#meet me at the alter in your white suit

[astoldbychae]

I-

😩 GIRLLLAAAAAAAAA! The plot twist plot TWISTED...and now I'm in the corner crying because Kevin can have it ALL! Until I have nothing left...I'm talking until I'm just a shell of a woman. You hear me!??? Whew!

Listen...his soul won't be back in his body until the next 5-7 business days. YOU HEAR ME?! Lol. Lawd hammercy...

ON REPEAT! ATWATERRRRRRRRRR!

...When she looked in the mirror...😩 Daddy came PREPARED...

It's the way Imma be clickin my heels until the end of the year because the way I'm tryna live by best Atwater filled life...That man, that man, that MAAAANNNNNN.

...Have you ever Harlem Shook & Shed a tear simultaneously!? Because that's what I did...🤣

Until The Cops Come Knocking

Characters: Kevin Atwater x Black!Reader.

Summary:  A simple house call turns into a pleasant surprise.

Warnings: Let’s see, just a smidge of spice. Fluffiness and flirtation included. There are a few sprinkles of profanity. There may be instances where you cackle loudly.

Word Count: 2,700+.

A/N: I know. You’re shocked I took time away from my baby daddy, Rio. It’s just something about Atwater and Halstead, though. Wait until you see what else I’m cooking up for those two. I honestly couldn’t tell you how this random idea came about. That’s the joy of being a Libra. My imagination just keeps going and going. IT’S LIBRA SZN BABY♎️! Enjoy my sweet lovelies.

Song Inspo💞:

Boot-covered footsteps thumped down the winding stairwell of the run-down apartment building. The creaking door of the entrance swung open as both detectives released an exhausted and irritated breath. Both men took in their surroundings as they approached the large pickup truck they arrived in. Seeing nothing lurking about, Jay slid into the driver’s side as Kevin took residence in the passenger seat. The men released another irritated sigh before Halstead spoke, “This damn case has us running in circles. There has got to be something we’re missing here.”

“These dead ends are wasting valuable time. If we don’t get a hold of things soon, this sick psycho will slip through our fingers. For all we know, he could be halfway to Mexico by now. None of these witnesses are going to cooperate.”

“We’ll figure something out. We just have to find a way to convince them we can protect them and their families from this monster. We should wrap this up for the night, though. We’re both too tired to follow up on any more pointless leads. I say we head back to the precinct, check in with the team, and call it a night.”

The men agree it’s probably the best bet as Jay turns over the engine. As they begin the journey back to the precinct, a call comes in over the radio. There are multiple reports of a noise complaint about a party at a property in a neighborhood only minutes from their current location. Atwater shrugs his shoulders at Halstead.

“I mean, we are only five minutes away. Might as well check it out real quick.”

“It’s probably some spoiled-ass rich kid throwing a kegger,” Jay responds. “Let’s just get this over with,” he chuckles, shaking his head.

“It’s strange. This address sounds familiar. Have we ever answered any calls or done investigative work on this street,” Kevin questioned.

“I feel like I’ve been here with Haley or Voight, but I can’t say for sure.”

Kevin gave him a slight head nod as his phone vibrated in his left pocket. Checking the notification brings a small smile to his face. Atwater’s eyebrows twist in confusion as he reads the message. Jay glanced in his direction, laughing at his friend's facial expression.

“Bro? Are you good? If you stare at that screen any harder, it may glitch,” he joked. “What’s wrong? Are you in the dog house or something? And please don’t hit me with that, “who says I’m dating anyone nonsense.” The girls are on to you. You’ve been missing happy hour for months now. Giving us the excuse that you’re tired. You’ve turned down every woman within the last four months.”

Kevin ignored most of what Jay said, returning to the initial question. 

“It’s this text, bro. Either words are missing, or I’m being butt-texted. Is that even a thing,” he asked, still puzzled.

Before Jay could respond, another text came through. Kevin read the three-word text and guffawed. His tongue wet his bottom lip before the bottom lip tucked between his teeth. He was fighting the heat from the three words on his screen.

Mamas🤤😈🫶🏾: need fuck daddy

Baeee🙈💓🫶🏾: Oh! That’s how you’re feeling, mamas? I thought you were out with your girls tonight.

Mamas🤤😈🫶🏾: M so tips feels so goods need daddy😩🤤.

Baeee🙈💓🫶🏾: Drop your location, baby. I’ll come to get you. I’ll scoop you when I finish up here. Stay put, love.

Mamas🤤😈🫶🏾:

“I see you’ve deciphered the message. What’s up,” Jay asked.

“It’s nothing, dog. It’s just a little inside joke. You wouldn’t get it,” Kevin lied.

“Your reply sounds suspicious as hell. I would question it further, but we’ve arrived at our destination.”

“Damn! You can hear the music from the gate entrance. Don’t they have security? It is a gated community.”

“They’ve visited this house twice already. They told neighbors to call the authorities a third time.”

“This should be fun,” Atwater responded dryly.

Jay was the first one to approach the door. With a gentle nod, both men positioned their hands on their holsters, and Halstead gave a firm knock. 

“Sounds like a bunch of drunk women,” Kevin whispered quickly, releasing a small laugh.

“Dear Lord. It sounds like we’re about to interrupt girls' night. Brace yourself, brother, if these women are as drunk as they sound. It could get a little handsy.”

“If one finger lands on you. Upton’s going to kill you. You have to stop falling for your coworkers, Halstead. You take the term work wife too seriously,” Kevin jokes.

The door swings open, halting Jay from giving a rebuttal. Both men angle their heads down, spotting a redhead who is no more than four foot eleven. Her gaze creeps over the detectives slowly as she mumbles, “Good Lord. Money well spent.”

Jay and Kevin look at each other, confused by her words. They identify themselves, but it goes ignored. Another woman joins the redhead. She appears to be Filipino and just as tiny as her friend. Kevin starts to identify himself, but both women turn toward the rest of the group.

The redhead purrs, “Ladies, get your ones ready. The entertainment is here!”

Both detectives look flabbergasted as they try and correct them. The ladies are seriously inebriated. None of the words leaving the detectives’ mouths are getting through. Red continues, “Ms. Maid of Honor! Do us the honors and get the Bride-to-be ready for her lap dance!”

Her fellow tiny friend squeezes between both men, pulling them inside the house.

“Wait a minute, sweetheart,” Jay tries to reason.

“Hold on there, ma’am. You’re mistaken,” Kevin interjects.

Surrounded by a pack of drunk and lust-filled women, Jay attempts to talk over the boisterous crowd, “Ladies! Let’s keep things calm-.” He’s thrown off as someone grabs his ass. “Come now, ladies. Let’s keep things civilized and respectful.”

Kevin cackles as Jay’s face starts to redden. That is until one of the women starts running her hand up and down the veins of his forearm. The women begin catcalling them, going on about how sexy they are. “If I would’ve known they were sending strippers this fucking sexy. I would’ve paid double. Cuff me, Mr. Officer,” the redhead panted.

Kevin stepped back and politely removed the thirsty woman’s hand from his person. He started to reiterate that they were the actual police. Those words stuck in his throat as he felt dainty arms wrap around his waist. As if that hadn’t thrown him off guard, the unidentified woman began thrusting her hips, humping from the back. Just as he was about to turn around and reprimand the stranger, he heard a familiar voice. To Kevin’s surprise, he turns around to find you, his tipsy girlfriend smiling and slapping his ass. Jay looked at his friend in shock as his face lit up with laughter at your slurred words.

“This ain’t no strippaaa! Back off, you thirsty bald-headed hoes! I’m just joking. Not really. This MY MUTHAFUCKIN’ MAN! My man, my man, my man, my man! We go together. Real bad.”

“Okay, Yung Miami. You need a break from TikTok, baby,” Kevin teased.

Jay, assuming his friend was enduring harassment, attempted to diffuse the situation and calm you down. Kevin releases a deep chuckle, patting Halstead on the back.

“It’s all good, bro. Shortie can touch me however she wants,” he insists, licking his lips and staring at you with hungry eyes. “You lit, ain’t you, mamas?”

Halstead looks on in complete and utter confusion. “She’s beautiful, man, but don’t forget we’re on the clock. Voight would have our asses for indulging in this.”

Atwater smirks at Jay as he shrugs his shoulders. His eyes travel back to your face. Kevin reaches out, placing his hand on your waist. He tugs at you, pulling you into a quick peck.

“Relax, Halstead. Little mama’s telling the truth.” 

Jay, looking at him puzzled, waited for Kevin to explain. 

“Halstead, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend. We’ve been dating for the last six months. It’s an odd way for you to find out, but yeah. Jay, this my lady.” 

Embarrassed, you released a tiny giggle, burying yourself into Kevin’s side. Pulling back, you looked at him in a lust-filled, drunken haze. 

“Hiii baby,” you slurred, smiling ear to ear.

Kevin smiled back, biting his lip, “Wassup, beautiful? Listen, we hate to break up a wonderful time, mamas, but it’s pretty noisy. As a courtesy to the neighbors, could you tell the crew to simmer down a little bit,” he said in that tone that always made you shiver. 

“Okay, baby,” you smiled, nibbling your lip.

Atwater leaned in closer, whispering in your ear, “Yeah? You can do that for Daddy?”

Releasing a shaky breath, you nodded yes in reply.

“That’s my good girl.”

Jay looked at Atwater with raised eyebrows as you settled the girls down.

“Very impressive. Teach me your ways, bro.”

“No can do, brotha. If it’s in you, it’s in you. Can’t be taught, my man,” Kevin boasted.

You managed to calm the girls down. They all relocated to the kitchen to make a fresh batch of margaritas. Your best friends, who had answered the door, instructed you to find out if Kevin’s partner was single. They trotted off heartbroken after telling them Kevin had mentioned a girlfriend to you before.

You stumbled back to your chuckling boyfriend, who wrapped you in another bear hug. Pulling away, he looked at you like you had been caught red-handed.

“I know you’re the maid of honor, but did I hear the word strippers? Yes, I’m almost certain that’s come up several times since we arrived. You don’t need all that swinging in your face. Come on, my little drunken love. We’re taking you home. Your little ass is about to pass out. How much alcohol have you had?” 

“I’ll go,” you stand on your tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “If you take me home and put me to sleep, just the way I like.” You finish, biting his ear playfully. 

“That can be arranged…for tomorrow. I want you sober, mamas.”

Kevin laughs at your drunken pout. “You’ll be out like a light before we make it to the house. It’s going to be alright, love. Sleep it off some, and I promise I’ll break you off afterward.”

“Let’s go so I can get you back to your car, bro. You’re not having sex in my truck,” Jay joked, but at the same time, he was serious.

“Halstead, be easy on the jokes now. I’d hate to have to inform Hailey about the many times you got groped tonight.”

Kevin gingerly swept you from Jay’s truck, transferring you to his own. He managed to buckle you into the front seat and nearly made it out of the parking lot unnoticed. His head shot back with an exasperated sigh as the exit to the precinct flew open.

“Nice try, Atwater. We want to meet your gorgeous lady friend Halstead’s exact words. Better watch your girl, Kev,” Burgess taunted. 

Hailey followed close behind, hands on her hips and a smirk on her face. “You honestly think Jay was going to keep your secret? Not a chance, Atwater. Before you try to snitch, I already know how he was treated like a sexy piece of meat tonight,” Hailey sassed.

Kevin shushed the women and directed their attention to your sleeping frame. “You two can give her the third degree another time. I’m taking my little party animal home,” he whispered, looking at you with adoring eyes. “I’ll bring her by the precinct to formally introduce her soon. Just not tonight, ladies.”

“Bachelorette parties are the best. I’m looking forward to mine,” Upton sighed.

“Jay should be worried if Burgess is throwing it. I’ll see you two tomorrow. Let me get my sleepy baby to a comfortable bed.”

You had slept the entire ride to and from the precinct. Kevin carried you into his home, taking you straight to the master bathroom. You began to stir as he placed you on top of the vanity.

“How long was I out,” you groaned.

“About an hour,” his lips brushed against your forehead. “Do you think you can handle showering on your own? Or do you want me to help you, love?”

“I want cuddles in the shower. Shit! I don’t have my overnight bag. What about my hair,” you whined.

“You gon’ be good, sweetheart. One second.”

Kevin started opening cabinets and sitting items next to you on the vanity. His face spread into a shy smile when he saw you holding back tears.

“Why the watery eyes, mamas?”

“Two things. First of all, sir. Bless your parents. I’ve never had a man love me this way. Baby, you went and bought all my hair care products.”

The both of you looked lovingly at the pile on the counter. Kevin had purchased every single product you had in your bathroom. Everything you usually brought with you lay there.

“What was the second thing?”

“I’m an emotional drunk.”

“Yeah, I kind of guessed that,” he chuckled. “You can sleep in my clothes. I’d prefer you slept naked, but that’s up to you,” he licked his lips.

“That depends.”

“On?”

“If I’ve sobered up enough for you to slide up in it,” you purred.

“I’d say you’re thinking pretty clearly, love. Let’s get cleaned up. I’m starving, and I got a taste for something sweet.”

“Yeah,” you questioned breathlessly.

Kevin stepped between your thighs, kissing you hungrily. Releasing your lips a few moments later, his hand brushed against the outside of your shorts. “Yeah. It’s nice, soft, juicy, and delicious. You gon’ give me a taste, love?”

“Start the shower before I come all over this counter.”

Hours later, the two of you lay in bed panting and satiated. The room rested in a comfortable silence. Your head rested on Kevin’s chest as his fingertips drew patterns against your naked skin. His lips left a litany of kisses across your temple. He pulled in a breath before speaking.

“Baby girl,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Move in with me. I want to build a life with you. I know it’s only been six months-.”

“Yes.”

“I wanted to ask you another question, though,” he playfully scolded, giving your butt a light tap. 

You looked at him and smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, continue, baby. Either way, the answer is yes.”

“Cool. So we’re getting married then?”

“Ye-wait. What?”

Kevin flipped you both. Lying on top of you, he brushed the hair from your face.

“Marry me, mamas? I know it’s way too soon-.”

You kissed him to shut him up. It lasted long enough to calm his fluttering heart.

“Yes.”

Without another word, he kissed you hard, stealing your breath. Tender touches morphed into desperate touches. In an instant, the room filled with pants and moans as he slipped back into you. Thrust mirroring thrust, as Kevin drove you to the brink of ecstasy until your tired body would no longer allow it. He littered your face with kisses as the both of you whispered words of affirmation until sleep claimed you both.

The aching in your bladder woke you as the morning sun crept into the bedroom. Not wanting to wake your sleeping giant, you wiggled free. Tip-toeing into the bathroom, you quickly relieved yourself and washed your hands. You unboxed one of the toothbrushes Kevin bought, quietly falling into your morning routine. Standing in the mirror brushing your teeth, your free hand brushed curls from your face, and you froze. The toothbrush dangled in your mouth as you stared into the mirror, shock written on your face. Hand frozen mid-air, you gawked at the beautiful diamond sparkling on your ring finger. You startled as a voice sounded behind you. Kevin stood in the doorway, muscles rippling, in all his naked glory, staring at you in the mirror. He walked up behind you, pressing his chest to your back, and whispered against your neck, “I always come prepared, baby girl. Notice it’s the correct size and the cut you like. Do I know my woman or what,” he bragged, finishing with kisses to your throat.

Throwing a finger in the air, you quickly rinsed your mouth and toothbrush. You placed the brush in the holder as you spun around, snatching Kevin’s hand. Pulling him back toward the bedroom, he questioned, “Where are we going, love?”

“Back to bed. I’m going to suck the soul out of you. Then I’m taking my ass to the kitchen and cooking you breakfast in bed.”

Fuck I love this woman.

Hope you enjoyed it, my sweet babies! Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

tagging:

@darqchilddaydreamz @4everbrookemarie @starrynite7114 @nightlywords7 @amorestevens @sunshine-flower @boomclapxox @astoldbychae

@skyesthebomb @tbugger01 @thatbrowngruul

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ How you have contrasting personalities but they drop everything for you anyway

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche (separate) 

They say love can change anyone, but you have yet to agree with this statement. You never wanted anyone to alter themselves for you, especially if that someone is your beloved. Instead, you always believed that people should stay true to themselves while maintaining mutual love and adoration for each other. And that's how you and your beloved were - contrasting in looks, attitudes, and habits. Yet it made your beloved cherish you all the more, even if it caused unsuspecting passers to raise eyebrows in shock… Maybe it's because your beloved is actually a dreaded Fatui Harbinger, and people didn't expect him to be head over heels whenever you’re in the same room. But what can you say? He always was a softie for you. 

✧ Pierro doesn’t attend public gatherings. Period. Ask any of the high-rank Harbingers and they would tell you how lucky it would be if he were even present for a Harbinger’s inauguration, like when Arlecchino was declared 4th or when Tartaglia received his Delusion. Nevertheless, it is clear that The Jester does not squander his time with social events or benign pleasantries; he’s present only on important occasions.

If you can define what’s important in his book, that is.

An example being was a certain Fatui party. It is not uncommon for the Regrator to organize lavish evenings, especially in recognition if a Harbinger obtained a gnosis, or if another significant mission was masterfully accomplished. The grander was the task, the bigger the event would be. Of course, Pierro never attends those either. 

During one of those organized events - you, of all people, decided to come. Dressed in your finest, glittering lotus flower silk and white silver adorned your figure while you timidly stood amongst the high nobles of Snezhnaya. Your presence was not an unwelcome sight, but you did not strive to bring attention to you either. Expensive parties with Fatui diplomats and Snezhnayan aristocrats were not your usual cup of tea.

Your presence did not bring awning gasps, but Pierro’s did. 

Unannounced, the Director arrived at this sudden party, bringing hushed murmurs amongst the crowds of subordinates and colleagues. Likewise, he wore his most exquisite suit, a mantle-like cape flowing elegantly over his broad shoulders. Before guests and attendees could greet his arrival, The Jester marched straight ahead, not bothering to gaze at whoever tried to initiate conversation. 

No, the man’s attention was focused straight at you, as he passed through everyone and swiftly approached you. With an outstretched hand, a knowing gaze was cast upon you, as he spoke:

“If I may,” - he brought the back of your hand closer to his lips “Would you honor me with a dance?” 

You obliged. Now everyone in the gala was gaping at you two with grandiloquent murmurs. 

“My most cherished, why did you not warn me you’d attend the ball?” - The Jester whispered to your ear, his gloved hand intertwined with yours as the two of you waltzed elegantly. 

“Well, I just thought it would be futile to bother you. You usually hate such occasions.” - you muttered back, overwhelmed at the prospect of meeting his icy gaze; a gaze that only looked at you in tender love and yearning.   

“Then may I inquire on why you decided to attend this one? You avoid them as well.” 

“Okay, just please don’t laugh,” - you whispered. As Pierro kept a hand on your waist, he danced with you across the ballroom, using his broad form to shield you from the unwelcoming gazes of the guests. “You gifted me this fancy attire that I kept hiding in my closet for many months… I simply didn’t have a reason to wear it. So I forced myself to go out just so I could have the excuse of wearing something nice. U-um, that’s it.”  

“And that’s it, love?” 

“...Yeah,” - you nodded defeatedly “Also because I didn’t want to busy you from work.” 

“Oh, my most beloved.” - The Director emitted a hushed chuckle as you two conversed and danced, making sure his words were heard only by you. “I can make all your attires gala-worthy if you so desire. You do not need to be coy, ask and I shall accompany you on any grand occasion." 

Thus, the jester may not attend social events, as he only frequents important ones - the ones you're in, that is. As he whisked you away with a dance and a dip, he kept his hand delicate around you to escape the company of noisy guests who wished to bother you two. But what would be a ball with his lips gently grazing your cheeks at the end of each dance, telling you: 

“Besides, I cannot allow other attendees to assume you are available, now can I? Not while you look so stunning tonight.” 

✧ When Il Capitano was first spotted with you during workout practice, people didn’t even fathom you were his beloved, the only person equal to the Captain. The two of you were simply so…  opposite. The Harbinger was big and imposing, while you were smaller and approachable; which isn’t even a fair comparison, because Capitano just towers over anyone. Everyone looks small next to him! 

Nevertheless, when Capitano had his usual daily practicum along with his rumored significant other, some Fatui soldiers tried to sneak glimpses. Yet what a jarring spectacle it was to see the immovable, assertive Harbinger dismiss his commanding tone in favor of being patient and attentive. 

“My dear, you’ve already run a set of laps and tried to outbeat me during pushup exercises. You are putting too much strain on your ankles after your previous training. We should-” 

“No, we can still go for another round! Fight me!” 

“But, my love-” 

“Fight me!!!”    

Anyway, the fight abruptly subsided. Not because you lost, but because Capitano swiftly lifted you into his arms the instant you launched yourself onto him, consequently refusing to put you down. Therefore, you find yourself being carried by your partner's muscled arms while your feet dangle.

“Aw man, not fair…” - you mumbled, settling to rest on Capitano's forearms. “It's not even a duel if you're just lifting me like a toddler. Set me down, Cappy!” 

“It’s an effective tactic, one that easily neutralizes a hotheaded opponent like yourself.” - Capitano explained calmly. In reality, his body moved with pride as he held onto you securely, as if you were his prized reward for today's training. 

The captain set you down, his armored hands trailing down to your leg, sending a tingling graze onto your skin. And indeed, his punctilious gaze spotted how you tried to hide a limp when exercising. 

“You sprained your ankle,” - Capitano stated.

“Listen, it's not a big deal. Just a strain, I had worse happen.” 

You tried to defend yourself, but The Harbinger already expected your excuses. The man knew better than to argue with you, and instead settled on removing your footwear and gently checking on your injury.

“This is no condition to continue training, my dear. If I let you continue, you'd stubbornly reach Celestia with bloodied knuckles and broken limbs.”

“Yeah! And you bet I'd win!’” - you retorted brightly. At the sight of your confident smile, Capitano chuckled deeply, his pitch-black helmet pressing into your forehead with tender motion.

“I am certain you will, my love. You'll drag The Heavenly Principles by the ear, and have them weeping by your gaze alone. But now, we should get you to rest and apply some ice to your ankle. Shall I carry you?”

You sighed deeply, having no option but to let your beloved's experienced hands help you with your soreness. “Oh well… fine.”

Capitano's training could wait. There was a more crucial matter at hand, literally. With his massive yet calm form carrying you away, your gaze remained fierce but forbearing. 

If some Fatui soldiers witnessed today's event, they'd have to conceal their inconspicuous glances and smiles. After all, the sight of Il Capitano being the big, loving teddy-bear, while you being a menacing gremlin was undoubtedly shock-inducing.  

Nonetheless, who else is worthy of being carried by the 1st Fatui Harbinger and pampered by him? Only you, of course.

✧ Il Dottore is a destructive, stern man. Hunched over the examination table, his gloved hands were tainted in blood while his jaw clenched in aggravation. His hours of working in the lab easily make him irritated, and this irritation further increases whenever certain scientific experiments do not bear fruit. A tense air of suspension was now lingering in his lab; a sign of an upcoming violent outburst.

“Lord Harbinger…” - one of Dottore's lab assistants began, trying to muster the courage to speak without shaking. “This experiment requires another round of testing, w-we might need to start over,”

The Doctor remained still, but the dangerous clutch of the scalpel in his hand didn't go unnoticed. “Perhaps I did not make myself clear?” 

He straightened his shoulders, his masked expression gleaming with malice and murderous intent with each syllable hissed.

“I have given you one simple task. Bring me the results. If this experiment is not completed by tomorrow at the earliest, I will have to remind you how brittle, and puny your useless bones can be-”

Suddenly, the lab door slams open. From the heavy metal doorway, a hasty but familiar person quietly saunters in, unknowingly saving the poor soul that was about to be Dottore's next target. Of course, the person in question is - you. 

“Dottore?” A small murmur escaped you. You stepped closer to Dottore and tugged at his sleeve. “I’m sorry, I can't sleep…” 

An abrupt silence settled in the lab. 

The unnerving tension of the lab was diverted as if a switch was flipped in Dottore's brain. The man swiftly set his scalpel aside, discarded his bloody gloves, and turned into a softer tone when talking to you. 

“Hm, is it so late already? I apologize dear, time must've slipped past me. Do you want me to brew us some tea and join you in bed?”

“Yes, please… Chamomile. if you're not busy, of course.” - you nodded, a tender smile settling on your face.

The sight was fascinating. The eccentric, mad scientist was instantly replaced by a doting partner, who would lower himself to kneel before you and put his hands on your shoulders as if all his lab work and blood-stained messes were already forgotten. Dottore's assistants were indeed quite baffled when you entered the lab. But what was more confusing is that the sudden change of attitude was so drastic, that they all froze in silence and subordination. The poor, unfortunate underlings; one minute dealing with their Lord Harbinger's harsh demeanor, and the other witnessing him hugging you and gazing at you like a lovesick puppy. 

“Perhaps it’s time to wind down for today. I was about to finish for today, anyway. I'll make your tea as you like it and accompany you in bed, dearest.” - Dottore's hand gently rested on your back, as he leisurely ushered you to leave with him. 

“And as for the experiments,” - just before the Harbinger could leave with you in his arms, he sent an ominous glance towards his assistants, one that even through a mask portrayed lethal resolve - “deal with it.”  

Oh well. Someone is staying overtime in the lab. That's how The Doctor was with his work - cruel and unattached. However, unbeknownst to people, when he's back with you in bed, that man is clinging to you throughout the night, groaning about his research while burying his head against your chest. His face takes refuge against the warmth of your body, arms encircling you in a needy embrace around your torso. 

Sometimes, he just needs a good squeeze from you when you cuddle him, that's all.  

✧ A day cannot be concluded if there wasn’t a single instance where Scaramouche’s grumbles weren’t accompanied by your bright grins. Scaramouche has a reputation for his sour disposition whenever he is discontented, that much is known. What isn't known is that the only person who tolerates his cynicism is someone as bright and cheerful as you. Like two sides of the same coin.  

“Hmph, Pathetic. Just because some flowers are blooming doesn’t mean it requires a whole festival to be commemorated for.”  

“Oh, come on, Scara. You accompany me to every Hanami event.” - you smiled back in response to the Harbinger’s scoffs, but the 6th crossed his arms. 

“They are no different each year. Same cherry blossoms, same food stalls you drool over.” 

“But Scara…! The Dango!” 

That’s how the two of you wind up in a narrow cobble street, protected under the soft shadows of cherry blossom, while cascading pink petals gently fall around you. Well, that is how you wind up here, while Scaramouche was naturally dragged by you. Arms linked with one another, the Puppeteer kept his iconic look of displeasure, a huge contrast to your joyous one. One would assume The Harbinger could easily flee your torment and make you scram, but on the contrary: 

He is the one who makes sure your hand is intertwined with his, says “To keep you from running away like a child in a crowd”. 

He is the one running his thumb over your skin, his hand squeezes yours, and says “Don’t get too excited over the food stalls.”      

He is the one rushing with you to find a good secluded spot, away from the crowd, while his hand pulls you closer by the waist, and says “It’s too loud. Here, stay closer.” 

And of course, he is the one buying your favorite Hanami Dango and says “You asked for it so you better enjoy it. And make sure to chew it properly - dango is sticky.” 

For someone who underlines his disapproval vocally, he sure pampers you with no objection about your interests. You’d muse and tease, saying that it was his way of enjoying flower viewing without saying it. However, before you could utter the words, a strong gust of spring wind blew past the street, sending a plethora of flower petals blowing into everyone’s faces. You shielded your eyes, whereas Scaramouche gently tugged at his ichimegasa hat, pulling you closer to further shield you. 

“See? I told you this yearly custom is a nuance.” - he lamented, but his words came out more as a murmur than a groan, perhaps because he held you directly in his proximity. Your faces were closer, and the veil of his hat served as concealment from any public eyes. 

You’d smile. He sure complained a lot, and Scaramouche didn’t like sweet deserts like you did. But whenever the opportunity arose, he’d make sure he had you under the veil of his hat, pressed flush by the hip to him. And if he was lucky, he might taste the sweetness of Dango through your lips instead.  

Listen, I'm a sucker for fluff, okay?

[mojavebluez]

Russian roulette - the salesman x fem!reader (18)

Chapter 1

“Ah, there you are.” He says, a towering shadow standing before you. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

summary - he’d been following you for a while. When you finally find the courage to approach him, you wake up hours later in his apartment, tied up and completely at his mercy. He has one offer: a game of Russian roulette.

tags - gun play, age gap, kidnapping, bdsm, sub!reader, dom!salesman, sadomasochism, fingering, non-con, praise, degradation, forced insertion, no lube

a/n - I’m slightly ashamed but also not. There’s a bit of backstory so sorry to all you freaks that like skipping straight to the action.. I’ll do a part 2 if you guys enjoy it!!

Series masterlist

4.7k words

———————————————————————

You’d seen him before. Many times. This past month you’d noticed nearly 20 encounters. The first was on the subway a while back, when you had looked up to see him staring down at you with blank, empty eyes. An instant chill was sent down your spine. But he wasn’t like the usual subway perverts: he was put-together, well dressed and very, very handsome. He had an air of assurance about him and a strange sort of dominance that forced you to stare down at your feet - just to avoid meeting his eyes.

You’d barely given him another thought until, the next day, you saw him again. This time it was in a cafe. You had felt someone’s eyes on you and glanced around until you landed on him. He was sat across the room, a lonely white teacup in front of him. He had that same soulless look in his eyes, this time paired with a faint smile. It chilled you again. Was he following you? Or was it just coincidence?

It happened again. And again. Across the street, him standing there, or in supermarket aisles, or on subway cars. Always on subway cars. You debated approaching him, asking him why he was following you around. But sometimes, late at night, you would stare at the ceiling and think about him. His perfectly symmetrical features, crisp, laundered suits - you’d gotten lucky in the stalker lottery, that was for sure. The idea was ridiculous, anyway, people like you didn’t get stalkers. You were utterly normal, boring, even. Things like that only happened in movies.

It had finally come to a head when you went out one night with a couple friends. It was the end of the first semester, so you had all decided to go out and celebrate. Turns out, you may have celebrated too hard. You were somewhere between five and ten drinks (who was counting anyway?) when you caught sight of him across the bar. You slide off your stool, the faint protests of your friends drowned out by the thudding club music. You sway on your feet slightly as you approach him, which seemed to amuse him, a smirk playing on his lips.

Once you reach him he pats the stool in front of him with a wide palm. His eyes never leave yours. The drink in your system seems to swirl the features on his face slightly, but it was definitely him. He doesn’t have a glass beside him, but his briefcase is laid on the bar, its glossy surface reflecting the multicoloured club lights.

“I was waiting for you,” he says. His voice is thick and dark. You’d never heard it before. You had imagined what it sounded like, how he might’ve said your name. Or what it would be like if he whispered closely into your ear.

“Who- who are you?” You say clumsily, surprised at the sound of your own voice. It was a different you. Confident. Abrupt.

“You’ll know soon enough,” he replies, smiling faintly. His hand, very large and covered in spidering veins, is spread on his thigh. It’s an inviting gesture. You instinctively lean into him.

“I’ve seen you before,” you say, tilting your head, “on the subway. And in the coffee shop.”

“Correct,” he smirks, altering the symmetry of his features. But the smile never reaches his eyes.

“Are you stalking me?” You ask. You press a hand against the bar to steady yourself. Everything in the room, aside from him, mixes and bleeds into incoherent colours.

“You’re very drunk,” he states, the smile never leaving his face, “you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m fine,” you wave a floppy hand at his face, but he abruptly catches your wrist in the air, his fingers like a vice. Your breath is caught in your throat at the pressure of his grip, draining all the blood until his fingers leave thick white marks on your skin.

“What are you-“

“Just relax,” he says, his voice a smooth purr in your ears, “I’m going to order us a drink.”

He lowers your hand, never letting go, and calls the bartender over. You can’t quite hear what he orders, but he holds up two fingers before turning back to you. Your head swims with alarm bells. The pain that floods your arm, mixed with the cold look in his eyes and your clear lack of personal autonomy - you’re very close to fight or flight altogether. He can see this. His mouth presses into a tight line and his grip on you, somehow, becomes even more firm.

“Please,” he says, but there is no pleading in his voice, “try to calm down.”

“Let go of me,” you squirm, pulling at his hand in an attempt to free yourself from his hold. He doesn’t even shift. If it came to it, you would be entirely at his mercy once he got his hands on you. The thought makes you freeze in your chair.

“That’s it. Much better. You’re a fast learner,” he loosens his hand and you sigh in relief.

The drinks arrive and he slides one over to you. His glass sits, untouched, as he urges you to take a sip of yours. You aren’t sure why, but something in his eyes makes you obey. Maybe it’s the satisfaction once you do - it fills you with a strange sort of feeling. You quite like pleasing him.

A few moments later, you try to stand up. “I need the bathroom.”

“Hm,” he says, watching you with uncertainty, “I’m not sure. You don’t look very well.”

“Exactly,” you say, stepping away. The floor seems to rise and fall like a wave beneath your feet. You stumble, but he catches you, his fingers spread across your abdomen.

“Let me help you,” he suggests, as though you could even object.

He leads you through the weaving crowds, all dancing and throwing their bodies around like rag dolls. You stare up at him, the curve of his features haloed by the spotlights. He’d picked up his suit case in the process of helping you, and it swung at his side, his other arm looped around your waist. Even in heels he towers over you. When the cold air hits your face, you realise he is not, in fact, leading you to the bathroom. You open your mouth to say something, but find that the words die in your throat. Your face feels entirely numb and your feet begin to drag behind you. He makes a small noise of frustration as he lifts you up, hooking a hand beneath your arm to hold you higher off the ground.

Your vision grows blurrier once he opens a car door and sets you down inside, sliding in beside you. Then, you finally black out.

-

“Ah, there you are.” He says, a towering shadow standing before you. “I was beginning to think you’d never wake up.”

You blink your eyes open. Instantly, your head begins to pound and you groan at the pain. Your neck falls back against something solid, and you slowly glance around to find that your limbs are bound to some sort of chair. Your wrists are pulled behind your back as well as your feet, tied to either leg with thick cord. Memories of earlier that night fly past your eyes in an instant as you struggle against the binding. But the more you pull, the more it hurts, and he seems to enjoy this fact. You squint up at him to see his face a mask of utter satisfaction, clearly proud of his handiwork.

His empty, dead eyes, black despite the vibrancy of the lighting. His thick, rough fingers curled around your wrist. You taking a deep swig of whatever drink he had gotten you. And the sound of a car door slamming. Then nothing. He’d kidnapped you. He’d spiked your drink and fucking kidnapped you and now you were going to die here, in this dark apartment and left for dead. You were just another one of those sad murdered girls that die and end up on a podcast a decade later.

“Don’t squirm,” he says, moving to stand before you. You crane your neck to look up at him. Half of his face is shrouded in darkness, the other glowing from the dim red lighting of his apartment. Atmospheric.

“What the-“ you try to get a sense of your surroundings, but the after effects of the alcohol and whatever he had drugged you with made it difficult. Everything feels hazy and undefined. Aside from him. His figure is perfectly distinguishable. You recognise his same suit from earlier: jet black, and he must have fixed his hair, too.

“You’re quite small,” he says, watching you, amused, “I probably gave you too much. Took you a long while to wake up.”

You try to scream. Your voice wavers, a pathetic noise escaping. He chuckles darkly at your weak attempt.

“There’s really no point. No one can hear you.” His black eyes glitter as he says it. God. You’ve been kidnapped by a fucking sadist.

You try again but exhaustion overwhelms you. Your eyes fall to the window, which spans from floor to ceiling. The nighttime Seoul skyline stretches across - you’re in a high rise, presumably a penthouse. Is it his apartment? The air feels hot and close, even more so when you meet his eyes.

“We’re going to play a game,” he says. Your head whips around at the statement. A game?He doesn’t even have the mercy to make it quick.

“I’m sure you’ve heard of it,” he lifts his briefcase onto the low table before you, then clicks the latches and opens it slowly, as though savouring the moment. His every movement makes your skin prickle with uncertainty - everything about him is unpredictable. Bile rises in your throat once you see what sits inside the case. A gun.

“Russian roulette,” he takes it out carefully with two hands, the same way you would hold a precious gemstone. The steel barrel glints in the light like a winking eye.

“Oh god,” you whisper beneath your breath.

“You have heard of it. Good,” he smiles at you emptily, curling his fingers around the grip.

“Of course I have,” you say quietly.

“Then you know the rules,” he moves to sit in a chair opposite you, neatly two feet away. The table separates you, but it is low enough that he’s able to get a full view of you. His eyes rake you from head to toe, landing on the hem of your dress. It rides up slightly, but you’re unable to fix it with your hands bound. You try your best to squeeze your legs together and hide yourself.

He turns the case and lifts out a single bullet, slotting it into the barrel. Your gut twists with fear as he spins the barrel and clicks it in with a flourish that is sickeningly attractive. Everything about him is a juxtaposition. His clean suits that fit his frame perfectly, yet are eerily formal for every occasion. His hollow eyes that chill your bones but also draw you in with an odd curiosity you can’t resist. Every aspect of him leaves you wanting more. But you can’t think this way about him, can you? Not when he is so clearly dying to hurt you.

He leans forward, the gun hanging from his hand. “Your odds of survival are five in six. Nothing to worry about.”

“Nothing to- are you some sort of serial killer?” You gasp helplessly.

“I wouldn’t say that. I’m a man of business.”

“And your business is murder?” You add sarcastically, watching his face closely.

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “You’re different. Most people would be begging for their life by now.”

“I’m obviously going to die here. What’s the point in begging?” The words are empty as you say them. You’d already accepted your fate by this point.

His eyes glitter. “Maybe you should beg.”

You press your lips together. The prospect is tempting. “Did you still kill those other people? Even though they begged?”

“Now, now,” he twists the gun, watching his own reflection in the metal, “that would spoil the surprise.”

You don’t respond.

“Besides,” his teeth flash as he speaks, perfectly straight, “as I said, five in six. It’s more of a chance than I gave the ‘others’.”

The high odds must mean he’s holding out for you beg. For him. For your life. You watch, sickened, as he sets the gun on the table and places a large hand over it. “Now to decide who goes first.”

Your throat tightens when he grips the barrel and spins the gun on the table like a children’s toy. The sound of the metal on the glass surface sends needles over your skin. The sound of death being delivered. Round and round. Round and round. He watches it with a terrifying anticipation. The corners of his mouth curl upward, the smile finally reaching his eyes, which sparkle manically, following the gun’s movement. It slows to a halt. And It’s facing you.

You slump in your chair. He slowly looks up at you, unmistakably eager to see you squirm. But you don’t. You watch him with a steely gaze as he picks it up and points the barrel to your forehead.

“You first,” his voice sounds different. Finally, the reality of his nature seeps through. This is the real him.

“Just do it,” you mumbled, looking at your feet.

He leans towards you across the table. You glance up to watch the movement, then freeze. Utter terror jolts through you. Then something else. This is a different man.

“Are you scared?” He says so quietly you almost don’t hear it. He leans closer. And closer. The gun forms a barrier between the two of you, and you watch it steadily until it is barely millimetres from your forehead.

“I said,” you wince as you feel the heat of his breath on your face, “are you scared?”

The truth? Or not? “Yes,” you whisper, meeting his eyes. Something you can only describe as lust shines in them. God.

“You’re crying,” he says breathily. You flinch as he moves the tip of the gun, flicking away a tear on your cheekbone with it. You shiver when the cold metal meets your skin.

“Are you going to do it, or what?” You say distantly.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” his voice is almost a growl.

You debate satisfying his clear desire. Would he be merciful if you did? “Scared.” You whisper breathlessly.

He nods once. “Carry on.”

“I don’t-“

“Scared of me? Or this,” he traces the muzzle of the gun across your face, making you twitch with every movement. Tears begin to fall, thicker this time, and you fight back sobs that threaten to escape.

“Of you,” you say breathlessly. He exhales at the words, his mouth opening slightly.

“Really?” His eyes shimmer, then he pauses, bringing the gun to the center of your forehead once again.

You hold your breath, anticipating his finger pulling the trigger. Would you feel anything if it fired? He presses it down as slowly as possible, then - click. Nothing. You collapse back into your chair, chest heaving with the release of your bated breath. He leans back again, clearing his throat and adjusting himself in his chair. You don’t watch him, but you hear the click of the chamber and know that it’s his turn.

“See? Nothing to be scared of,” he says it with a cat-like smile, though you know the words hold no sympathy for you. He brings the gun to the side of his temple, his eyes never leaving yours. A strand of hair has escaped and hangs over his terrifyingly handsome features. A part of you wants to play into this fantasy - squirm around and scream for him. That part almost takes over when you see his mouth curve into a smirk as he presses the trigger down. And nothing. His self-assurance is painfully appealing.

“This is going well, isn’t it?” He stands up this time, stepping around the table and towards you.

“Please,” you can’t help the tears from falling this time, “no more, I’ll do anything. Anything.”

He tilts his head, pouting at you. “Now you decide to beg? It’s too late for that I’m afraid, sweetheart.”

The muzzle grazes the edge of your lips, cool but strangely relieving. At least it isn’t his lips. Kissing him would feel like sealing your fate.

Your eyes widen when you realise. “But you didn’t spin the barrel!”

He doesn’t stir at your realisation. “Makes the game more interesting, don’t you think?”

You tug against the cable at your wrists, not even caring about the pain of it scraping your skin. You feel small and pitiable beneath him, but you still struggle in your seat despite the futility. He just watches you squirm, the gun dangling from his hand, not even a smile on his face. You strain your voice to scream, and this time the noise carries. He tilts his head at you.

“Scream like that again and I might have to cover your mouth,” he bends down to be level with your eyes.

You open your mouth again to scream, but he grabs your chin, forcing it to stay open. You gasp at the forcefulness of his grip, and he parts his own lips. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly as the gun enters your line of sight. Teasingly, he brings it closer to your face, then slips it into your mouth. Your breath catches at how cold it feels against your tongue.

“Hmm,” he watches you curl the tip of your tongue over the muzzle, his fingers pressing tighter against your skin.

Something compels you to move, so you do. You lean forward, taking it deeper into your mouth until you feel the muzzle graze the back of your throat. You fight the urge to choke. A single tear falls from your eye, left over from your last outburst, and lands on his hand. His smile suddenly falls and something dark descends over him. He presses the trigger with no warning.

You cry out and he pulls the gun swiftly from your mouth, a string of saliva still connected. He examines the dampness that your mouth has left on the steel and inhales deeply, as if composing himself.

“That’s not fair,” you gasp, your hair falling around you as you lean forward.

He grabs a fistful of the hair at the back of your head, forcing you to look at him. He bends down to meet your eyes as he pulls your hair harder, making you yelp. “What isn’t fair, hm?” He prompts you to speak, though your heart beats so erratically you aren’t sure you can respond.

“Don’t feel like talking? That’s alright,” he brings the gun back into your eye line, but you squeeze your eyes shut, rejecting him.

He makes a frustrated noise in his throat. Then, suddenly, he forces you back against your chair, taking a hold of your throat. You choke as he presses tighter against your windpipe, forcing the air out of you until tears stream from your eyes. He takes the tears as an indication to loosen his grip, and you take in lungfuls of air when he does. He never lets go, though, keeping you flat against the chair and completely in control.

Your chest is open for him as he traces the muzzle from your neck to collarbone, ghosting over the protruding bones. You whimper slightly as he moves it even lower, the icy metal a shock against the curve of your breast. The dress you decided to wear earlier feels like a foolish decision now. The thin material is the only barrier that holds your dignity in place.

You are acutely aware of his movements. He watches the muzzle slide against your skin, making a noise almost like a purr when you react. He swallows when it runs over the bump of your nipple and you arch your back in response.

“You seemed so innocent back in that bar,” he says huskily, eyes flicking up to watch you. He continues running the gun over your nipple, the movements slow and torturous. “But you’re not anymore, are you?”

You don’t respond, too focused on the things that he is doing to you. This is his torture. He makes it so you can barely find the words to speak, then punishes you when you don’t.

He draws a cool, straight line to the flat of your lower stomach, then toward the hem of your dress. He lifts it ever so slightly with the tip of the muzzle and looks up at you. “If you’re going to beg, do it now.” The words are commanding, barely a suggestion. You watch as he pulls off his blazer, revealing his shirt which strains over his chest. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, and you catch sight of roping veins bulging from his skin. Your skin prickles with anticipation.

“Please,” you gasp, barely registering the words, “please don’t. Please. I’m begging you. I’m begging.”

You nearly scream when he bends down and pulls your legs open with one hand. You struggle more against your bindings, rejecting his advances. He doesn’t stop. You whimper as he rips your underwear down to your ankles. Then, abruptly, he forces the gun inside you. You let out a strangled noise.

“Look at that,” he says, voice deeply amused, “already wet. Who would’ve guessed you were such a whore?”

You cry out at the feeling of the gun stretching you uncomfortably wide. He tuts arrogantly, pushing it in deeper until you arch against it. Then, he pulls it out and stands up, letting go of your throat. You gasp with relief, chest heaving, and he examines the gun in the low light. Your arousal paints it, making the metal glisten.

He moves closer to you, the plane of his hips obstructing your vision. A clear boner strains against the fabric of his trousers. You collapse in your chair hopelessly, the shock of the gun entering you still present in your mind. He grabs your jaw again, pulling your mouth open.

“Taste it,” his voice is empty. Lust clouds his eyes, a dark mist. More hair has escaped, hanging over his forehead, and sweat glistens on his brow. His dress shirt has been disturbed in all his vigorous movement. His tie lays off centre and slightly looser than before.

Obediently, you stick out your tongue, running it over the barrel. But you barely taste anything. The room spins around you like a carousel and your head feels light. It must be the adrenaline.

“Good girl,” his voice is deep and breathy. His chin inclines as he observes your tongue taking in your own arousal.

You hardly register it as he bends back down to one knee. Then, all at once, your senses return to you. He ghosts the gun over the hard bump of your clit, forcing a strangled noise to escape from your throat.

“There you are,” he hums, satisfied.

You can feel the wetness practically dripping out of you. He slips his index finger inside, almost experimentally, curling his finger. It enters too easily, so he pushes in his middle finger, and you gasp at the intrusion. He’s stretching you wider than the gun now - and he knows it. You’re still aware of the gun pressed against your clit, a cold, hard pressure that raises goosebumps on your skin.

Floaters dance past your vision. You let your neck fall back over the chair, keeping your eyes trained on the ceiling. Your heart hammers harder with every pull of his fingers. You hear him make small satisfied hums at the wet sound of his fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and uncurling. You feel heat pool in your stomach. You’re close, but he shows no mercy, still fingering you with ever-mounting speed. Then, he pulls out his fingers once more and swiftly replaces them with the gun.

“We’re two shots down,” he says feverishly, “what if I pulled the trigger now?”

He looks up at you to watch your expression. You open your mouth to beg for your life, but find that the words die in your mouth. He picks up speed, the gun reaching a spot inside you that makes your toes curl. The possibility that he could easily kill you now seems to make your orgasm arrive even more intensely. You hear him grunt as he pulses in and out, faster, faster-

You collapse in your chair. The release is gratifying, yet humbling. The reality of your situation dawns on you as the pressure leaves your gut, and he pulls the gun out. He stands to his full height, the shadow of his figure being cast over you. His boner strains even harder against his trousers, a clear outline now. He sets the gun on the table behind him and adjusts himself, clearing his throat and wiping his hands on his thighs.

You aren’t sure if you have an ounce of self preservation left inside you. He knows this, and revels in it. The room stops spinning, coming to a still and finally grounding you. The light reveals his whole face as he leans over you and tucks the hair behind your ears with both hands. The gesture is almost too affectionate that it feels pretend. You aren’t sure that he is capable of aftercare.

“Well done,” he says, though you don’t feel like you’ve done a good job at all. He used you, and somehow, you let him.

You can’t find any words to reply with. He leans closer, eyes on your lips, his mouth parted slightly. His breath warms your face. You suck in air as he grazes two fingers over the wetness between your legs in a final gesture. He slowly pulls your underwear back over you in a strangely gentlemanly manner. You frantically search his face as the realisation that you didn’t actually die descends over you. He let you live. Why?

“That was the most fun I’ve had in a while,” he chuckles, lips still millimetres from yours. He presses his middle and ring finger to your mouth and you taste the saltiness of his skin. Then he pulls away. Strangely, you lean forward, wanting more of him. But he doesn’t fulfill your wish. He turns his back to you and leans over the case, which is still open on the table. You crane your neck to try and catch a glimpse of what he’s doing but his back is too wide for you to see.

Then he turns to you, his previous empty smile back on his face. The pleasure you just felt is quickly replaced by fear. He stands over you once again and slips a square of card inside your dress and into the cup of your bra. You make a curious noise, attempting to move your arm and then stopping when you remember that you’re still bound to the chair. Finally, he makes an apologetic face, before slipping the needle into your skin.

Oh.

—

You wake up in your bedroom, curled up on your bed wearing last night’s clothes. The strap of your dress hangs off your shoulder, revealing the bare skin of your shoulder. You shiver. Was it really all a dream? How much did you drink last night? You have no memory of coming back to your flat. No memory of falling asleep. Only the memory of him - his perfect face, glistening with sweat and his fingers wet with your arousal. You feel sickened with yourself that you could conjure up such a dream.

Then, you sit up. Something falls from the front of your dress and flutters onto the bedding. A square of brown card. You pick it up, squinting closely to examine it. A number, written in thick black type. Your heart skips. It couldn’t have been a dream. It couldn’t. You remembered him slipping a piece of card into your bra. Where else would you have gotten this from?

Something compels you to pick up your phone. Something wrong. Something not like yourself at all. That night, what he did to you, flipped a switch inside you. That same part of you types in the number. Presses dial. Waits to hear it ring. Once. Twice.

“Hello?” You say, too eagerly. The line is silent.

Then, a voice. Painfully familiar. He pauses, then speaks: “This Friday. Ten. Be ready.”

He hangs up. You were ready before he picked up the phone.

[biblio-smia]

shy shy shy

a little insecure tasm peter parker x reader, early stages of relationship

masterlist | requests are open!

buy me a ko-fi!

nerdy peter lovers rise

They were just glasses.

On, off. On, off. A clear reflection of Peter in the bathroom mirror, a few circles of color where his head and body would be.

Peter examines himself with the lenses on, pulls out a piece of his sweater that had gotten caught inside his plaid pajama pants. His hands run up through the damp hair that falls flat against his forehead in an attempt to give it a little volume but it's no use without his usual styling products. Peter slaps his palms on his cheeks, shakes his head and sends micro-drops of water sailing. He bounces in place, attempting to shake out the jitters his body has had trouble containing all day.

Peter pushes his contact lens case aside, gives himself one last glance over. He contemplates for a few seconds, biting the inside of his cheek. Peter sighs as he pulls the lenses off again, cradling them in his hands and blowing air through his lips.

Metal frames, thick lenses.

Couldn't have that spider fixed his vision while he was at it?

Okay, Peter's vision wasn't that bad. Maybe he could survive without the frames Peter felt altered his appearance so drastically (or at least, reflected more accurately the type of person Peter was in his spare time). Peter with Contacts was cool and confident - scaled back from the confidence he had while he was in his suit, but not as pathetic as he was back in high school. Peter with Glasses? Yeah, that guy looked deserving of wedgies.

He reaches for his phone to check the time (and make sure he hasn't left you alone for too long), but can't make out what the white numbers say through his cracked screen.

Okay, maybe it is pretty bad.

Peter sighs, picks up the mess he'd made pre and post shower, hyping himself up one more time before opening the door and flipping the light switch off.

Peter pads down the hallway and peers his head around the corner into the small living room. He squints and can just barely make out the top of your head sitting on his couch.

Even though he can't see you very well, Peter's heart makes a funny feeling in his chest, even through the eye strain.

It's like you can feel Peter's eyes on you (which, you probably can - Peter is working overtime to try and make out the details of you) because you sit a little straighter and turn your head. Peter pushes his glasses on just in time to see you smile. And then grin.

"You wear glasses?"

Your voice is curious, not at all condescending, though Peter can hear the smile in your voice as you come up to meet him.

"For the aesthetics," Peter grins, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms in an attempt to make you believe the false sense of confidence he's putting up. It's stupid, really, but a tiny piece of Peter thinks someone as consistently perfect as you should be with someone who is equally on par. And, at the moment, Peter feels like he's letting you down.

You stand close to Peter, too close (his heart can't stop fluttering and his breath has caught in his throat). Peter fights the urge to pull you close to him. Too much, too soon, though he'd really like to kiss you right about now.

You try to contain your smile, a part of you still not quite believing that you've been so consistently guilty of making Peter Parker flustered.

Your fingers gently pull Peter's glasses off with a glint in your eye and Peter frowns at the sudden loss of sight - only because he doesn't want to miss looking at you from so close.

"For the aesthetics, huh?" You grin, turning the glasses to measure the thickness of Peter's lenses. Your suspicions about the strength of his prescription are confirmed by the way Peter's eyes are squeezed together as he looks at you.

"A hundred percent," Peter persists, opening his eyes normally and looking straight at the blurred lines of your face.

You take a step back and flash your phone at Peter, tiny words melted into a block of black. Peter instinctively squints and leans forward, trying to distinguish what the small screen said.

"You're like a grandma," you laugh, fully now.

"You should feel horrible for making fun of the elderly." Peter's arms drop, reaching for his glasses with an easy smile. But you move your hands away and Peter's hands catch on the crooks of your arms as you carefully place Peter's glasses back on his face, taking care to place them behind his ears as comfortably as you can. Your fingers graze against Peter's hair, still damp from his shower, gently moving a few stray pieces back into place.

"Well, you can't go to sleep like that," you murmur. "You'll get sick."

"So I guess we have time to kill?" Peter asks, hoping the two of you will sit down for a movie - or anything that'd keep him close to you, really.

"I guess we do," you grin, hands falling to Peter's shoulders, savoring the feeling of his hands on you, unable to help the craving you have for more.

"Pete?"

"Hmm?" Peter is partially entranced, melted like chocolate with the sweet sound of that little nickname coming out of your mouth. His eyes flicker and he's trying not to stare at your lips, bottom lip caught in his mouth in anticipation.

"Could I put my stuff in your room?" You ask sweetly, trying not to laugh at the way Peter falters, blinking quickly.

"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter nods frantically, hoping he's not as red as he feels.

You bite back your grin as Peter stays there, not moving until you do, sweet brown eyes slightly magnified by his glasses. Oh, but it'd be so cruel to deny him.

You press a quick kiss to the corner of Peter's mouth. It's a little shy and you turn away immediately to grab the overnight bag you'd packed. Two pairs of cheeks are red and grateful for the excuse of it, trying to shake off the little bit of nervousness the two of you still have around each other. It's a little strange, neither of you quite used to having someone around to love so freely. It's new, too, both of you still a little afraid to do something that would scare the other off, each of you knowing you'd never be the one to run off.

But this tiny fear that lives in both of your brains is what had Peter picking over his appearance earlier and is what makes him nervous now as he leads you down the hall to his room. He'd cleaned it thoroughly, considering hiding all his trinkets and trophies, ended up shoving things that had littered his shelves into his closet.

Peter takes a breath before opening his creaky door, smiling as he welcomes you in, hoping you somehow wouldn't notice - or maybe, wouldn't care to ask about - any of the posters or books or medals or figurines that made Peter, Peter. He was partially embarrassed and entirely nervous about sharing more of himself with you. After all, Peter was an expert at shutting people out and not too great at letting them in.

He doesn't know if he's relieved or even more anxious as you stare in awe, bag abandoned near his bed. It's clear you're taking in every detail of Peter's room, eyes not missing a single decoration. Peter feels as if he's being dissected, fidgeting as he waits for you to finish your analyzing. He's about to suggest that movie when you walk over to the desk he has shoved against the wall. Peter doesn't think there's anything special about books and pencils, but you're touching the tops of the things on his desk with care and a fascination he doesn't quite understand.

You quietly move onto old trophies and medals Peter has displayed, only the ones he was proudest of.

"Princeton Math Competition? Wow, Pete." You only turn your attention to him momentarily, returning your eyes to the shelf with a grin.

Peter's heart flutters when you sound... impressed? It was an accomplishment he was proud of, but not something he went around telling strangers.

"Oh, that... that- that's old," Peter laughs, coming up behind you, sure now there'd be no chance of getting you to watch that movie.

"Tell me about it."

"W...what?" Peter laughs, glancing at you curiously.

"I wanna hear about it," you say genuinely, taking a seat on the edge of Peter's bed. "Tell me about it."

Peter doesn't have to tell you he's shocked for you to realize it, a small smile tugging at your lips as you look up at him. Peter's not sure he has the courage to ask why before you beat him, sensing his hesitancy.

"I wanna know everything about you Peter. I wanna hear about your math competitions. I want you to tell me what books you're reading. I wanna know what matters most to you," you shrug, face a little warm from the confession. You don't have too much time to be embarrassed before Peter is next to you, hands digging into the bed at your sides. His face is inches away, his breath warm on your lips.

"Please let me kiss you," Peter whispers.

"Please do," you whisper back, letting Peter take your face in his hands and pull you into a kiss. The surface you've chosen is a little unstable as the both of you shift around, neither of you quite able to let the other go until you're forced to, breathless and grinning.

Peter's glasses have fogged up and he groans, pulling them off exasperatedly. "God, I hate these things."

"Really? But you look so good in them," you comment innocently, picking up the frames and attempting to look through them, muttering something about how, wow, Peter is blind.

Peter's not paying attention, though, heart hammering in his chest. He takes you by surprises when he kisses you this time, glasses still in your hands as they rest against his chest.

"You're trouble," Peter says when he finally pulls away. "You're doing awful things to my heart."

"Should I make fun of you, then?" You tease.

"Oh, I think that'd make it worse."

"I didn't know you were into that."

Peter shoves you as you laugh, though he can't help but join you.

"I didn't know you were into nerds," Peter quips, letting you slide his glasses back onto his face - the ones that suddenly don't seem that bad anymore.

"Only the really pretty ones," you murmur, and really, how could Peter not kiss you for that one?

Peter tries to take his glasses off as your kissing grows heated, knowing they'll be useless when they eventually fog up anyway. But your hand stops Peter, lips puffy from plenty of kisses and still eager for more.

"Nuh-uh," you say, pulling Peter's hand back down. "Keep them on."

[exorcxqsm]

The price of desire.

ᯓWord Count: 4,4k

ᯓ tags - WARNINGS: mdni, reader isn’t the lnds!mc, explicit sexual content, alterations to the main story, toxic relationship, dr/y humping, t/easing, (lowkey) o/rgasm control, b/egging, f!receiving oral, p in v, unprotected sex, breath play, sensory play, spanking, mention of breeding!kink (toxic if you squint really hard), creampies, dom!sylus, use of pet names (kitten, sweetie), violence, mentions of blood and injuries.

ᯓnotes: This is my first published work here, it took me some time to write but I believe I’m content with how it came out. At first, the idea was to keep it a part one which is connected to an event of the series. Ending this part, I can think of some ways this can go, but I’d still want your opinion:) If you want to see more of this, please go ahead and ask. Any reblogs and likes will be appreciated. 

You were a dangerous woman, a fact well-known throughout the N109 Zone. As the assistant to one of the most feared men in the underworld, your reputation was built on the edge of a knife. 

But today, the real danger sat directly across from you at the table—your boss's most formidable and deadly rival: Sylus.

His silver-white hair fell messily over his forehead, creating a disheveled yet intentional look that only added to his unsettling charisma. A smirk played on his lips, while his crimson eyes held an unreadable intensity,  as he sat on the table with his henchmen on each side of him. Luke and Kieran.

You had done your research, uncovering every scrap of information about the three men before you. It was a challenge, of course; the leader of the most notorious illegal organization in the N109 Zone wasn’t one to divulge valuable intel easily. Yet you had pieced together enough to know the depths of Sylus's ruthlessness.

You were certain of one thing: Sylus would not hesitate to sacrifice anyone—including his own men—if it suited his purpose. The black-red tendrils of his mist would mercilessly end the person and he wouldn’t blink an eye while his lethal capability, capable of extinguishing a life in an instant, would take over. 

The only individuals he seemed to protect were Luke and Kieran, his unwavering henchmen, whose loyalty was both a strength and a potential weakness in this deadly game.

Everyone claimed that the twins were somewhat adopted by him—a complex relationship in which he protected and provided for them in exchange for their loyalty and services.

If you were being honest with yourself, you found yourself drawn to the twins. They exuded a carefree spirit that brought an element of fun, even in the context of business. You often wished you could shed your own uptight demeanor and embrace life as they did.

Your thoughts were abruptly pulled back to the present when one of Sylus’s men dropped two large armory boxes onto the table that separated your group from his. As the man opened the boxes, a collection of modified and illegal firearms was revealed, each piece looking as lethal as the man who had crafted them.

Dante, your boss, rose from his chair beside you to inspect the guns. After all, that was the purpose of this meeting—a trade, a business transaction between two men who despised each other's very existence, yet could not deny that, in times of crisis, their respective resources could prove invaluable to one another.

Dante provided the protocores, and Sylus expertly modified them. When Dante requested his part of the deal, the modified protocores were returned to him in the form of firearms capable of ending a life in less than the blink of an eye.

“Resourceful as always, Mr. Sylus,” your boss mused, but Sylus’s gaze was locked onto yours, seemingly ignoring Dante entirely.

“Oh, Dante,” he said, the man’s name dripping with disdain, “my little black heart is shattered into pieces. One would think you’d have learned by now not to question my methods or my work.”

You rolled your eyes at the silver-haired menace, your heels clicking against the carpet in a rhythm of impatience. You were growing weary of this standoff. Dante needed to state the agreed price and move on already.

“Set the price.”

Sylus’s smirk widened at Dante’s request, his eyes now fully focused on him. He seemed to stall deliberately, taking slow, measured steps around the room. His imposing aura filled the space, the coat draped over his broad shoulders swaying slightly with each movement. Finally, he came to a halt by the table, gripping its edge with both hands and leaning forward.

“Such a pretty kitten you have with you, hm?” he taunted.

Your gaze turned icy as Dante’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Are you referring to Miss Y/N?”

Sylus tilted his head to the side, his crimson eyes locking onto you once more, studying you with an intensity that made you uneasy. “You’re a foolish man, Dante.”

“What the hell did you just say?” 

You exhaled through your nose, frustrated by your boss’s inability to keep his pride in check when it came to Sylus. This man ran an entire organization yet seemed unable to handle a little provocation.

“I said…” Sylus drawled, relishing the moment, “you’re a foolish man. Only someone with the brain capacity of a goldfish would keep a pretty kitten like her uncollared.”

You shot up from your seat faster than lightning, leaning dangerously close to Sylus, your hand itching to grab one of the weapons from the boxes in front of you.

“You should watch your mouth when speaking to a lady, Mr. Sylus,” you seethed, your voice low but fierce. “Only a man with the brain capacity of a goldfish would disrespect a woman for no apparent reason.”

Sylus chuckled at your retort, a wide grin spreading across his sharp features, revealing his teeth.

“Feisty,” he mouthed, a smirk playing on his lips, meant only for you to see.

Just then, Dante stepped up behind you, and you almost forgot he was there until his hand landed firmly on your behind, giving it a squeeze. Your hand was so close to the gun that it took all your willpower not to reach for it.

Sylus's expression shifted, the amusement fading as his brows furrowed, re-centering on his forehead.

“Set. Your. Price,” Dante reiterated, his body uncomfortably close to yours.

You had served as his assistant for far too many years, becoming accustomed to his unpredictable behavior. Yet, deep down, he knew you wouldn’t dare act against him with all his guards surrounding him.

You were a capable assassin, more than capable of matching his malevolence, but you were just one woman up against his entire army. He was well aware of your skills, which is precisely why he always kept a close contingent of guards present during your meetings in his office. You were his most valuable asset, yet he was frightened of what you could do if pushed too far.

Despite this knowledge, he often seemed to forget the extent of your capabilities, choosing instead to provoke Sylus.

“Her.”

“No.” Your response was immediate, your tone firm. He couldn’t be serious.

Dante’s chest shook with laughter beside you, his golden teeth glinting in the light.

“She’s off the table, I’m afraid,” he added, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Very well, then.” Sylus retracted from the table and rose to his full height, a shadow looming over both you and your boss. “So is the deal. Have a good one, Mr. Dante.”

Your shoulders relaxed for only a brief moment, but before you could even blink, you found yourself lifted off your feet and thrown over the table like a ragdoll.

Fucking bastard.

Of course, the deal was too important for him to let it slip away. Sylus knew exactly what he was doing when he pulled this stunt.

“Don’t even think about it,” you spat, your voice harsh and defiant. “I am your right hand; your business will crumble without me!”

Sylus seemed to revel in the chaos, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arms folded across his chest. As his black-red mist began to swirl around the room, it coalesced around your body, lifting you off the table and bringing you effortlessly to his side.

Your struggles were utterly futile. No power could match his evol.

“Bastard!” you yelled, directing your fury at your boss.

Dante let out a deep sigh, visibly irritated but choosing to remain silent. His organization was already on the brink of collapse, a fact known only to you—and apparently Sylus too. That was the reason he had recently struck a deal with Onychinus; only their resources could possibly uplift him now—if anyone could, that is.

“Always a pleasure doing business with you, Dante.”

The plush sofa of his dimly lit living room felt uncomfortably rough against your bare thighs as you took in your surroundings. Your revealing dress had ridden up significantly due to the twins’ rough handling as they placed you there, while their boss prowled around the sofa like a predator circling its prey.

The record player in the corner emitted a classical melody that only heightened the unnerving atmosphere, each note echoing with an eerie elegance.

“So uptight,” Sylus whispered in your ear, causing you to jump as his breath brushed against your skin. You hadn’t even noticed when he had gotten so close. “My, my… and so jumpy, aren’t we, kitten? Just try not to scratch my ceiling.”

You turned to glare at him, and if looks could kill, he would have been slain by the fire in your eyes. Nevertheless, you managed to keep your voice steady. “Why am I here?”

He didn’t bother to meet your gaze as he sank into his enormous cushioned chair across from you. A black-and-red mist began to swirl around your body once more, and before you could react, it lifted you off the couch and positioned you right on his lap, straddling him.

“What the hell?”

His hand shot up, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Shh, just keep your claws sheathed for a moment.”

You could feel your patience wearing thin. “Why. am I. here?”

Sylus's jaw tightened slightly, and if you weren’t intently observing his every expression, you might have missed it. “Because, kitten, Dante and I had a transaction.”

“Isn’t your typical price protocores when dealing with my boss?”

“Typically…” Sylus’s gaze was fixed on your face as an eerie silence enveloped the room.

Before you could process his words, his hand snaked around your throat, pulling you closer. His eyes locked onto your lips, a predatory glint flickering within them.

“What are you doing…” you whispered, your body tensing in instinctive response.

“Show me, kitten.”

“What?”

Sylus chuckled softly, a mocking sound that sent shivers down your spine. “I know you’re a smart kitten; don’t play dumb with me. It won’t help you.”

Of course, you understood what he was implying, but how did he know?

“I have no idea what you want,” you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

His hand tightened around your throat, making it increasingly difficult to breathe. Then you noticed it—the red glow of his eye—and you realized what he was doing. “Show me.”

Ironically, he was now in control of your actions, even though he sought the opposite.

You slowly removed your glove, compelled by the white-haired man in front of you. Your bare hand pressed firmly against his chest, and in an instant, his heartbeat ceased.

Your breath hitched in your throat.

You stared at his face, dumbfounded, as the glow in his eye faded and his complexion turned an ashen pale. Before you could comprehend what was happening, a low chuckle echoed through the dimly lit room.

Sylus’s chuckle. He was alive. Wait, what the hell?

His laughter grew more vibrant with each passing second as he took in your horrified expression. You shot your hand out again, daring to touch him, but he caught your wrist, tossing it aside with ease.

“Ravishing…” he breathed, his eyes darkening to a richer shade.

You watched him for a moment, trying to make sense of everything that had unfolded in the past few hours, until suddenly, everything clicked into place.

You gasped.

“You fucking bastard!” you shouted, fury igniting in your voice. “Is this why you didn’t take the protocores? Is this why you asked for me?”

Sylus’s arrogant smirk returned, dominating his features. “He wasn’t aware of the precious possession he had in his own house, sweetie. But I am.”

“You are… sick.” The expression on his face darkened, and something twisted in your gut, though you wished it was anything but excitement at his subtle praise. “You will not control me. I belong to no one.”

“Oh, kitten, I’m not trying to control you. This is just… a deal.” His eyebrows shot up, his face tilting slightly to the side as if he found your defiance amusing. “Isn’t business what you excel at? Or do you want me to believe it was Dante who called the shots?”

Your own expression faltered, but your body began to relax atop his, a fact he noted with a small, apprehensive smile that curled at his lips. “Are you trying to extract intel from me?”

He rolled his eyes at your tactics, a playful smirk on his face. “You are so gullible, kitten.”

He leaned in impossibly close, your breath catching in your throat and a shiver coursing through you as your body responded to his proximity. This was all so wrong.

“He didn’t value you nearly enough, sweetie,” Sylus whispered against your pulse, his warm breath sending a jolt through you. “But I can.” His teeth grazed your throat, and as your mouth opened, no sound dared to escape your lips.

“I…” You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “I have no idea what—”

In one swift movement, you found yourself perched on the edge of the chair, Sylus looming over you like a consuming inferno. Your chests were nearly touching, and his eyes held a dangerous allure as he stared directly into your own. “I believe you do.”

His hand drifted from beside your head, descending to your collarbone as his fingertips caressed the delicate skin with a featherlight touch. “You can end someone with just a touch…” he whispered against your neck, and you had to fight against the electric shivers coursing through your body. “I am the only person you can’t kill, even if you tried, kitten.”

Your mind was slowly turning to mush as his hand roamed over the sensitive swell of your breasts, his lips planting tender kisses against your throat. “Don’t you see where I’m going with this? We’re meant for each other. Kindred spirits.”

“You’re insane,” you wanted to accuse him, but your voice came out breathless, betraying your mounting desire. A soft grunt escaped his lips, a sound that only fueled the tension between you.

“If I’m insane, what does that say about you, sweetie?” He began kissing his way down from your neck to your collarbone, his gaze locking onto yours with an intensity that made your heart race. “I can smell your arousal from up here.”

You gasped at his bold accusation, your body jerking in response, but it only heightened the sensation as your clothed core pressed against his torso. You tensed, and his lips curled into a dangerous smirk. “So insatiable…”

“This is so wrong…”

“I’ve never been a righteous man.”

You leaned back instinctively, your hands reaching out as if to find comfort around his neck, but he halted your movement just before contact.

In your hazy state, you noticed him licking his lips, his gaze searching the floor for something—your glove.

“As much as I can’t think of another way to go, I’d prefer to be fully conscious when your pretty cunt is all over my mouth.”

“You’re… outrageous,” your voice faltered, betraying the rush of emotions coursing through you. Your body reacted in ways that contradicted your words.

“Do you prefer gentle, kitten?” Sylus asked, his fingers teasingly tugging at the neckline of your dress, unveiling your flushed skin. His tongue flicked over your right nipple, while his other hand caressed the neglected one. “Would you rather I whisper sweet nothings and cherish you gently?”

His tone dripped with playful mockery, and you arched your back, responding instinctively to his touch and taunting words.

“Would you like me to take it slow? To tell you how beautiful you are?” he teased, his laughter rumbling softly in the air.

Your resolve crumbled as he nipped at your sensitive bud, his hand expertly working the other. “No!” you moaned, your gloved fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, caught in the intoxicating desire in the air.

He growled against your chest, his body pressing forcefully against your legs as they parted to accommodate him. He felt a thrill of compliance wash over you, nearly tempting him to follow through on his suggestion to take it easy.

“More,” you demanded, your fingers tugging insistently at his head, guiding him downward to where your dress had pooled around your waist, leaving your red lace panties tantalizingly exposed.

Sylus grinned at your eagerness, his gaze lingering on your clothed cunt. “God, kitten…” he grunted, pressing his nose against the damp spot on your panties, a rush of heat flooding your cheeks as a thrill of shame coursed through you. “Did you wear my favorite color on purpose?”

His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “Or did you wear it for him?”

You could only whimper in response, arching your body desperately to bring his face where you craved it most. Instead, a sharp sting greeted your cunt, your eyes widening as a gasp of surprise escaped your lips.

He slapped your pussy again, his expression darkening into a scowl. “Answer me, kitten. Did you get all dolled up for him?”

You clenched around nothing, the possessiveness in his tone igniting a deeper need within you. “No,” you whimpered softly. “It wasn’t for him.”

In an instant, he tore your panties away, his mouth descending on your cunt, his tongue skillfully lapping at your folds. “Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Your fingers clawed at his shoulder, sounds of pleasure escaping you uncontrollably as he toyed with your sensitive clit. “Such a sweet pussy,” he grunted against your core, sending shivers through your body. You slid down the chair, his face pressed firmly against you, your lower body lifted almost into the air. His strong arms wrapped around your thighs, hoisting your legs over his shoulders as he devoured you.

“Say my name, kitten.”

You felt yourself teetering on the edge, already giving him too much. “N-no.”

His teeth grazed your clit, sending waves of pleasure and frustration coursing through you as he slid one finger against your entrance, teasingly. “No?”

“No.” Your voice trembled, betraying the mix of emotions swelling within you as you neared your release with each stroke of his tongue, yet your stubbornness held firm.

“Very well, then.” In an instant, his mouth was gone, leaving you feeling cold and exposed as he stood to his full height.

“What…?”

Sylus leaned over you again, delivering a sharp slap to the side of your breasts that made you squirm and gasp. “This is my zone. My side of the board. Here, you either play by my rules and win, or you go against me and lose.” His voice was low and commanding as his hand reached down again, sliding two fingers inside you, curling them to find your sweet spot. “What will it be, kitten?”

By this point, your entire body felt like it belonged to someone else. “Please…” Your voice was laced with desperation, the plea spilling from your lips, unrecognizable even to you.

“Please what? Just say it, sweetie,” he urged, a teasing glint in his eyes.

His fingers quickened their pace, and your legs trembled under the mounting pleasure, each mewl that escaped your lips a symphony to his ears. “So—Oh my god… S-so close.”

The moment he sensed your walls beginning to clench around his fingers, a satisfied smile crept across his face, and you returned it through a haze of bliss—until you felt him start to withdraw.

Your hand shot out, wrapping around his wrist with a desperate grip, pulling him back toward you. “Sylus!” you cried, your stomach twisting in knots as sweet release threatened to crash over you.

“Sylus, yes, oh my god, yes…” You were barely coherent, the words tumbling from your mouth, but Sylus grunted, his pants taut against his rock-hard cock.

“That’s it… That’s it, sweetie, I know. Drench my fingers; they’re all yours.” He moved with an urgency that took your breath away, thrusting deeply inside you, sending shivers through your entire body as you rode the wave of your climax.

You panted, your chest rising and falling heavily. As the haze began to lift, your mouth fell open in awe, watching Sylus suckle on his fingers, his eyes glowing with satisfaction as he savored your essence.

A fresh wave of slickness coated your folds, and Sylus cursed under his breath as he stood, taking you with him. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, your bare, wet cunt smearing against the fabric of his pants, leaving a tantalizing mess.

The coarse material of his attire heightened your senses, making your body arch in his arms as you ground your hips down, chasing that blissful friction.

“So eager…” he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin before he nipped at your earlobe. “And so fucking wet.” He strode toward his desk just a few feet away, easing you onto your feet. “I’m going to devour you.”

In one swift motion, your belly pressed against the polished surface of his mahogany desk, your body bent over, your ass perfectly positioned for him. He didn’t allow you a moment to breathe before two sharp slaps landed on your cheeks, your body jolting forward in response.

Your moans filled the air, driving him wild, and the way your back arched instinctively shattered any semblance of his control.

You heard the unmistakable sound of his zipper, and a thrill raced through you as his cock was freed from its confines, teasingly brushing against your entrance.

Turning your head over your shoulder, your eyes fell on him, and a rush of desire coursed through you. He was enormous, his veins prominent and pulsing, the tip glistening with precum that trickled down, landing directly on your cunt.

“Sylus…” You brought his attention back to you, and the look on your face made his brows knot slightly in concern.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?” he asked, his voice thick with lust yet surprisingly calm. “Do you want me to stop?”

You placed your hand lightly against his abdomen, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, and shook your head. “No, it’s just…” Your cheeks flushed a deep crimson, almost mirroring the color of his eyes. “It’s not going to fit.”

Sylus paused, momentarily dumbfounded, before releasing the breath he had been holding along with a low chuckle. “We’re going to make it fit, kitten.”

Skepticism flickered in your eyes, and he noticed.

“Do you trust me?”

“No.” You answered honestly. He had been your rival until now, and you couldn’t fully grasp how your dynamic had shifted to this moment, you bent over his desk, spread  and exposed.

He grinned, shaking his head in amusement. “You shouldn’t.”

In one powerful thrust, he was inside you, and your eyes rolled back in your head as pleasure surged through your body, overwhelming your senses.

“Fuck!” you cried out, but there was no pain—he seemed to know exactly how to plunge into you.

“Shit… You’re so tight,” Sylus growled, his hips slapping against yours as he took you roughly, driving deep against the surface of his desk. “It would’ve hurt more if I’d taken it slow, sweetie.”

It was becoming increasingly difficult for him to speak, but even if he could, you wouldn’t have heard him. Your mind was consumed with the exquisite fullness of his cock filling you completely.

Your eyes crossed as he continued to thrust in and out, your lips parted in a silent gasp, drool escaping the corner of your mouth and trickling down to the polished surface of his desk.

“Cock-hungry little whore,” he grunted, folding his body over yours to penetrate you even deeper. “And you claim you hate me.”

“I d-do,” you managed to moan, your legs trembling from the intensity of the sensations.

“You hate me, yet your sweet cunt is squeezing my cock like it’s her lover.”

Your mewls and whimpers grew louder with each thrust, your head spinning from the overwhelming pleasure. “Sylus…” you moaned his name, urging him onward toward his own release.

“What is it, sweetie?”

“I-I’m… s’close. So so close.” Tears were welling up in your eyes, and Sylus moaned deeply behind you as he felt your cunt squeezing him, clenching around him like he belonged there. Because he did. 

His hand shot up, wrapping around your throat as he kept pounding you from behind, his whole desk shaking from the force of his thrusts. You were sure a bruise would form on your abdomen where it made contact with the wood. 

Your eyes rolled as he applied more pressure, making it difficult for you to breathe. “Such a pretty kitten…” He moaned in your ear. “And now she’s collared. As she should be.”

Your orgasm broke through you with a new force, the tears escaping your eyes and your cries lulling Sylus to fall on his own release right after you.

“Fuck.” He moaned, his teeth clamping down on your shoulder. Rope after rope of cum filled your cunt, his thighs shaking slightly from behind you as he emptied himself inside you. 

You were so overstimulated and sensitive by your encounter when Sylus caught his dripping cum from your thighs and pushed it right back in.

Your legs threatened to give out, your mind clouding the moment he began to fill you with his seed once more. “Such a pretty cunt, used and bred by me,” Sylus murmured, his voice low and possessive. “What will your boss say when my kids are running around his base, huh?”

You weren’t even aware of how or when it happened, but suddenly you were moaning his name, sweet and desperate, as you drenched him once again. This time, the force of your release was blinding, your vision fading to a brilliant white.

Confused, you turned to see Sylus, his abdomen glistening with your essence, his fingers slick and dripping as he stared at you with a manic edge in his eyes.

“Oh my God…” Heat rushed to your cheeks as the realization of what you had just done washed over you. “I’m sorry… Sylus, I’m—”

Before you could finish, his hand pressed firmly against your lower back, forcing you back into position as you tried to shrink away from his gaze. “Kitten…” His voice was taut, barely contained. “We’re not leaving this room until you do this again.”

[john-get-the-salt]

Tight Leash w/ Roy Kent

Imagine: Roy has managed to keep his feelings for you to himself….until one night he’s unable to hold onto them any longer.

Contains: fem/reader, cursing, Roy losing his absolute shit in the best way, sexual innuendos

Warnings: none

“I can’t believe I ever let you convince me to wear this.”

“Babes you look phenomenal,” Keeley preened.

You might not have had the option to skip the fundraiser event you were about to enter, but you did have the option to wear something more….lowkey. You did tend to keep it lowkey, as one of the clubs media specialists. Keeley handed all of the flashy bits, the paparazzi and signings and public appearances. You tended to a lot of the background stuff; the sports articles and communications within the league, and the clubs various websites and platforms. Ever since you joined the team nearly a year go now you liked to work in the background, liked being unnoticeable.

Unfortunately you’d become best friends with Keeley Jones-the most noticeable person on the planet. And when you learned you had to attend some annual fundraising gala Rebecca was putting on, Keeley made it her life mission to convince you to wear something daring. And in a moment of weakness you’d agreed.

But now that you were present at the gala and it was almost your turn to walk to press carpet, you were having some serious regrets.

“Seriously Keeley, I feel ridiculous. One of the guys is going to see me and bust out laughing. This is something Rebecca would wear and pull off, not me.” Not to mention the carpet ahead was daunting. Cameras flashing constantly, held by shouting, viperous paparazzi.

“Hey,” Keeley pulled you to the side, forcing you to look at her instead of ahead at the walk into the hall. “No matter what mean things your brain are telling you right now, you look phenomenal. And when the guys see you, when Kent sees you-they’re gonna be lost for words.”

You flushed, because of course your best friend couldn’t resist mentioning the man you had a huge thing for. She never let it go after you let it slip one night. The two of you were just friends, no matter how much Keeley insisted that Roy was in love with you. You two had hit it off shortly after you started, appreciating each other’s dry sense of humor and love of cursing. Besides Keeley he was your best friend. But that was it-no matter how much you daydreamed of more.

"You've got this babe, i promise. Don’t forget-you are a badass bitch." Keeley gave you a final smile and quick kiss on the cheek before she was being called up. She left your side and stepped out onto the carpet. The photographers went wide, bursts of light exploding. You were officially next.

You took a deep breath, in and out. You just wanted to be inside the gala with your people, having fun with the club and Rebecca and Keeley. Unfortunately, this carpet stood in between you and them.

Just when you thought you had taken enough deep breaths and were finally ready, you heard a sharp inhale behind you. You risked a glance over your shoulder, finding Roy standing a few feet behind you. And you had to admit, he looked good. The all black attire did not surprise you but it did suit him. He was taking you in, slowly, from head to toe. Your outfit was all white, comprised of crisp high waisted pants and a corseted long sleeve top. (see visual below, I love a good visual, tho feel free to alter it in your brain to best suit you)

When his eyes finally rose to your chest he swore.

"Fucking hell."

"What was that, Roy?"

His eyes rose again, this time to meet yours.

Maybe it was Keely's words ringing around your head, or the way Roy couldn't keep his eyes off you, or the shot of whiskey you'd taken on the drive in. But regardless, you suddenly felt a smudge more confident. So with a final mental fuck it, you decided to embrace it. You relaxed your shoulders, straightened your spine, and as they called your name you smiled at Roy and gave a quick wink before you spun on your heel and took your first step out onto the carpet.

The cameras lit up, photographers crying for a spin, a turn, an angle, any bit of attention. You stopped a few times, allowing them pictures of you in different poses. The lights and the noises soon became too much however, so you kept it short before you strutted down the rest of the carpet and made it inside the gala building where Keely was stood waiting.

"Oh my god, you looked like a right model walking into a show," she gushed. "Those pictures of you are going to be jaw-dropping babe. And poor Roy's dragging his jaw against the floor."

You flushed as you let the excitable girl link arms with you and drag you towards the teams designated table. "I don't know what came over me, Ke. I just decided to go with it and channel my inner Rebecca. And I fucking winked at Roy. Who am I?“

"If he doesn't pull you away to ravish you by the end of the night I will."

You giggled with your friend, happily accepting the drink she got you.

"Ladies."

To your delight Coach Lasso approached, eyes crinkled as he smiled. "You both look down-right beautiful."

"Oh thank you Ted, you're looking quite handsome this evening."

"Well that's mighty kind of you. Now between the three of us, I was really just coming to let you know that Roy just stormed into the building like a starved man on a mission, demanding to know if I'd seen which way you went. The poor man looked so red in the face I was worried he was going to keel over."

You flushed, eyes suddenly finding the floor quite interesting.

"Now you two wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?"

"He's realizing that he's in love with her," Keely couldn't help but gush.

Eyes widening, you smacked her arm.

"Ow!"

"Keely! He is not!"

"Ah," Lasso hummed, chuckling a bit. "It's about damn time. The boys and I are getting tired of the silent pining."

"We are not- there is no silent pining." You argued, looking between your two friends.

“You two have been inseparable since you met. You spend more time with him then anyone else in the club, babes.”

“Kee, we’re just friends.”

"I don’t think he thinks that," Lasso gestured with his head and you followed his gaze, finding Roy stood across the room, staring straight at you.

Your heart skipped a beat as his intense eyes met yours.

"I need some water," you stated, the air suddenly too heavy to breath.

"I can-"

"It's ok, Kee," you interrupted, kissing her cheek. "I'll be back."

She nor Lasso argued, watching as you hurried away from the table and towards the bar. Roy was after you the next minute, speeding across the floor and past the table towards you.

"Those two...." Lasso trailed off as he shook his head.

"Idiots."

"Lovesick idiots."

-

You weren't really thinking straight when you rushed away from your friends. All you could think was that the weight of Roy's gaze was heavy, stifling, and you felt your chest constrict.

You stepped up to the bar and asked for an ice water, receiving it moments later. You thanked the bartender and glided over to a neglected corner of the room, where only a few stragglers buzzed around. It was quieter over here, and you could feel the ache in your chest ease slightly.

"Hey," a soft voice invaded your space.

You froze, turning.

Roy was stood there, looking down at you again with that intense dark gaze.

"Hi," you said softly, unable to stop your eyes from flickering down to his lips before quickly back up.

"You look....fucking beautiful."

A heat began in your cheeks, reaching down your neck and no doubt flushing your collar and chest as well.

"That word doesn't seem quite enough. Fucking....breathtaking." And the way he said it sounded like he was, in fact, breathless. His chest heaved, as he stood perfectly still in front of you.

The heat was beginning to prick at your stomach, and if Roy wasn't very careful it was going to continue to travel downward.

"Thank you. Everyone here looks pretty amazing."

"Sweetheart, I haven't so much as glanced at anyone else in here. How can I, when you look so...." he trailed off, lips parting silently.

"What?"

“I’ve been doing my best to keep what I was feeling on a tight leash. I never wanted to ruin…this. Our friendship. I don’t know what I’d do with it, but…”

You furrowed your eyebrows. He wasn’t making any sense. “What are you saying Roy?”

"Can I kiss you?"

Ok, the heat had officially traveled to your entire body. You felt like you were on fire, and all Roy was doing was looking at you. Never had you considered how much a simple question like that could affect you, but as you watched him wait in heavy anticipation, wanting to touch you but unwilling until you gave him permission, you became weak in the knees.

"Yes-" the word was barely out of your mouth before he was kissing you, trapping the word in between you. His hands cradled your face so delicately, like you were made of glass. You rested your hands on his chest, appreciating the muscle you felt under the suit.

His lips were so soft, and tasted faintly of the cherry chapstick you'd given him just the other day. He smelled of spicy cologne and his scruff tickled your face.

He pulled away, just enough to meet your eyes.

"I may be the most stubborn, selfish, miserable prick on this planet, but you make me feel like I'm so much more. And this may be the most selfish thing I ever do, but I don't fucking care anymore. I'm in love with you."

Your lips parted, eye searching his for any signs of deception. You couldn't find any.

"Im in love with you too, my miserable prick."

He choked on a laugh, his eyes glassy as he rested his forehead against yours. "God, I love you so fucking much."

"I love you even fucking more."

[focusonkayjay]

Wildly Wealthy Koreans (final + epilogue); inspired by Crazy Rich Asians

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: photographer/ filmmaker! jungkook, rich girl/ fashion designer! reader, established relationship, angst, fluff, smut

Series summary: When you invite your boyfriend, Jungkook, to accompany you to your brother's wedding in your hometown, Daegu, he’s overjoyed, eager to meet your family and experience a side of your life you’ve never shared with him. However, once he uncovers the truth about who you really are, he’s unable to grasp the full extent of your reality. The situation becomes even more complicated when a certain someone makes him feel profoundly unwelcome, leaving him to question not only your world, but also his place in it.

Disclaimer: This series is heavily inspired by the movie Crazy Rich Asians, with the storyline closely following the original film's plot. However, I wanted to reimagine it as a fanfiction, where Jungkook and OC take center stage as the main protagonists. While I’ve kept the core elements and themes from the movie, I’ve added my own touches here and there, such as altering certain character dynamics and incorporating a few original settings. Some scenes are directly inspired by the movie, and I’ve worked to recreate them in a way that it hopefully resonates with the fans of the movie. Hope you enjoy!!

Word Count: 9.7k+

Chapter Warnings: your mother, talks about culture, roots etc, cultural jabs (??), some dialogues taken straight from the movie.

A/N: AHHHH, I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS SERIES IS FINALLY OVERRRRRR 🥺 i still remember debating whether writing this series was a good idea or not, and i’m so incredibly glad i decided to go for it. seeing it through to the end has been such a rewarding journey. a quick reminder (as always) to those who haven’t watched the movie, PLEASE DOOOO. it’ll help you truly capture the essence of this series and catch all the little references sprinkled throughout the story. thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to every single one of you who stuck around and read through the entire story. your unwavering support means the absolute world to me, and i hope the ending left you feeling as fulfilled and happy as i feel right now. thank you again, endlessly, for being a part of this journey. love you guys <333

final

Jungkook's eyes roam around the serene interiors of the photography museum. The space is dimly lit, with soft spotlights highlighting the carefully curated photographs mounted on minimalist white walls.

The polished wooden floors gleam under the subdued lighting, their faint reflections adding warmth to the otherwise cool and modern design.

Large floor-to-ceiling windows on one side let in streaks of natural light that mix with the artificial glow, casting gentle shadows across the room.

A faint hum of classical music plays in the background, blending with the quiet murmurs of a few visitors who walk slowly, lost in thought as they admire the exhibits.

Each photograph is encased in sleek black frames, their details brought to life by the perfect interplay of light and shadow.

Jungkook’s gaze shifts towards the entrance. His eyes narrow slightly as he spots a familiar figure entering. Her presence commanding, with large, oversized sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose and a crisp sky blue suit that speaks of meticulous tailoring.

Her posture is poised but guarded, exuding both authority and apprehension. She glances around, as though searching for something... or someone.

When her eyes finally land on him, she stiffens slightly, her polished demeanor faltering for the briefest moment.

There’s a pause, a moment heavy with wordless tension, as their gazes lock. Then, as if deciding to confront the inevitable, she begins walking towards him. Her heels click rhythmically on the gleaming wooden floor, each step echoing faintly in the otherwise hushed space.

Jungkook exhales slowly, his fingers fidgeting in his pockets of his jecket, and forces a small, polite smile. “Thank you for meeting me here.” he says softly as he bows when she reaches him, his tone tinged with restraint.

Your mother lowers her gaze, the sharp lines of her expression softening slightly as she removes the oversized shades that had shielded her face. Her hands fold the glasses and tuck them into her blazer's pocket.

Her eyes flicker briefly to Jungkook before shifting to the museum’s visitors, who linger quietly in their own worlds. She crosses her arms, her movements calculated, and slowly begins walking further into the gallery, her gaze wandering over the photographs lining the walls.

Jungkook follows closely behind her, the faint echo of his boots blending into the quiet hum of the museum. His gaze flits from one photograph to the next and the air between them is heavy with the kind of silence that feels almost alive.

After a few moments, she halts abruptly in front of a large photograph, the sharp sound of her heels ceasing like the punctuation to an invisible sentence. Jungkook stops a few paces behind, watching as her eyes narrow, drawn to the image before her.

The picture is striking... a serene lakeside scene where the water glimmers under a golden sunset. At the heart of the image are a mother and her daughter, waist-deep in the water. The little girl throws her head back in carefree laughter, her hands splashing water toward the sky, droplets catching the light like tiny jewels.

The mother, her arms outstretched to steady the child, wears a wide, radiant smile... one that speaks of pure, unfiltered joy. The intimacy of the picture is palpable, the bond between them immortalized in the frame.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Jungkook’s voice cuts softly through the silence, his eyes also fixed on the photograph. His tone holds a quiet reverence, as though he understands the story behind the image without needing to be told.

Your mother remains silent for a long moment, her arms still crossed. Her sharp eyes scan the photograph, lingering on the mother’s expression, as if she’s trying to decipher something beyond the surface. Finally, she breathes out, her voice low. “It is.”

As they walk side by side through the museum, Jungkook’s eyes linger on the photographs, each one a silent universe frozen in a frame.

His gaze stops at a photograph of a weathered lighthouse against a stormy sky, its beam cutting through the chaos.

“You know...” he begins, his voice low but steady. “Photography has this way of teaching you about life." he says, crossing his arms.

"Every shot is a lesson of patience, perspective, and timing. Sometimes, you’re staring through the lens, thinking you’ve got the perfect frame, but then you realize… it’s not right. The light’s too harsh, the angle's too narrow. That’s when you step back, adjust, and try again.” He pauses, his hand brushing lightly against the edge of a nearby frame.

“Life is a lot like that. The things we don’t understand... the moments that hurt us or confuse us, they start to make sense when you’re willing to shift your perspective, even just a little.”

Your mother remains quiet, her gaze briefly shifting to him before returning to the photographs, her expression unreadable.

“You called me here..." she says eventually, her voice sharp and direct, breaking the delicate quiet. “I assume it’s not for a photography lesson.” She glances at him over her shoulder, her tone laced with a challenge.

Jungkook looks down, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. “Well then…” His voice trails off as he walks past her taking a few steps ahead, his hands slipping back into his pockets. His eyes move over the walls, scanning each frame with a focus that seems both casual and intentional.

“I know the truth about my mother bothers you...” he says, his voice steady but quiet, his words carried by the subdued hum of the museum’s ambiance.

Your mother doesn’t respond immediately, but she follows him as her eyes settle on the photographs alongside his. Each image seems to hold its own gravity... a bustling street in monochrome, a child peering through a cracked window, a lone bird perched on a barren tree.

“But you didn’t like me the second I got here.” Jungkook continues, his steps slowing until he halts entirely. He turns to face her, his dark eyes meeting hers with an intensity that demands answers. “Why is that?” he asks, his tone calm but weighted, the kind of calm that conceals gallons of restrained hurt and confusion.

Your mother stops a few feet away as she looks at him for a long moment, her expression impenetrable. "You know..." she begins, her voice firm yet laced with an undercurrent of contemplation.

"As a photographer, I’m sure you've experienced those moments... when you’re behind the lens, capturing a scene so carefully, so purposefully, and yet, there’s just something... a detail, a shadow, or perhaps an element that doesn’t quite belong." She pauses, letting her words settle between them.

Jungkook furrows his brows, listening intently, trying to grasp the weight of her meaning, the cryptic nature of her expression.

"It disrupts the rhythm of the image... the frame." she continues, her voice almost detached now, as if the words have found their own path.

"No matter how perfectly you’ve set everything up, no matter how much you try to step back and adjust, it pulls your attention, ruins the flow, and shatters the harmony you so carefully crafted. It doesn’t blend in the way it should... it stands out, but not in a way that completes the image. It’s a blemish, an imperfection in an otherwise perfect picture."

She steps closer now, the silence between them dense, her gaze unwavering as she delivers her final words, her tone colder, yet still rich with intensity.

"You’re like that to me." she says, her eyes locking with his, the words biting with an unspoken finality. "You don’t belong in the frame."

Though the sting of her words cuts deep into Jungkook’s core, he forces a chuckle, his gaze dropping to the floor as if to shield the emotions threatening to surface. "Why?" he asks, his voice deceptively calm, as though he’s not unraveling inside.

"Because I’m not rich? Because I didn’t grow up with extravagant tea ceremonies or grandiose parties? Because I wasn’t born into a family with old money?" His head tilts slightly, eyes lifting to meet hers with a quiet defiance.

Your mother’s lips curl into a thin, airy grin, shaking her head slowly as if dismissing him before he’s even begun to understand. "You’re a foreigner." she says with finality. "American." she adds.

Jungkook’s expression falters, confusion clouding his features as he tries to digest the weight of her statement.

She gazes at him, eyes sharp, as if everything is already clear to her. "You were raised in a world where detachment is a virtue. Detached from your culture, your traditions, from the things that truly matter. All you care about is your own happiness." Her words hang heavy between them, like a wall that she’s built with her own hands, each syllable an obstacle too high to climb.

Jungkook’s brow furrows in bewilderment as he tries to reconcile the disconnect. "But... don’t you want Y/n to be happy?" he asks, his voice tinged with desperation, as if the question could bridge the vast divide she’s creating.

She laughs softly, a hollow sound, and begins walking again. "It's an illusion." she murmurs, almost as if speaking to herself. Jungkook follows, each step heavy with the weight of her words, yet unwilling to retreat.

"We understand..." she continues. "... how to build things that last. Things that matter. Things with roots, with purpose... not just fleeting, ephemeral happiness.... Something... you know nothing about." She glances back at him, her eyes sharp.

Jungkook’s jaw clenches, a storm of frustration rising within him. "You don’t know me." he says, his voice low but firm, a quiet challenge hanging in the air between them.

She stops in her tracks, eyes flickering to a large photograph on the wall. The image captures a fading sunset, its colors blurred and intertwined... beautiful but transient, as though it were about to disappear entirely. "I know you’re not what Y/n needs." she says quietly.

Jungkook stands there, a silent fury building in him, but her words cut deeper than he expected. He meets her gaze once more, eyes resolute. "Well, she asked me to elope with her yesterday." he says, his words sharp, almost defiant.

At this, your mother’s composed exterior falters, visibly cracking for the first time. Her eyes widen in shock, as though she had never expected such a revelation.

Jungkook watches her carefully, a quiet understanding crossing his mind that she had definitely not seen this coming. "She said she’d walk away from her family and you... for good." he presses on, his voice firm.

He watches her closely, observing how her shoulders tense, how her breathing catches, and how her eyes fall to the floor as she tries to process the weight of what he’s said.

A quiet chuckle escapes Jungkook’s lips, catching her attention. "Don’t worry..." he says, voice soft but tinged with something darker. "I turned her down."

At this, your mother exhales deeply, a sound of relief that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She takes a moment to regain her composure, trying to steady herself with a practiced sigh.

"Only fools fold a winning hand." she mutters, the words a hollow attempt to mask the vulnerability seeping through.

Jungkook shakes his head, a quiet frustration brewing within him. He glances at a photograph on the wall, a few feet away, its stillness contrasting sharply with the tension in the air.

"There’s no winning. You made sure of that." he replies with a nonchalant grin, though the words are heavy, laden with truth.

"Because if Y/n chose me, she would lose her family." he continues, taking a step closer to her. "And if she chose her family, she might spend the rest of her life resenting you."

She looks at him, her throat visibly tightening as the gravity of his words slowly settles in. It’s as if each syllable he speaks punctures the layers of her reality, sending ripples through her calm facade.

"So... you chose for her." she murmurs quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, almost like she’s testing the truth for herself.

Jungkook smiles softly, a tender yet sad curve of his lips. He purses them, his voice carrying the weight of something deeper. "I'm not leaving because I'm scared... or because I think I’m not enough." he says, his words slow, as though he’s carefully peeling back the layers of his own vulnerability.

Your mother tilts her head, and in the soft glow of the museum's lighting, her eyes shimmer slightly, betraying a crack in her usual strength.

"Because maybe for the first time in my life..." he pauses, his breath hitching ever so slightly. "I know I am." he continues, his voice a fragile admission of self worth.

Your mother looks at him, her expression hardened with forced composure, her gaze flickering between the raw honesty in his eyes and the vulnerability in his voice. She’s trying to hold herself together, trying to remain unshaken.

Jungkook’s voice falters, a soft sigh escaping him as he shrugs. "I just... love Y/n so much." he says, his tone thick with sincerity, tinged with sadness as his eyes glisten.

"I don’t want her to lose her family... her brother, her father, her grandmother. I don’t want her to lose you." he adds, his words dripping with the painful understanding of what it would cost you to choose him over them.

He shakes his head slightly, the words painful on his lips, each one a reminder of the battle between love and sacrifice.

"These past few weeks have shown me how much she cherishes everything she’s grown up with, and I would feel horrible if she walked away from all of that... for me." he says, his voice low but heavy with the weight of his own realization.

"I don’t want to snatch her away from her family..." he continues, his gaze locked with hers now, steady and unflinching. "I want to be accepted by her family instead." he says, his voice laced with an earnest desire to belong, not just to you, but to the life you've already built.

"So I just wanted you to know..." His voice trails off, thick with emotion, as he turns away, his gaze shifting towards the far end of the museum.

"That one day... when she marries another lucky guy... someone who’s enough... for you." he says softly, turning back to her, his eyes red-rimmed but steady.

"And you’re playing with your grandkids... when the orchids are blooming and the birds are chirping, that it was because... of me." A bittersweet smile curves on his lips, though there’s a sadness that lingers in his gaze, one that speaks of a future he knows he won’t be a part of.

"A poor, raised by a single mother, low-class, immigrant nobody." he adds quietly, the words cutting through the air with a finality that resonates deeper than anything spoken before.

Your mother stares at him, blinking rapidly as if trying to clear the fog that has settled over her mind. The weight of his words lands on her like an ice-cold splash of reality, each syllable reverberating through her, leaving her momentarily paralyzed.

She watches as Jungkook doesn’t give her the chance to respond. He turns on his heels, his back retreating from her, and walks away.

Her gaze follows him, eyes fixed on his retreating figure as he crosses the museum floor towards the exit, each movement seeming to echo the finality of their conversation.

//

Jungkook stands by the trunk of the car, his hands steady but his heart in disarray as he carefully places his luggage inside.

The conversation with your mother replays in his mind and despite the ache that seems to weigh down every fiber of his being, he knows he’s made the right decision... at least, that’s what he tells himself.

When you asked him to elope, Jungkook had nearly given in. The mere thought of a future with you was intoxicating, the idea of having you by his side every day, every night, a dream he had long held close.

For a brief moment, he was ready to throw everything else aside just to make it happen.

But the thought of you walking away from everything you’ve ever known... cut deeper than he could admit. It was unbearable.

He loves you too much, so much that the idea of snatching you away felt selfish, almost cruel. And so, despite the way it shattered him to his core, he had to turn you down, even as it tore him apart.

He remembers the way your face fell, the way tears streamed down your cheeks as you begged him to reconsider. The way your voice broke when you pleaded with him to choose you.

But deep down, he knew he couldn’t. Loving you meant protecting you, even from himself. It felt wrong... wrong to ask you to sacrifice so much, to leave behind the people and the life that shaped you.

Now, as he prepares to return to New York with his mother, the reality of his choice weighs on him. He feels the emptiness like a missing piece of himself, as if a part of his soul had been carved out and left behind with you.

But sometimes, he thinks, that missing piece is necessary. It’s a small sacrifice in the grand scheme of love, even if it feels like a gaping, unhealable wound. This pain... it’s the price of doing what’s right, even when every part of him wishes he hadn’t.

Jungkook hears the faint rolling of suitcase wheels as Yoongi emerges from the house, pushing his second piece of luggage with an exaggerated nonchalance.

Behind Yoongi, his family stands in a quiet semicircle, their expressions a blend of sadness and pride as they watch Jungkook prepare to leave.

"Good for youuu..." Yoongi drawls, his voice laced with his trademark sarcasm as he nudges the suitcase towards the car. A guard promptly steps forward to load it into the trunk, but Yoongi keeps his gaze fixed on Jungkook.

"Walking away from Y/n and her family's fat-ass property portfolio." he jokes, shaking his head dramatically. Despite the ache in his chest, Jungkook manages a soft laugh, his lips twitching upward for the first time in what feels like days.

"You’ve got no one, no net worth..." Yoongi continues, his voice quieter now, tinged with sincerity. He steps closer, his usual smirk softening into something more genuine. "But you’ve got integrity. And that’s why I respect you."

The words hit Jungkook harder than he expects, and he blinks rapidly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat. "Thank you for everything, hyung." he says, his voice low but steady as he steps forward, his arms extending towards Yoongi.

Without hesitation, Yoongi pulls him into a firm hug, patting his back once with a quiet kind of solidarity. "You’ll be fine, kid." Yoongi murmurs, his words almost inaudible but carrying a weight of belief that Jungkook hadn’t realized he needed to hear.

//

Your gaze is fixed on nothing in particular as you stand in your room's balcony, the evening sky painted in muted hues of twilight. The breeze brushes against your skin, teasing the hem of your nightgown, but you hardly notice. Your eyes, dry from crying, remain blank, and your cheeks still bear the streaks of tears long dried.

You feel hollow, like a shell of yourself, standing motionless as you think about how Jungkook's probably headed to the airport right now. The ache in your chest is so consuming that even the idea of moving feels insurmountable.

When you asked him to elope with you, you saw it... the flicker in his eyes that told you he was ready to say yes. In that moment, you felt hope surge through you, as if for the first time, the impossible was within reach.

But just as quickly, the hesitation crept in, dimming the light in his gaze. He told you he couldn’t do it, that he couldn’t take you away from your family, your roots, no matter how much he loved you.

He said he would feel wretched knowing you had severed ties with your mother, your brother, and everyone you held dear... all because of him.

And you understood.

Of course, you understood. That was the kind of person Jungkook was... selfless to a fault, someone who carried the weight of his decisions like stones in his heart. But understanding didn’t make it any easier.

You were desperate... desperate to keep him in your life, to promise him forever. After what your mother had done to him, after everything he endured, you were ready to walk away from her.

Was it a rash decision? Maybe. Impulsive? Certainly. But at the time, it felt like the only choice, the only way to salvage the pieces of your heart.

Until he said no.

Until he told you he couldn’t do it. That he was leaving. That he was going back to New York.

Suddenly, your sorrowful thoughts are interrupted by a soft knock on your bedroom door. The sound feels like an unwelcome intrusion, pulling you out of the haze of your grief. You sigh heavily, already guessing who it might be.

“Tae, I don’t want to eat.” you call out, your voice hoarse and quiet. Turning away from the balcony, you walk back into your dimly lit room, expecting the footsteps to retreat.

But the knock comes again, a little firmer this time.

You click your tongue, frustration bubbling beneath your despair. “Tae—” you start, but the words catch in your throat as the door creaks open slightly, revealing a figure you weren’t expecting.

It’s not Taehyung.

It’s the person responsible for the ache in your chest, the reason your world feels like it’s crumbling.

It’s your mother.

Your eyes widen as the door opens further, revealing her figure standing there, clutching a box in her hands. You barely register what it is but whatever she’s holding doesn’t matter, because she's literally the last person you want to see right now.

Before she can speak, you turn away, hoping she’ll take the hint and leave. You retreat to the balcony, arms crossed tightly over your chest as if to shield yourself from the storm brewing within.

Your gaze locks on the horizon, though, once again, it lands on nothing in particular... just the empty expanse that mirrors the void in your heart.

“Y/n-ah...” she calls softly, her voice careful, like she’s treading on glass. You don’t answer. Instead, you shift your weight, maintaining your focus on the skyline.

You sense her hesitating, but she doesn’t leave. A few seconds pass, and then you hear her footsteps approaching. She stops at the edge of the balcony, leaving a deliberate gap between you. It’s as if she’s giving you space while still insisting on being near.

“Y/n.” she says again, her tone gentle yet resolute as she steps just a bit closer. You don’t turn, biting down on your lower lip to hold back the urge to ask her to leave.

She exhales softly, the sigh heavy with something unspoken. From the corner of your eye, you see her glance at you... at your tense posture, your clenched jaw. She knows you won’t meet her gaze, but she stands firm, determined.

“I know you don’t want to talk to me...” she begins, her voice wavering slightly. “But just hear me out. Let me say my piece, and if you still want me to leave, I will.”

You stay silent, your resolve teetering. When she continues, her voice carries a vulnerability you’re unaccustomed to.

“When you left for New York to chase your dream… I was terrified.” she admits, her words unsteady. “My little girl was going so so far away from home... from me and the thought of you forgetting everything... your roots, your family, it scared me.”

She hugs the box she's holding a little tighter to her chest, her gaze shifting to the same skyline you’re fixated on. “I thought if you followed your happiness, you’d become… selfish. That you’d waste your potential, drift away from everything we worked so hard to build for you.”

Your jaw softens ever so slightly, though you remain silent.

“But your father and your brother... they consoled me every day.” she continues. “They told me about all the wonderful things you were doing, and I was grateful you were thriving, even though it hurt to be apart. And when you called off the engagement with Wooyoung…” She pauses, sighing deeply.

“I didn’t understand it then, but I see now that you just wanted something different... something that made you happy.”

Her lips curve into a small, bittersweet smile. “However, I thought once you came back after doing everything you dreamed of, we’d settle everything. I’d find you an eligible man, someone who was on your level. I wanted to make sure your life was perfect.”

At that, your posture stiffens.

“I wanted you to be the perfect daughter-in-law...” she adds, her voice cracking slightly. “Not like me… because, you know, I was never your grandmother’s first choice for your father.”

Your chest tightens at her words, the weight of her confession settling heavily in the room. Growing up, you’d heard fragments of the story... the disapproval your grandmother had shown, the rejection your mother had quietly endured.

Though she rarely spoke of it, the shadow of those memories lingered, unspoken but ever-present. You’d always wondered if it still haunted her, if the echoes of that rejection had ever truly faded.

“And then you came back home...” she says, her voice softening further. “But not alone. You brought Jungkook.”

Her eyes glisten as she looks down at the box in her arms. “He wasn’t what I expected. He grew up in the States, he was raised by a single mother… He didn’t fit the mold I’d envisioned for you. And it scared me. It felt like you were slipping away, choosing someone who couldn’t possibly measure up to what I thought you deserved.”

“Jungkook deserves me.” you interject sharply, finally turning to face her. Your voice is cold, your gaze piercing. “He deserves every bit of me.”

Your mother doesn’t flinch at your tone. Instead, she smiles faintly, almost wistfully, before continuing. “I see that now.” she says, her voice steady but laced with emotion.

“But at the time… I didn’t. Somewhere along the line, I started projecting all of my own insecurities onto him. My disapproval, my disdain... it wasn’t about him. It was about me.” Her voice cracks slightly, and she pauses to steady herself.

“I realize now that I was projecting the rejection I faced all those years ago. The way your grandmother looked at me, the way she thought I wasn’t good enough for your father… I passed that burden onto Jungkook.” she explains.

"I know it doesn't justify my actions..." she adds quickly, her voice trembling as she struggles to hold onto the last threads of composure. A bitter smile curls at her lips, but it falters almost immediately.

"But... I was worried about you, Y/n. And..." She hesitates, the words catching in her throat. "A part of me was dealing with my own ego... the part that never healed."

Her confession hangs in the air, heavy and raw, and you can feel your chest tighten as you process the vulnerability in her voice.

Slowly, you blink, your eyes fixed on her face. For the first time, you notice the fine lines around her eyes, the weariness etched into her features, and the way her usually composed expression is now a fragile mask threatening to crack.

"I know what Grandma did hurt you..." you begin softly, your voice carrying an edge of gentleness you didn’t know you could summon. "But, Mama..." You step closer, just enough for her to notice but not enough to touch.

Her eyes dart to yours, unsure but yearning for something... acceptance, forgiveness, or maybe just the chance to be heard.

"Dad loved you..." you continue, your voice steady now, though the emotion behind it swells with every word. "He loved you so much that he went against everything Grandma wanted. He fought for you. He chose you."

The faintest glimmer of a tear shines in her eye, and her lips part, as if to say something, but she stays silent.

"And just like Dad loves you..." you say, your voice softening, "I love Jungkook. I love him with everything I have."

Her breath catches audibly, and you can see the weight of your words settle deeply within her. The truth you’ve spoken reverberates through her, leaving her visibly shaken, even though she had always known it in her heart.

"But what you did to him... how you treated him..." Your voice falters, your throat tightening as you remember the pain, the humiliation he had to endure and a tear slips down your cheek. "It didn't only hurt him... It hurt me too, Mama. It hurt me more than I ever thought possible."

The sight of your tear breaks something in her. Her face crumbles, and she reaches out instinctively, her trembling hand brushing your cheek as she wipes it away.

Her touch is hesitant, as though she fears she no longer has the right. "I know, my sweetheart." she whispers, her voice quivering as her own tears begin to fall, mirroring yours. "I know..." she repeats. She exhales shakily, her tears now streaming freely. "And I’m so, so sorry. To you. To Jungkook. To both of you."

Her hand falls away as she takes a step back, clutching the box in her hands like it’s the only thing holding her together. She inhales deeply, her shoulders trembling under the weight of her confession.

"I met him earlier today." she says a few seconds later, her voice breaking as she glances at you with tear-streaked cheeks.

Your eyes widen in shock, but before you can process her words or form a response, she continues. "I spoke to him, and it was like seeing everything I had refused to see all this time." Her voice cracks, and she presses a hand over her mouth as if to hold back a sob.

"Speaking to him made me realize just how blind I’ve been. How cruel. How selfish." She sniffs, lowering her hand as her gaze drops to the floor.

"I was ruining something beautiful, something so pure. And I let my own pain, my own insecurities, take control. I was so afraid of losing you that I never stopped to see I was actually driving you away myself."

Her words, raw and trembling, cut through you like a knife.

"You and Jungkook..." she continues, looking back at you, her eyes brimming with remorse. "What you have is rare. It’s the kind of love people search for their entire lives. And I almost destroyed it because I couldn’t let go of my own scars."

Her voice cracks again, and this time, a sob escapes her lips while her shoulders shake as she cries openly in front of you, a sight you never thought you’d witness.

You stand there, tears streaming down your own face, as you watch your mother unravel under the crushing weight of her own guilt. It’s as if the full gravity of her actions is only now sinking in, as if she’s just beginning to grasp the depth of the pain she’s inflicted on her own daughter.

Several seconds pass and then her voice wavers, but there’s a quiet urgency as she interrupts your thoughts. "You should go to him."

Your breath catches, your teary eyes snapping up to meet hers. "Mama—"

"I won’t stop you anymore." she interjects, but there’s a newfound resolve in her tone, her trembling lips curving into the softest, most bittersweet smile, though tears continue to spill down her cheeks.

"I see it now... the depth of the pain I’ve caused you." she confesses, her voice quivering with regret. "I can’t keep standing in the way of my own daughter’s happiness. I can’t be the one to destroy something so real, so pure, and so beautiful."

Her words shake you to your core, and you feel something inside you shatter... walls you hadn’t realized you’d built around your heart crumble under the weight of her sincerity.

"Go to the airport, Y/n." she whispers, your name breaking on her lips. "Go to him, right now."

Her words are a lifeline, pulling you out of the despair you’d been drowning in for so long. Relief floods your chest, overwhelming and liberating, as tears continue to stream down your face.

You nod frantically, your breath hitching as emotions surge through you like a tidal wave.

You don’t bother to change out of your nightgown or worry about your disheveled appearance. You turn towards the door, ready to bolt out and make your way to the man who holds your heart.

But then, just as your fingers graze the doorknob, her voice calls out again. "Wait!"

You freeze mid-step, turning back to her with wide, glistening eyes. She strides towards you, holding the box she’d been clutching tightly to her chest all this time.

"Take this..." she says, her voice soft yet trembling as she extends it to you. Confused, you glance down at the box, then back at her. "What… what's this?"

Her gaze softens, her expression a poignant blend of pain and tenderness. "It’s something he needs to see..." she murmurs, her voice trembling yet resolute. "Just give it to him, sweetheart. He’ll understand."

You hesitate, your fingers hovering over the box as uncertainty flickers in your chest. But the quiet urgency in her voice, coupled with the way her hands linger on the box as though letting go is both a release and a plea, pushes you to act.

Nodding, you take the box from her, its weight pressing against your chest as if carrying not just its contents but her unspoken regrets and hopes.

Without wasting another moment, you turn and run... your feet carrying you down the hallway, your heart pounding as you descend the staircase in a blur. The house feels suffocating, every second urging you to escape its confines and race towards the love of your life.

The moment you spot the guard outside, you request him to call the driver and within minutes that feel like eternity, your car pulls up. The headlights slice through the darkness, illuminating your urgency as you slide into the back seat, clutching the box tightly.

The car hums to life, gliding down the long driveway that stretches like an endless thread leading out into the world beyond your home. The city looms ahead and you press your forehead against the cool glass of the window.

Your tears continue to fall, but this time they carry a different weight. They’re not born of despair but of something else entirely... a release, a hope, a fragile kind of determination.

And for the first time in what feels like forever, you dare to believe that maybe, just maybe, this road will lead you home. To him. To a love worth everything.

//

The hum of activity in the airport lobby surrounds Jungkook, the soft murmur of voices blending with the gentle tapping of suitcase wheels on the polished floor.

The bright fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow across the vast, open space, while the large windows showcase the sprawling tarmac outside.

The quiet rush of people moving in all directions adds to the atmosphere... passengers checking in, families hugging goodbye, and the occasional call over the loudspeaker announcing boarding times.

It’s a place filled with anticipation, yet for Jungkook, the air feels heavy, weighed down by a deep ache that refuses to be soothed.

The large screens hanging from the ceiling flicker with departure times, the destinations glowing in bold text. His flight is soon, but the seconds seem to stretch endlessly as he watches the planes taxi down the runway in the distance.

Each passing minute only deepens the knot in his stomach, the looming uncertainty of what’s to come gnawing at him.

Sitting beside him, his mother watches him closely. Her gaze is gentle, understanding the turbulence within him even if she can’t fully share it.

She leans forward slightly, her voice soft and filled with concern, "Kook..." she calls, her words breaking the silence around them. "You're sure you want to leave?"

His heart aches at the question, the temptation to stay and resolve everything with you pulling at him, but he knows deep down, that this is something he must do.

He exhales deeply, glancing at his mother, forcing a small smile. "Yes, Ma." he says, the words coming out slower than he intends. "It’s the only right thing to do."

But even as the smile touches his lips, it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. They’re distant, clouded by the pain of knowing he’s about to walk away from something that means more than just the world to him.

The silence settles back around him, a heavy weight pressing on his chest as his thoughts inevitably drift back to you. He can't help but wonder if he’s making the right choice, if walking away from the love he's known for so long is really the only answer.

But before he can sink deeper into the spiral of doubt, a sudden commotion at a distance pulls him from his thoughts. Loud footsteps echo through the terminal, and the sound of frantic running cuts through the usual hum of voices.

Without thinking, his head swivels to the source of the noise, his eyes narrowing as he instinctively watches the movement. What he doesn’t expect, however, is the sight of you... familiar, yet out of place, desperately scanning the crowd, your gaze flickering from face to face, frantic and lost.

His heart skips a beat. Confusion floods his senses as he watches you weave through the standing passengers, your steps quick. You’re clutching something tightly in your hands, a box, perhaps.

His feet move before he can stop them, standing up from his seat, his eyes not leaving you for even a second.

His mother, sensing the shift in his demeanor, stands up as well, her eyes following his gaze. “Kook, what happ—” she starts to ask, but her voice trails off when she sees you too. A small, knowing smile tugs at her lips, though Jungkook doesn’t notice it. He’s too lost in the storm of emotions as he watches you... his heart racing now.

You’re moving erratically, your gaze darting around as you stop by random chairs, still searching, still looking. The urgency in your movements is unmistakable, and Jungkook’s confusion only deepens.

But then, your eyes lock with his. The moment freezes in time.

“Kook!!” Your voice shatters the stillness of the moment, cutting through the noise of the airport like a beacon in the chaos, a lifeline thrown with every ounce of desperation and hope.

The urgency in your cry tugs at his heartstrings, and in that instant, Jungkook feels everything... the hurt, the longing, all rushing toward him, sweeping him into a wave of raw emotion. It’s in the tremble of your voice, the frantic search in your eyes, the way you seem to need him like air itself.

He instinctively steps forward, reaching out, but you’re already running, your feet light and swift, propelled by a determination that can only come from a heart that knows exactly what it wants.

When you stop just a few feet away, everything hits him... the disheveled state of you, the tears streaking down your face, the nightgown you haven’t changed out of, as if you’ve left everything behind, every comfort, just to be here.

His heart aches at the sight, his need to protect you overwhelming him. But before he can speak, you beat him to it.

"Kook, I'm flying back to New York with you." The words burst from you, each one carrying the weight of everything you’ve held inside, every thought, every feeling, every breath you’ve taken since he left. You’re breathless, your chest heaving with the strain of the words, and your eyes never leave his... desperate, yet filled with a certainty that makes his heart ache deeper than it already does.

Jungkook’s breath catches in his throat. This is the last thing he expected to hear. This is the last thing he ever imagined he would face at this moment, but the emotion behind your words... the sheer depth of it, strikes him like a tidal wave.

His eyes flicker to his mom, standing just behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder, as if silently telling him to breathe.

"I'll be in the washroom, okay?" His mom’s voice is soft, distant, but Jungkook barely registers it. His mind, his heart, is consumed by you. He doesn’t even notice when she slips away, leaving the two of you in this fragile, raw moment, suspended in time.

His heart races, torn between the pull to stay with you and the reality of the life he's supposed tp have without you. "Y/N... please..." he whispers, his voice thick with the weight of everything he’s trying to say and everything he can’t.

"Please, don’t make this harder than it already is." His voice cracks, betraying the vulnerability he’s trying to hide. The truth is, deep down, he knows he can’t keep you away anymore.

He knows you’ve made your choice, just as he’s made his.

But you shake your head slowly, tears glistening in your eyes, and the steady resolve in your voice pierces through the pain that’s been festering between you both.

"Kook, ever since we started dating, not a single day has passed where I haven’t imagined a future with you. Not a single day where I didn’t wonder what our lives could be like, what we could build together."

You take a step closer, and he can feel the gravity of your words pulling him in, the sincerity behind every syllable. "Since day one, you’ve been the only thing on my mind, Kook. Every single day, you’re the first thought when I wake up, the last one before I fall asleep." You let out a soft laugh, though it’s laced with a sob, and his heart breaks all over again.

"You’re all I’ve ever wanted, all I’ve ever dreamed of. You’re the one I’ve imagined growing old with, the one I’ve pictured beside me through every storm, every moment, every day. You’re the only one I see... now, tomorrow, and forever."

His breath hitches, and he feels as though the ground beneath him could collapse at any moment. You reach out, your hand trembling, and he steps forward instinctively, his hand brushing against yours in the most delicate touch.

"I want everything with you, Kook. I want the quiet mornings in our cozy little apartment, the smell of coffee filling the air, the sound of our laughter echoing through the walls. I want our own little family... maybe even a dog... a Doberman, just like you’ve always wanted." You smile, and the tenderness of it catches him off guard, but the tears that shimmer in your eyes tell him everything.

He smiles back, though he can’t hide the way his eyes glisten.

"I want the mundane moments, the everyday life, because those are the moments that make everything else worth it. And I want it all with you." You pause, your voice breaking, but your eyes never waver, never falter in their devotion.

"Because to me, Kook, you are my future. You are everything I’ve ever needed. And wherever you are in the world, that’s where I belong." You smile, caressing his cheek, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Jungkook feels like he’s home.

"And no matter who wants to get in the way, no matter who tries to break us apart, I’m not going to let that happen." You whisper, your voice low and fierce with the love that burns between you.

And as the words hit him, Jungkook feels every bit of his own resolve crumble. The only thing he’s certain of now is that you are his heart, his everything. And nothing, no one, could ever change that.

"Really?" he asks, his voice low, almost a whisper, yet filled with a fragile kind of hope. It’s as if he’s afraid the moment might shatter if he speaks too loudly. He takes a cautious step closer, his eyes searching yours for any trace of doubt.

But there isn’t any. None at all.

You nod, the certainty in your small gesture lighting a spark in his chest. His lips curve into an airy, disbelieving chuckle, the sound tinged with a kind of relief he hadn’t known he needed.

"Really." you affirm softly, a small laugh escaping you... a laugh so full of love and promise that it unravels him completely.

That’s all it takes.

Before he even realizes it, his hands are cradling your face, his palms warm against your skin, his touch reverent, as though you’re something fragile, something precious. And in truth, you are.

When his lips meet yours, it’s as though the world around him disappears... the hum of the airport fades, the distant announcements and the shuffle of hurried footsteps dissolve into nothing.

In this moment, there is only you.

He kisses you with everything he has, everything he’s held back, and everything he didn’t know he was capable of feeling. It’s not just a kiss... it’s an unspoken promise, a confession of the depths of his love, a bridge over the years of pain and longing.

Every part of him, every fiber of his being, is poured into this moment, because now, nothing else matters.

Because at this point, Jungkook knows... he wants everything with you, too. He’s always wanted it. A future where your laughter fills the air, where your shared dreams come to life.

A home that feels alive because you’re in it, your warmth lighting every corner. A family that grows in love and chaos, where his mornings start with you by his side and his nights end the same way.

It’s you... only you. The only constant in every vision he’s ever had of his future. The one person who makes him feel like he’s enough, like he’s whole.

As the kiss deepens, Jungkook’s hands slide to the nape of your neck, his fingers threading gently through your hair. It’s as though he’s anchoring himself in this moment, desperate to make it last forever, to ground himself in the reality that you’re here, with him, choosing him.

But then, you pull back, your hands pressing lightly against his chest, breaking the moment. “Wait…” you breathe out, your voice trembling slightly. The sudden shift leaves Jungkook momentarily dazed, confusion flickering in his eyes as his hands hover near you, reluctant to let you go entirely.

You bring up the box in your hand, holding it out to him. “Mama…” you start, swallowing hard as if the weight of the moment is catching up to you. “Mama told me to give this to you.” you say, your voice soft.

Jungkook’s brows knit together as he glances at the box, his confusion deepening. The mention of your mother makes his posture stiffen. “What is it?” he asks softly, his voice cautious as he hesitantly takes the box from you.

“I don’t know.” you admit, shaking your head. “But she said… it’s something you need to see.”

Jungkook lets out a shaky breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stares at the box in his hands. A storm of emotions brews inside him... apprehension, curiosity, even a flicker of hope but mostly, there’s a gnawing sense of dread.

He doesn’t know what to expect, but his mind is already spiraling. Is this going to be another sign of disapproval? Another way to remind him he’ll never measure up, never truly belong?

He forces himself to stop, shaking off the intrusive thoughts as he carefully lifts the lid. His heart pounds in his chest, his breathing shallow as he peers inside. And then his breath hitches.

Inside the box is a photo frame. The wooden edges are simple but elegant, smooth beneath his fingertips as he picks it up. His eyes fall on the picture encased within, and his lips part in quiet disbelief.

It’s a photograph... a snapshot from the day of the tea ceremony, the first time Jungkook met your family.

In the picture, he stands slightly stiff beside you, surrounded by your family. At the center sits your grandmother, her expression serene yet proud, flanked by your parents on either side. Beside your mother stand Taehyung and Miyeon, their bright smiles radiating warmth.

On the opposite side, next to your father, it’s you and Jungkook. You’re beaming at the camera, your joy evident and infectious, while Jungkook offers a softer smile, his hand resting securely in yours.

Jungkook remembers that day vividly. How awkward he’d felt, how he’d hesitated when you asked him to join the family photo. He’d insisted it wasn’t his place, that he didn’t belong.

But you had convinced him, tugging him to your side with a reassuring smile that melted his defenses. Even then, he had been aware of your mother’s watchful gaze, uncertain if his presence in the frame would be seen as an intrusion.

His gaze lingers on the photo now, taking in every detail. But it’s not just the image that strikes him... it’s the frame. The way it borders the picture, enclosing the memory within its sturdy embrace.

The frame, with its polished wooden edges, doesn’t trap the image but preserves it, making it whole. In this small, simple structure, he sees the way this memory is safeguarded, cherished, and elevated.

And in that same breath, it strikes him... this is what belonging feels like. This frame doesn’t exclude him… it includes him. It holds him within its bounds, just as you do, just as your family does, and now, even your mother.

And it hits him all at once.

He belongs. He belongs inside the frame.

The realization washes over him like a tidal wave, a flood of warmth and emotion that he can’t contain. The photograph isn’t just a picture... it’s a symbol. A message from your mother.

It’s her unmistakable way of telling him that she no longer sees him as a blemish or an imperfection in an otherwise perfect picture... that he’s no longer an outsider.

This was her approval, her apology, her final affirmation that he belongs... to you, to your family, and to everything that makes you who you are.

His throat tightens, his chest swelling with an overwhelming mix of emotions... relief, gratitude, love. His eyes, brimming with unshed tears, flicker to yours. You’re watching him intently, your own emotions mirrored in your gaze.

“I belong…” he whispers, the words trembling on his lips, as though uttering them aloud might shatter the delicate truth he’s only just beginning to grasp. His gaze meets yours, and his soft, incredulous smile carries the weight of disbelief, hope, and a longing he can finally put to rest. “I… I belong.”

You nod, stepping closer until your hand gently covers his. “You always have, Kook. You’ve always belonged.” you whisper, your voice tender but certain, as though sealing a promise he hadn’t realized you’d made long ago.

In an instant, he shifts the frame and box into one hand, his other arm pulling you tightly into his chest. The embrace feels like a shield, a cocoon against the noise and chaos of the world around you.

You wrap your arms around him in return, holding on as though you might never let go. The distant hum of airport announcements fades, muffled and irrelevant, as the two of you become the center of each other’s universe.

“I love you, Kook.” you say softly, your voice barely audible against the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He nods, pressing his cheek against the top of your head, his breath warm against your hair.

“I love you too.” he whispers and when he pulls back, it’s just enough to look into your eyes. Without hesitation, he leans down, his lips capturing yours in another kiss.

But this kiss is different. It’s not just a declaration of love... it’s everything. It’s the apology he never got to fully say, the gratitude he feels for your unwavering faith in him, and the silent vow that he’s yours, now and forever.

When you finally part, your cheeks are damp, and so are his, but neither of you care. You smile up at him, teary-eyed but radiant, and he mirrors your expression, his face soft with wonder and relief, as though the final piece of the puzzle has clicked into place.

“God...” you laugh suddenly, breaking the moment with a sheepish grin. “I just realized…I’m still in my nightgown. I probably gave everyone a show running like a maniac through the airport.”

Jungkook blinks, suddenly becoming aware of your surroundings. “Shit, baby, you should’ve changed! Aren’t you cold?” His hands instinctively move away from you and within seconds, he’s shrugging off his coat.

“Kook, I’m fine.” you protest lightly, but he’s already draping the thick fabric over you with careful precision, his brows furrowed in concern. “Still...” he mutters, stepping back to adjust the coat around you. “You could’ve caught a cold. What were you thinking?”

You slip your arms into the sleeves and laugh. “I wasn’t thinking. I just had to get to you.”

From a short distance away, Jungkook’s mother watches the two of you in silence, her luggage resting by her side. Her lips curve into a faint smile as she observes her son, who had been so weighed down by sorrow just days ago, now standing tall and glowing in your presence.

Relief floods her heart, seeing him laugh, seeing him love, and most of all, seeing him be loved in return.

The sharp crackle of the intercom shatters the stillness, the announcement of your flight echoing through the terminal. “Wow...” he murmurs, exhaling deeply. The reality of it all is finally settling in. “This is it, huh?”

“We’re going back to New York together.” you remind him with a smile, and he nods, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Wait, though...” he says, his brows knitting together in sudden confusion. “Where’s your luggage?”

You grin, a mischievous twinkle lighting your eyes. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have it arranged.” you say. He laughs, shaking his head in affectionate disbelief because he had momentarily forgotten who is girlfriend really was. “Of course, you will.” he says.

As the two of you turn to walk towards the gate, your hand in his, you spot his mother by the seats. She holds her luggage now in one hand, her posture relaxed, her expression warm. You offer her a shy, almost apologetic smile, and she returns it with one of quiet approval.

Just before Jungkook can lift his bag, you pause, tilting your head towards him with a playful smirk. “Kook...” you begin. “You know my family has ties with the airline, right?”

“Yeah…?” He narrows his eyes, already sensing where this is going. “So…” you drawl, dragging out the moment. “I might have upgraded our seats to business class again.”

epilogue

7 months later;

"And you may now kiss the bri—"

The words barely leave the officiant's lips before the room erupts into cheers and applause as Jungkook steps forward with a wide, boyish grin, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you into a kiss that’s nothing short of passionate.

The world around you blurs as he leans you back ever so slightly, his lips molding perfectly to yours, and the crowd’s whoops and claps grow louder, egging him on.

You can’t help but giggle against his lips, your bouquet clutched tightly in one hand while your other arm winds its way around his shoulders.

“Woohoooo! My baby sister is finally married!” Taehyung’s voice booms above the commotion, his excitement cutting through the noise like a firecracker. His dramatic declaration sends a ripple of laughter through the room, the joyful energy bouncing off every corner of the hall.

Jungkook pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughs softly, clearly enjoying the infectious joy of the moment.

You smile radiantly at Jungkook before intertwining your fingers with his and walking down the aisle together. The flower petals fall gently from above, catching the golden light like tiny, delicate whispers of a blessing, creating a dreamy haze that feels almost surreal.

The crowd's cheers and laughter are like a harmonious melody, and you can’t help but laugh softly as you wave to your friends and cousins, who coo and awe over the two of you.

Playfully, you lift your hand, wiggling your fingers to show off your ring, earning exaggerated gasps and more cheers. Jungkook chuckles beside you, squeezing your hand affectionately as his eyes scan the sea of familiar faces.

His gaze lands first on his mother, seated near the aisle, her hands clasped tightly together as she watches her son with pride. She’s smiling... a smile so genuine and full of love that it makes his heart ache in the best way. He smiles back, his lips curving into something soft, something grateful, and then his attention shifts.

He spots Yoongi next, standing amidst the crowd, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a grin. Yoongi raises his hand, offering Jungkook a thumbs-up with a playful holler that has the people around him laughing. Jungkook chuckles, shaking his head slightly but appreciating the support from his closest friend.

Then, his eyes drift to the other side of the room, and they find your mother. She’s radiant, as always, with an elegance that commands attention without effort. But what truly catches him off guard is her expression.

When their eyes meet, it’s not the cold, scrutinizing gaze he once feared... it’s warm. Her smile is soft, genuine, and holds something he never thought he’d see... acceptance.

The world seems to slow for a moment as she dips her head slightly, a silent gesture of approval, a mother’s quiet way of saying... Take care of my daughter. Always keep her happy.

Jungkook feels his throat tighten, emotions bubbling to the surface as he nods subtly in return with his own silent promise... I will. Always.

<-part 7

—fin. ♡ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ౨ৎ ‧₊ .ᐟ

series masterlist

my masterlist <3

series taglist: @mirinaeii @taetaecatboy @tsukiesimp @lovingkoalaface @taekrve @jaytheatiny @loverofannabeth @jaerisdiction @whoa-jo @parkinglot-nights @reneeblack6230 @rrosiitas @shellyyy177 @majesticjung-97 @wobblewobble822 @primadonnasdream

permanent taglist: @rpwprpwprpwprw @kimyishin @somehowukook @allie-in-the-moon @nightappple @jksoftii @mimi1097 @yooforeaa @jkaxl @jinglthembalslikethat @puppybunnyjkay @jiijeon97 @ninisica @rerefundslocals @kgamboa11 @lizzikoo @madussthoughts @kelsyx33 @mafersame @yoonstaar @autumnbear @taetaecatboy @goldenjeonkoo @dragonflygurl4 @fairypjminie @claudialemusr @kooko007 @matryoshka-poetry @strawberrymangoshortcake (let me know if you wanted to be added !! <3)

[sjyuns]

WAY BACK HOME ┆ A SIM JAEYUN ONESHOT

BREAKING NEWS! the friendly neighbourhood superhero spider-man has been caught trying to swing into a girl’s heart — but why is he failing miserably?! is this the spider-man we all know and love? or has our hero lost his spark?

or in which sim jaeyun asks you, his best friend out, forgetting that he was still in his spider-man suit.

GENRE! best friends to lovers, mutual pining, extremely groundbreaking embarrassing pick up lines, my missed hit at being a comdeian, jaeyun being jaeyun ( ie a hot loser ),

CAUTION! idiots in love, two timing ( but they’re the same person ), kissing, love, mentions of weapons and fighting crime, bad pickup lines, embarrassment for sim jaeyun, both reader and jaeyun are nineteen in this fic

WORDCOUNT! 5100

MIKAELA’S! hey everyone, this is the first ever oneshot i’m posting on my shiny new blog! please feel free to leave feedback through reblogs or asks! hope you enjoy jake embarrassing the soul out of himself🫶 i love sim jaeyun so much ( too much it’s embarrassing tbh ) this is the last of my old drafts, sorry for the spam!

playlist ⟡ way back home — shaun ⟡ forever only — jaehyun ⟡ pov — ariana grande ⟡ daylight — taylor swift

i. with great power comes a platter of hot embarrassment

“With great power comes great responsibility,” is what Spider-Man once said in an interview with The Daily Times, the most widely read newspaper company in all of Seoul.

It’s so out of character of Sim Jaeyun that he himself wonders what exactly went through his mind at that given time to blurt out such a philosophical quote — especially when he was having the bad urge to take a piss at that very moment.

But whatever it was: he needs it to return now, because he’s standing in front of you, his best friend, and he thinks that now's the chance; to finally ask you out after saving you.

Unfortunately Sim Jaeyun is out of luck, like he always is with you, because nothing but five utterly embarrassing words come out of his mouth.

“You tingle my spidey senses.”

You choke back a laugh as you stare at the masked superhero, amused at his sudden pick-me-up. “Are you rizzing me up, mister friendly neighbourhood hero?”

It seems like too much thinking has altered the already broken thought process in Sim Jaeyun’s brain, because it is only now that he registers that he’s still in his Spider-Man suit, and you don’t have a single clue that he’s Spider-Man.

“Uh, I mean-” but he’s cut off by the roaring cheer of the gathered public, who have their phones out and recording.

“Don’t back down, Spider-Man,” a citizen calls out, and Jaeyun thinks it’s far too late to back out now, because not only will it crush his ego, you might think Spider-Man isn’t as cool as he seemed to be.

“Would you let me swing into your heart- I mean, could we” he pauses, “could we hang out sometime?”

You smile, and it makes Jaeyun frown slightly under his mask, because he knows that smile — it’s the polite one, the one you use in a slightly uncomfortable situation, as if you didn’t want to embarrass the popular superhero standing in front of you at the moment.

“Sure,” you grin, pearly whites on display, “could I bring my best friend Jaeyun though? He’s a big fan.” It’s him, he thinks, he’s the Jaeyun you’re talking about. And his heart skips a beat at your thoughtful action.

“Okay! Tomorrow, here, five in the evening,” he says in excitement without a second thought. You’ve just agreed to go out on a date with him, and he’s too drunk in love to think about how he’s going to meet you as Spider-Man without telling you his identity.

He shoots a web up and swings after shouting an elated “see you, yn,” in the air. All too caught up in you to realise the three critical mistakes he’d made.

ONE. He never asked for your name as Spider-Man

TWO. There’s no way he could ever go on a date with his suit on in public

THREE. How in the fucking world is he going to a date with you as both Spider-Man and Sim Jaeyun?

Sim Jaeyun spends the whole night twisting and turning in his bed, mind in a flurry as he tries to think of the smartest way to solve these problems.

And it doesn’t help him when his phone pings with a new message from you.

Guess who just bagged us a hang out with Spider-Man tomorrow!

Don’t wear that Spider-Man suit or I swear to god I will not bring you to see him.

He sighs as he presses hard on the power button of his phone, staring blanking at the black screen. Fuck power or responsibility, he thinks, all he wants is his best friend’s heart, is that too much to ask for?

ii. man up, spidey-boy!

“BREAKING NEWS! Spider-Man spotted trying to swing into a girl’s — who supposedly goes by the name yn, heart. And after failing miserably at the first try, he succeeded on the second. Spidey may be a hero who saves lives, but it seems like he might have to take up what youngster’s call ‘rizz’ classes.”

The wide billboard screen casts a video taken by a bystander as the announcer's voice blared into the main junction of the city.

Jaeyun groans as he hangs his head low, adjusting the baseball cap perched on top of his head to cover his face. Not like anyone knew he was Spider-Man, no, but it was just far too embarrassing for him.

He hears you before he sees you, your voice is illegally sweet as it causes a smile to appear on his face amidst all of the stress. “Jaeyun!” You call, “you’re unusually late,” and Jaeyun groans, blaming it on the lack of sleep he had gotten last night, “Spider-Man isn’t here yet.”

Right, Spider-Man. Jaeyun still hasn’t found a solution to that.

His suit is tucked safely in the bottom of his bag, just in case. But for now, Jaeyun thinks it’s a better decision to disappoint you as Spider-Man instead of as your best friend. Besides, he hasn’t missed a single hang out session with you, and he isn’t ever planning to.

“Do you think he’s actually going to come?” You ask, head tilting in question and eyes soft, and Jaeyun wonders if he actually underestimated how much you liked Spider-Man, misunderstood that seemingly polite smile you gave him yesterday — should he have came as Spider-Man instead?

“Uhm,” he pauses, hesitant to squash your expectations, “how about we go first? I’m sure Spider-Man will swing by, it seems like he likes you a lot.” And even though he was talking about himself, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy bubbling in him at the thought of another boy liking you.

“Right,” you say, giving him a smile that makes his heart melt, “I guess it’s just us, like it always is.” Your fingers wrap around his, “I like it like this.” You mutter softly, yet in the buzz of the city square, Jaeyun catches the whisper of your voice, a goofy grin plastered on his face.

“Plus, if I ever need, you can be my Spider-Man — whip out that fake suit of yours. You have his physique anyway, and your pick up lines are just as idiotic as his. Maybe even more idiotic.”

Jaeyun lets out a loud laugh, one that’s of melodious dreams, and it causes a few pedestrians to stare but he doesn’t care, not when you’re next to him, asking him to be your very own Spider-Man. And he agrees immediately, all too ready to put on the ‘fake’ red and blue suit just for you.

He’s a little amused that you still believe that he’s a hardcore fan of Spider-Man, because the only time you’ve caught him wearing that very suit was two years ago, when you coincidentally entered his room to see him in a Spider-Man suit without a mask.

And he still remembers your accusations of him being a fanboy, asking him if dressing up as his idol was what he did in his free time. Jaeyun was way too flustered to even explain himself, and letting you know that he was the real Spider-Man never even crossed his mind as he bashfully nodded to your words.

But it wasn’t like you ever laughed at him about it, though you did tease him. You would still buy him different types of Spider-Man merchandise, ranging from Spider-Man socks to a custom Spider-Man mug with the words ‘Spider-Man loves Jaeyun’ in bold red.

With every gift given, came an opportunity to reveal his identity. Yet Sim Jaeyun never seizes it, he refuses to, because he finds it so endearing — the way you have the proudest smile on your face as you give him merchandise of himself that he has never seen before, the way you send him a picture of every single Spider-Man related thing you see on the streets.

“Right,” he nods as he gazes adoringly at you, “forget the real Spider-Man, I’ll swing into your heart.” And the giggle you let out once again makes his knees weak — he thinks the smile plastered on your face is much more genuine than the one he saw yesterday.

And he wants to kiss you so bad, tell you exactly how much he likes you, loves you. This familiar feeling that has settled comfortably at the bottom of his heart and back of his mind for the past four years, has only grown and never dwindled. It was times like this, where he didn’t feel the burden of having to be alert about ongoing crime.

Only with you can he feel like Sim Jaeyun — a lovesick nineteen year old and not Spider-Man, the hero of Seoul.

“Jaeyun, what do you want to do first?” You ask, pulling him through the blaring fun of the amusement park. He hums, following behind your excited figure, letting you choose what you wanted to do. “Oh my god, look it’s a Spider-Man toy.”

You halt in your step and immediately turn towards him, eyes sparkling. “Do you want it Jaeyun? I’ll get it for you. Just so you aren’t too sad that Spider-Man ghosted us today.”

He scoffs, as he examines the booth. It’s a shooting game, and he knows that you suck at shooting. “You sure, love? From what I remember, you aren’t too good at shooting games,” he brings up and you shoot him a sharp glare before pestering him to pay the vendor.

You end up blaming your best friend for jinxing you, “Yun, if you never said that, I could have shot them all down,” you complain, eyes morphing into slits as you pinpoint the blame on him. Jaeyun raises his two hands in innocence, face displaying an expression of shock, “I didn’t even say anything wrong, plus you barely hit one out of five balloons.”

You groan, shushing him in embarrassment, “If you’re such a professional, win it for me then,” you challenge him. Jaeyun shrugs, it’ll be easy — all those years of shooting webs has made him extremely sharp, so he manages to shoot all the five balloons without any effort, snagging the coveted Spider-Man doll.

“You sure you don’t want it, Yun?” you question, “add it to your collection as a fanboy.” He shakes his head, handing you the plush toy, “I won it for you. Plus, I like the ones you gave me more.”

It overwhelms you, the stark sincerity in his voice. And you feel the sudden need to kiss him, not like you’ve never thought of it before (more like you’ve thought about it too much), because Sim Jaeyun with his bright personality and handsome face is far too good to be real.

But you can’t bring yourself to be that direct, so you settle for a kiss on the cheek. A quick movement and a short peck before you let out a loud giggle, walking over to the next booth with a stupid smile plastered on your face, leaving Jaeyun in shock and awe — eyes wide and mouth agape before he bites back a smile.

He thinks it’s too hard to conceal his feelings any longer; that he has to tell you soon, next week, tomorrow, or maybe even now. And he feels the three words, eight letters, at the tip of his tongue.

As always, though, he swallows them back down, throat dry as he stares at you. The fear of rejection far too intense for him to handle.

How ironic, that Sim Jaeyun could fight criminals with equipped daggers that could kill him in one swift motion, yet he could not say three simple words to a girl who has pierced his heart and filled his stomach with butterflies.

iii. in a sticky predicament

“Now on to our very own Spider-Man’s upcoming love story that seems to be wilting by the looks of it — Spidey, in fact, did not show up to his date with yn, who was seen with another boy at the amusement park. Our very own hero is facing multiple accusations that he may be, like his representative colour, a red flag. However, a minority of fans have brought up a speculation; that the boy we call Spider-Man, might be the very boy accompanying yn yesterday unmasked. That’s all for Spider-Man, here on The Daily News.”

“Don’t you think that’s insane Jaeyun?” you laugh, throwing your head back into the soft pillow on his bed, “they think you’re Spider-Man.”

“Right,” he trails on, arms crossed as he leans on the doorframe, “that’s so impossible.”

His laugh awkward as his fingers find themselves combing through his hair for the nth time. And you turn your head, looking at him with suspicion. Right, that’d be crazy, insane maybe, you think, because Sim Jaeyun was well — him. He’s slightly awkward, likes physics, and hell he’s scared of bugs, so it’ll be mind blowing if he ever was the real Spider-Man.

But impossible, you think, might not be true. And you sit up on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on him. Same physique, similar height, he’s athletic, and he shoots well. Plus, from your ever so short encounter with Spider-Man saving you from getting your wallet stolen, Spider-Man is just as awkward as your best friend.

Could he really be Spider-Man? But he’s a fan of Spider-Man, wouldn’t it be weird if he was such a big fan of himself. Still, you couldn’t rule out the possibility.

“Jump,” you instruct, “hang upside down on the walls.” Jake is shocked, as his heart accelerates in nervousness at the thought of being found out.

“Don’t be weird,” he groans, trying to keep calm, “that’s literally humanly impossible.” His mind racing, finding a way to get out of this sticky situation, because as much as he wants to tell you his identity, the last way he wanted you to find out was through the internet. Also, maybe because you looked slightly angry, with your eyebrows furrowed and hands on your head, and Jaeyun didn’t want you to be mad at him.

You were deep in thought, was that why Spider-Man didn’t show up yesterday — because he is actually Sim Jaeyun, and he couldn’t be there as two different people.

That might be a stretch, but it isn’t an impossible scenario. You tilt your head, quickly grabbing the pillow you were just lying on, throwing it at him, “catch.”

He catches it easily, with one hand even, as his face contorts into an expression of surprise. “Don’t scare me like that, love,” he says. But you’re too flabbergasted at the fast reflexes of your best friend to even comprehend his complaint.

“You could really give Spider-Man a run for his money, you know?” you chuckle, as you tell yourself that no matter how much it might fit, it’s probably just a coincidence, “put on that suit of yours and fight crime.” It was all a coincidence, right?

“What if I’m scared of getting hurt,” he pouts, and you snort. With Sim Jaeyun’s level of cowardice, there’s no way he could ever be out there fighting.

“Then I’ll protect you,” you say, “I’ll be your sidekick, all you have to do is stand there and look pretty.”

He grins, walking over to stand in front of you; hands moving to ruffle your hair. “Okay love, you lead, I’ll follow.”

iv. tell him to grow a pair

Your newfound popularity brings you more drawbacks than benefits — by that you mean the sudden fury of boys approaching you to ask for your number. It annoys Jaeyun more than it does you, as your best friend flaunts a new irritated look that you’ve rarely seen.

“That’s the sixth fucking boy,” he grumbles, eyes rolling before he glares at the fleeting figure of Lee Heeseung, the boy who just asked you for your number, the boy who Jaeyun lashed out at.

“Be kind, Yun,” you chuckle, amused at your best friend’s sudden grumpiness, “I mean, I’ve never lashed out at any of the girl’s who ask you out.”

“No one has asked me out.” he groans, “are you flaunting right now?”

“Yes I am,” you reply, “don’t worry Jaeyun, you’ll always be my loser.”

He lets out a loud exaggerated sigh as he rolls his eyes, leaning against the locker as he grits his teeth in exasperation.

You wonder why no girl has ever hit Sim Jaeyun up. Granted, he wasn’t the best looking guy back in middle school with his choice of brightly coloured clothes that blinded eyes, but you think that was part of the appeal — how awkwardly adorable he was. Now, with his upgraded fashion style and bubbly personality, it’s a miracle no one has tried their shot at bagging him. Not that you wanted anyone to.

Sim Jaeyun is yours, just as much as you are his.

And he thinks the exact same. Despite what you think, he has had a girl approach him, professing his love only to get turned down by his puppy-like smile and his confession that he liked you.

Though his body exudes jealousy, there's a slight bit of relief at the fact that you turned all six of the boys down, telling them that you had a crush on someone else. He hopes, prays, begs that the person you think about is him. He furiously looks for a sign, because he’s tired of all this, and he needs a sign from you before he can courageously make the first move.

After school, the both of you walk down the buzzing streets with carts of street food lined up along the roadside. Your fingers bunching the fabric of Jaeyun’s shirt as he navigates the both of you through the crowded streets, making a beeline for his favourite churros shop.

“I told you the queue would be long, it’s Friday night,” you whine, mentally counting the number of people in front of you. Fifteen, that’ll take a while. “We should have just ordered in pizza and binge on Netflix shows.”

“Fine, we can eat churros another day,” Jaeyun pouts and you curse yourself for saying that even when you knew he wanted to eat churros.

“It’s fine, we can stay, since we’re already here.” You stop him, pulling him back beside you in the queue, “but you can’t leave to do something else like last time, you have to wait with me.”

The glow on his face coupled with the adorable smile on his lips makes you stare in awe. And you think Sim Jaeyun is so pretty and handsome all at once it’s a crime to look as good as him. His lips, god, they look so kissable and soft, you wish you could kiss them at any given time — now, tomorrow, forever.

But the moment doesn’t last long, as faint screams and shouts travel from a small corner shop down the road. “Thief, there’s a thief on the run.”

You watch as Jaeyun’s eyes widen, body in a sudden scramble, “uhm, I’m gonna go to the toilet for a moment,” he says amidst the whispers of the crowd, “stomach ache, you know.” Running off before you can give him a reply, brushing past people hurriedly into a random narrow street.

You shrug it off again because it isn’t the first time Jaeyun has acted out of character. However, you can’t help but realise it was always when there was crime.

The questions and suspicions floating around your head for the past week resurface as you focus on the narrow street your best friend had disappeared into.

Oh my god.

You blink profusely, pinch yourself, and rub your eyes because this is mind blowing information. You can’t seem to believe an ounce of what your eyes have just seen. Was that Spider-Man who just swung out of the very same alleyway?

Sim Jaeyun is Spider-Man. And your conclusion only seems to solidify as you hear the muffled voice coming out of his masked persona.

“Oops, sorry,” and a careless swing as he tries his best to manoeuvre through the crowd, accidentally knocking over a little girl’s ice cream cone, “I'm sorry, please don’t cry.”

Yup, that’s Jaeyun. His voice now so familiar you hit yourself in the head for not realising sooner. And his utterly helpless tone as he tries to soothe the little girl — you could recognise it from a mile away.

“I’ll get you a new one, I’m sorry,” he shouts as he spins his web and shoots again, lamppost to windows to signboards before effortlessly catching up with the thief; who was now bound to the wall by web.

“Sorry,” he groans for the fourth time in a matter of minutes, “it’s my job — i mean, not that you deserve to get away no, i just-” he rambles and you giggle at his comment. Seems like Sim Jaeyun will never change, even as a superhero or as your best friend.

“I meant to say, justice has been served,” he nods, seemingly proud of his awkward catchphrase that you were sure he stole from the superhero movie you watched with him a few weeks back. “I have to get back now, someone awaits me you know - i mean, no- I’m not supposed to give details of my personal life. I’ll just- stop talking… yeah.”

And you watch again as he swings back down the street. With his identity revealed, you can’t help but look up to Jaeyun even more now — a top student and a superhero? How unfair the world is. How lucky you were to have him as your best friend.

“Hey! Aren’t you yn? Spider-Man, is that your girl?” You shrink, head down as you fix your gaze on the floor immediately, cheeks a rosy red. God, you think, this is a little embarrassing.

You feel his presence before you see his shadow morphing with yours on the floor, “hey yn,” and you look up to see the superhero, who’s panting ever so slightly, stand in front of you in his glory. “Sorry about last week, I was well busy, and I know it isn’t any-”

“It’s fine,” you stop him from blabbering, a toothy grin plastered on your face. And Jaeyun feels proud, maybe him saving someone has put Spider-Man back into your good graces, maybe he has a chance with you as Spider-Man.

“I had fun with my crush at the amusement park. Actually, thank you for the opportunity, I kissed his cheek for the first time and it felt like heaven.”

He pauses, and Jaeyun wants to rip off his mask at the very moment to kiss you. You liked him back, fuck, you actually liked him back.

“Ah,” he says after a while of tense silence, his hands rubbing the nape of his neck, “that’s amazing. So- do you… I mean- so you’re like, in love with him? Wait love might be a little uhm-”

“Yeah, I’m in love with him.”

Time stops as your eyes pierce into his, and he can swear at this moment that you knew exactly who he was. He thinks it’s over, and he can finally ask you to be his — because he’s hellbent on loving you, for the past four years he has been.

“Seems like this crush of yours needs to step up his game, or I might just steal you away,” he remarks lightheartedly, uncaring of the sea of cameras pointing towards the both of you.

“Yeah, it seems like he does. Maybe you should visit him one day, tell him that it’s about time to man up, or I’ll be the one asking for his hand.” You shoot a knowing glance at him, a confident smirk on your face.

Jaeyun chuckles, “right, I’ll be sure to tell him that, wouldn’t want him to lose such a special girl.”

“Thanks Spidey, I wonder what I’d ever do without you,” you laugh, patting his suited shoulder before he once again swings away into the narrow alleyway, only to appear minutes later donned in his usual faded ripped jeans and white shirt, hair tousled and smile wide as he runs back to you.

And he’s before you all again, this time as your best friend and you swoon as his adoring eyes and elated smile. “You okay?” You ask, hand raising to fix his hair.

“I couldn’t be better.”

v. Batman vs Spider-Man, a battle of the mans

“Spider-Man should now change his name into wing man as he is spotted once again, engaging in conversation with the very same yn from last week. Spider-Man was not only ruthlessly dumped by her, but was also asked to quote on quote visit her crush to ask him to grow a pair. Seems like she is off the market for our poor lonely superhero, who can’t seem to catch anyone except for criminals. That’s all for Spider-Man, here on The Daily News.”

“Seems like you can’t catch a break, huh Yun?” You point out as you switch the television off, “not only defamed into a wing man but also asked to grow a pair.”

And it seems like he really can’t because ever since you confronted him about being Spider-Man, his days have been filled with even more ruthless teasing, and weird questions.

“How do you even piss as Spider-Man?”

“Can I swing from building to building?”

“Can you hang upside down for ten minutes?”

“How do you think you would fare against Batman in a fight?”

But there’s one unasked question still hanging in the air. And Jaeyun really wants to address it, but it seems like you’ve lost your confidence by the way the flesh of your cheeks heats an angry red at any slight hint of him being your crush — or as Jaeyun would like to call himself; your soon to be boyfriend.

“I’ve grown a pair,” he says, shifting towards you, eyes trained on yours, “seems like someone has lost a pair.”

“Have not” you argue, lies — you could barely look at Jaeyun now without a lovesick smile on your face. Neither could you muster up the courage to ask him to be your boyfriend. “And if you ever grew a pair, you would have asked.”

“Ask what?” He teases, face moving closer to yours. He looks too good, godly almost, with his black rimmed glasses perched at the bridge of his nose.

You pout, furrowing your eyebrows as you place a light slap on the middle of his chest. And he lets out a low chuckle, the vibrant sun rays flush through the sheer day curtains of Jaeyun’s room, a natural spotlight glowing on the both of you.

“Fine,” he whispers, and you can feel his breath on your lips, it’s warm and inviting and you feel yourself leaning into him. “Will you be my girlfriend, love?”

You barely nod your head before he attaches his lips on yours. And you think you’re going to be obsessed with Sim Jaeyun — your fingers find their way through his hair and he sighs. It’s like he’s imprinted in your heart and you want to kiss him again and again and again.

Sim Jaeyun with pretty eyes, pretty lips, a pretty face, a pretty being, breaks the kiss only to kiss you again and again as you wish.

“Did I swing into your heart, love?” He smirks as you playfully roll your eyes at his antics. “Are we not going to bring up the time when you fell after showing me your web skills?”

He tackles you down and you giggle, “I can fall from the sky, I can fall from a tree, but the best way to fall is to fall in love with you.” He grins idiotically before racing out the door as you cringe at yet another bad pick up line from him.

“Sim Jaeyun, are you kidding me? I wonder how you even make up quotes like ‘with great power comes great responsibility’ with that mind of yours.”

“What mind? You mean my mind — the place where you always are?”

You groan in fake disgust as you watch your boyfriend (boyfriend!) smile proudly at his idiotic pick up lines. The both of you drinking sunlight as if it’s love — where he’s all yours and you’re all his.

uncut. confessions i can’t make ( a crumpled confession letter written by a sixteen year old sim jaeyun )

hi dear yn,

i like you. it’s been a while since you took my breath away we first met. this is my first time ever writing a confession so i don’t really know what to say write… i guess it’s like writing physics notes so maybe it wouldn’t be too hard i hope

chapter one part one : what i like about you

i like the way you smile laugh, how your eyes turn into the tiniest of crescents, it makes me proud of the jokes i crack (that physics joke was good was it not). i like the feeling i have around you — it’s warm and fuzzy, natural — talking everyday without any forceful conversation, laughs or attention.

part two : why you should like me

i think you should like me because i like you. i think you should like me because i’m smart! i can help you with physics and maths. i don’t really know what else i can give you but i’ll try my best to make you smile everyday.

will you be my girlfriend? Oh god, this is so weird i actually like you a lot and

(a bunch of scribbling)

forget it. you’ll never like me back.

dear mister sim jaeyun,

after three hours of fighting for my life, i have finally gotten my hands on the most treasured item of the year, a sixteen year old you’s crumpled confession letter to me. and since you wrote it in a physics notes style like a loser, as your girlfriend i have no choice but to follow you (so that you don’t feel lonely)

one. what i like about you

everything. i like your hair, i like your face. I like the way you say sorry to every single person in the neighbourhood while courageously saving them. i like your pick up lines on some days and how you have the guts to challenge Batman to a fight when i proclaim him as my favourite hero. i like the way you laugh and i like the way you smile. i am especially enchanted by your kicked puppy ways and easily manipulated demeanour where i can always get what i want without question.

two. why you should like me

i’m your girlfriend and you’re my girlfriend. (you are my girlfriend) you should stop staring at me with those eyes, it gives me the ick (i meant that in a ‘whatever you say pretty boy’ kind of way) you should like me because i am the person who likes you the most. (i love you so much)

will i be your girlfriend? obviously i will, i mean who can say no to you.

love you babe,

spider-man’s (your) hot sidekick

© SJYUNS

[ivystoryweaver]

With You part 3

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Summary: Jake Lockley has finally met you. What does he think of you, and will he, or Marc, give you any answers?

Pairings: Marc Spector x reader, Jake Lockley x reader (implied Steven Grant x reader). Gender neutral reader. No use of Y/N. Reader is engaged to Marc and Steven.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings/notables: Angst, comfort, references to drinking and alcoholism but it doesn’t happen here, sex but the language is not explicit and no gender-specific body parts mentioned, nightmare, brief crying, cursing, assumptions, longing, feeling inadequate, Khonshu is mean here yall, somebody hug marc spector. Let me know if I missed a warning. Probably inaccurate DID, based on the show.

Dividers by saradika

PREVIOUSLY, on “With You”...

Jake could live without Marc and Steven knowing about him. He’d lived that way all this time, but you were something else. He hadn’t wanted to meet you like this. He had screwed up, and now you were only worried about Marc. He was worried too, honestly.

Now you would never want to know him.

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Jake decided, by which he was effectively deciding to do nothing. He may be able to eliminate the vilest creatures under night’s shadow, but trying to explain to you that he was the reason your fiancé obliterated his sobriety...

Jake didn’t fear anything. In fact, as the streets of London descended from depraved men to monstrous supernatural threats, he relished his role as Khonshu’s vengeful fist. Someone had to do it, and Jake was suited to the task.

A creature of the night, he savored the quiet, cool leather interior of his car as much as the dingy London air whipping through his white cape. And the more challenging his vicious foes, the more Jake reveled in it. He protected people. That was his sole purpose.

Including Marc and Steven.

So the fact that he somehow missed Marc tossing back a bottle of whiskey and upsetting you in the process, well - if he couldn’t protect you and his alters, then he had no reason to exist. 

So, time for bed. He would fade into darkness and you would get back who you really wanted.

Reaching to scoop up each item of clothing he had discarded, with none of this explained aloud to you, he turned to flee.

“Wait,” you pleaded, blocking his pathway out of the bedroom, your hands reaching out to push back gently against the pile in his arms. His gaze fell on yours - open, yet unreadable. Not menacing, but not to be bothered. His eyes didn’t flicker away like Marc’s. He stared you down, waiting.

 “Just wait a second, Jake,” you found yourself whispering, a bit transfixed. “Where do you usually sleep?”

Lips parting in anticipation, your heart did some clichéd somersaulting as he tore his eyes from yours and nodded to your bed.

“You sleep with me?” You clarified, dumbfounded.

Dark eyes flickered momentarily down to your mouth. His tongue swiped over the fullness of his bottom lip before dragging it between his teeth.

“I sleep with you.” 

The rich timbre of his voice electrified you.

“Only so you can wake up with them.”

Air rushed out of you in a mildly dramatic exhale. What was this man doing to you? 

“Please,” you whispered, unsure of what you were even asking him. Mostly, you didn’t want to be without them. You had waited all night, terrified. “Don’t go. I was so worried.”

Eyes narrowing suspiciously, Jake nodded once. He knew what you needed, and it wasn’t him.

Ten minutes later, after what was, for you, an unbearable silence, Jake climbed into bed with you. Having washed up and making his well-fitting ensemble disappear somehow (where did he keep his clothes?), he decided on Steven’s soft pajamas. The sleeves sagged adorably, covering his hands, but Jake’s fingers didn’t fidget like his alter’s. 

How many times had he done this? Pretended to be them? And were you okay with it? Was it even really your business? It was his body too. 

The lights remained off from before, allowing you the cover of darkness to ease under the blankets, as if acting in a play. 

If Marc were with you, he would pull your back against his chest, folding you close until either your body relaxed, or until his lips breathed salacious words on your ear while his hand slipped between your legs. Either that, or he would bury his face in your tummy, the way he had done that morning. That, too, often ended up with him between your legs. 

For Steven, it was the crook of your neck, latched on to you like a koala. After years of sleeping poorly, or trying his damndest to stay awake and not “sleepwalk”, nothing soothed him more than your soft skin and reassuring arms. He marvelously discovered that, with you, he had no trouble falling asleep at all. For Steven, the mornings were when he needed you most. The two of you would race to the bathroom, playfully fighting over who would freshen up first before tumbling back into bed, where he would be sure to end up between your legs. 

But here, now, Jake was a statue. 

You were Marc and Steven’s whole world. Jake knew he had fucked up enough for one week. There was no way he was moving one millimeter in this bed. Hopefully, the warm surge in this heart would settle to the soothing sound of your breathing. That was his balm - you were his anchor. After the cracking of bones and the wailing of night’s creatures deafening his ears - the gentle rise and fall of your chest in the night was his lullaby.

But he didn’t dare touch you. You weren’t his. 

Sometimes you attached yourself to him the night, or maybe he only dreamed that you did. He was never him when sleep ended.

Feeling the tension rolling off you, the urge to somehow alleviate your worries taunted him. But he was certain he didn’t even possess the ability to soothe, only to punish.

So he said nothing. He did nothing. He waited for sleep.

“Jake...” As you turned to him, your sweet voice crawled up his neck, intoxicating him utterly. “Would it be okay if I held your hand?”

The memory of your smooth skin was seared into his memory from the featherlight kiss he’d given your knuckles. He didn’t even hesitate to grasp for you in the dark, tangling his fingers with yours.

Pressing your face to the soft fabric covering his shoulder, you, undeniably realistic you, accepted this real moment. You wanted answers. You wanted a lot of things. He gave you his hand. You took what was here, now.

“I’m glad to know you, Jake,” you whispered, your heavy eyes sliding closed, despite everything. Squeezing his fingers, and swiping your thumb softly along his, you added, “I hope you’ll come back to me soon.”

You woke up to a mess of chocolate curls buried in your stomach.

Marc. 

Your sweet, tormented angel. 

There was a slight chance it wasn’t Marc, but the familiar whimpers of a nightmare gave him away even more than tummy cuddles. 

“Shhh,” you soothed, raking your fingernails through his messy waves. “I’ve got you.”

He squeezed you, murmuring, “No,” brokenly before whimpering again. His nightmares weren’t flailing arms and shouts like in films. They were this: soft, pleading mumbles and anguished pleas.

With a sudden change in his breath, he was awake, eyes darting wildly as he climbed his way up your body, hands checking you frantically.

“Right here, baby,” you murmured, eyes soft and full of love. He looked so broken, you wanted to cry, while desire simultaneously ripped up your spine. Whatever this man of yours needed, you were going to give him, likely, to your great pleasure and benefit. Win-win. 

“You’re here,” he repeated, gathering you in his strong arms as the weight of his body crushed you in the most delicious way. “I dreamed you were gone. You left, or...or someone took you away from me.”

“Never,” you uttered with conviction, pressing your lips to the corner of his jaw, opening your mouth to breathe hotly before kissing a trail to his ear. “I’ll never let that happen. I’ll burn down the whole world first.”

A choked sob erupted from his chest as he whispered your name. Fusing his lips with yours, his fingers gripped your jaw desperately as if he feared you would quite literally slip through them.

Responding to the press of his body like a partner in a well-rehearsed dance, your legs fell open, ready to feel the heat of him consuming you. His mouth hadn’t left yours, but his thick fingers dragged (his) t-shirt up your torso and over your head.

Only then, when your lips parted, did his dark, desperate gaze lock onto yours. “Need you,” he groaned, his voice tinged with the slight beg you associated with Steven.

Surging forward, you met his furious kiss with equal hunger, pushing under his soft pajamas, pulling, dragging until your naked limbs were tangled, pressing and pulling in desperate passion. 

“You’re mine,” he growled, deep inside you, claiming you, as if you had any doubt or desire to be apart from him. “He can’t h-have you. I won’t let him.”

You were oddly turned on by the idea that maybe he sounded jealous of Jake, who had merely held your hand in the dark.

He didn’t mean Jake.

In fact, he wasn’t even aware you’d held an audience with his mysterious alter.

No, he meant the twisted, deceitful, formidable Egyptian god of the moon, to whom he remained enslaved. The one who took you away in his dream.

The things Marc was doing to your body - you could barely think straight. Your back arched in pleasure, your fingers clawing at the sculpted muscles of his back, desperate to somehow bring him even closer to you. 

“I’m yours,” you gasped, realizing with the deep moan that followed, that you didn’t really have control over your voice at this point.

“Mine,” he repeated, as you drowned in him, and he in you. 

After a long, hot shower together, filled with salacious kisses and some very naughty handiwork, the two of you finally made it to the kitchen. Just like in bed, you danced around one another with practiced ease, as if perfectly executing the blocking of a play. Your hand reached for the coffee grounds, while he readied the filter. He found the bread while you produced his favorite jam.

Shoulders rubbed and soft smiles were exchanged, eyes longingly dancing, locking and flittering away to the tasks at hand. 

“Thank you,” he finally said, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, “for this morning.”

You almost teased him for thanking you for what you two did quite regularly in bed, but you knew what he meant. Whatever anchor he’d needed this morning, you were it. 

Still, you were a cheeky one, as Steven frequently reminded you... “I should be thanking you, baby,” you innocently purred. “That thing you did...when you turned me over, holy shit--”

“Okay, okay,” he laughed out, motioning for you to get back to breakfast, as if he would ever actually order you about. “You and your dirty mind, I swear to god.” 

You laughed out delightedly. “That’s rich, Mr. Spector.”

One of his dark eyebrows shot up. “Call me ‘Mr. Spector’ again and I’ll take you right back in there,” he playfully warned. 

Tempting. 

The toast popped up to interrupt the two of you, giving Marc’s thoughts just enough time to drift back to much more serious matters. He wanted to be with you all day today. He knew Steven had class at uni and you had work - he didn’t care. He needed you to know things.

“Hey, um...” he started, before you could make another quip about Mr. Spector or the bedroom, “I...I meant to tell you...” reaching up to rub the back of his neck, he swallowed nervously. “I--there’s another bottle. In the flat.” 

Bracing his hands on the countertop, his head dropped. It was hard to look at you when he thought he might disappoint you. “I wasn’t trying to hide it, I just...that night, I...”

Reaching over, you laid your hand over his, there on the counter’s edge. “Thank you for letting me know. Do you want to tell me where it is?”

His eyes darted over to yours and he swallowed hard. “The low shelf, down by the edge of that old table I haven’t fixed yet.”

Ah yes, the ‘don’t throw it out, I can fix it’ project that was cluttering your living room. Steven collected books; Marc collected abandoned, broken things...

“Hm,” you hummed thoughtfully, “Steven’s reading chair is right there. He’s going to figure this out, you know.”

“I know,” Marc quickly responded. “I think I wanted him to. Or you. I don’t know...” He didn’t wait for any sympathy. There was too much to tell you before he completely train wrecked his entire life.

“Something happened,” he pressed on, determined. Then he told you. Head bowed, hands gripping the counter, he explained.

You remained completely still at first, but you noticed that the more you acted normal, the easier it was for him to talk. So you finished the coffee, slathered the toast with jam, and walked everything to the tiny table at the kitchen’s edge, where the two of you loved to share your favorite meal almost every single day.

He had fronted a few days ago. It was dark, cold. He was outside, in an unlit, ominously quiet alley. He didn’t know where he was. Steven wasn’t there with him. He reached for his phone and shook with horror at the white bandage-looking material wrapped around his hands. Realizing his face was covered with a mask, he started to panic when the fabric quickly receded, leaving him gasping.

His body was covered in Moon Knight’s mummified wrap. 

“No, no, no, no,” he cried, forgetting, for a moment, that he could simply will the suit away, and clawing at the material instead. 

Then he heard it. Him.

“Marc Spector,” the booming voice of Khonshu splintered through his mind, wracking his body with terror. 

“No, NO,” Marc shouted, climbing to his feet and pressing his palms into his forehead. “You’re gone. I don’t belong to you anymore!” 

He ran, clinging to control of the body, determined not to allow Khonshu anywhere near Steven. Or you. 

The old god’s skeletal form appeared on various rooftops, following and taunting Marc, his voice eerie and all consuming, as if the bird were nearly shouting into his ear. 

“Run away if you can. This body doesn’t belong to you,” the voice taunted. 

“Leave me alone!” Marc shouted, but it came out as more of a whimper, like trying to scream for help in a dream. “We had a deal!” He halted, banging his fists against his head as if it would make the ancient being simply evaporate. 

But the spiteful deity scoffed, turning his bony back as if done with the conversation. Turning his menacing beak back toward the puny one in control of his avatar, he replied, “Lockley is mine, and so are you.”

Then he vanished. 

Just the relief of the god disappearing urged Marc’s legs forward, stumbling through angry tears until he reached your home. You were at work. He paced the flat, tugging his hands through his hair, desperate to keep Steven in the dark. 

“It can’t be,” he gasped, over and over again, trying to convince himself. “We’re free. We made a deal. We’re free.” This overwhelm would normally bring Steven to the front, but Marc held on, pacing himself to exhaustion. He was asleep on the couch by the time you came home. 

You woke up to Steven. And while you worked your next shift, he bought the whiskey. 

He waited another day to drink it.

“I thought maybe...I wondered if I had completely lost my mind,” he uttered, finishing his story, now seated at the kitchen table.

Easing off your chair, you knelt in front of your fiancé, setting your palms gently on his thighs.

“Don’t say that.”

“No, I mean really,” he went on, his hands covering your own, grasping at your fingers. “I thought...what if all this time, Khonshu was in my head? Like...part of me.”

“Like another alter?” you questioned, peering up at him.

“Maybe. I started wondering about all of this Moon Knight bullshit--if it even really happened. And, now there’s this Lockley...” Trailing off he sighed, defeated. 

Okay, progress was happening. Might as well get it all out in the open. 

“I met him, you know,” you carefully admitted, smoothing your thumb over his as you waited for his reaction. “Lockley.”

“Shit,” he rasped, gripping your hands desperately. “He was here, with you? What did he say?”

“Not much,” you admitted. “His name is Jake. Jake Lockley. He was here last night.”

“Here in the flat?”

“Yes. Late last night. He came in through the bedroom window like Spider-Man or something. We talked for a minute, he told me his name and then we went to bed. I didn’t really find out that much about him.”

Releasing your fingers, Marc sat up straight in his kitchen chair, his eyes darkening possessively. “He went to bed with you?”

Hm. You could have worded that better. “Marc, I--”

“Did he touch you?” His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck straining as his dark eyes burned turbulently. 

“It wasn’t like that,” you protested, quickly climbing up off the ground to stand in front of him. Caressing his face tenderly, you shook your head. “I wanted to talk to him - to see what the hell is going on. He seemed worried about you drinking.”

“You talked to him about that?” Marc pushed off his chair then, pacing across the kitchen and back. “I haven’t even talked to him yet.” 

Fair enough. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, it just came out,” you confessed, giving him a little space, while pushing down your urge to grab him. “Jake was about to leave, and I wanted some answers. I wanted you all here with me. He came home so late, Marc, and your phone was dead. I was so fucking scared...”

Your breath hitched as tears clouded your eyes. “You’ve been so upset, and the drinking... Steven doesn’t have any idea what’s going on and then this Jake uses the damn window in the middle of the night and I thought he was going to leave, and go back out in the night, with no phone. I wanted you here, Marc, so...so I asked him to stay. I asked him if he knew what was going on, or why you had been drinking--”

“Okay, baby, okay,” he conceded, reaching for your shoulders to bring you close. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

The two of you held one another in the middle of your drafty little kitchen, the shared answers between you only raising more questions. 

“I think you should talk to Steven,” you suggested gently, “if you feel ready.”

Resting his forehead against yours, he rubbed your back soothingly. “Yeah. And maybe...maybe Jake too.”

tags requested @rivalriotrenegade @wordacadabra

[whitexwolfxx310]

Hi. Request. A bucky or sebastian x fem reader. Soft wedding smut. Fluff. NO daddy or mommy kinks, for the love of God. NO! Thank you

Yes!!! I have been so excited to write something like this! I couldn't help but dive right into it! I hope you enjoy ♥️

||You're My Home||

Pairing: Bucky x female reader

Summary: Your wedding night!

Warnings: Spicy content! 18+ only! Oral sex F receiving, unprotected penetration, praise kink, FLUFFFFFFF!

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: This isn't a part of the BBWWS, but let me know what you think!

Spending the last year planning the intricate details of a wedding had you completely drained. Centerpieces, invitations, flowers… it sounds fun in theory, but was utterly exhausting.

Bucky did everything he could to be by your side every step of the way. Even the late nights when he came home from a mission to find you crying in the middle of the floor- that was littered with glue, glitter, ribbons, and card stock that was going to somehow come together to make the seating chart you had imagined in your head. He had this magic about him that would take the stress away, reminding you that the very core of all of this was your love for one another. He’d offer to help, and seeing him in all black leather covered with glitter was a sight to behold. You teased your fiancé, saying he should pitch that idea as a new uniform.

You held onto those little moments to help push you through the craziness of wedding planning. After all, the endgame was becoming Mrs. Barnes. And even though the big day got closer and closer, you never got over the sight of Bucky’s mothers ring on your finger.

But it all came together on a beautiful fall evening as you each stood at the end of a plush grass isle. That had been his one and only request- to be married outdoors in a wide open space. Bucky didn’t look when you first appeared, he was afraid. It wasn’t until the music played and Steve gave him a reassuring grip on his shoulder, did he brave a look.

He didn’t smile at first. His eyes took in every small detail; The bold white sheath dress that hugged your curves, the plunging sweetheart neckline that accented your breasts, the floral patterned lace that disappeared the further it fluttered down the dress. No, he didn’t smile. Not yet. Instead his teeth clenched and his lips slightly twitched as you started to walk towards him. Bucky’s ocean blue eyes now had a watery sheen to them, conveying just one simple word: ‘mine’.

When you were only just a few feet away from the sunflower and marigold decorated alter, he stepped forward to meet you. To hold your hand in his as you both take your last steps as each others fiancé. Standing face to face in front of a large group of people that suddenly seemed to disappear, you could only focus on the man in front of you. His pearly white teeth that gleamed as he now smiled, his eyes as bright as you’ve ever seen them, his infamous nose scrunch in excitement that made you fall in love with him in the first place, and that tanned, God-like skin that practically glowed under his all black suit. Every feature was enhanced from the too perfect watercolor sun as it started to set during your vows.

The minister hadn’t even finished the conclusion of the ceremony by saying ‘you may now kiss the bride’ before Bucky gently cupped both sides of your face and gave you the sweetest, heartfelt kiss. The beaming smiles on both of your faces almost made it impossible to press your lips together. Cheers and clapping erupted from the crowd, causing him to take you into his arms, dipping you down low as he maintained the kiss for show.

The evening was full of clinking utensils against glasses, music that had everyone dancing (even Bucky), and the ever so slightly guilty conscience you had from wasting such an amazing tasting cake by smushing it into his face. It went by so fast that it was practically a blur, and over far too soon.

Everyone sent you off in the picture perfect way; people lined up on both sides of the main entrance and held sparklers that just felt as though they were illuminating the newly married glow coming off of you both.

Driving back to the rented cabin for your wedding night was painfully slow. Bucky’s hand rested on your thigh as he drove, giving the occasional squeeze when his thumb wasn’t grazing against the soft white fabric.

Pulling into the drive, you can feel that the night has cooled. He quickly turns off the car and slightly fumbles as he runs around to open the car door for you. Holding out his hand, you take it into yours and allow him to help you out. After all, wedding dresses aren’t well known for their ability to move with you. Bucky picks you up, now holding you in traditional bridal style to bring you through the threshold. He kicks the door lightly, opening it and walking through, making you giggle as you held onto him.

“Thank you, husband.” You enunciate. He smirks, gently placing you back into your feet.

“You’re welcome, wife.” He reiterates the title also. You both laugh.

His eyes find yours, portraying the same look of adoration he has given you through the entire day, making you feel like the happiest and luckiest woman in the world. Your smile mirrored his own- but one side of your lip tugged into a smirk as you slowly started stepping backwards towards the bedroom. The faint clicking of your heels against the floor being your silent invitation.

Those sky blue eyes set ablaze, and without hesitation, he pulled at his black tie, shimmying the knot down until it was undone and fell to the floor. Bucky’s midnight black tuxedo jacket followed suit, starting to leave a trail of his clothes as he followed you into the bedroom.

He places his hands on each side of your waist and encourages you to turn around. Now with your back to him, he steps in close- the front of his body now pressing into yours. As you expose your neck, Bucky's lips kiss your collarbone, almost making you visibly shiver under his touch. He inhales deeply, as if somehow your scent has changed now that you're officially his. His lips leave small, butterfly soft kisses that trace up to your ear. Instinctively, warm fingertips trace along the lace seam on your lower back.

"You looked... so beautiful today," he breathed, as his fingers clasped the tiny zipper. "But, I would be lying if I said that I haven't been thinking about getting you out of this dress, all day." Your hips impulsively press back against his at the words. The fabric became less taut the more he pulled the zipper down.

That familiar combination of his warm and cool touch started to line your curves. Turning in Bucky's arms to face him, the dress pooled around your feet on the floor. After helping you out of the mesh layers, Bucky drops to his knees in front of you as he admires your new revealed outfit- a strapless, shortened, white flower patterned corset with a matching lace thong and garter belt to hold up thigh high stockings. Placing a firm kiss on your stomach, his head tilts up so he can look at you through hooded eyes- his lower lip still tugged down against your belly slightly.

"God, you're gorgeous. Just...perfect. And mine." The last word changed his tone from admiration to instant primal. He was back on his feet, hands already starting to roam your body. In return, you grip the collar of his dress shirt, pulling his face down closer to yours. Even in heels, you're significantly shorter than him.

"I love you, Bucky. You're everything I've ever wanted, needed, and more." You say, in a small voice- your lips so close to his that they just barely touched with each word you spoke. Not even waiting for a response, you purse your lips to his as you start to fumble with the buttons of his dress shirt.

His warm tongue skims against yours- and now you're even more impatient that his naked body isn't already on top of yours. Taking a fist full of the shirt from both sides, you pull as hard as you could- buttons flying, leaving his chest bare. Bucky's lips didn't leave yours as you pushed the shirt down his arms, letting it drop to the floor.

Stepping forward, he supports your body- laying you down on the bed. His hips press firmly between your legs, and even through his dress pants you could feel that he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him; Causing the recognizable throbbing in your lower core to make it's first appearance. His palm presses flat against your upper chest, feeling your heart as it starts to beat faster, for him.

Using his palm as guidance, his lips now trail behind his hand as it coasts lower on your body. Your sternum, beneath your ribs, your belly button, and just above your underwear. While his lips left creamy, soft kisses- the small amount of stubble on his chin tickles, causes you to wriggle slightly under his touch. You exhale all of the air out of your lungs as he plants one faint kiss on top of the thin fabric between your legs. The warmth from his breath has your body completely in his control; your back arching off the bed, aching for more of his touch.

Moving the fabric to the side, he gives one more exposed, tongue filled kiss- causing your breath to hitch. You force yourself to look down, taking the upmost gratification of seeing this man's, your man's, face between your thighs. Bucky ran his warm pointer finger through your folds, grinning with approval of how wet you already are. His ribbed tongue swirls as he licks and sucks smoothly- your hips grind softly, working with his motions.

At first your moans are sigh like and gradually turn into small whimpers. It's a small game Bucky likes to play- teasing and edging almost to the point it will drive you insane. But the orgasms that snowball through you over and over again make it so worth it. He glides over that one sweet spot that makes your entire body tense.

"Don't stop," You sigh, struggling to maintain breathing as your nails start grabbing into his full head of hair. He gives a small 'Mmm' in response, the hum from his throat practically echoing in your rib cage.

Keeping the gradual brushing of his tongue, your entire body starts to come off of the bed. Your toes point downward as you fail in remembering how to breathe- Bucky's arms tense around your thighs as you start to wriggle, holding you in place as you ride through the wave of pent up tension.

A combination of his name delicately wrapped in moans escape your mouth. Even after what seems like relentless energy waves rolling through your body, his tongue doesn't stop- but instead becomes softer and silky, twirling so gently around your extremely sensitive and swollen clit. Only once does your body shudder at each pass of his tongue does he stop.

The coolness of the air replaces where his mouth was as he kneels on the bed. Bucky pulls on his belt buckle, the metal rattling as it comes undone and gets thrown onto the floor. At some point, your thong had been ripped off. Being the skilled lover that he is, his pants are already being tugged off as he moves to hover over you. His sweet- yet salty, lips are on yours; his tongue massaging your own as you both taste yourself through the kiss.

Reaching down between your legs, you grasp and start to stroke him slowly. He breathes into the kiss at your touch and as you adjust your body underneath him. You guide the tip of him to your entrance, rubbing it maliciously slow up and down your folds to lubricate him, with you. The most delicious sound reverberates in his throat as his hips gently press forward, his silent plead. Not being able to resist much longer yourself, you start to guide him inside of you.

A unanimous moan is breathed out between the two of you as he presses in. In an attempt to make himself slick, Bucky pushes in, and then pulls out- repeating this movement until the majority of his length is inside of you. You're so tight that he can't fit in all the way just yet.

His hips rock gingerly against your own, starting off gradually as your internal walls expand to adjust around his intimidating size. The abdominal throbbing didn't stay dormant for long once Bucky found his rhythm. He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead into your own. His breathing becomes heavier as your whimpers morph into moans- moans transform into broken 'oh's'.

This being your second orgasm makes it more intense; and Bucky knows well enough to keep his pace. Changing anything in the moment could cause him to start over again. Not that he would mind.

"Just like that," he breathes, and gently strokes your cheek. And you start to crumble all over again at the smoothness of his words. Your nails dig into his slick and muscled back for stability- your stomach re-living that rollercoaster drop feeling. The sounds coming from you are becoming shaky and high pitched. Bucky presses his lips back into yours, swallowing your sharp whines of pleasure.

He doesn't allow you time to come back down from this high; instead he repositions you both. Bucky is now slightly leaned back on his knees with you straddled on top of him, nice and close.

"One more?" He asks with a smug smile, already taking on the challenge regardless.

Your throat is so dry, your vision still semi blurred- and yet, how can I say no?

His hands grip onto your hips- your bodies forming a V. No movement involved, you can feel the incline of him in this position- with every tiny motion, his tip is going to caress against your G-spot in this alignment.

The first, slow grind makes Bucky hiss. He's deeper, you feel tighter. This isn't going to take long at all... for either of you.

Allowing his hands to guide your hips, you move along to his pattern. The combination of both internal and external stimulation already has you unable to think straight. Your body shudders a little more fiercely this time- Bucky's fingers dig into your skin more as he grunts through his breath. You can feel the pulsing, warm sensation inside as he comes- making him feel even more slick. His body convulses slightly until all that is left is excessive breathing and sticky, sweaty skin between you both.

Bucky's hands cup your face- the cold from his metal hand being more than welcome. "God, I love you." He says, then presses his lips against yours. And in this moment, you realize that every night for the rest of your lives could be like this. This intense, this passionate- forever.

If you enjoyed this, please check out my Masterlist! Requests are open!

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[missdawnandherdusk]

The Case

Summary: it was your last class you had to get credit for before you were able to become a wizarding world public defender. Six years after you left Hogwarts. Now all that stood between you and your future was one professor and an open case you were tasked with closing.

A/N: *emerges from the void* who's ready for another Draco series? I don't know how long this will be and there's barely a plan but I'm too excited to not write this and share it with you guys. I've missed yall. How are you?

Dr. Dresden was one of the hardest professors standing between me and my new career as a public defender. I had heard rumors about the students that had dropped the entire career path after one meeting with him. Fatefully avoiding him until now there was nothing that I could do. He was the last credited course I needed: the professor who gave out real unsettled cases for us to work through. All of the names were changed for anonymity but we were still expected to close the case. 

Walking to the ornately carved door I took a deep breath and knocked. 

“Come in,” I heard his gravelly voice. 

I opened the door, a polite smile on my face. Dr. Dresden could have been sixty eight or three hundred and four and there would be no telling. His wispy white hair was coiffed carefully and his ancient blue eyes hid behind thick bifocals. His face was permanently pinched in a pensive expression, as if the years of untangling court cases altered the way he had aged. His tweed suit was immaculately clean and like the rest of his office was probably never changing. 

“Miss Y/l/n,” He greeted. 

“Professor,” 

“Come, sit.” He chose his words so carefully, as if the world wasn’t worth the extra effort to form complete sentences. 

I sat without saying a word. What did you say to someone like him? He knew he held my future in his hands and all I had to do was survive. It was one court case. I had done thousands up until now. 

We were at an impasse. 

Still saying nothing, he pulled out a thick envelope out of one of his desk drawers and set it on his desk in front of me. 

“Four o’clock Tuesday.” He said. “I expect to see progress.” 

“Yes sir,” I took the envelope in my hands. 

“That’s all.” 

Nodding I stood, inhaling deeply. The weight of the bulky folder in my hands held the weight of my future and somehow I thought it would be heavier. 

“And Miss Y/l/n?” He called before I left his office, my hand on the doorknob. 

I turned. 

“Don’t be so nervous. I’m very interested to see what becomes of you,” There was almost a smile on his face and I didn’t know whether to take his words as a compliment or a looming threat. 

“Yes Professor,” I nodded a goodbye and left his office. 

Drawing my wand I apperated back home, walking up the steps of my building, unlocking it, feeling the safety behind the closed door. 

My apartment in Epsom was just far enough away from the city that I didn’t feel suffocated. It was quiet, quaint, with locals who knew me from working my way through law school at a local restaurant. A wizard community had been here since the 1200s and they never really left. Of course they were all skeptical when I moved in at the end of my undergrad, but now it was like I had lived here all my life. 

Setting the folder on my four seater little dining table, I switched a couple of lights on. 

Tuesday was my first deadline. It was in two days. What had he expected me to accomplish in two days? I could have the case memorized and thousands of books filled with ancient wizard laws that applied but without names or locations, I couldn’t make progress. 

A sigh left my lips. 

I was getting ahead of myself. 

The folder taunted me on the table as I made dinner and poured a drink. It was time to get to work. 

Pulling out fresh parchment, quill and ink, I opened the folder. 

It was a War case. They were common. Those who may or may not have been associated with Voldemort and his followers; all looking to be acquitted. I scanned the cover page. The wizard or witch’s name was changed to a number. 

They were the child of a death eater and had taken the mark themselves during this war. They were charged with the murder of a very important wizard: whose name I also didn’t have. The wizard confessed to the crime, but the case was still open despite the confession. 

That was odd. 

My dinner was forgotten as I ruffled through the pages trying to figure out why this case was still open despite having the confession on record. Then there were the ballistics from the Aurors of the wizard’s wand. A killing curse was never cast. 

“Oh,” I sat back. “Okay,” This was interesting. Really interesting. 

How could a wizard under veritaserum confess to a crime his wand didn’t commit? 

The wizard killed was killed by the Unforgivable curse. 

I started reading through the witness statements versus the wizard’s own personal statements. The wizard claimed that everyone there who had witnessed the crime had died in the war. The witness statements I did have were character testaments—all claiming they believed the wizard was possible of such an act. 

At the very bottom of the folder was one last witness statement. 

Words I would never forget. 

Words that I gave an Auror six years ago. 

I knew this case. 

I knew this wizard. 

And after a few minutes, I had every witness named.

This was the case of Draco Malfoy.

.

the defendant

.

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[onegayastronaut]

Anchored in the Stars

Requested by anon:  Sara lance x reader angst where they get into a fight and without letting the team know reader tries to wipe herself from the timeline? Fluffy ending though please! You’re amazing at writing keep it up!

Words: 1271

The Waverider was unusually quiet. Sara Lance’s boots clicked against the cold metal floors as she paced through the ship, tension radiating off her in waves. The fight you two had earlier replayed in her mind like a broken record—the anger in your voice, the hurt in your eyes, the words she wished she could take back.

You’d accused her of shutting you out, of not trusting you the way she trusted the rest of the team. Sara, already stressed from the latest mission gone awry, had snapped. She’d said things she didn’t mean, things she regretted the moment they left her lips.

But you were gone before she could apologize.

Now, as she searched every corner of the Waverider for you, a gnawing unease settled in her chest. When she reached the library and found your favorite chair empty, Sara's unease morphed into outright fear. Gideon’s voice broke through her thoughts.

“Captain Lance, I’ve detected unusual activity in the time stream. It appears someone has accessed the temporal drive without authorization.”

Sara’s heart sank. She didn’t need to ask who. “Where did they go?”

“The exact coordinates are unclear, but the readings suggest a timeline where they were never meant to exist.”

The implication hit her like a punch to the gut. You were trying to erase yourself from the timeline.

You’d thought it would be simple. The Legends always warned about meddling with the timeline, how even the smallest change could ripple out into catastrophic consequences. But this wasn’t about causing chaos. This was about fixing things—fixing you. If you were never part of the team, Sara wouldn’t have to deal with your mistakes, your insecurities, your… everything.

The first few jumps through time were disorienting, but you’d managed to avoid running into any significant historical figures or events. All you needed was to find a moment, a single decision to alter. Maybe it was the day Rip recruited you. Maybe it was before you even crossed paths with the Legends. Whatever it took, you were determined to make sure Sara’s life would be better without you in it.

But as you stood in the shadows of a bustling 1940s street, watching people rush by in monochrome suits and dresses, doubt crept in. Was this really the answer? Or were you just running away?

You didn’t have long to dwell on it. A familiar voice cut through the crowd.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t come after you?”

You turned, and there she was. Sara Lance, the White Canary, glaring at you with a mix of anger and desperation. Her blonde hair glinted in the sunlight, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She looked out of place amidst the 1940s aesthetic, but her presence was commanding as ever.

“How did you find me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sara took a step closer. “You’re not as good at hiding as you think. Gideon tracked the anomalies you’ve been creating.”

You swallowed hard, guilt weighing heavy. “You shouldn’t have come. This isn’t your problem.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Not my problem? You disappearing without a word isn’t my problem? Are you kidding me?”

“I—”

“No,” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to make that kind of decision for me or the team. You think we’re better off without you? Do you have any idea what that would do to us? To me?”

Tears blurred your vision as you shook your head. “I just… I thought I was doing the right thing. You don’t need me dragging you down.”

Sara’s expression softened, and she stepped closer until she was standing right in front of you. “Dragging me down? Are you serious? You’re one of the best things that’s ever happened to me. To this team.”

You looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “We had a fight. I thought… maybe you’d be better off if we never met.”

Sara sighed and gently cupped your face, forcing you to look at her. “Fights happen. People argue. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. It doesn’t mean I want you gone. I need you to understand that.”

Your breath hitched as tears spilled over. “I’m sorry. I just… I didn’t know what else to do.”

Sara pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you as if you might slip away again. “You come to me. No matter what. Promise me, okay? Don’t ever do something like this again.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your voice trembling. “I promise.”

She pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. “Good. Because I can’t lose you.”

For the first time in what felt like ages, you let yourself believe her. You let yourself believe you were worth staying for.

Back on the Waverider, the team welcomed you back with open arms, though it was clear they’d been worried sick. Sara never left your side, her hand firmly clasping yours as if to remind you she was there, that she wasn’t going anywhere.

Later that night, as you sat together in her quarters, Sara leaned her forehead against yours, her voice soft. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” you murmured. “I’m sorry too. For running.”

She kissed your forehead, her lips lingering for a moment. “We’ll figure this out. Together. Okay?”

You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Okay.”

As the days went on, the aftermath of your actions lingered, but the team rallied around you in their own unique ways. Nate dropped by your quarters with a stack of comics, hoping to cheer you up with ridiculous storylines and bad puns. Ava made sure to include you in mission briefings, her subtle way of reminding you that you were an essential part of the crew. Even Mick, in his gruff manner, handed you a cold beer and muttered, “Don’t do anything stupid again.”

It wasn’t just the team’s efforts that grounded you, though. Sara made it her mission to remind you every day how much you meant to her. Whether it was a soft smile during breakfast or a quiet moment spent together on the bridge, her presence was a constant reassurance. She even surprised you one evening by taking you to the holographic recreation room, where she’d set up a simulation of a serene lakeside cabin.

“Thought you could use some peace and quiet,” she said with a small grin as you both settled on the dock, feet dangling above the shimmering water.

“It’s perfect,” you replied, your voice thick with emotion. The gesture was simple, but it meant the world to you. It showed how deeply she cared, how much she was willing to go out of her way to make you feel safe and loved.

The two of you stayed there for hours, talking about everything and nothing. Sara shared stories from her days in the League of Assassins, tales she rarely told anyone. You opened up about your fears, your doubts, and the weight you’d been carrying. For the first time, you felt like you could let go of the burden, knowing Sara was there to catch you if you stumbled.

By the time you returned to the main deck, you felt lighter. The ache in your chest hadn’t completely vanished, but it no longer consumed you. With Sara by your side, you began to believe that you could heal—that you didn’t have to face your struggles alone.

And as the stars stretched out before the Waverider, you knew one thing for certain: you were home.

[we-are-inevitable]

if you're still taking David asks; what clothes does David wear/like? What's his fashion sense? Does he care about it or does he put on whatever? Tell me your thoughts! :)

this has a couple different answers. i have a lot of different thoughts.

first: canon

a lot of his clothes belonged to his father. he would take them and have Sarah or his mother adjust them so they would fit, but they always are a little too high on the ankle and a little too baggy in the waist. he wears an old leather belt from his grandfather. on his first day of selling, he wore his nicest clothes because his parents told him he needed to make a good first impression, but typically he just dresses like the other newsies. they may think he looks nice and put together, but in school he’s made fun of for the way that his clothing looks. his family is by no means rich- he’s one of the poor boys at school- but he’s luckier than the other newsies because the alterations made to his clothes look cohesive and difficult to notice instead of random patches of fabric. he dresses for practicality not for fashion— he couldn’t afford to anyway. that being said when he spends more time with the other boys, he doesn’t mind looking a little scrappy. he thinks it’s kind of fun to fit in and look messier. it gives him a freedom he didn’t have previously.

when he’s older, he likes a nice suit. he likes matching pieces. he likes having a nice watch, reliable, not expensive. he likes a relaxed fit. once he’s out of his rowdy teenage boy phase, he takes meticulous care of his clothing, because he’s so used to not affording it. maybe one day, he’ll have a son, and he might want to pass on his clothing like his father did before. he doesn’t have much, but he has nice things. 

second: modern, pre-“davey”

so i’m splitting modern into two because I think there’s a stark difference between David and Davey!!

david wears just about the same thing any other boy would. he has his jeans, his sneakers, his graphic T-shirts/sweatshirts— spiderman, bands he likes, things that could be found on clearance in Target— and he doesn’t really put much thought into it. It’s not something that he really thinks of is important. sure, he likes looking nice, and he does have a few nice button ups and sweaters for more professional things at school or dances or family events, but he doesn’t see fashion as something he’s allowed to play around with. he has more important things to focus on.

the one big thing about him is that he will always be a converse guy. he likes his Chuck Taylors, always black and white. none with any more design to them. he just likes a basic converse!

but then he meets the others.

which brings us to:

third: modern, post-“davey”

like I said, fashion has never been something that really caught his attention but when he meets the others, he notices their personal styles right off the bat.

he sees that Jack likes a more vintage fit. more 90s, more color- old graphic tees that he finds on the shelves in thrift stores for five dollars. he mixes streetwear style with whatever western he can find, all on a budget. he sees that Race is much more streetwear-focused with baggy jeans and beat up vans, big hoodies and plain tees. skater style. Katherine likes earthy tones that go well with her hair. she likes a little shirt and a big pant. she likes heels, she likes 70s inspired, she likes mixing metals and chunky necklaces and bandanas in her hair. Charlie likes old jerseys and chinos and comfy white sneakers, corduroy, bright colors.

so why can’t Davey like something specific?

it’s not like his style really changes, he just refined it. he finds that he likes silver jewelry so he wears rings and pierces his ears, and he quite likes wearing oversized flannels that he found at one of the thrift stores that Jack frequents. he likes cozy old sweaters, and black denim, and jackets with patches on them. he likes cutting things up and cropping things to make them his own. maybe he takes a sharpie to his shoes. maybe he asks jack to paint on a denim jacket that he found. he hunts for vintage band t-shirts instead of just buying cheap things from TJ Maxx. he likes neutral colors. he likes his beat up pair of Doc Martens. he likes dyeing things green. he likes chunky headphones and wires and old belts with designs.

he learns from the group that being intentional with the way he presents himself is a form of growth. he didn’t know that he could have beforehand! maybe it was his mom buying most of his clothing before, or maybe it was choosing things from older cousins or things that were in the back of his dad‘s closet— and he still loves those pieces, he’ll always keep them, but he’s able to add more of himself when he finds out what he likes, and when he figures out a way to take inspiration from his friends!!

he’s also a chronic clothing thief so he’ll wear one of Jack’s carhartt jackets or one of Katherine‘s big hoodies. he can’t help himself. its an epidemic

[helloitstsyu]

Tiger vs Wolf | Vincent (collateral) 18+

Been a while since i posted anything. I always write but lately work been insane, this is requested by someone. Im so sorry it takes a long time, but here it is. I hope you guys like it coz i enjoy wrjting it so much

WC : 1.4k

Warnings : vincent x female resder, smut, sex, unprotected sex, big plot twist at the end hehe

Stumbling all over the corridor. His mouth hungrily devours yours. His tongue slips in roughly. His hands travel all around your body, groping your ass passionately, pulling your body even closer, pushing you back onto the walls.

You fight with him in winning dominance over one another.

"Hmmm," you hum to the kiss as he tries to unlock the door behind you.

He struggles to get the door open and of course as a girl who isn't familiar with patient, you comment.

"Get it fucking open," you whisper to his ear, and then take his earlobe in between your teeth, continuing with kissing all over his neck.

Vincent laughs, "Not a girl with patience, are you," he retorts as he finally opens the door.

He picks you up in one swift motion, kissing you right again as he takes you inside the motel room. He kicks the door behind with one feet and then throws you roughly to the bed. After, Vincent impatiently takes off his grey suit.

You chuckle darkly while keeping your eyes at him, "I'm working,"

Vincent laughs back at you then come to the bed kissing you again. His hand slips underneath your top, his warm skin embracing your skin. He takes no time and pull your top off you in a motion, continuing to give your neck the attention it needed. He sucks your skin and easily find a spot that got you whimpering.

Opening your eyes you grin at your own thoughts. "I knew you'd be rough," you say as Vincent still kissing your neck and undoing your bra with one expert hand. He then threw it out somewhere.

Vincent laughs at your tease and put his hand around your neck. He grins, "and you're one naughty slut," his voice lowers.

You giggle as that hand wraps along your neck.

"Show me what you got, Vincent," you challenge.

His blood rising to the excitement of the challenge. He is never the kind of men that backs down at the face of a challenge.

"You're so regretting saying that," he smugly say so.

Vincent pulls you by your neck and kiss you again. Your hand impatiently takes off the white button down he's wearing, practically almost ripping it off.

Vincent trails down your neck along down to your chest and finally takes your nipple to his mouth. He sucks it hard, so impatiently rough, but it feels so good.

"Fff..uuuck," you mutter under your breath, not going to moan so loud and give him the satisfaction that he wants.

Vincent looks up at you with those piercing green eyes, he smirks a little earning your first moan. He continues to swirling your nipple with his soft tongue and altering it with a suck. His hand trails the long of your legs, and finally meet the aching center of you.

He presses his finger against your needing core. Giving it some needing attention while playing with you outside of your jeans.

Your fingers run through the soft grey hair of his. Gripping onto it as he alters those tongue tricks he's doing with your nipple.

Finally, he takes off the button of your jeans, slipping his hand inside and get a touch of your aching needy core.

"O-oohh," your breath stalled and you cant help to moan at the contact of his cold skin meeting your pussy.

"Ahh... fucking drench for me already, darling?" He whispers to your ear sinfully.

You turn him around under you. Jumping of the bed and quickly undressing yourself completely nude while he also hastily takes off his matching grey pants.

His cock already rock hard slaps to his abdomen. You cannot take your eyes off that standing tall cock. Quickly he gives himself a few pumps as you jump back to bed with him.

You kiss him again as you place yourself on top of him. You sit right above his center. Your aching core meets his rock hard cock. You hum in between your kisses at the contact. Vincent guides you on where to sit on top of him. Placing his cock right in the middle between your slit, he slaps your clit a few times with his rock hardened tip.

"Ohhh, Vincent..." you moan.

"You like that, huh?" He choke you again. "You like that my little slut?"

You grin widely to the dominant act.

"Fuck me," you beg.

Vincent quietly chuckle as he pushes himself inside of your little hole slowly, he intentionally wants you to feel him enters you. That feeling of his cock ripping you slowly.

"Oo..ohhh, mother fucker!" You curse quietly at him.

He laughs so proudly, turning you around under him and impatiently starting to rock his hips in and out roughly.

He is no stranger known as a hard fucker. He never play games in achieving his goals in sex. It is pure straight lust for Vincent. The guy who knows no feeling and humanity, it is his nature to only pursue his own desire when he already put his mind into something. And right now his mind is set to free his desire.

"Ahh...f-fuck..yes, Vincent-hhh!" You pant.

Vincent drills into you so roughly. His breath starts to get uncontrolled and messy. Little moans slips out of his mouth. As you wraps your hand around his neck, his arms fall limp, and he falls to his elbow to support himself on top of you.

"Fuck!" He growls as he feels your walls clench for the first time around his cock.

His forehead connects to yours, doesnt stop his piercing gaze, though. You're pinned down, legs in between of his arms, and his body weight nearly all on top of you. Your mind rattle with the high passion.

"Oh, p-please..." you involuntarily plead to him.

You're so close to your edge that you don't care anymore about his greed for confirmation and you hate giving him it.

Vincent liking your plead, he smirks at you, "Atta girl, such a slut for me,"

Vincent growls and quickens his pace. Earning you to finally have your whole body shakes as you cum to him. Vincent's loving it amd keep repeating sinful comments to you. Reopening your eyes, you meet back those emerald eyes. His eyebrows furrowing together in pleasure, lips slightly parted and giving out uneven breath. He's quietly groaning as well to the pleasure he couldn't bear to hide.

You swore you wish you could have his face pictured.

You chuckle and quickly roll on top of him, catching him off guard. He gasps and laughs at the surprise.

"So sexy.." he admires under his breath,

You grind your hips on top of his hastily, wanting to get him cum. He holds both sides of your hips, helping you to also move faster at a rhythm he wanted.

"Yes, yes, don't stop!" He orders.

"I'm gonna cum!"

Those affirmation just makes you move even faster, bouncing and grinding on top of him.

"Oh! F-fuck... Y/N," he shut his eyes closed and pulls you closer, holding you so tightly as all of his muscles tighten.

You keep moving. And moving.

Vincent moans, and you feel his load spread inside of you. "O-oh!" He groans. He stops your hips from moving so roughly.

"Easy.. easy..," he pleads

Slowly you take his cock out of you. Vincent falls limp underneath you, very unlike how he usually is.

You get up then, leaving him closing his eyes there alone.

"Well, that's insanely good," he said breathlessly.

Heading towards the closet in front of the bed you take something out of the drawer.

"I know," you retort.

Vincent sighs, "i wish i could be here longer but I'm looking for someone,"

In one swift motion you turn around and point a gun at him, shoot the gun, and the bullet hits his lower ribs just as you aimed it to be.

"Ah!" He winces. "Wha..." he looks at you.

Turns out your charima beats his, you're able to fool him. The wolf is beaten by the tiger. The famously killer Vincent, now laid on the bed, drench in his own blood, defeated by someone who're able to get under his skin (literally).

One of his target hire you to protect himself from Vincent. You yourself are also a ruthless cold-blooded hitman. Takes one to actually take one down.

You smirks at him proudly, "No hard feelings, it's just the job, darling," you wink and another bullet fires out.

xoxo,

Masterlist

[born-of-flames]

Entry One...

(lots of trigger warnings: Knives, CNC, Dark Themes)

She has no idea what she has gotten herself into, she was told to meet me in the parking lot of the local state park at sunset.

Once she arrived, alone, no other car visible, I could see her look at her phone, there no signal out this far in the woods and she should have known better to not let the voices telling her this was a bad idea not to come out here.

*Ring Ring... Ring Ring...*

A phone placed on the sign board where the trail is marked. A letter, fastened to the post with a hunting knife sunken deeply inside the wooden pole.

"Look at the map, the destination is marked and your trail set out. I'll meet you once you arrive."

P.S.

"You look stunning little lamb, wearing that little white dress I picked out for you."

She looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of me, she didn't think I'd let her see me just yet?

She could have gotten back into her car and driven away, yet she looked at the map, holding her hand over her mouth with eyes wider than ever when she realised what she was looking at.

There on that old faded map, a bloody "X" marking the end of the trail and a dotted line of smaller droplets of still fresh blood marking out the route.

Looking back at what I witnessed, you could tell she was considering leaving, staring at her car and yet. She advanced.

"Time to get in position."

She didn't take long to get to her destination, through the winding trail, every so often noticing the bloody handprints on trail markers. Her heart racing as the sunlight faded and lit up the sky high above the sparse canopy of summer leaves with pinks, oranges and reds.

Her destination...

A clearing, small braziers arranged in the shape of a pentagram. White woodash laid in neat lines between them and in a circle.

In the middle of it all, a stone alter atop a tree stump adorned with black and red candles.

She should have left, she shouldn't have come this far, and yet, her curiosity, everything I had told her, made her trust me, made her venture out despite the pounding in her ears and the boiling of her blood.

A voice from the shadows, like a chilling gust of wind that left her petrified.

"Welcome My little lamb, you have been chosen, you have been lead to this place for your true purpose. Don't be affraid. Be still, fear is only going to make this hurt more than it needs to."

She shouldn't have run. Yet, everything she knew and felt told her to take off back down the trail, what a grave, foolish and reckless mistake that was.

I knew she would run, after all, who in their right mind wouldn't?

What she was met with sent her shuffling back into the dirt and hastely turning to try and claw her way back to her feet after stumbling backwards.

There I was, wearing a suite, ripped sleeves, torn button down dress shirt with blood stains down the front and a mask made from leather, bone and antlers. Only my wild, demonic eyes and the slightest sliver of my blood mottled lips visible.

Reaching out towards her with the tip of the hunting knife, the one with the unforgettable stag horn handle which she so foolishly left behind that held the note to the post.

"Where do you think you're going MY little lamb?"

[miss-tc-nova]

With Reckless Choices - Leona Kingscholar x Reader Pt 8

Now we're getting to a turning point. It's a little short, but would've been too long if combined with part 9 so, here are.

Premise: Conversations before the wedding

Words: 888

Music Inspiration: Dangerously - Charlie Puth

~~~Disclosure~~~

               White fabric cascades around me, embroidery patterned to mimic scales. The capelet stretches across my back, stitched to silver bangles at my wrists. Atop my head rests a tiara, silver prongs pointed upward as does a dragon’s horns. I’ve been dressed as an homage to the man I’m meant to marry—a symbol of my life made in offering to him. In only a few hours’ time, I will pledge myself to him and serve the future king of Briar Valley until my last breath.

               It breaks my heart.

               Staring into the mirror, I struggle to clamp down on the emotions welling in my heart lest I ruin the perfection created for this day. Though my face remains stoic, I’m losing the battle while tears well in my eyes.

               “And here I thought the wedding was supposed to be a couple’s happiest day.”

               With a gasp, I whirl back.

               He looks impeccable—imposing. His long, black tuxedo coat has extravagant designs seen only in certain light, silver accents lining the edges. Beneath it rests a black vest with silver buttons, holding down the black cravat. His clean black pants are about the only thing plain about his attire, though his heeled boots made his already towering height even more so. Latched across his shoulders is a long, trailing cape lined in silver. His long hair is slicked back, exposing me to the full effect of his scrutiny.

               Thinking fast, I reply, “It’s bad luck for the couple to see each other before the ceremony.”

               “But to you, this day is already the worst day of your life, is it not?” he hums. “What worse could a little bad luck do?”

               I can feel the fear prickling at the back of my neck. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean. Today’s going to be marvelous—your family ensured it would be. How could I be any happier.” Turning back towards the mirror, I straighten out my clothes in an attempt to calm my nerves. “The entire world has its eyes on us; you’re not getting cold feet now, are you?”

               My heart skips when a chilled finger slips under my chin. Nearly paralyzed, I stare into the mirror where our eyes meet as he leans over my shoulder. There’s disdain swirling in those green eyes.

               “Projection doesn’t suit a Draconia, my derolyle.” That grip under my chin tightens. “Are you going to leave me standing at the alter on my own?”

               “No.” The word leaves me without hesitation. “Never.”

               Deep, his voice crawls with traces of malevolence. “Then why do I find my beautiful fiancé—mere hours before our own matrimony—mourning an adulterous relationship?”

               Ice floods my veins, fear piercing my heart. As my fiancé strolls around me, I might die of anticipation waiting for his lethal strike.

               “You were impressively discreet in your deceptions, especially concerning the status of those involved. I certainly hope you enjoyed your little outings.”

               An instinctive flinch overcomes me as his hand flies forward, but rather than the feeling of pain, I hear a flutter of paper. Daring to peek, I find a flurry of photos drifting ominously towards the floor. Each and every one of them are of me where I should not have been. At first glance, it would be nigh impossible to determine that I’m the subject of those pictures, but whoever collected them clearly knew. I was not as careful as I thought.

               “Nothing to say for yourself?” he asks.

               I wish I could choke on my own voice. “P-Please…”

               “Please what?”

               It’s the only thing I want. “Don’t hurt him.”

               “How peculiar.” Returning to my field of vision, he peers down at me, eyes seething with malice. “Even in the face of the man you scorned, you only think of your lover.”

               “He…” I’m going to regret this. “He doesn’t mean anything to me. He was a toy I could have some fun with. Everything that happened was my choice. Burning bridges with another country for such reasons would be silly.”

               The smile that curves his lips tightens the chains—he’s not fooled for even a second. “What a lucky man he was.” From the inside pocket of his jacket, the man draws the phone facilitating our rendezvous. “But I’m afraid that all ends here.”

               A swift clench of his fist crushes the phone to pieces, causing me to flinch. The dragon’s eyes seem to glow as his serious expression turns on me.

               “Love me or not, this infidelity will not continue. The moment you step into that hall, you belong to me. Am I clear?”

               As does this conversation, the draw of air to my lungs shakes my chest.

               “Yes, my liege.”

               “Good.”

               Atop my head, the powerful prince presses a kiss.

               “And I noticed that you added him to the guest list. How cruel of you.”

               My eyes divert.

               “I expect you to break the news to him tonight.” His heels click sharply against the tile, though there’s a pause at the door. “I shall see you at the alter, my derolyle.”

               At the click of the door, my knees give. He did well in shredding my heart. A mixture of terror and despair washes over me.

               And it takes my full effort to contain said grief and compose myself before the cursed hour.

~~~~~

Part 9

Nova’s Twisted Wonderland Masterlist