answer. He’d overheard snippets of your exchange earlier in the morning when he’d briefly stepped out to help the workers.

Jungkook groaned and dragged a hand down his face. "Why are you even bringing her up?" he snaps, though the exasperation in his tone lacked real heat. "Because you’re clearly bothered." Jimin teases, leaning forward with a knowing grin. "Let me guess, she gave you an earful about how we’re ruining her perfect little flower shop with all the noise and chaos?"

"Exactly!" Jungkook threw his hands up, his voice rising slightly. "She acts like I’m singlehandedly destroying her business just by existing. I tried to be polite—"

"Polite?" Hoseok interrupts, nearly choking on his soda as he fails to hide his laugh. "You? Polite? Kook, I’ve seen your polite face. It’s the same as your ‘don’t mess with me’ face, and honestly? It scares people." he adds, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes.

"Not helping.” Jungkook deadpans, shooting Hoseok a glare as he flopped into a chair near the counter. "Look, we’re moving in. Of course there’s going to be noise and commotion. Like what else does she expect? Silence and fairy dust?" he scoffs.

"Maybe she has a point.” Yoongi said, his tone calm as he flipped another page of his catalog. "We’re not exactly a quiet bunch. And you did rev your bike for, what, a solid minute when you parked earlier? Was that really necessary?" he questions.

Jungkook groaned again, throwing his head back. "That wasn’t for her! I was literally just testing the new pipes." he insists, his tone defensive.

"Sure you were," Jimin chimes in again, a mischievous grin stretching across his face. "And let me guess, she’s cute too, huh? That’s why you’re all worked up." he teases.

Jungkook froze for the briefest moment before his head snapped forward, his glare locking onto Jimin. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Oh, it has everything to do with it.” Hoseok adds, leaning forward with a smirk. "Kook’s got a thing for the feisty and cute ones. Don’t deny it." he giggles with Jimin.

"You’re all insane." Jungkook mutters, grabbing a slice of pizza and taking an overly aggressive bite to distract himself from the conversation he so badly doesn't wanna have. "Admit it…” Yoongi suddenly says, finally setting the catalog aside to pin Jungkook with an amused look. "She got under your skin and that’s rare since usually, you’re the one doing the annoying."

"She’s NOT under my skin.” Jungkook argues, though the faint pink on his cheeks betrayed him. "She’s just... she's just being so damn unreasonable." He looked away, muttering under his breath. “I don’t even care."

"Uh-huh," Jimin said, exchanging a knowing glance with Hoseok as the two continue snickering. "Whatever," Jungkook grumbles, leaning back in his chair. "Let’s just focus on getting this place running. The sooner we’re open, the sooner I can stop worrying about her."

But even as he said it, his mind drifted back to you—the way your eyes flashed with annoyance, the sharp edge in your voice as you threw his words back at him.

//

The late afternoon sun streamed through the wide windows of your flower shop, casting a warm golden glow over the rows of vibrant blooms. You were carefully rearranging a bouquet of sunflowers, their cheerful yellow petals, a stark contrast to your lingering irritation from earlier. The noise from the shop next door had finally died down after the confrontation, leaving behind a calm, almost eerie silence.

You let out a small sigh, trying to tamp down your annoyance. "He’s moving in. Of course, there’s going to be noise." You repeated the thought to yourself, attempting to summon some patience. Still, that didn’t excuse Jungkook’s smug attitude. He had a knack for getting under your skin in record time.

The day passed peacefully after that. A few regulars stopped by every now and then, gradually making you think less of the way your day had started. The smiles of your customers as they left, made the effort worth it, reminding you why exactly you loved this job. Flowers had a way of softening even the hardest days.

As you glanced at the clock perched on your counter, the hands read 7:32 PM. The faint ache in your feet confirmed it was time to call it a day. You walked to the front of the store and flipped the "Open" sign to "Close" on your glass door.

As you turned around to walk towards your workbench, curiosity got the better of you, forcing you to make your way towards the window. You peeked out, trying to see something. The sidewalk, once cluttered with tools and crates, was now clear. The noise had disappeared entirely, and the only sign of life was the light spilling out onto the pavement. You couldn’t see anyone moving about inside. Shrugging, you stepped away from the glass, shaking off the lingering thoughts of your new neighbor.

Back at your workbench, you start by tidying up the scattered stems and trimmed leaves. Your fingers had just reached for a bundle of sunflower stalks when the soft chime of the bell above the door startled you. "We’re closed for the—" you began, turning around, but the words melted into a smile as your gaze landed on Taehyung.

He strolled in, exuding his usual effortless charm. He was dressed in a cozy brown sweater and a pair of white trousers while smudges of paint streaked across his hands. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a playful grin.

"Looks like someone had a busy day," you tease, gesturing towards the paint on his hands. "Art waits for no one," he replies dramatically as he leans against the counter like a protagonist in a renaissance painting. "But of course, I had to stop by and see my favorite florist." he adds, standing up straight.

You roll your eyes, laughing as he joins you at the workbench and begins helping you clean up. "Flattery won’t get you free flowers," you quip, sweeping a handful of cut stems into a bin.

"Who said I was here for flowers?" he shoots back, his grin widening. "I’ve got a better idea. Dinner. Tonight. The whole squad—Namjoon, Seokjin, Juwon, me, and you. You need a break, and we all miss you."

You pause, leaning against the counter as you consider his words. Normally, you’d jump at the chance to spend time with your closest friends. But after the day you’d had—between juggling work and the fiasco with Jungkook—you were tempted to go straight home and collapse into bed.

"I don’t know, Tae," you began with a small pout. "It’s been a long day."

"Exactly why you should come." he says, stepping closer, his tone now softening with concern. "What happened, though?"

You sigh, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear, not wanting to say anything. Judging your expression, Taehyung wraps his arm around your shoulder as he pats your arm. "Sounds like someone needs to vent over some good food." you hear him say, his teasing tone returning. "Come on. Join us. You can rant as much as you want, and I promise you’ll leave feeling at least a hundred times better."

You stare at him for a moment, weighing your options. The idea of being with your friends—laughing, talking, and letting the weight of the day slip away—was tempting. "Fine," you finally relent with a smirk. "But you’re paying for my dessert." you quickly add, smirking up at your best friend.

Taehyung rolls his eyes but instantly grins. "Deal. Now hurry up. We’ve got a table waiting, and I’m starving."

You laugh as the two of you continue tidying up around your store so that you can close up quickly and escape the chaos in your mind, just for a bit.

//

Jungkook leans against the frame of his shop’s side door as his tongue plays with the piercings on his lower lip. He let's out a deep exhale as he thinks about the long day he just had. Though the shop was coming together, the chaos of setting up and managing his friends’ antics had left him drained. He pulls out a cigarette from his pocket but hesitates, staring at it for a second before tucking it back in. With a shake of his head, he looks to his left, eyeing your shop.

He notices how your shop is still lit, its warm golden glow, a stark contrast to the sharp fluorescents of his workspace. He steps a little forward, inching closer to your store and halts just when he's able to get a view of what's happening inside. He peaks from the window, his eyes following through the gaps between the shelves of flowers. From where he was standing, the scene inside felt surreal, like something from a painting—the neat rows of flowers against the wall, the gentle sway of their petals under the ceiling fan, and then... you.

His eyes landed on you without warning, and it was like everything else blurred for a second. You were standing near your workbench, a soft smile playing on your lips as you leaned towards a man beside you. He was tall, dressed in earth tones and the two of you seemed to move in sync, tidying up the scattered stems and leaves, your laughter faint but clear in the stillness of the evening.

Jungkook’s breath hitched. That smile. It was nothing like the irritated glare you’d aimed at him earlier that morning. This was something entirely different. So delicate, so soft, so genuine in a way that felt private, like something he shouldn’t be witnessing.

He crossed his arms tightly, trying to shake the strange pull of the scene, but his gaze betrayed him, lingering despite himself. He stands there, wondering who that man is. A friend? A brother? A boyfriend? A husband?

"You’re staring," Yoongi’s voice cuts through the quiet, smooth as ever but laced with amusement. Jungkook jolts back into reality, straightening as his friends emerged from the shop, now standing behind him. Yoongi leans against Jungkook's shoulder, a sly smirk on his face, while Jimin and Hoseok stand back, each carrying half-empty soda cans.

"Her again?" Jimin teases as Jungkook feels his friend stand beside him. Jimin takes a sip from his soda and squints his eyes, looking inside your shop. "I’m not staring," Jungkook finally bites back, his tone sharper than intended. He looks away quickly, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

"Right," Hoseok smirks, circling around to join them. "Then what were you doing? Meditating? Because it looked like you were ready to write her a sonnet." he mocks, earning a snort from the other two.

Jimin lets out a low whistle. "She does look cute tonight, I'm not gonna lie. I totally understand you." he says, his grin widening as Jungkook shoots him a deadly glare. "I wonder who's the guy." Yoongi suddenly says, tilting his head slightly, his sharp eyes scanning the man beside you. "I don’t know. And I don’t care.” Jungkook snaps, his voice low but taut.

"Oh, you care.” Hoseok said with a knowing chuckle, nudging Jimin as they exchanged grins. "Look at you. All tense and broody. It’s adorable." Jungkook faces them, his jaw tight. "I’m not tense. And I’m definitely not broody. I could care less about her." he huffs.

"Care less, huh?" Yoongi murmurs, raising a brow. "Funny how you can’t stop staring at her for someone you claim not to care about." he laughs as the other two agree. Jungkook scowls, but his friends were truly relentless.

"Come on, Kook, admit it.” Jimin says, moving away from his spot as he starts walking towards his bike that's parked near their store. Hoseok follows him and Jungkook hears Jimin continue. "You’ve got a thing for her. Feisty florist, sharp tongue, cute smile— basically your type."

"She’s NOT my type," Jungkook speaks, but his voice falters slightly, betraying him. He doesn't even realize his eyes have found their way back to you. "Then why are you still looking?" Yoongi asks, his tone almost gentle now, like he was daring Jungkook to confront something he wasn’t ready to.

Jungkook clenches his fists at his sides, as he finally looks away, glancing at Yoongi. He doesn't know what to say, but he turns back to look at you. He observes the way the unknown man leans closer to you, saying something that causes a grin to appear on your face. The sight sends a strange pang through Jungkook’s chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome but he ignores it.

His friends seemed to have noticed the shift because their teasing suddenly softens while their smirks are replaced with something quieter. "Hey..." Hoseok starts after a moment, clapping Jungkook on the shoulder as he carefully pulls him away from your window and begins walking towards their bikes. "If it bugs you that much, why don’t you just talk to her? Not like your grumpy act is working." he suggests.

"Yeah, sure," Jungkook mutters darkly as he shrugs off Hoseok’s hand and continues walking. "I’ll just stroll over there and say, ‘Hey, sorry for all the noise. By the way, is that your boyfriend?’ That’ll go great." he says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Hoseok shakes his head.

"I didn't mean it like that, idiot. I meant like... in the days that come, maybe be nice to her, start a friendship... I don't know. She's our neighbor after all. Besides, today's only the first day, You have a ton of opportunities to start something fresh with her." he explains. "Yeah, he's right. It's better than standing here sulking.” Jimin shoots back, grinning.

Jungkook glares at them but says nothing, his thoughts too tangled to argue. His friends get on their bikes and wear their helmets. "Anyways, we're heading home. Lock the doors and make sure you get home safe too." Yoongi says, starting his bike. The other two follow him after a few minutes, bidding their goodbyes to Jungkook.

He quietly stands near his bike, a war between his brain and heart as he tries his best to decipher what exactly he is feeling right now. He shakes his head, telling himself there's no point thinking about all of this and walks back into his shop, deciding to just tidy up and head home. It's been a long day.

//

The diner was a cozy little spot on the edge of town, with warm lighting and the smell of fresh food in the air. Namjoon was already there when you arrived, his nose buried in a thick book, while Seokjin and Juwon were engaged in an animated conversation about work.

"Finally," Seokjin says as he spots you and Taehyung slide into the booth. "You’re late." he complains. "Blame her…" Taehyung says, pointing at you. "Sorry, I took some time cleaning up." you answer, taking off your coat and placing it on your lap.

Namjoon finally closes his book and looks up at the rest of you. "Wow feels like we're all linking up after ages." he says as everyone around the table laughs. "Joon we literally met last week." Seokjin says. "Yes but, Y/n wasn't there. You can't deny but it has been a while since all 5 of us have hung out." Namjoon states, earning a nod from everyone.

"You're right, i have been a little busy." You agree, smiling at everyone apologetically. "Oh it's alright Y/n-ah" Juwon says, as she proceeds to hold your hand on the table and rub your knuckles with her thumb. "How have you been? What's new?" she quickly asks.

Soon, conversation sparks up between the 5 of you as the food you had ordered arrives and somehow you find yourself ranting about the incidents of the day you just had. You launched right into the story, recounting every frustrating detail. Your friends listened intently, their reactions ranging from indignation to amusement.

"Sounds like he’s a pain.” Seokjin says, once you're somewhat done. "You should send him a passive-aggressive bouquet. A nice arrangement of thorns and poison ivy." he adds and Taehyung laughs at his comment. "Or maybe he’s just not used to someone standing up to him, you know." Juwon suggests with a smirk.

You scoff, leaning back in your chair. "Please. He’s not that intimidating. I will stand up to him whenever it's needed." you nod to yourself. "Ugh i hate him. He's like my biggest enemy right now." you let out, rubbing your temples.

Namjoon chuckles, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Be careful, Y/N. Strangers to enemies... that’s a slippery slope." he says, swallowing his food.

"And sometimes…" Taehyung suddenly adds, his grin mischievous "it’s the best kind of slope." You groan as you hear him say that, dropping your head onto the edge of the table as your friends laugh. If this was the start of your interactions with Jungkook, you dreaded to think what the rest of your coming days would look like.

<- part 1 // part 3 ->