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draftbeerbibi · 1 month ago

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FOR ME, IT WILL ALWAYS BE YOU - Sylus x Non MC! ( Part 6 )

Summery: you find yourself in lads universe after a particularly close interaction with truck kun. How does life go from here after arriving in the N109 zone leaders backyard when MC hasn’t arrived yet?

Disclaimer, Sylus might be OOC, since I'm not very good at writing so bear with me. This will be multiple parts!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Something gnawed at him.

A feeling of unease he wasn’t able to shake. It was very uncharacteristic of him and it made his mind wander even when walking next to MC. They still hadn’t made any progress even after weeks.

The love he once held for her had dulled to a soft murmur, only held alive by the curse her past self inflicted on him. This constant cycle of love, pain and death had long since become something he started dreading. He no longer had the energy to entertain this façade, so instead, he tried to get her to remember, so she could finally break this binding curse and set him free.

A notification from his phone made him snap out of his train of thought.

He would’ve been happy seeing you used his card, but he heard you leave, and he’s seen you deteriorate these past weeks. He knew he should’ve spoken up. Knew he was breaking something that had yet to start.

Yet he didn’t know how to explain. “Hey, this is my soulmate, and I'm literally, sharing half a soul so I cannot escape my fate with her!” And expect you to understand? No. He was going to fix this before things could get out of hand.

Or so he thought. He thought seeing where you were would put him at ease, but the notification only rooted the feeling of dread deeper, seeping into his very being.

Something was wrong, and he was going to figure out what it was. He excuses himself and left MC dumbfounded as he sent Mephisto flying to the bar and called Luke and Kieran instructing them to figure out your whereabouts.

He willed himself to calm down. Nothing was wrong, you just decided to get a drink. He didn’t even blame you, he was acting like a total dick and he knew it, but this was new to him too. He didn’t expect to fall for you, a mere mortal, so utterly and pathetically normal. Yet fall for you he did. You turned his life upside down in a way he hadn’t realised he craved. No longer bound by fate, revelling in the normalcy.

He should’ve known better. He had almost hoped MC wouldn’t show up, but to his utter dismay she did, and with her arrival, she threw everything upside down for the worse. His heart ached seeing you loose yourself more and more every single day, yet unable to explain himself, he spent more and more time with MC to try and get her to break the curse. But she wasn’t cooperating. Somehow, in this damned timeline, she had chosen another man, leaving him alone with this curse, destined to die by her hand yet again.

But he wouldn’t let that happen. Not again. So he worked harder, growing more impatient by the day. It had irked him, he was turning into someone he no longer recognised, or, to put it frankly, was scared to recognise. His fragile love story with MC started with the same damned feelings. But with you, he felt okay letting it happen. Being vulnerable was not something he excelled in, but he had learned with MC.

His phone lit up with a text.

Twins: we can’t find her. We’re pretty sure someone got her.

He felt his blood run cold. It was his fault after all. If he hadn’t run away and just told you straight up, you never would have gone there in the first place.

He orders the twins to find you. And even if it killed him, find you he would.

~~~

Everything hurt.

Your brain was pounding in your skull, a protest to the excessive drinking you had done last night. But it wasn’t just your head, no, every fiber of your being hurt.

Breathing laboured you try to move, but a sharp pang in your wrists made you stop in your tracks. Then you remember. The drinking, walking outside when suddenly your pulled into a car. The rest is a hazy blur and now you were here.

You try to open your eyes slowly. Your in a dark room, without windows, the only light coming from a singular lightbulb hanging from the ceiling that’s barely working. The room looks rundown, like a cement basement. It smells like dust and mold, and there are small puddles on the floor. The room is barren except for some racks with canned food. You guess it truly is a basement.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, blood rushing through your ears as you try to asses you situation. Your sat in a chair, with your wrists tied behind your back, making it borderline impossible to move. Why the hell did someone take you? Why would anyone even want you anyways? You don’t get long to think when you hear a door open and piercing light filters through. Before your eyes could adjust, the door is promptly closed again and an unfamiliar silhouette walks in your direction.

He's masked, so you can't make out his features, but even if he wasn't, your sure the pounding in your head would've made it impossible to see anyways.

He doesn't say anything, just assesses you like a product for sale. That makes your heart skip a beat. What if you are? You stare at him, questions clouding your mind, but fear grips at you so hard that you can't utter a single word, so all you manage to do is examine him as well.

He grabs a notepad and a pen off of a rack and writes some things down. You force yourself through gritted teeth to speak up. "Who are you, and why am i here?" He looks up at you, and despite the mask you could have sworn he was grinning but he doesn't respond, he just continues writing on the notepad.

And just like that, he leaves, isolating you with your thoughts. How long has it been? Where even are you? Did Sylus notice your absence? If he did, would he come? The air felt too thick, the humidity and mold mixing to make every breath taste like toxic waste.

You try to wiggle your arms, but the material around your wrist was tight, and when you wiggled too hard, it cut through skin. You hiss in pain, tears welling up in your waterline. You blink profusely as you try again, but to your dismay, the material doesn't budge but only cuts deeper. You wince as a tear rolls down your cheek.

You look around the room, searching for anything, but with no windows, and both your hands and feet bound, you had no way of escape. You were bound by the whims of fate, unsure if freedom was ever written in the stars for you.

~~~

He finally found a lead.

It had been hours since he last heard from you. Well, if a payment notification really counts as hearing from you. The twins were hunting down the streets for every lead they could find. At first he thought it was EVER, but to his surprise they had nothing to do with it, making it that much harder to track you down.

Checking the footage of Mephisto flying around Linkon, Sylus looked around the area of the bar. It had been cleaned meticulously, so they weren't amateurs, but then, something caught his eye.

Your bracelet.

Correction, the bracelet he had gifted to you for one of the auctions you had attended with him. It was concealed between some rocks and dirt, hidden from sight so that even he almost missed it. But thank the heavens he didn’t, because in between some of the beads of the bracelet some hairs were tucked. Possibly a sign of struggle. Immediately he called one of the twins over to have it checked.

He cursed himself for taking so long to find the bracelet. The next minutes felt like days, waiting while looking, not finding anything new.

He cannot remember the last time he lost control over his emotions like this. He, the leader of Onychinus, ruler of the N109 zone. But regardless of the titles he holds, it feels useless without you by his side. He should have told you. He shouldn’t have run away, trying to fix it on his own.

“Boss! We found a match, it’s one of the rising gangs. They traffic women without significant background so no one looks for them. We don’t know how they found her yet but we’re on their tail, almost know where they went too.” Kieran informs. Luke stands behind his brother, observing. He had never seen his boss like this.

“Good, we’re moving out as soon as we find her, you hear me?” They nod in unison at their boss’s words. Sylus’s phone rings, and when he checks it he sees MC’s name illuminating his screen.

He huffs out a soft curse as he picks up, MC’s soft voice echoing through the phone’s speakers. “Where did you go? I thought i was supposed to break this ‘curse’, how am i supposed to do anything when i don’t even remember anything?”

Her voice was soft, laced with concern. Had he shown how worried he was? He couldn’t remember, all he knew right now was that he needed to get you back asap.

“I know, listen, something happened and i’ll be back as soon as possible, in the meantime please just try to find any leads on breaking the curse.”

His head hurt, it was taking way too long to find you, especially with how many resources he has. What if something happened to you?

A soft sigh resonates from the phone.

“Listen, i don’t know what’s going on, but if i can help in any way, just let me know okay? You looked like you were about to set the world on fire when you left.”

He hums softly. “Thank you miss hunter, but i think it’s best if you don’t get involved in this specific case.”

He rubs his temple, MC agrees and hangs up the phone, leaving him alone with his thoughts once again. Then just like that, one of the twins sends coordinates. He doesn’t need a name to know that they found you, so before his mind can even process, his feet are already moving.

~~~

The door opened again, and this time 3 men entered.

They looked rushed, and one of them moved over to you to untie you. Were they discovered? Were they moving you? Not without a fight they’re not.

As the man stepped behind you to tie you up again you quickly elbowed him, resulting in him falling to his knees gasping for air. You could have sworn you heard bones breaking but you didn’t focus on that as you now had the attention of the other 2 men on you. You could maybe dodge them? You sure as hell were going to try.

As one of them lunged at you, you moved out of the way as fast as you could. He managed to grab a hold of your blouse and tore off your sleeve as the momentum sent him toppling over his friend. Colleague? Didn’t matter. You turn to the other man and you freeze.

Your eyes grow wide as your met with the last man holding a pocket knife in his hands. You were so not prepared for this. You never bad to fight, not even in the N109 zone. Sylus had always kept you close to him so not once had you been forced to retort to violence yourself, but being eye to eye with someone who clearly has the intent to kill made something in your brain switch, clearing up your mind more then any hangover drink ever could.

Your hands tremble as you stare at him, and it’s like a countdown to your death. He swings, and you barely evade, but while stepping away he slices at your arm. A groan escapes your lips as you grab tight to the wound. It’s a shallow cut, but still bleeding much heavier then you would like.

Before the man could swing again the door bursts open with way more force than necessary causing it to fall out of its hinges entirely. And when your met with his crimson eyes you can feel relief wash over your entire being. He looks feral, eyes locked on the man with the knife, and before you can blink the man disintegrates into thin air. The other 2 men follow suit and just like that, your alone with him, heaving heavy breaths of relief.

Tears spill over your cheeks, and before you can fall to the ground he picks you up effortlessly, caging you in his arms.

You wrap your arms around his neck as you allow yourself to let go, and you sob. You knew you looked ugly but you couldn’t care less right now. You were safe. He was here. He cared. Enough to save you at least. Enough to not let you fend for yourself.

And he keeps whispering sweet nothings into your ears as you finally collapse under the heave weight of fatigue, letting him swoop you up.

“We’re going home.”

And then you’re out.

~~~

A/N: Hello! I know every update is taking longer and longer and I'm sorry for that, but I have never written an action scene before and none of worked right in my head :( Thank you for being so patient with my I really appreciate it y'all! That being said, I hope this chapter was worth waiting for and I'll work hard to cook up more delicious food for everyone <3 Have a great day everyone!💕

Taglist:

@jeondyy @animegamerfox @nm4565natty @famouschopshopgalaxy @supershygirl @justpassingdontworry @madam8 @babygirl-panda19 @sleepykittyenergy @corvid007 @bubera974 @t0rchknight @z3vl @lanxianschoenheit @paper--angel @dysphxriaii @strxw-bxrri @sillyfreakfanparty @cordidy @rynnpersonal @maria-elite @dana-nite @misselysia @phisen @wiosna88888 @hao-ming-8 @mentaltrouble2201 @gkfofucha @reni502 @0nychinus @lighting-and-shadow @harbingers-lullaby @yeahhemmings- @moonlight-dream54 @eialovescats @thisfeelswrong @cheshire-kitsune @nutshellera @mblaqgi @iunse @ninaaargh @tenaciouszombiewombat @sylusaethercore @000rpheus @udejoenrlddo @dyeinsomniadontwake @222410 @hon3yydew @angelwhizpers @dyeinsomniadontwake @starllight613 @pluto-890

#love and deepspace #lads #l&d #lads x you #l&ds #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #fanfic #for me it will always be you #angst #l&ds sylus #l&d sylus #l&ds sylus x reader #sylus x non mc

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rawjutsu · 2 months ago

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"one one-hundredth" a 100 follower special

pairing: satoru gojo x fem reader

cw: unprotected sex, strength kink, mating press, overstimulation, size kink, mild dumbification, dirty talk, reader is called a "good girl", aftercare(ish) + post-sex fluff, suggestive ending.

a/n: rahhhh 100 followers a week after my first post tysm guys i cant wait to feed u all more degenerate toru content!! <3

you knew this would happen eventually.

gojo’s cock is already too much on a normal day—long, thick, curved just right to make your stomach twist when he sinks in—but tonight?

tonight, something’s different.

maybe it’s the way he came back from a mission high off cursed energy. maybe it’s how he wouldn’t stop being a little shit all day—whispering “can’t wait to fuck you dumb later” into your ear while you were trying to fold laundry.

or maybe it’s the way he’s currently got you in a mating press, absolutely ruining you, hips snapping into yours like he’s got a point to prove, like he wants the whole damn neighborhood to know you’re his.

“fuuuck, baby,” he groans, sweat dripping from his neck to your chest as his grip bruises your thighs, “you’re squeezin’ me so tight—think she’s scared. she knows what i’m capable of, huh?”

your only response is a cracked, pathetic sob. every time he hits that spot—that spot—it makes your vision go white at the edges. you’re so far gone you can barely breathe, mouth open, gasping, half-moaning like you’ve forgotten how to speak.

“c’mon, baby,” he coos, not a single drop of sweat slowing him down, “don’t go dumb on me yet. you said you could take it.”

you didn’t. but it’s too late for that now.

he slams into you again—hard—and something shifts. something wood. something structural.

you both freeze.

“…that wasn’t me,” you whisper.

gojo tilts his head, then smirks. “that was me. but don’t worry—i’m only using, like, one-onehundredth of my strength.”

“that’s not comforting, satoru—”

he pulls out until just the thick, flushed tip’s nudging your entrance, and slams back in with such force the entire mattress bounces. the bedframe lets out a deep, tortured groan.

“oops,” he chirps, breath hot against your ear. “should i go easier?”

you try to speak. try to say “yes, dont break the fucking bed.” you try. but he starts moving again—fast, relentless—and all that leaves your mouth is a garbled whimper.

“that’s what i thought,” he laughs darkly. “bet your brain’s all fucked out already. look at you. just a mess for me.”

your nails carve into his back. he groans, low and desperate, like he lives for it.

“that’s it. mark me up, sweetheart. be a good girl and take what i give you.”

you jolt.

the next thrust knocks the headboard clean off. there’s a sickening crack, and suddenly you’re fucking on a slanted mattress, one corner dipped toward the floor like the whole bedframe just gave up.

gojo does not stop.

not even when your legs start twitching. not when you sob his name into his neck. not even when your whole body shudders and your orgasm slams into you like a truck.

“shiiit, that’s it,” he moans, chasing his own release now, fucking you through it like a man possessed. “look at you. creamin’ all over me. you want it that bad, huh? want me to ruin you?”

your body says yes even when your mouth can’t.

his thrusts get rougher. meaner. until his hips stutter and he buries himself deep—so fucking deep you swear you feel it in your throat—and lets go with a growl, hot cum spilling into you as the frame collapses completely under both your weight.

but gojo’s not done.

he keeps going, fucking you through his orgasm, chasing every last pulse of it, like he’s addicted to the way your body clutches around him.

you’re whimpering. crying. your brain is goo.

he finally slows. lets out a shaky sigh and presses a kiss to your cheek, and then your collarbone, and then your jaw.

“…we should probably get a new bed,” he murmurs.

later, you’re both flat on your backs, sprawled on the dead mattress like survivors of some freak furniture war. gojo’s scrolling on his phone, clicking through listings with weirdly serious concentration.

“okay,” he says, holding up a picture. “this one’s got reinforced carbon steel and anti-vibration mounts. might survive two rounds.”

you peer over. “that’s a tactical bunk bed.”

“perfect for a tactical dickdown,” he says.

you sigh, but he’s already moved on.

“ooh, this one. definitely honored one-proof.” he scrolls to the reviews. “ five stars. that’s promising.”

you laugh. “maybe… we should test it out before buying. for research purposes.”

gojo’s eyes gleam.

he adds it to the cart twice.

#fresh out the oven𓂃 ࣪⋆🧁˚ ༘#jjk #jjk fanfic #jjk drabbles #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader smut #gojo x reader series #gojo drabbles #gojo smut #satoru gojo x reader #cw size kink #cw dumbification #cw overstim #cw strength kink

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moonlightdreamzz · 3 months ago

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somewhere between yours, and his

chapter one — what we don’t talk about ☆ chapter two — half-truths and jungle juice ☆ chapter 3 — fuck!

chapter summary. jake throws a party. you throw on a dress. jungwon starts to spiral. sunghoon starts to see you. — there’s liquor. there’s smoke. there’s a room you never meant to end up in. and by the end of the night, the boy who thought he had time is realizing…he might be too late.

pairing. jungwon x reader x sunghoon.

warnings. heavy smut in this chapter. usage of drugs and alcohol.

genre. college!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, smut.

themes. love triangle, messy relationships and decisions, love or lust?

authors note. things are starting to heat up … aren’t they?

you don’t usually do all this.

the lashes. the body oil. the 360 lace frontal that took you three youtube tutorials, two edge brushes, and a silent prayer to get just right.

you’re a throw-on-some-sweats-and-hope-for-the-best kind of girl. you always smell good—doesn’t that count for something? you don’t have the time. or the energy. or the wardrobe.

but tonight? tonight feels like it needs something extra. not because of anyone in particular. not because of jake’s cousin and his face carved from god’s sharpest cheekbone.

not because of jungwon and the kiss that almost happened.

not because your heart’s been doing something weird in your chest ever since.

just… because.

you haven’t felt pretty in a while.

not cute. not passable. not “you clean up nice.”

pretty.

you look at your reflection, lip gloss in hand, lashes just a little too dramatic, edges laid with precision.

you’re not doing too much. but you’re not doing nothing, either. the dress is short. black. soft in a way that hugs without suffocating. you smell like citrus and money, even though your bank account says otherwise.

and for once, you feel like the version of yourself you only see when no one’s watching.

the music is already loud when you open the door.

low bass, party voices, and that faint smell of liquor and cologne that only happens when men are trying to impress someone.

you step out, and every single conversation in the room takes a half-second too long to resume.

jake does a double take, cereal still in his hand like he wasn’t just yelling about body shots two seconds ago.

jay’s mouth parts, eyebrows lifting like you just hit a high note no one expected.

sunoo lets out a low whistle and goes, “oh, we really partying tonight, huh?”

they’re not being weird. not creepy. just surprised. in awe. like you’ve been a background character this whole time and suddenly stepped into the spotlight.

“damn,” jake mutters, blinking.

you laugh, but it’s a little breathy.

you can feel eyes on you. not just theirs.

and then you find him.

jungwon.

he’s standing near the speakers, red cup in hand, dressed in all black like he wasn’t trying but somehow still looks so fine.

his mouth is slightly open. he blinks slow like his brain is buffering.

his eyes trail down—your face, your dress, your legs—and back up again like he doesn’t quite believe you’re real.

he doesn’t say anything.

neither does sunghoon.

he’s leaning against the wall near the kitchen, one hand in his pocket, his eyes locked on you like he’s watching something unfold.

his face doesn’t change. not much.

but you catch the twitch of his brow. the way his eyes linger a little too long. the way his jaw flexes once before he looks away—slow, deliberate.

you feel like an animal in a glass cage.

not in a sad way. just… observed. like the lights flipped on too fast and everyone forgot how to act.

you know you look good. that’s not the issue.

it’s the way they’re all looking at you like they just realized it. and maybe that’s the problem.

you shift your weight, let your hand rest on your hip. the room is too still. too charged. so you break it.

“we taking shots or what, pussies?”

jake barks out a laugh from somewhere near the speakers, and just like that, the moment snaps back into something you can manage.

“because why are y’all looking at me like i just landed here from another planet?” you say, stepping into the kitchen. “i know i dress down most of the time, but damn. do i need to start popping out more often or what?” you shoot back, already reaching for the shot glasses.

you pour with intention. one, two, three. slide them across the counter without even looking.

you don’t ask if they want them. you know they do.

“this one’s for you,” jake says, clapping sunghoon on the back. “welcome to… whatever this is.”

“whatever this is” being your house, your energy, your people. your life.

everyone cheers. the shot burns in a good way. you’re about to rinse the cups when jay’s voice cuts through the music.

“yo,” he says, looking at you funny. “i was just thinking…”

you raise an eyebrow. “that’s dangerous.”

“nah, for real,” he says. “if we’re trying to convince sunghoon we’re not lame, shouldn’t you make that drink?”

you blink at him.

“what drink.”

“you know the one,” sunoo chimes in. “the one that had us spiritually ascending at that one pregame.”

you pause. laugh under your breath.

you think about that night—sunoo crying over a bluetooth speaker, jake laying on the floor like the universe betrayed him, jay talking to the bathroom mirror like it was a therapist.

you smile. “y’all are lucky i love you.”

they start hooting like they’ve already won.

“i’ll make it,” you say, pulling bottles down one by one, “but only for us. i’m not playing bartender for this whole house again.”

as you start mixing, you feel someone move in behind you—close, but not too close. the energy shifts.

“you want help?” sunghoon’s voice is quiet. smooth.

you don’t turn around right away. you know it’s him.

“you trying to help, or you trying to hover?” you ask.

“can’t it be both?”

you finally glance back. he’s leaning against the counter, one hand in his pocket, the other gesturing to the bottles like he’s about to start something with it. his hoodie sleeves are pushed up just enough to show his forearms, veins catching in the light. his face is unreadable—but his eyes aren’t.

he looks at you like he’s already decided you’re interesting. you haven’t even started talking yet.

you’re about to respond when jake pops up again, clapping once like he just remembered something.

“fuck. we never rolled up.”

“bro, you always say that,” jay groans.

“no, for real—sunoo, jungwon, come help me. it’ll be faster.”

“how?” sunoo says. “you just want company.”

“nah, i need hands. come on.”

jungwon hesitates. you feel it more than you see it. you don’t turn. but you know he’s watching. you can feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck like a warning.

you don’t move. neither does sunghoon.

and when jake starts dragging them down the hall, jungwon doesn’t fight it. he follows. slow. quiet. glancing back once like maybe he missed something.

but the thing is—you’re still right here.

and sunghoon hasn’t moved at all.

jungwon doesn’t mean to look back.

he tells himself he’s just making sure no one forgot anything. that he’s being polite. aware. something logical.

but he looks anyway.

and there you are—your back to him, pouring something into a cup, laughing softly at whatever sunghoon just said. your hand grazes the counter. sunghoon’s leans just a little closer.

it’s nothing.

it’s not even a moment.

but it feels like one.

he doesn’t hear whatever jake’s saying about rolling techniques or blunt wraps. his chest is full of static. too loud, too tight. like something important is happening and he’s not supposed to be part of it.

he doesn’t think anything specific. there are no words. just heat. just pressure. just this awful, heavy feeling that you’re slipping further away.

“so what’s in this drink?” sunghoon asks, standing just close enough for you to feel the question against your shoulder.

you don’t look up. just smirk and drop a handful of fruit into the pitcher.

“can’t tell you that,” you say. “i’d have to kill you.”

he huffs a little laugh through his nose—just enough to surprise you.

you glance over and see the way his mouth curls, eyes lit up more than you expect from someone with a face that cold.

cute laugh.

noted.

weird thought.

ignore it.

you keep pouring, handing him the ice tray without asking.

“help me out,” you say. “just dump a few cubes into the mixer.”

“okay. show me how you do it so i can steal the recipe later.”

“you won’t get far,” you say, tipping the bottle with one hand, catching the rhythm like it’s second nature. “this isn’t a recipe. it’s intuition.”

“oh. you’re one of those.”

“one of what?”

he shrugs, sliding the ice into the cup without dropping a single piece.

“vibe mixers. no measuring. no notes.”

“exactly,” you say. “just vibes and chaos.”

he chuckles again. quiet, low. it’s not flirty yet. but it’s getting there.

“you a senior?” he asks, resting his elbows on the counter like he’s been here before. like he’s comfortable. like he’s not just visiting.

“junior,” you say. “we all are.”

“what’s your major?”

“psych.”

he raises an eyebrow. “oh. okay, so what am i thinking right now?”

you squint at him. “that was weak. be more original.”

“nah, i’m serious,” he says, fighting a grin. “i’m opening up. this is me being vulnerable.”

you fake-think for a second, stirring the mix.

“you’re thinking, ‘i didn’t expect her to be this cool.’”

he laughs—real this time.

“that’s crazy.”

“what?”

“that you’re right.”

you blink once. look away.

okay.

maybe a little flirty.

you pass him a spoon to taste the mix.

“go ahead. make sure it doesn’t kill you.”

he sips, then licks his bottom lip slow. nods.

“nah, you might actually be dangerous.”

you smile, but don’t give it too much.

“what about you?”

“engineering major,” he says. “i was at big college in seoul. transferred to ucla when we moved.”

“engineering. wow.” you lift an eyebrow. “you do have that mysterious ‘i fix things and then disappear’ energy.”

“i fix things and then disappear?”

“yup.”

he laughs again, quieter now. the kind of laugh that makes your chest feel a little too soft.

you look down at the counter. this is fine. it’s just a good conversation.

“how’d you end up living with them?” he asks, tipping his cup at the hallway where jake and the rest disappeared.

“me and jake took intro to psych together freshman year,” you say, grabbing another bottle without thinking. “he would’ve failed if i didn’t carry the group project.”

“sounds about right.”

“he owes me his life. so naturally we’ve been best friends ever since.”

you shake the drink. he watches your hands.

“after that, i met the rest of them through him. dorm life was getting too loud, too tight, too many people i don’t like sharing showers with. so we all got this house together junior year. and here i am. house princess or whatever.”

he nods like he really listened to all of that. like he’s still listening.

you slide him a glass. “don’t tell anyone what’s in this.”

“wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. “you gonna make me one every weekend?”

you pause like you’re thinking.

“depends.”

“on what?”

“if you keep being cool.”

he grins.

“i’m always cool.”

you finally look at him again.

he’s close now. not uncomfortably. just… naturally. like he never stepped back.

you feel warm. part alcohol. part something else.

he takes another sip, eyes still on you over the rim of his glass.

“you smoke?”

you scoff, dramatic. “do i smoke?”

you toss the towel on the counter, hand on your hip. “i taught everybody in this house how to roll.”

he smiles like that’s the exact answer he was hoping for. “yeah?”

“ask jake. he was struggling with even crumbling the paper until i saved his life. wasting weed all over the place for no reason.”

“so you’re useful,” he nods, like he’s making a mental note. “i like that.”

you roll your eyes. “you’re lucky i’m in a good mood.”

he raises his hands in mock surrender. “i’m just here to learn.”

you pour the last of the mix into a pitcher and lean back against the counter, arms crossed, your vibe relaxing with the buzz that’s finally hitting.

you study him for a second.

“are you even the party type?” you ask. “you’re jake’s cousin, so i assume it runs in the family, but…”

you tilt your head. “you also give introvert.”

he shrugs, sipping slow. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

“i don’t know,” you say. “you just… you don’t move like someone who needs attention. you kind of stand in the corner and wait for people to come to you.”

he doesn’t respond right away. just watches you, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“so which is it?” you ask. “are you lying to me, or am i lying to myself, sunghoon?”

you say his name soft—almost out of habit. not performative, not on purpose.

but he hears it. and you feel it.

his eyes flicker. slow.

“say that again?” he says.

you blink. “what?”

“my name.”

you lift an eyebrow. “sunghoon.”

he exhales like he just got something he wanted but didn’t ask for out loud.

“yeah,” he says. “i like how that sounds coming from you.”

you try not to react. try not to smile.

fail.

you look down at the counter, then back at him. you catch yourself staring.

he’s talking again—something about the mix, the drink, the party—but it’s all background noise now. his voice feels too smooth, too steady. your head’s already a little light. your body a little too warm.

you blink, shift your weight. “what am i doing?”

you don’t say it out loud. just think it, hard, like maybe the force of the thought will reset you.

but it doesn’t.

because you like the way he talks. you like the way he’s looking at you like you’re not just another pretty girl in a party dress. you like the fact that he hasn’t once looked away from you, not even when you did.

and maybe that’s the part that’s messing with you.

just as you open your mouth—maybe to change the subject, maybe to say something dumb—footsteps echo down the hall.

they’re back.

the door swings open. jake first, followed by jae, sunoo, and then—

jungwon.

he doesn’t look mad. doesn’t look jealous.

he just looks.

like he’s trying to take in the scene and not let it show on his face.

“we got ‘em,” jake announces, holding up the plastic bag like a trophy. “three perfect rolls.”

you push yourself off the counter. “let’s not light up yet.”

“what?” sunoo asks.

“we’re already halfway to plastered,” you say. “if we smoke now, none of us are gonna make it to the second hour of this party.”

jake frowns, but nods. “alright. we’ll save it.”

and then—knock knock knock.

everyone freezes for a second.

“doors unlocked!” jake calls, already heading that way.

you don’t move.

you don’t have to.

you already know.

she walks in like she’s been here before. because she has.

jungwon’s ex—not official, but close enough.

pretty. tall. confident in that way girls get when they think the room already wants them.

your stomach turns, tight and sharp.

she spots him immediately. smiles too big. too comfortable.

he gives her a quick hug. a small laugh. you know that laugh.

sunghoon’s still next to you.

he doesn’t say anything.

but you feel his eyes flick toward you. then toward her. then back to you again.

he’s putting it together.

and for once, you’re not quick with a comeback.

you’re just standing there. breathing quiet.

you hate this part of yourself—the one that still reacts.

you’re not with him. you never were.

but the ache still shows up anyway.

the house is hot now.

not just warm—hot.

the kind of heat that comes from too many bodies, too much liquor, and music shaking the walls like it’s trying to break them.

you can’t remember when it got this packed, but someone turned off the living room lights and now it’s just pink LED glow and flashlight phone cams catching angles. there’s glitter on the floor. a bottle in everyone’s hand. sunoo’s standing on the coffee table screaming lyrics, and jake’s somewhere in the kitchen making more jungle juice with a funnel and a prayer.

you’re laughing too much. your cheeks hurt. your legs feel loose. the drink in your cup is sweet and evil and exactly what you needed.

sunghoon’s been floating in and out of your space. not clingy—just… aware.

you like that. you feel him watching, but not in a possessive way. just curious. like he’s still trying to figure out what to do with the fact that he likes being around you.

like maybe you weren’t what he expected either.

but you don’t think too hard about it.

not yet.

you’re mid-sip when you spot her again.

jungwon’s ex. or kind-of-ex. or whatever she’s pretending not to be.

she’s in the corner of the room, leaned up against the speaker, close—too close—to him.

you don’t even know when it happened, but she’s been inching her way back into his gravity all night. you keep your face neutral. sip slow.

jungwon’s not touching her. not really looking at her either. but she’s laughing too loud at nothing he’s saying, reaching for his hand when the beat drops, pressing her shoulder into his arm like muscle memory.

your throat burns as you swallow.

jungwon’s head feels like cotton. too much noise, too many people. too much you.

he’s not drunk enough to act stupid. but drunk enough to feel everything a little louder than usual. loud enough to know that watching you smile at sunghoon across the room is killing him. loud enough to know he can’t keep doing this.

she’s been trying him all night.

his ex.

you think he doesn’t notice how you look every time she talks to him. how your eyes go blank. how you laugh louder at whatever someone else says like you’re not trying to feel it.

but he sees it. and he hates himself for letting it go on this long.

“you good?” she asks, leaning into him like old habits.

he shrugs her off—gentle, quiet. doesn’t want to cause a scene.

“just tired,” he says. it’s not a lie. not the full truth either.

she pouts. “you sure?”

he looks over her head.

across the room.

at you.

you’re laughing at something sunghoon said. your face tilted up, drink in your hand, shoulders relaxed like you belong exactly where you are.

and maybe you do.

still—he looks down.

because he can’t stand how that makes him feel.

“yeah,” he says again, stepping away. “i’m good.”

she doesn’t follow.

he disappears down the hall.

the bathroom smells like mint mouthwash, weed, and cheap cologne. jungwon’s sitting on the edge of the tub, head in his hands. he’s not crying—he doesn’t do that—but his thoughts feel like they’re about to spill over.

jay leans against the sink, taking a slow sip from a water bottle you’re supposed to pretend doesn’t have vodka in it.

“bro,” jay says, pointing at him like he’s about to deliver a sermon. “no, actually—bro.”

jungwon lifts his head, eyes glazed.

“you are down bad.”

“i’m not.”

jay squints at him. “okay. okay. so explain to me why you’ve been staring at her all night like your soul left your body.”

he doesn’t answer. he runs a hand down his face.

“and then,” jay continues, stumbling just a little but catching himself, “then—you let that girl touch your arm? like that wasn’t gonna piss her off?”

“i didn’t let her do anything.”

jay stares at him for a second. then shakes his head. “you know what your problem is?”

“you?”

“you’re scared,” jay says, ignoring that completely. “you’re scared she’s gonna choose someone else before you even give her a chance to choose you.”

jungwon blinks. jaw tight.

“you think she’s gonna wait forever?” jay’s voice gets lower. not mean. just real. “she’s not.”

“i know,” jungwon mumbles.

jay leans in, his tone suddenly serious through all the liquor.

“look. i love you, okay? but you need to stop being scared and put your big boy drawls on.”

“wow.”

“no, for real,” jay slurs. “you love her, right?”

silence.

“you love her.”

“yeah,” jungwon says, so quiet he barely hears himself. this is the problem isn’t it? that he still can’t say it out loud? even to his best friend who wasn’t asking to inquire—but instead as a matter of fact.

“then go tell her,” jay says. “go tell her and stop being pussy. go get your girl. make tonight the night.”

he slaps jungwon’s knee and stands up like he just saved a life.

“fix your hoodie. put on some cologne. and when she comes in that room—because she will—you don’t hesitate. alright?”

jungwon nods, breath shaky.

jay’s halfway out the door when he turns around again.

“and if you don’t—i’m slapping the shit out of you tomorrow.”

then he’s gone.

jungwon sits there for another beat.

then stands.

goes to his room.

fixes the sheets.

sprays his cologne.

sits on the edge of the bed and waits.

you’ll come.

you always do.

you don’t even remember how you ended up here.

one minute you were in the middle of the crowd, someone’s phone flashlight spinning above your head, a bottle in your hand, laughter in your mouth—

and now…

you’re here.

back room. door halfway closed. music muffled behind the walls.

it’s dark but cozy, still warm from the people that were just in here.

and it’s just you. and him.

sunghoon sits across from you on the futon, blunt lit, fingers careful. he holds it out without saying anything.

you take it. the first hit burns, but in a good way. like it’s stretching your chest out. like it’s slowing everything down just enough for your head to feel quiet again.

you pass it back.

he takes a hit, leans back, exhales slow.

for a while, no one talks.

then—

“you’re quieter now,” he says.

you smile a little. “i’m high.”

“still,” he says. “different vibe.”

you shrug. “people wear different versions of themselves in different rooms.”

he looks at you for a second, like he’s reading that sentence over twice.

then: “so which version is this?”

you blink. exhale.

“the one that’s tired of overthinking everything.”

he nods. takes another hit.

“you don’t strike me as the reckless type,” he says. “but you also don’t seem like you’re playing it safe.”

you tilt your head. “what makes you say that?”

he shrugs. “just a guess.”

you reach for the blunt again and his fingers brush yours. your breath catches.

you hit. exhale. “are you usually like this?”

“like what?”

“you ask a lot of questions.”

“i like figuring people out.”

“and you think you’ve figured me out already?”

he smiles. slow. “not yet. but i’m getting there.”

you lean back, head tipped against the wall.

the buzz is thick now. warm. your body feels like velvet.

“you ever fall for the wrong person?” you ask suddenly.

sunghoon doesn’t flinch.

“i’ve fallen for people who didn’t know what to do with me,” he says. “not sure if that makes them wrong. just… scared.”

you look down at your lap. your fingers. your cup.

he watches you, quiet for a beat.

“whoever he is,” he says suddenly, voice low, “i hope he figures it out before someone else does.”

you glance up. he’s not smiling—just looking at you. eyes steady. clear. a little too much.

you don’t answer. you just pass him the blunt.

he takes it. holds it between his fingers.

“you want to know what i think?” he asks, thumb brushing ash from the edge.

you say nothing.

“i think you don’t see yourself the way you should. you don’t know your power,” he utters. there’s something…seductive in his tone. honey-like. “

you look at him.

feel something shift.

he leans in, not fast. not loud. just close enough.

“but i see you,” he says.

it’s hard for you to find words. maybe because there’s a part of you that knows if he says one more sweet thing, you’ll lose control. or maybe it’s because you want him to.

“and what do you see?”

“the reason i’m not going back to cali anytime soon.” he whispers.

and then you kiss him.

and he kisses you back.

his mouth is soft. softer than you expected. warmer, too.

he kisses you like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you. slow. focused. not careful—but not rough either. just… present. all the way there.

like he’s not thinking about anything else but the feel of your lips and the way your breath catches when he tilts his head and kisses you deeper.

your hand finds his neck. his fingers slip under your thigh.

he doesn’t rush it.

he touches like someone who’s done this before—but wants this to feel different. like he’s trying not to ruin the moment by needing too much too fast.

but you want more.

you pull him closer without meaning to.

he groans—barely audible—but you feel it in his chest.

you’re on his lap now, knees on either side of him, dress hiking up as you shift.

his hands land on your hips, grounding you.

then sliding up, slow, until his thumbs press into the dip of your waist.

he pulls back just enough to look at you. your lips are parted. your eyes a little dazed.

you don’t say anything.

you just kiss him again.

this time it’s messier. hungrier.

your hands are in his hair. his mouth is at your jaw, your neck, his breath hot against your skin. you feel everything.

every inhale. every exhale. every time his lips find a new spot and stay there too long. you feel his fingers on your thighs—tight, then gentle, then tight again.

he’s asking without asking, and you’re answering without words.

you reach for the hem of your dress. he stills your hands.

“you sure?” he asks, voice low.

you nod.

he searches your face like he needs to be absolutely certain.

then: “say it.”

your voice is quiet. “i want you.”

his jaw clenches.

he kisses you again—harder this time.

everything happens in pieces. fast and slow all at once.

your dress comes off. his hoodie hits the floor.

his hands are everywhere—your waist, your chest, the back of your neck, the inside of your thighs.

his mouth trails heat down your collarbone, across your stomach, back up again like he’s trying to burn the memory of you into every inch.

you tug at his waistband. he breathes out something between a curse and your name.

there’s fumbling. laughing. sighs that sound like relief.

he stretches you open with his fingers first—gentle, watching your face the whole time.

“relax for me,” he whispers, lips brushing your jaw. “you can take it.”

you whimper. he kisses your cheek.

“you’re doing so good, baby. just like that.”

and when he finally pushes in—

you gasp.

it’s not just the stretch. it’s the feeling. the weight of it. the heat. the way he holds your hips like he’s trying not to lose himself too fast. the way he leans close, nose brushing yours, breath shaky.

“fuck—” he exhales. “you feel so fucking good.”

you tighten around him. he swears under his breath.

“you okay?”

you nod, barely able to form the word.

“good,” he says, voice dropping. “keep lookin’ at me.”

you move together. slow, then faster.

you’re moaning into his skin. his hands gripping the backs of your thighs, your ass, your waist—like he needs to touch all of you at once.

he pulls back, just enough to see your face. your mouth open, eyes fluttering.

“this what you needed, huh?” he murmurs, breath hitting your lips. “you needed someone to show you.”

you can’t even answer. he knows it.

“so fucking pretty like this,” he whispers, thumb brushing your cheek. “you feel everything, don’t you?”

you nod. desperate. breathless.

he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

“yeah, baby. let me feel it.”

you’ve never done this before.

not like this.

not while high. not while drunk.

not while still trying to pretend it wasn’t going to happen.

but now it is.

now it is.

his pace stutters when you clench. when you whisper his name without meaning to.

“again,” he says, voice strained. “say it again.”

you do.

he says something into your shoulder—something you don’t catch—but whatever it is, you feel it.

the room is spinning.

the air is thick.

your body is loud.

and when it’s over, you’re both quiet.

breathing hard.

skin hot.

foreheads touching.

you don’t say anything.

neither does he.

and maybe that’s okay—for now

it’s 1:48 a.m.

jungwon checks his phone again, even though no one’s texted him. he’s been staring at the screen like it might buzz if he wills it hard enough.

it doesn’t.

he gets up, paces. smooths the sheets on his bed for the third time. they still smell like his cologne.

he still thinks you’re going to walk in and lay down like always. still thinks he’s going to hear your soft knock, that sleepy voice—“you up?”

he sits back down.

at 2:12 a.m he gets up again. walks into the hall. the music’s died down now—half the party’s gone, the rest are draped over furniture or passed out in random corners.

he finds jake in the kitchen, talking too loud to some girl he barely remembers inviting.

“have you seen—” jungwon starts.

“huh?”

“have you seen her?”

he doesn’t say your name. he doesn’t have to.

jake blinks, drunk. “nah, bro. i thought she went to bed already. wait—did we ever smoke those blunts?”

“okay,” jungwon mutters, already walking away. “you’re useless.”

he makes his way to your room and pauses at the door. doesn’t want to open it.

his hand is hovering over the knob like maybe it’ll open on its own. like maybe you’re in there and this is all a misunderstanding. you’ve just been asleep. just drunk. just tired.

but deep down—he knows.

and when he opens it and sees the empty bed, the stillness, the untouched hoodie on your chair—

something inside him buckles.

he closes the door slow.

walks back to his room like the hallway grew longer.

the second he sits down, his mind starts spinning.

she’s not in her room. she’s not in the hallway. she’s not at the party.

and then—

sunghoon’s not either.

he feels it in his chest. a slow, ugly bloom.

you’re not just missing. you’re together.

he stares at the floor. tries to blink the thought away.

no.

but it keeps coming back, sharper every time.

he remembers the way sunghoon looked at you earlier. like he already made up his mind. remembers how close you stood. the way you laughed, all soft and private.

he runs a hand through his hair—shaky. jaw tight. throat dry.

did they?

he hates himself for even thinking it.

but once the question forms, he can’t push it back down.

did they fuck?

he shuts his eyes. squeezes them tight.

it’s 3 a.m.

you’re still not back. you always come back.

you always knock on his door, even if the day was weird, even if you were mad, even if you didn’t say much when you crawled into his bed.

you always come back.

he stares at the ceiling. the light’s still on. his chest feels like it’s been hollowed out. and what hurts the most isn’t even that you might’ve chosen someone else.

it’s that he let you feel like he didn’t want you.

he left too many blanks for someone else to fill in.

and now?

someone else might have.

he turns on his side, pulls the blanket over his face, but the pictures in his head won’t stop playing.

you.

sunghoon.

your mouth.

his hands.

he wants to scream. wants to punch something. wants to call you, pull you back, beg you to forget whatever just happened. tell you it’s not too late. tell you he’s sorry for being scared. for being quiet. for acting like he didn’t care when all he ever did was love you so hard it scared the shit out of him.

but it’s too late for all of that now.

it’s 3 :48 a.m.

he’s still awake. you’re still gone.

and he doesn’t know if this time… you’re coming back.

he’s halfway to sleep.

face pressed into the pillow, body stiff under the covers he never pulled back. the room smells like you—but not enough. just a trace.

he should be asleep by now.

but he isn’t.

and then—

giggling.

soft at first. then louder. laughter tangled in whispers.

your voice.

his voice.

a thud against the wall.

“ow—shhh! you’re being so loud—”

more giggling.

another thump.

jungwon freezes. his chest goes tight. stomach flips so hard it feels like falling. he doesn’t move. just listens. eyes wide open in the dark.

outside the door—sunghoon.

“which room is yours?” he asks, half-whisper, half-laugh.

your voice again. warm. easy. happy. “this one—wait—stop hitting my head against stuff!”

“i’m trying,” he laughs. “you’re the one who wanted to be carried like a princess.”

“i didn’t ask for that!”

“yes you did.”

jungwon turns his face into the pillow. he doesn’t cry. he doesn’t move. but something splits open inside him. the sound of your laughter—soft and slurred and completely not his—echoes like a taunt.

he thought he had time.

he thought you’d always come back.

but you didn’t.

sunghoon kicks the door closed with his foot, still holding you against his chest.

“jesus,” he mutters, half-grinning. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

you’re already laughing, head lolling on his shoulder. “you’re bad at walking.”

“no, you’re bad at being light.”

you swat his chest. “don’t be rude to your passenger.”

he drops you on the bed—gently. carefully. your bra strap’s half off. your thigh’s still cold from where his hand was.

he looks around, then down at you. “i’m not gonna stay.”

you blink. “why not?”

he rubs the back of his neck, tone softening. “not yet.”

you stare. “not yet?”

“yeah.” he shrugs, still smiling. “we’re both drunk. it doesn’t count.”

you let out a breathy laugh, almost disbelieving. “so… what we just did didn’t count?”

“i’m saying…” he starts, then smirks. “contrary to popular belief, i am a noble man.”

you roll your eyes. “that wasn’t very noble what you just did to me.”

he bites back a grin. “or maybe it was.”

you throw a pillow at him.

he catches it.

then lays down next to you—not under the covers, just close, warm, still high off your laugh.

“i’ll stay till you fall asleep,” he says.

your eyes close.

he was supposed to leave the minute he knew you were asleep—and you’d think your little snores would have been his que. but for awhile, he sat there and watched you. wondering. feeling. he can’t help but to press a soft kiss to the side of your head before getting up.

sunghoon pulls your door shut behind him. quiet. careful.

he’s still buzzing. not just from the liquor, not just from the high—but from you. your laugh. your eyes. the way you said his name like it meant something.

he turns to head back down the hall—and almost runs straight into jake.

“you good?” jake grins, swaying slightly. there’s a red cup in his hand and a backwards cap barely clinging to his curls. “you look like you saw heaven.”

sunghoon smirks. “felt like it.”

“so?” jake wiggles his eyebrows. “mission complete?”

sunghoon laughs under his breath, shaking his head. “not what you think.”

“bro, don’t even lie. i saw y’all. the tension? that was cinematic.”

sunghoon leans against the wall, arms crossed. he exhales through his nose, smile still hanging on his face. “it’s not just that, though.”

jake’s grin softens into something more curious. “what do you mean?”

sunghoon pauses. lets the words sit for a second.

then shrugs. “i like her.”

“yeah?” jake tips his cup at him. “i mean… i kinda figured.”

sunghoon glances down the hall. “she’s different. cool as hell. smart. funny. and when she looks at you, it’s like…” he trails off, then chuckles. “i don’t know. you feel it.”

jake nods, a little quieter now. “you really like her?”

“yeah.” sunghoon’s voice is even. real. “i wasn’t planning on it, but… i think i may be here longer than the weekend.”

he says it so simply. so confidently. like he’s already decided.

jake grins again, a little drunker now. “look at you. falling for a girl on day one.”

sunghoon just shakes his head, smiling to himself. “you said be honest, right?”

“yeah, yeah. and i said i’d wingman. so just say the word.”

neither of them notice the door cracked open at the end of the hall.

jungwon’s standing there.

frozen.

he hears everything.

and suddenly the whole night clicks into place.

the missing glances. the sudden distractions. the way jake dragged him away from the kitchen for no reason.

he helped him.

jake—his boy, his roommate, his clueless ass best friend—helped sunghoon move in on the one girl he’s been in love with this whole time.

and jake didn’t even know.

jungwon doesn’t move. doesn’t breathe.

he closes the door slow. soft.

and this time, the ache in his chest is something he can’t swallow down.

taglist:

@climbingmandevillas @xoseraphiina @deliousberry

I tried to tag everyone else, but it’s not letting me!! ☹️ i’m sorry.

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nightingale-prompts · 10 months ago

Text

Batboy Reflects

First | Previous | Next

Danny sat on the roof staring at the starless sky. It had been a long night.

He had considered leaving this dimension. Not because he hated it here but the way he saw it he didn't hate it yet.

It had its ups and downs but its starting to feel too familiar. He had new friends, new family, and people who are far to concerned with what he was.

Something Danny didn't know how to answer. He knew deep down Dick was concerned and that he had so many questions. Questions Danny did not want to answer.

He didn't want to think about his role or title. He didn't want to think about his past. He didn't want to talk about how lonely he felt.

No one understood what this was like. How malleable this body was. How a single thought or feeling can make it shift uncontrollably. Shifting isn't painless or easy. Imagine trying to rewrite how your brain works along with your body. It is draining.

Danny did what Clockwork taught him and stuck to limited shifts, only doing 2 to 3 forms. Still, it feels like he's getting nowhere. And now he knows he did it wrong. But these damn wings won't change!

Danny hates it. He hates himself. Why can't he get anything right?! What's wrong with him?!

WHY CAN'T EVERYTHING JUST WORK?!

Can't it just be simple?

can't it just...stop?

"Dan?" It was Dick's voice, "Are you trying to..."

Danny felt like something was stabbing through him at that name. His head hurt. His eyes burned. He looked at Dick who looked so shocked and horrified. Like he saw a monster.

Danny looked at his hands, scarred and burned. Just like before.

Tears streamed down his face as he moved to cover it from view.

"DONT LOOK AT ME!" Danny screamed.

All he could think of was Jazz's face the last time he saw her. The way she sobbed and screamed as she held him. The pain he felt when he felt her emotions radiating off her.

Danny panicked. His heart thundered in his chest so hard it banged against his stomach making him feel sick.

He disappeared.

#im not sorry #dc x dp #dpxdc #dc x dp prompt #dp x dc prompt #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #nightwing #dick grayson

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toournextadventure · 3 months ago

Text

when you love it pt.3

Summary: Enid brings one of the children over for an extended career day.

Word Count: 5.9k Warnings: Swearing, flashbacks of violence Pairing: Wenclair x Vampire!Reader (part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

If one more miserable soul dared to interrupt the single hour of peace you had somehow managed to thrust into your schedule, you would end up representing yourself in court.

“I think they want to bury you,” Sara said with a pathetically insincere laugh. She dropped yet another box down in the already overcrowded corner of your office.

With a sigh, you set your reading glasses down on the desk and looked up at the young assistant. Far too young, you weren’t convinced she was even old enough to meet the strict qualifications your office had set. Not even old enough to have the tired leaden look in her eyes that life brought upon those with the wisdom to know better.

Though, you supposed Wednesday would have qualified for the position at her age. Perhaps you should curb your judgment.

“I beg of you,” you said slowly, “don’t bring anymore until tomorrow.”

“But there’s still-”

“-Don’t,” you whispered. She met your eyes before nodding once and giving you a closed-mouth smile.

“I’ll put them away for today,” she finally said.

You watched closely while she shuffled back out of the door. Her smile was more genuine before she closed the door and you could, once again, fall back into your chair and breathe. Just close your eyes for a moment, forget the disaster of a case that was haunting your every waking moment, and breathe. Deep inhale… slow exhale.

Much better.

Soft light filtered through the closed curtains on the windows. Pain pierced the dark, leaving an ache in your eyes and a rumble within the very centre of your brain. You quickly placed the sunglasses until they rested comfortably on your nose. Or not, you thought as the glasses slid down slightly. It was, perhaps, time to go home and wash your face.

No, not home. An apartment, nothing more. No, that was a lie as well. It was slowly becoming slightly more home-like. The walls were no longer bare, holding precious pictures of the younglings and their mothers. On the kitchen counter was a rusted whisk your Little Bane had dug up from the park across the street. A black hair tie sat on the bathroom counter next to the hair dye-stained sink.

Your phone vibrated loudly against the wooden desk. Pain pricked the inside of your mouth, radiating from the point of your fangs. The words “Break Over” illuminated the screen. Taunting you. Slowly, your jaw opened, pulling your teeth from the fleshy sheath they had created within your cheeks. Your mouth was filled with a throbbing ache that was quickly sated with relief, much like removing a splinter from a wound.

A cold finger swiped over the screen, turning the alarm off. So much for a chance to breathe, you thought. Perhaps you could use the busy work once again. Each moment your eyes were closed was another moment stolen by desire of the past. A useless endeavour if ever you had seen one.

Your phone vibrated on the desk once more. The image that appeared left your lip curling in disgust. Nonetheless, you picked it up and answered the call as you stood up from your desk and walked toward the ever-growing mountain of boxes.

“What do you want, Bas?” You asked, annoyance already dripping from your tongue.

“Always so hostile,” he said with a chuckle. “Can’t a brother call just to talk with his sibling?”

“No.” You pushed a box onto the ground and watched the contents spill out.

“One day, you’re gonna miss talkin’ with me,” he said. “You’ll be in a bind and think ‘Damn, I sure do wish Bas was here to help me out.’”

“What do you want, Bastien?” You repeated. Your fingers itched with the wanton desire to hang up.

“How’s your little rougarou?” A chair creaked on the other end of the line. Asshole. “Or your pretty little witch?”

“You have two seconds to get to the point,” you said gently. The bones of your spine cracked as you bent to pick up a file.

“That witch’s blood turned you rancid.”

“Good day, Bas-”

“-Hold on!” Your finger froze over the “end call” button. Something shifted on the other end of the line; you waited impatiently. “You heard from Constance lately?”

“Why would I?”

“'Cause she’s your sister.”

“I barely talk to you,” you mused. Pages flipped past your fingers. “Try again.”

“She got one a��them on her heels.”

You hissed and dropped the file. A small bead of blood engorged itself on the small papercut on your fingertip. The lack of light left the droplet appearing dark and ominous. You needed to get home and have a drink before long.

“One of what?” You asked. You lifted your finger to your mouth, licking it clean. The small cut healed over quickly.

“Daddy’s friends,” he whispered. “The mean ones.”

Your head lifted slowly. “Mawmaw Laveau?”

“Mawmaw would never,” Bas huffed in indignation. “Although word on the street is she’s achin’ to give you a whippin’.”

“What for?” You asked. “I ain’t- didn’t do anything.” You slammed the pile of paper down on a box. “Who’d you hear that from anyway?”

“You remember TJ?” You hummed in the affirmative. “He heard it from his ole lady, and she heard it when she was gettin’ her hair did.”

“Sue’s place?” You sat on a box.

“Where else?” He replied. “The ladies always talk way too loud, and one can’t help but to listen. They were talkin’ how Mawmaw’s been askin’ if you’ve been around, say she just wants to talk.”

“Mawmaw ain’t never wanna just talk,” you mumbled.

“Say she’d at least let you pick your own switch.”

You sighed. “She mad as hell.” The box groaned underneath you. “You sure she’s lookin’ for me?”

“That’s what TJ’s ole lady said, and she ain’t never got gossip wrong.”

“Shit,” you whispered. You’d need to call Mawmaw soon; you were too old to be picking a switch.

Wait.

“Who’s chasing Constance?” You asked. Feet planted firmly on the ground, you stood up and started digging through files once again. Not that it mattered; you weren’t paying attention.

“Hmm? Oh, them Hunters are after her.”

“She better not bring those classless bastards up here,” you said. “I have a reputation.”

“And your forbidden loves.”

You were drowning in the blood you had stolen. Your head lolled to the side even as you coughed again, spewing blood into the air like some demented fountain. A werewolf was across the room, hovering over Wednesday even as it transformed back into a person. Back into Enid. Her bare skin was shredded.

“If she shows up, I’ll turn her away,” you said with a shake of your head.

Bas sighed on the other end. “Family used to mean somethin’ to you, ya know.”

Your eyes squeezed shut. Bas’ words gently bounced off the inside of your skull, moving back and forth like the old DVD logo. No, he wasn’t going to guilt you into putting yourself and everyone else in danger. If Constance couldn’t keep her head down, that was on her.

“She would help you out.”

“Jesus, Bas, fine,” you groaned. “If she comes by, I’ll do what I can.”

“Knew you loved us,” he taunted.

“Good bye, Bastien.”

“Bye, cher-”

-You ended the call before he finished. A shaky hand placed the phone back on your desk before you returned to looking at the files. That you had pushed onto the floor. Like a petulant child.

“Why would I do that,” you whispered to yourself in disappointment.

Instead of picking up the papers like the sensible, mature adult that you were, you plopped onto the floor. They were going to remain a mess whether they were in the box or not, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. From the looks of it, you had at least another two weeks of nonstop work ahead of you just to sort what was useful and what wasn’t.

The passage of time marched ever forward. With your phone across the desk and all clocks removed - after The Great Skip, as Sara called it so fondly - you kept track by the drinks that appeared by your hand. As the afternoon passed, teas were left in the nicer, law firm-branded mugs. When the sun set, tall glasses of cola were set neatly on the hotel coasters you had stolen and brought back. The moment morning rolled around, steaming coffee in your personal, broken mugs brought you comfort.

You had only gone through six boxes.

Every fibre in your body stiffened when your office door opened. Janice poked her head in, blinking frantically in what you assumed was an attempt to see in the dark room. When unsuccessful, she mumbled a “for Christ’s sake” before the overhead light flickered on.

In a disgusting caricature, you hissed and lifted a hand to cover your eyes.

“You have a call on line two,” she said.

You rubbed your eyes harshly, leaving stars in your vision. “Who is it?”

“A Wednesday Addams?”

Come on, Willa, put it down.

Your mouth watered.

“Want me to push it through?” Janice asked.

Pages flipped past your fingers. Wednesday’s mug sat dutifully by your knee, nearly empty of the coffee it had held. Black, for her. You were supposed to call her a few days ago. She had made you promise after your Little Bane had finished talking with you over some sort of game they had wanted you to learn for them.

“I’m busy,” you said against the knot in your throat.

Janice looked down at the paper in your hand with a raised brow, but otherwise shrugged. “I’ll let her know.”

She slipped out of the door, leaving you alone in the overly bright, oppressive room. Perhaps, with the added threat of Wednesday calling back again - and again, and again, and again - you could work more efficiently. After all, the longer you were at the office, the more likely Wednesday would just show up.

That in itself was terrifying.

You were nearly finished with another seven boxes when the door opened once again. Janice threw it open, allowing it to slam against the wall. Nothing new for your office, you didn’t even flinch.

“Just a moment,” you said, pushing the glasses back up your nose as you searched for a particular name… ah ha, there it was.

“Go home,” Janice said.

“Mmm after a while,” you replied.

The file in your hands lifted upward.

“Hey,” you griped.

“Go home,” Janice said again.

A woman with more kids than you could count - all boys, bless her soul - and a husband who actually pulled his fair share, Janice was not a woman to be trifled with. The moment her hands rested on her hips, everyone knew they were done for.

Just as you were in that moment.

“I’m not quite done, darling,” you said softly, hoping the gentle words would ease her anger.

It did not.

“Go home now or I’m changing the locks on you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would.”

“I’m calling your bluff,” you threatened.

You were wrong. In reality, Janice was no match for your strength, you both knew it. However, when she packed your bag and pushed you out the door, what were you supposed to do? Fight her? Absolutely not, you were no fool. The sun was bright and you were tired, and with that, you returned home.

—---

You had just finished drying off from your shower when you heard a knock at the door. Four rapid knocks, a little heavy handed. Deft fingers tied the string on your sweats as your bare feet padded across the living room. Three more knocks.

“I’m coming,” you said just loud enough for whoever was on the other side to hear. For the love of the maker, you hoped it wasn’t Consta-

“-Hi,” Enid said with a gentle smile.

All the breath left your lungs. “Hello.”

“You two are disgusting,” Ophelia grumbled, pushing her way into your apartment as if she owned it.

Definitely Wednesday’s child.

“Don’t touch my things,” you called back to her. The Addams’ child was nothing if not a particularly adept kleptomaniac.

“Don’t tell me what I can’t touch,” she called back.

You opened your mouth to argue, but promptly shut it. Keep it together, you thought. The child was well aware of what she was doing, and she did it every single time you had the misfortune of crossing her path. She was your mortal enemy, and if she wasn’t the eldest of your lost loves, you would have slain her where she stood ages ago.

She was your favourite.

“Sorry,” Enid said, “she’s in a mood.”

“Since when is she not,” you questioned, stepping aside and ushering Enid into the apartment. She, too, knew where to go.

“You’re out of food,” Ophelia called as you entered the kitchen.

“Then get out of my fridge,” you shot back.

“I’ll put it on your card.”

The child grabbed your wallet from the counter and walked into the living room, throwing herself on the couch. You cringed when she lifted her feet, putting her shoes on the furniture. Animal, you thought with a sneer.

“Are you simply here to steal my money and dirty my furniture?” You asked.

“Yes-”

“-No,” Enid said quickly. “Ophilia had something to ask you.”

“And she couldn’t have called?” You asked.

“Ew,” came from the couch.

“Wednesday tried a few times,” Enid said. “You… never answered.”

Her smile fell slightly and the drop crushed your unbeating heart. Of course. Wednesday wasn’t one to call over frivolous matters. If you had been a sensible person, you could have avoided all of this. Including the teenager that was still flipping through your wallet.

You sighed. “What is your question?”

Ophelia slammed the wallet shut. “I’m so glad you asked.” She stood up and stalked over to you, much the same way her mother did. “I have decided to become a criminal defence lawyer and, as such, would like to shadow you for a few weeks.”

“Weeks?” You asked.

“Well a day simply won’t cover all the necessary information, and one week is barely scratching the surface,” she explained. “No, a few weeks is necessary for an optimal learning environment.”

“And where do you think you will stay?” You asked.

“Here?” She replied quickly. Sassy. “If I’m shadowing you, I need to witness every part of the lifestyle, not just the job.”

“Gomez already looked at renting an apartment for us,” Enid chimed in.

“There’s no need for that.” You gave her the most comforting smile you could manage against the onslaught of thoughts speeding through your mind.

“So you’re saying yes?” Ophelia asked.

You held your hand up, and silence fell upon the room. Deep breath in. Hold. Slow breath out. One thing at a time. The case you were working would be slow going and rather uninteresting, which would either bore the girl or excite her, you weren’t sure. Nonetheless, she would not be meeting actual criminals, which meant it was the perfect time.

Housing. Gomez had always been overly generous. One of the few people you had met that actually spent their obscene wealth instead of hoarding it. If Ophelia were to be staying for a much longer time, you would accept the rented apartment. For a few weeks? She could stay in yours, you had a spare room anyway.

You supposed you would need to stock up on more food so she wouldn’t wipe you out with disgusting takeout. And blood. She had the nasty habit of smelling like her mother…

“You cannot have access to anything confidential,” you said.

“No gorey secrets?”

“None.”

“Shame, but fair,” she said with a shrug.

“And you relinquish control of my wallet.”

You held your hand out toward her and waited. And waited. Enid giggled beside you but quickly hid it behind her hand. Well, attempted; you could still hear her. Butterflies swarmed in your stomach and up through your throat. Thank the maker you couldn’t blush.

Ophelia rolled her eyes. “Fine, take it.” She slammed the wallet into your outstretched hand.

“Thank you.” You slid the wallet into your pocket. “When would you like to start?”

“Now,” she said quickly, “I’ll go get our stuff from the car!”

Oh. Oh, they had already brought their stuff? You turned slowly and looked at Enid. She couldn’t hide her own blush, but you didn’t mind. You found it rather attractive to see her face flushed with blood. Delicious even. Fangs pricked at the inside of your lips and you quickly turned your sight elsewhere.

“She had an entire argument ready in case you said no,” Enid said softly. The floor creaked before you felt her warmth against your arm.

“I’ll have her turn it into a closing argument,” you said. “Give her a chance to practice.”

“Careful,” that warmth turned into a soft hand resting on your bicep. “She is 100% Wednesday’s daughter. She’ll have you here for a week.”

“She’s already holding me hostage in my own apartment,” you teased.

Then you hesitated. Enid’s nails absentmindedly scratched against your skin, just light enough to tickle. You had kept her at (mostly) arm’s length for a long while. If you ever snapped, you refused to allow her to be on the other end of it. Not again.

But you missed her touch oh so much.

Small gestures, you could manage that. You lifted your opposite hand and placed it over hers, fingers instantly finding the small scars that littered her skin. Not all of them were from you, which left an uneasy peace within your mind. Just the feel of her hands underneath yours brought joy back into your cold chest.

“Will you be staying?” You asked quietly, your eyes meeting hers.

Until she looked away. “I wasn’t sure if you would be comfortable with it.”

You wouldn’t. If you hurt her, if you hurt Ophelia, it would kill you. You would walk to the nearest hunter - perhaps the one chasing Constance - and offer yourself. With her being so close, it was almost inevitable something would happen. You couldn’t rely on luck to keep them safe. After all, where had luck gotten you before?

But if there was ever one person that could stop your violence, it was her.

“I would love if you stayed,” you said.

The look on Enid’s face was exactly like the one you had seen back in college. When you would bring her one of her sweet treats after a rough day. After offering to draw her a bath when she was tired. On those nights when Wednesday was out studying and you both sat watching the stars, waiting for her to come home.

It broke your heart.

“I’m not staying if you two are going to act like that the whole time.”

Enid’s face reddened. “Would you like some help with your stuff?”

“Yes please,” Ophelia said. “If I don’t keep you busy, we might end up with another Addams.”

“To your room,” you said, pointing in the direction of the guest room. Not like she didn’t already know where it was.

“My room?” She asked, looking you dead in the eyes as she passed. “Seems we get another Addams anyway.”

Enid rushed off, and the warmth of her hand vanished too quickly. Within seconds, you were craving her touch again. It left an unusual tingle on your skin that you couldn’t quite describe. Pathetic, really. And yet, surprisingly, you weren’t afraid. Not this time.

—---

The change of pace within your miniscule household was… nice. Enid slept in your room, even though she had argued for a solid 13 minutes over the fact. Yet you had prevailed, insisting on sleeping on the couch because “family does not ‘couch surf’.” Ophelia had, of course, taken notes through the entire debate, and you were thoroughly interrogated afterward.

Dinners were shared at home. No more late nights at the office, not when a child’s health was at stake. Not to mention Janice wouldn’t have allowed it anyway. Enid was a spectacular cook, Ophelia as well, and they teased you each time you attempted to help. Instead, they relegated you to grocery shopping (though they teased you for that as well).

The two of them worked like a well-oiled machine. While Enid claimed the girl was all Wednesday, you disagreed. You could see it in their humour, or the specific way they fidgeted with their hands. While incorporating a few more blacks than her senior, their fashion sense was identical.

Time at home was something to crave instead of dread. There was joy and laughter within the walls. What once was a dwelling of anguish and blood was now… bright. For the first time in a long time, you had something to look forward to again. All that was missing was Wednesday.

One step at a time, you reminded yourself each night. Wednesday’s blood was tempting even after finishing a meal. Bas had suggested what he called “micro dosing.” Small moments with her, enough to get you used to her scent again until it was nothing more than background noise. You begrudgingly agreed it was… a wise idea.

Perhaps, with Ophelia smelling just like her, you could get to that point sooner rather than later.

“Don’t forget lunch!” Enid said as you ushered Ophelia out the door. The prosecution had delivered another two dozen boxes to your office, and you needed to get a move on.

“Thanks,” Ophelia said quickly, grabbing the lunchbox Enid had gotten her. It matched yours.

Enid pressed a kiss to her cheek and rushed her forward. You gave her a small smile and thanked her for the lunch as well. Before you could leave, you felt warm lips on your own cheek. Every nerve in your body short circuited, freezing you in place.

When had you last felt the warmth of her lips?

“It’s just a kiss, let’s go.”

Enid pulled away first. Unlike the small touches she left throughout the day, this left a lingering heat. It radiated from where her lips had been to the rest of her face and… oh. Oh, that was what a blush felt like. You were blushing. She had made you blush.

Oh.

“We’ll go for a walk after work,” Enid said. “Now go, you’ll both be late.”

She pushed you - with more force than necessary for a human, but the perfect amount for you both - until you were out the door with Ophelia. Your mind was still a jumble of feelings, no words would form. Nothing but warmth.

“Mother would laugh at you,” Ophelia said.

She wasn’t much better as she grabbed your hand and pulled you with her, leaving a second heat on your skin. It was… nice to hold her hand. Like she wanted you to be near, desired your presence. Was that… was that how Wednesday and Enid felt with all their children?

Was this parenthood?

Janice handed you both a mug of coffee on the way to your office. She had taken a liking to Ophelia - who wouldn’t? - and made it her goal to keep the girl fed and hydrated with whatever she wished. ‘Don’t spoil her,’ you had begged to no avail. It was a fruitless endeavour, you had abandoned it within a day.

No surprise in the least, Ophelia was rather good at digging through documents. You had said she couldn’t read anything confidential but… well, it wasn’t like your clients were the most upstanding citizens. After all, you simply had to tell the judge once that it was an internship, and she had readily accepted the arrangement.

The routine was rather simple. Together, you had hammered it out within two days. Ophelia would look for anything involving the criteria you had given her, and you would dig deeper to see if it was useful or not. On occasion, she would make the executive decision if it was helpful or not. Her intuition was rather impressive.

Half a dozen boxes had been searched and removed by the time lunch came along. Neither of you would have noticed if Janice hadn’t told you she was going to pick something up. She had smirked at your matching lunchboxes before leaving.

You both ate in silence. It was rather nice. It reminded you of the countless hours you spent with Wednesday. Not a single word, just enjoying each other’s presence as you did your own thing. You shouldn’t compare Ophelia to her mother as often but it was the only thing you had.

“You’re the one who tried to kill my moms.”

You choked on your tea, barely recovering before shooting a look at Ophelia. She wasn’t looking at you, just eating like normal. For a moment, you weren’t sure she had spoken at all.

She looked up at you. “I know what vampire bites look like.” She shrugged. “And claws.”

Her face remained impassive. You couldn’t gauge a single thought or emotion. A useful skill for a lawyer, not so much for someone who had somehow pieced together that damning piece of information.

“What makes you say that?” You asked.

“They didn’t tell me,” she said quickly. “I pieced it together myself.”

Her icy blue eyes stared into the spot where your soul should have been. The chill sunk deeper into your bones.

The women you loved. They were bleeding out.

“I figured that’s why you flinch when mom touches you,” she continued. “It hurts her feelings.”

You killed them both.

“Auntie Yoko says I smell just like mother,” she said, finally setting her sandwich down and forcing you to hold her gaze. “Do you wish to drain me too?”

It only exacerbated the sharp pain in your chest to see just how much you had taken from her. From your girl. Your Wednesday.

“No,” you said softly. “I would rather be staked.”

The thought of being so near to her forced a shake into your fingers. Your words rang true, whether she believed them or not. If anything were to happen to her by your hand… the thought wouldn’t even form in your mind. It was unfathomable. Nothing could cause you to lay even just a finger on her. You couldn’t.

“Good,” Ophelia said just as softly. She rolled her shoulders back and grabbed her sandwich once again. “Because mom would totes wreck your shit again.”

The day continued as usual, for everyone else. Work was completed, more boxes were removed, and the weather on the walk home was nice. Ophelia talked of the things she had discovered and you knew you should be proud of her. Her work ethic was admirable, and she was beyond clever.

At home, your girls talked of their days. Endless, animated discussions about the weather, what they had done, the cute little frog they had seen earlier. Like mother like daughter, of course. They just talked and talked and took no notice of you setting your things by the door and walking to your office.

The door closed with an almost inaudible click. Everything was in its place, and you quickly reached for the mini-fridge in the small closet. Inside were three bags of blood. Like an animal, you ripped the top off the first and devoured it, the cool liquid pouring down your throat.

It didn’t quench the pain.

You repeated the action with the other two bags, feeling engorged yet unsatisfied. The ache was still present. It was a small miracle you couldn’t see yourself in the mirror; you could feel the damp spots on your shirt and the stickiness on your lips. You opened your mouth to speak and felt the liquid spew from your lips, falling down your face in all directions. You fell into your chair, eyes glued to the red dripping from your fingers. Why did it not help?

Knuckles rapped lightly on your door, but you didn’t comprehend what it meant. The blood stained your fingers quickly. Even if you scrubbed, it wouldn’t come off. It never came off.

A soft hand rested on the spot where your neck connected to your shoulder. You flinched. Their nails scratched lightly against your skin. Fingers pushed past skin and now-exposed muscle. You would recognise the warmth even in the fires of hell.

“So,” Enid said softly. “Ophelia knows.”

“Do you believe I would hurt her?” You asked.

In the mirror, you could see Enid looking down at you. The look in her eyes was different. Pitiful, maybe? Gears turned behind those blue eyes, considering your question. Her answer would dictate the next step. If they were both concerned you would hurt her, you would leave. There was a couch in your office, you could sleep there. It was comfier than the one at your own apartment, you wouldn’t complain.

Enid’s other hand rested on the other side of your neck. Your eyes fell shut at the pure comfort from her touch alone. You could die happy with her hands around your neck, if she so wished it. It would be a rather intimate way to go.

You felt helpless as she tilted your head up. When your eyes opened, you were met with her unwavering gaze.

“If I believed that,” she started slowly, “I wouldn’t have let her stay here.”

Her nails scratched the underside of your jaw. She was close enough that you could smell the perfume she sprayed directly behind her ear. A delectable scent that was entirely Enid. Not overly sweet with a hint of citrus. After all these years, she still wore what appeared to be a strawberry lip gloss.

She was too close.

“You wanted to go on a walk,” you said quickly.

Enid didn’t move.

“Ophelia wanted to go out,” she said. “She’ll be gone for a while.”

“How do you know?”

“She took your wallet.”

You sighed. Of course she had. If she kept it up, your wallet would be kept under lock and key, not even you would be able to use it. That girl was going to rob you blind one day. And by the looks of it, you were going to let her.

“Want to watch a movie with me?” Enid asked.

“Are your parents home?” You asked.

“It never stopped you before,” she said with a smile that you couldn’t help but mirror. “Please?”

How could you say no to her perfected puppy-dog face?

“I’ll change while you get it ready,” you said.

Your undead heart raced in your chest as you both went your separate ways to get ready. The sounds from the TV echoed through the apartment. You stood in front of your dresser, looking at the options, as worried about what to wear as you had been on your first date with her. It left you as giddy as a college kid again.

It took only a moment to put a shirt and shorts on, determined to keep it cozy. You rushed to the bathroom to clean the blood from your face and hands; you needed to be presentable. Thankfully, Enid was wearing the same and already had a spot saved on the couch. A spot directly beside her. Where you would be able to feel her warmth against your thighs.

Deep breath in. Hold. Slow breath out.

“I picked a good one,” she said enthusiastically. “It suits you.”

You couldn’t hold in your laughter as she pressed “play” on Legally Blonde.

“That��s going to be Ophelia one day, just you watch.”

“She’d never be caught dead in pink,” Enid teased.

The movie started, and Enid placed a bowl of popcorn between the both of you, held in place by one of your thighs and one of hers. Strategic. It put just enough space between the two of you that you could feel yourself relax. You couldn’t hurt her over popcorn.

College flashed before your eyes. Watching movies with Enid, which inevitably ended in not watching the movie at all. Her lips on your neck and hands on your hips. Her smooth skin under your carefully controlled teeth. The movie longnce, t forgotten on even the worst of days.

Warm fingers brushed against yours. You blinked once. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Enid’s fingers brushing against yours in the popcorn bowl. Breath caught in your throat. What should you do? Enid never did anything accidentally.

Fuck it.

With buttery fingers, you flipped your hand and wiggled your fingers between hers. It was messy and childish. Enid instantly squeezed your hand owice, three times. Something the three of you had done in college when words were too much, but a gesture was just enough. Three squeezes for three words. Your chest ached.

You turned to face her. She was already looking at you with those hooded eyes that had always been a weakness for you and Wednesday. Enid would play dumb to get ahead, but it never worked for the both of you. You were painfully aware of the tactics she used. The only difference was you still fell for it.

It couldn’t happen. Your eyes searched out every scar she left unhidden. Each bite and clawmark she had received by your hands. You had marred her skin permanently; she would carry you with her until the day she died. It couldn’t happen.

She bit her lip.

Fuck it.

The popcorn bowl fell to the ground as you rushed forward to press a kiss to her lips. Almost instantly, her hand lifted to wrap around the back of your neck, pulling you closer. She tasted of fake butter and too much salt. Her lips were just as soft as you remembered. Softer even, if you were being honest. Blood rushed beneath her skin, sending an electrifying jolt everywhere you touched her. You could hear each heartbeat, forcing your own to match the erratic rhythm.

It was a clumsy kiss. Enid leaned forward to capture your lips again. Something sharp stung the inside of your cheek. Your eyes flew open. You pulled away quickly and turned your face, readjusting your jaw in an attempt to keep your fangs back in check.

“Are you okay?” Enid asked quickly, sitting up and following your movements.

You hummed in reply but started focusing on the pieces of popcorn littering the floor.

“Fangs?” She asked.

Silence. You nodded slowly.

“Performance issues aren’t uncommon in older vampires.”

Your head turned so quickly the bones in your neck cracked. Her hand was already covering her mouth, which you knew hid a smile.

“How dare you,” you whispered.

“I’m just saying, it’s fine,” she said with a shrug. Her hand finally lowered to her lap. “No pressure.”

“That’s pretty rude, Mrs. Addams,” you said.

Enid moved across the couch until she was leaning against your arm. You remained still, allowing her to do as she wished. She removed her hand from yours - you instantly missed the warmth - and pulled your arm over her shoulder until she was cuddled securely into your side.

“This works just fine,” she said. She shimmied a little more until she was situated perfectly. “Wednesday will be jealous.”

Her fingers interlocked with yours again as she fell silent, watching the movie. Your fangs still pricked the inside of your mouth, but it was manageable. Enid was horrifically warm against your side, and her fingers scratched against your skin, and for the first time in over a decade you let yourself lean back on the couch and relax with one of your girls in your arms.

#wenclair x reader #wednesday addams x reader #enid sinclair x reader

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copper-16 · 5 months ago

Text

Remind Me That There’s A Room To Grow Part 3

Broken, rueful, and mended as it should have been.

(a/n: Part 3, here we come! Thank you to everyone who has been reading and commenting on these, I'm so grateful! Reminder for anyone who likes a musical touch that you can find the Spotify playlist here, if you would like. Please enjoy this part, and I would love to hear your feedback about the note at the end!)

Alexia sat on that damn park bench for God knows how long.

She didn’t care if she got no sleep or looked absolutely insane sitting there for hours on end. The things you had told her rattled around in her brain disconcertedly, unending every single thought that attempted to interrupt. The brunette had gone from feeling like she was the most stable and vindicated person on the planet to a feeling as though she were a shell of herself.

This whole time, there had been so much more to the story than she ever could have imagined. And though she knew it really wasn’t their fault, resentment flared within her at how quick Eli and Alba were to blame you for everything.

Everything in Alexia felt anguished. Just thinking about looking at your face made the Catalan feel nauseous, stuck on how distraught you had been. It wasn’t as though she could blame you either, not when she had been so irate.

She had allowed herself to be influenced by every single person around her instead of trusting you, as she always had. She should have trusted herself, should have trusted the fact that she knew something was wrong. The last nine years had been spent giving you the benefit of the doubt, but when it came to it, she had treated you with such animosity.

Never in a million years had she expected the reasoning behind all of this.

Cancer. It seemed impossible for someone who was only eighteen years old, but it wasn’t as though stranger things hadn’t occurred. Now all Alexia managed to think of was how scared and alone you must have felt. She had lost you, but she did so when she was chasing her dreams. You had to watch her leave you behind because of a situation entirely out of your hands.

All this time where she had felt abandoned, and in reality it was the other way around.

What an absolutely fucked up situation.

When the footballer finally stood, a chill wrapped around her and caused her to shiver violently. She didn’t remember it getting cold, but it wasn’t as though she cared about the temperature when her mind was a ruction of emotions.

She booked it back to her car, driving herself toward her Mami’s house in what would have been considered a fury. The brunette knew that her sister was there as well, so she could kill two birds with one stone.

When she arrived, the brunette barged through the door with no care at all for the hinges, her inner turmoil gathering and growing with each and every step she took. She found her family in the kitchen, enjoying some dessert with a glass of wine in each of their hands.

“You were wrong,” Alexia seethed, almost heady with the amount of wrath she felt within her. Eli and Alba both turned to her in an instant, instantly confused at the animosity in her tone. It was so rare to hear the brunette truly upset in the way she was right now, and they glanced at each other for a second before they turned to Alexia fully.

“What happened?” Alba asked, very confused as to what her sister was talking about. They had no idea that the pair of you had talked, but Alexia didn’t care to give them context.

“You both blamed her for leaving me behind, you made her out to be the villain and she never was! This was all of your fault, how could you do this to me? How could you twist my mind in such a way?” Alexia snapped, her whole body tense with rage.

“Alexia, what the hell are you talking about?” Alba demanded, understanding dawning on the subject her sister spoke about but still confused as to the circumstances.

“She was fucking sick, you two. She let me go alone because she had cancer, and she didn’t want me to have to live through it when I was moving away. She broke up with me so I could go chase my dreams and build my career without being bogged down. She gave up her own happiness so that I could have my own,” the brunette spat, her face red with exertion. Whether it was to keep her anger inwards or to stop the tears that burned in the back of her eyes, the Catalan was unsure.

“She did it to protect me, and I gave her the benefit of the doubt for her decision for a decade before you two got so defensive and twisted my mind. She was never the selfish person you made her out to be, she was always the most selfless, empathetic, compassionate of all of us!” Alexia argued, and she seemed only to be growing more and more in her anger.

“Alexia–” Eli tried to interrupt, but she was quickly cut off.

“No! I don’t even want to hear you two attempt to explain yourselves. I don’t want to hear it. I loved her, I love her now, and I’ve fucked it all up with your words in my mouth! She left the conversation in tears, she told me to leave her alone. If you two hadn’t been so horrible about the whole thing, I never would have been so skeptical in the first place!” Alexia was ready to burst at the seams, and she couldn’t handle it.

“Now Ale, we only did that because we wanted to protect y–” Alba attempted to interject, failing just as her mother had.

“I don’t even want to hear it! I am so angry at the two of you, especially considering that you hardly let me get a word in edgewise about her character. She grew up with us, she loves us, and she trusted you with her heart just as much as you trusted her with mine. So don’t sit there and say anything, but maybe think about your own actions!” Alexia finally demanded, her words fervent in manner.

When her mother and sister said nothing but looked at her in shock, the brunette shook her head and chuckled austerely, not a trace of humor in her tone.

“God, and now you don’t even have anything to say for yourselves,” she looked around at her mother’s kitchen as she bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. The midfielder was aware she was only redirecting her anger onto two people whose blame was minimal, but the affliction in her heart needed somewhere to go.

“I have to go, I will talk to you two later,” Alexia said after a second, defeat heavy in her expression as the anger began to drain out of her. It was replaced by an excruciating misery that weighed on her shoulders exactingly, as though it knew that she was really the one to blame in all of this.

She felt as though she had lead in her shoes as she walked out to her car. The drive back to her apartment was done in complete silence, the Catalan unable to deal with anything other than the chaos in her mind.

She barely made it one step in the door before the first sob bubbled up her throat. She finally allowed herself to succumb to it, sobbing so hard that her ribs ached and her eyes swelled, and she had nobody to blame for everything except for herself.

—

Every single person on the team could immediately tell something was wrong with Alexia when she showed up at training the next day.

Alexia had always been the most dedicated of them all, relentless in her pursuit to be better. She was endlessly pushing herself and those around her to be their best selves, and it paid off. The team worked hard, and they looked better than ever. The Catalan had helped to lift them from relative obscurity into a team that people feared to play, and as much as Vicky was their fearless leader, every single player would tell you that the Catalan was their beating heart.

But today? Well, today the brunette looked about two steps away from death as she walked into the changing room.

Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot. Her hair was mildly unkempt, her skin sullen, the bags under her eyes endlessly listless. She kept her head down, and changed as though she wished she could curl up into a ball and never be seen again. The midfielder was usually a quiet person, but today she seemed…unobservant.

Somehow, that made all of it seem worse.

Jenni and Mariona were instantly alarmed because they knew what had happened, while the other girls were both confused and in a state of shock. Nobody had ever seen Alexia this clearly upset, considering the fact that she typically kept things close to her chest.

To be this outwardly downtrodden was incomprehensible, to the point where the rest of the team wasn’t sure how to act toward her. They all seemed to avoid her as though she was radioactive, and she made no attempt to engage with any of them.

Jenni, Mariona, and Vicky, however, had no problem marching over to the Catalan as they created a concerned cocoon around her.

“What happened Alexia?” Vicky questioned gently, only to receive nothing short of the death glare back from Jenni and Mariona in response.

“How did it go?” Mariona amended quietly, hopeful that they might have been able to draw out some sort of reaction from the midfielder. It was clear the conversation had not gone well, but they did not know why.

And sure enough, Alexia’s entire face flashed into something nearly venomous, and she shook her head with what looked to be a clearly concerted effort to remain in control.

“Nothing. I would appreciate it if everyone left me alone and we could conduct training as normal, like we are supposed to be doing,” she managed to grit out pointedly, her voice bolstered with hostility and malice. The three women looked around at each other, none of them in the least bit convinced, but the mutually agreed upon decision seemed to be that they clearly weren’t going to get anything out of the brunette right now.

The midfielder was a monster at training that day, and not in a good way.

Every single ball was launched with a lethal ferocity. Every single pass was too hard, every single first touch sloppy and heavy.

None of the movements were reminiscent of the Alexia that everyone had come to know. It wasn’t great football, it wasn’t even good football. The midfielder was clearly angry at something, and the longer practice went on, the worse it got. The Catalan was frustrated with herself, bitter and enraged at how she seemed unable to play with any ounce of grace.

It felt ironically similar to how she seemed unable to converse with you without accusation, a thought she was ruefully reminded of.

It was when she sent a ball flying angled toward Caro’s head that Vicky and Marta finally pulled the midfielder aside brashly. The captain of the team had taken one look at their manager, whose expression agreed with her own, to know what needed to be done.

“You’re done for the day,” Vicky stated without an ounce of discussion left in the conversation. Alexia certainly wasn’t in the mood to be ordered around as she decisively brushed them off.

“I’m fine, we still have another half hou–” The brunette was cut off without even managing to finish her sentence.

“No. You are done, you’re going to go back to the changing room and take a long shower. You’re going to get dressed and go home and process whatever you’re trying to avoid right now by almost murdering your teammates,” the Barcelona captain dictated with even greater finality, her eyebrow raised as though she dared the younger woman to argue with her.

Alexia looked posed to respond, but when she caught Marta looking back at the Norwegian with worried eyes, she felt the fight drain out of her. The older Spaniard had always had a sweet spot for the nervous Wolfsburg transfer, and seeing it right in front of her eyes made her deflate like a balloon.

She knew that look.

She had lived that look before, when she hadn’t fucked all of this up seven ways to Sunday.

With a reluctant, apologetic glance at Marta, the midfielder nodded her head. She turned on her heels, much to the surprise of her co-captains, who were honestly expecting more of a pushback.

As they watched the midfielder walk off the pitch, they stared at the way her body seemed to curl in on herself, almost as though the brunette couldn’t bear to stand up straight as she stared down at her feet.

“What the hell happened?” Marta asked Vicky as she looked over at her captain. But the Barcelona captain was unable to tear her eyes away from Alexia’s retreating form until it disappeared into the building. It was only then that she looked over at Jenni, who hovered a short distance away from them with a look of unease on her face.

Vicky shook her head before she turned back to the pitch.

“I honestly have no idea,” she replied curtly as she made direct eye contact with Jenni, who seemed to understand the silent request of her captain as she turned back toward practice.

When the team filed in after training was done, Alexia and all of her stuff were gone, nowhere to be seen.

—

Nine years.

You had lived with the grief of losing her for nine years. You would never change your mind on the decision, but God did it feel as though you were sucking the blood out of your body. Even all of these years later, it still stung to think about how much you had lost in that moment.

Alexia took every ounce of happiness and peace with her when she left. While you still had other friends, you were by no means alone, it was never the same without her there. You hardly had to speak a single word for the brunette to understand where your mind was at. There was a closeness to the two of you that was impossible to replace. It hadn’t been the same after she had left, no longer having a confidant who held space for you.

Your father, while a lovely man, was never terribly involved in your life. He loved you, but having children was never his dream, and with how much he worked, you rarely saw him. It was a loss that you didn’t feel rather acutely, especially not when Jaume had swept you into his orbit through your friendship with Alexia. He had loved you like a daughter, and you cherished him for it in a way you had never managed with your own father.

Your two younger brothers, Leo and Adan, had struggled when you had gotten sick. They always looked up to you as their protector and ring leader. Seeing you unable to help, organize, and work as you usually did was strange for them, especially considering the fact that they were only fifteen and fourteen at the time. And while you spent much of your childhood watching over them with a loving gaze, it was your mother who stepped up to take care of them more.

Your mother Paula was a lovely, exuberant woman, if not a touch frazzled. She was a better entertainer than she was a mother, but there was no question she loved the three of you. The two of you had been a team in helping to raise the boys, because while your mother had wisdom you were steadfast in your ability to calm. You had been a significant help in raising the two boys, and your mother had come to rely on you as a result. It had all gotten thrown out of place when you had gotten sick. Your mother tried to pick up the slack, bless her, but she struggled. She did as best as she could until you were declared cancer free, and able to help pick up some of the slack that had been created. It helped that your brothers were compassionate and kind, never one to try and cause too much trouble.

Your mother passed away just a few years ago because of a brain aneurysm, much to the devastation of your father. While you missed her terribly, you never needed her for stability and strength. That was found on your own.

Chemo treatments were mostly done on your own, a book and a sick bag in hand. It was a tough three months, but you made it through with as big of a smile as you could muster. A friend would accompany you occasionally, but they never quite knew what to do when they were there with you. Not that you faulted them for it, but it only made you more exhausted having to entertain on top of feeling ill.

After a grueling few months, the tumor had shrunk enough to be surgically removed, and a few rounds of radiation killed off the last of it. It had been less than a year to get rid of everything, though in your mind it had felt much longer.

Overall, the treatment had gone well from a medical perspective. You had responded well and were declared to be in remission swiftly. You were young and otherwise healthy, making you the perfect candidate to respond to treatment.

That didn’t seem to account for the ache that persisted deep in your chest, but it wasn’t as a result of your sickness. The sense of loss that pervaded your mind for years afterward was impossible to banish. You had not made a mistake, and yet your mind and body betrayed you with a wanton amount of unearned yearning.

There was a restlessness that existed within you, a restlessness that needed to be solved and yet had nowhere to go.

You had begun university toward the end of your treatments and sped through a track in finance, turning heads each and every way you went. There was always a level of intelligence to you that you were aware of, but investment analysis and management came naturally to you it seemed.

Though you had the opportunity to go earlier, you waited dutifully for your brothers to finish school and go off to university before you left your hometown. Leo ended up in Valencia for school, and a year later Adan made the decision to stay in Madrid for his degree.

Once you were certain your brothers were settled, you began to dig for opportunities in your own career. The work you had put in paid off, and you had offers not only in Spain but France, Italy, the United States as well.

You didn’t care about any of that, though. You took the one job that put you directly in Barcelona and decided to figure it out from there.

There was a safety and security to being in the same city as Alexia, even if she had no clue you were there. You were thankful for the move, honestly, thankful for the opportunity to meet new friends and build your own life. The sun forever shined and the city was exciting and vibrant, devoid of the reminders that face you everywhere in Madrid.

Both of your brothers ended up staying in or returning to Madrid, living near your mother until her death and trying to stay vaguely connected to your father. He had struggled immensely in the wake of her passing, but both Leo and Adan never seemed to mind stepping in to keep him on the right path.

By all logical standards, you had a wonderful life. An amazing group of friends, a job you really enjoyed, hobbies you found interesting. It felt like the whole package of what someone would want in their life.

But you found in the morning after your talk with Alexia, there was nothing you wanted to do with this life. You simply wanted to be left alone to rot, and you found that you didn’t care who disagreed. The longing in your heart threatened to swallow you whole, your hatred for your decisions every single day of the last nine years.

You had finally been honest with Alexia, you had told her the truth…but was it worth it?

Based on the feeling inside of you right now, it wasn’t worth it.

You would have taken anger over devastation on her face any day.

You loved her too much to care about your own peace of mind.

And yet…

—

Alexia nearly jumped out of her skin when she unlocked the door of her apartment, only to find that Jenni was sitting on her couch with a glass of lemonade and a raised brow. The midfielder did a complete double take, confounded when she reminded herself that the door had in fact been locked before she came in here.

“How the hell did you get in here?” The Catalan asked with confusion as her heart rate struggled to return to an acceptable level. She looked around her apartment with a perplexed glint to her expression, as though she expected to find the answer laying in front of her in the form of a crowbar or something.

“Oh please, we’ve been friends for many years. We are both allowed to have our little secrets, no?” Jenni diverted, and Alexia shook her head instantly, looking toward the striker with a lost expression.

“What – no?! That doesn’t mean you get to break into my apartment! How did you even get in her–”

“This is not the point of this conversation, Alexia,” Jenni cut her friend off easily, ignoring how bewildered the brunette was as a result of her surprise appearance. The striker settled, a concerned look flashing across her features. “You fucked up that conversation, didn’t you?”

“You’re not allowed to just barge in here whenever you want!” Alexia spat, a sudden rush of anger coursing through her at Jenni’s words. Defensiveness coursed through her veins with a fury, and nobody had managed to pin her down for long enough to have a real conversation with her.

Until now, apparently.

When the raven-haired woman leveled her with a disbelieving stare, the Catalan’s shoulders collapsed just slightly. When Jenni wanted something, she was like a dog with a bone. She would stop at absolutely nothing to get it, and the midfielder knew there was no way of getting out of this conversation with anger or deflections. She sighed forcefully, settling her keys down on her kitchen counter and pressing her head into her hands.

“I did,” she conceded after a moment, her voice shaky and impossibly quiet. When she finally looked up, the torment inside her entire body seemed to reflect in her expression. Jenni felt horrible, seeing how torn up her friend was.

“I fucked everything up Jenni, everything. I came into it with so much aggression and fear, and made all these accusations I don’t even really think I meant,” she admitted with a humorless chuckle, an echo of agony in her words.

Silence cascaded around them, the air thick with regret and despondency.

“She was sick,” Alexia revealed after a moment. She glanced up at Jenni, struggling to control herself. “She was sick, and so she broke things off because she couldn’t leave, but she wanted me to. She saved my career, made a sacrifice for my own happiness, and in return I screamed horrible things at her. What kind of person does that make me?” Alexia pleaded, her voice cracking over the last sentence.

Jenni thought about the question for a moment before she shook her head and looked back at Alexia. There was a compassion in her expression, and the Catalan forced herself to look away in the face of it. She didn’t deserve it.

“It makes you human, Alexia,” the raven-haired woman countered, her words soft and sympathetic, almost saccharine in their amount of sweetness.

“No it doesn’t,” Alexia grumbled under her breath, but Jenni was quick to continue.

“Yes it does. You did not have all the information at the time. And okay, you said some things you regret? Go apologize for them then! You made a mistake, and you feel remorse, Alexia. That in and of itself means that there is love and compassion in your heart.”

“And if she doesn’t accept that apology?” Alexia shot back, fighting to be kind as she was gripped with fear. She looked over at Jenni with a flame in her eyes, anything to hide how upset she truly was. It was easier to mask it than it was to face it, after all.

“Then she doesn’t accept the apology, and life moves on. But you won’t know if you don’t even bother to try,” Jenni offered as she walked over and placed a hand on her friend's shoulder comfortingly.

“Forgive yourself enough to give her the opportunity to forgive you. If she was in your spot, you would do the same. If she cares as much about you as you say she does, I think you have a fighting chance,” the striker suggested, her voice gentle. The brunette remained deep in thought, thinking hard about Jenni’s words. The raven-haired woman let herself out before Alexia could even formulate a response.

And while there were a lot of thoughts swirling around in Alexia’s mind, perhaps the top of the list was that she really, really needed to get a locksmith to her apartment.

—

It was a thought that often consumed the brunette as her career began to take off. It had been a question, something that weighed on her mind in the dark of night when she lay alone.

Was it worth it?

The duty to herself, to her career pulled at her endlessly. Everyone around her was dedicated to their career, putting it above their family at nearly all cost. And she understood, she wanted to be the best. The pull to change the sport, to leave a legacy behind that made women’s football better than where she had started.

But what was the cost?

How many family dinners had she missed? How many birthdays? How many celebrations?

How many moments had she missed, even just the mundane, small things in life. How many inside jokes and how much late night laughter had evaded her because of this choice?

And she knew that her family loved her, and that they understood how important her career was to her. But it never took away from the fact that she was gone often. That unlike her teammates and peers, she spent the least amount of time with her family as the years had passed. Whereas many of her friends grew more committed to their families, getting married and even having children, football had become her sole focus in life.

Other than you, she had never been in a committed relationship with anyone. Her friendships were from football, everything in her life had revolved around football. Protecting her image, embracing the game, doing whatever she could to advance the team and herself to perfection.

It wasn’t until you had stumbled back into her life that suddenly she remembered what it had been like to live a life. And sure, she knew that her career was different now, much more intense. But the Catalan also knew that you never would have allowed her to become so overwhelmingly immersed into her career.

It was less the time commitment and more the mindset she approached her career with that had changed in your absence. Alexia had always assumed that in order to be the best, she had to be so devoted to football in every aspect of her entire life. That there was no room outside of it for distractions.

Her friends hadn’t become worse because they had loved ones, because they took a step back. They were still dedicated, but also well rested and prepared.

The two of you had been together for so many years, and then football had been the thing to divide you. It was Alexia’s career that had been prioritized above you, a decision that you had made and believed in.

Had you really ever thought you were more important than football?

Had she done that? Had she felt that you were more important than football?

All she could think of was how you were sick and alone, a burden to bear alone when you should have been loved and supported.

Alexia was not angry that you hadn’t told her, not by a long shot. But she was furious with the circumstances, with her own choices, with everything else in the situation besides you.

You had meant so much to her, and she had let you go without any recourse. She never even considered that there was so much depth to the decision you had made.

And now here she stood, trying to pick up the pieces of something that had gone from broken to shattered entirely.

Alexia knew that she loved you.

That she still loves you, even after all this time. There were parts of a person that never changed, and she saw it in your expression.

Even after all this time.

Her career came first in every aspect of her life, but maybe just this once it didn’t have to. Maybe some personal happiness was deserved, maybe it could be her choice to try and fix this.

Maybe she deserved a break, or some peace, or to undo all of the mistakes she had made in the last decade. Maybe the choice she made here would make her better, and not worse.

The brunette had no idea if you still loved her anymore, not after the appalling things she had said, but she couldn’t let it go without at least trying to get you back.

She had lost you once, and she wasn’t prepared to let it happen again without a fight.

—

Alexia can’t bring herself to pick up the phone and dial, so she took the coward's way out and texted you to ask for your address.

Much to her surprise, you answered her. It’s nothing more than the address rattled off, but it’s there. The brunette felt her heart constrict for a moment at the thought that it wasn’t really your address, that you had sent her a fake location.

But at the same time, even if that were the case, a part of her would understand. For all the years that she had been hurt and alone and yearning desperately for you, it had been the same for you.

The choice you had made was impossible, indescribable even, and Alexia knows in her heart that her career wouldn’t be where it was without your sacrifice. You had sacrificed your own dream so that she could live hers, and when it all came back to the two of you all these years later, she had completely desecrated that sacrifice without a second thought.

She continued to be appalled with herself over that entire conversation. It was all she saw every time she closed her eyes, the words she had said rattling around in her brain all night long.

The look on your face as she dug herself into a deeper hole, filled with disregard for how much care you had tried to give the situation. It was never going to be perfect, but you had tried to be perfect. And in that moment, she had acted as though it wasn’t enough.

It was.

You had always been more than enough for her, regardless of whether you two were together or not.

Every single time she had laid in bed since, memories both good and bad of the two of you had pooled in her eyes, rolling down her cheek and escaping onto the pillow beneath her.

She had lost her curiosity inside the ferocity of her own judgement, and she regretted it with every molecule inside of her. She regretted it so much that it made her feel physically ill, to the point where she no longer cared about being appropriate or saving face.

It was late in the evening when she drove over to your apartment. She had a plan to go on Sunday morning, but it was Friday night and her self restraint had ground away until it no longer existed.

The Catalan took the steps two at a time up to the third floor, knowing that each moment likely brought her closer to you. She hoped it did, at least. It was highly possible that you were out with friends or doing something fun, as you should be.

But still hope gripped her with a strength she was unaware she ever had. Loving you was never the detractor she had spent the last decade convincing herself it was, but was where she got her strength.

Loving you had breathed life into her and she was silly to have ever thought differently.

She knocked on the door to your apartment before she could stop herself from overthinking every single one of her life choices. Her knuckles struck against the wooden door exactly three times, each one more forceful than the lost.

The brunette waited with everything in her for the sound of anything in the wake of knocking. Any movement, any sign of life, anything. The seconds felt like hours and years as her heart rammed its way into her throat.

And then she heard it, the softness of your voice as you called out that you were coming.

Alexia was known for being a stoic person, never one to overly show emotion. She kept everything close to her chest, and rarely did she express how she was feeling. It took hours of knowing her, and even then she was still hesitant to show weakness.

But the tears were pooling in her eyes even before you opened the door.

And there you were.

Standing in your pajamas, a book in your hand and an expression of mild surprise at the sight of Alexia nearly in tears at your door. It certainly wasn’t what you were expecting, though you knew the footballer had your address.

“Ale?” You questioned softly, your voice barely there. The brunette swallowed thickly, trying and failing to conjure an apologetic smile.

“I am sorry…I meant to come later but I couldn’t…wait,” she finished lamely, rather breathless as she fought to keep the pressure in her throat from turning into full blown sobs. You stared at her for a second, at how tense she was, at the anxiety written across her face. After you had tucked some of the hair away from your face, you stepped back into your apartment and widened the opening of the door.

“Would you like to come in?” You proposed, and the footballer took your offer up with a shaky nod of her head.

The brunette trailed after you further into the apartment. It was a large apartment, but it felt cozy and lived in. Half-burned candles and ear-marked books were strewn around the space, and a throw blanket could be found on every surface.

She remembered that you had always run cold. When the two of you were young and in love, she would whisper to you about the warmth Barcelona would offer, even as she provided you plenty of her own body heat as she laid curled around you.

“Alexia?” You probed lightly, and she shook her head as she glanced up, realizing that she had let her mind wander. Concern and compassion stared right back at her.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” she replied harshly, trying and failing to be discreet as she wiped at her eyes.

“You don’t have to be,” you said delicately, gesturing toward the couch. “Why don’t we sit down?”

You couldn’t help but realize that right now with just one look at Alexia, you already forgave her. Every line etched into her skin was written with devastation and contrition. Somewhere deep within you knew how she felt, and knew that she did not mean the things she had said.

There was so much information to process, so much confusion and chaos, that you had both lost yourselves.

Maybe there was an opportunity to be found again.

You weren’t going to let the weakness of one moment detract from the opportunity that lay in front of you.

You led her over to the couch, and the pair of you settled down across from one another. You sat with your back against one arm of the couch, while Alexia was across from you, her hands on her knees. Her knuckles were nearly white, and you wished in that moment to reach out and soothe the ache in her heart, even if you knew that you couldn’t. When the midfielder turned toward you, all you found facing you was suppliance.

“I cannot explain to you how sorry I am,” she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. “I had no idea the sacrifice you had made for me, I had no idea that there was so much more behind all of this. I was foolish to believe that you broke up with me over something selfish or petty.”

She seemed to bite her words back, as though her self-loathing was simply too great of a burden to contain for a moment. When she settled, the Catalan continued.

“I never should have spoken to you that way. The truth is that I’ve spent the last nine years missing you, thinking about you, unable to get myself over the years we spent together. It feels as though you’ve been out of my life as long as you were in it, and I hate that. I hate that I haven’t been able to grow with you. I hate that when I lay awake at night I miss you with an ache I cannot even begin to describe to you. I hate that I wasn’t able to be there for you when you needed me. I hate that your sacrifice probably saved my career, even though I wish with everything in me that I was there for you when you needed me,” Alexia finally admitted, deciding to be nothing but brutally honest.

“And I won’t lie to you and say there haven’t been other women in the years without you, but God it never compared to you. I didn’t give a shit about any of them, and I never really expected to. You’re intertwined within my soul in a way I don’t even fully understand, and living without you feels like walking around missing a limb. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten over you, and I tried to force football down my throat because if it was the reason I lost you, it had to be worth it.”

“I miss your smile and your laugh. I miss the way you roll your eyes at me when I do something ridiculous, or how patient you are with me when I get frustrated. I still find myself looking for you in every crowd, at every family gathering, everywhere. When I finally did see you again, it felt like a fever dream. The one thing I’ve wanted for the last nine years was granted to me, and there you were.”

“You were standing there so perfectly and in one piece, and inexplicably, you seem to care about me still. I never could have imagined that happening, even if I dreamt about it every single night of my life that you haven’t been in,” Alexia continued, allowing herself to take a deep breath and center herself. Frustration passed over her face for a moment, entirely

“I fucked this up royally, I know. I let the fear in my heart and the fear that those around me held get in the way of seeing the truth, and I need you to know how sorry I am. I never should have treated you that way. I never should have acted toward you with such hostility. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I need you to know that everything I said, I don’t believe. You are brave and wonderful and empathetic, and so, so, extraordinary. Please do not let anyone else ever say that you are not,” Alexia urged, looking at you with such clear intent you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“I still love you, Flori. I think that I always will. My heart knows what it means to love and be loved by you, and nothing will ever compare to that feeling. My heart was always yours to break, and I don’t care if you do it once or twice or a million times. All I know is that even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know that I love you,” Alexia said with finality, barely able to see against the blur of tears that swarmed in her eyes.

You stood up from your end of the couch slowly while her eyes tracked every single one of your movements. You walked closer to her, settling down next to her as closely as you could while you reached over to place your shaking hands against the frame of her face.

“You big, blithering idiot, of course I still love you,” you whispered fiercely, your face scrunched up somewhere between disbelief and teasing. Alexia let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was even holding, the entire upper half of her body collapsing into you.

It was easy for you to catch the brunette, cradling her against you as she sobbed without restraint against you. It was easy to rock her back and forth softly, while you whispered sweet nothings into her ears. And it was just as easy to pull her away from you and utter the words she never thought she would hear.

“I forgive you, and of course I still love you Ale. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and you still are. I’m right here, and I don’t plan on going anywhere, if you’ll have me. We might have lost our chance when we were young, but maybe we can have another one?” You proposed hopefully, almost with disbelief. Neither of you ever expected for this to be anywhere near possible, but here you both were.

The Catalan’s expression broke entirely, silent tears rolling down her cheeks in defiance as she placed a hand on your arm and held it tightly.

“I’m here,” was all she could manage, but it was enough.

You leaned into her slowly as you glanced down at her lips, giving her time to pull away. It was a concern you needn't be worried about when she met you halfway, the feeling one of muscle memory even after all this time. You could taste the salt from her tears and yours as you kissed her.

“Please stay,” you murmured through the ball in your throat as you pulled away just a touch, and Alexia gripped you impossibly tighter as she pulled you into a hug.

For the first time in nine years, you fell asleep that night with the footballer’s body curled around your own, the feel of her chest breathing steadily against your back as she held you in her arms with content.

It was the first time in a long while that you had felt warm enough when going to sleep, and hope ballooned inside you fervently.

#alexia putellas x reader #Alexia Putellas #barcelona femeni #jenni hermoso #mariona caldentey #woso x reader #Woso

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chuellas · 5 months ago

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Echoes of Silence | E is for Edging

⤷ Ft. Dazai Osamu

V. A. L. E. N. T. I. N. E.

Warnings | Fem!Reader, N.SFW, 18+ only, edging, slight mind break, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, WC: 1k

A/N: Idk why but I struggled so hard with writing this one, I hope it came out just as well as the rest did <3

Dazai had been clingy all day, performatively so. You could sense that something was off, even for Dazai the dramatics were a little much. But trying to pry it out of him was never an option, so when he asked to come over you were simply resigned to accepting.

It has been what feels like hours since Dazai came over to your dorm and each passing second is becoming even more agonizing than the last. Dazai is toying with both of you tonight. He was quick to strip you of your clothes and have his way with you before the front door even fully shut. His desperate hands exploring your skin with urgency.

Nightly visits like these usually only last about an hour, maybe two, but tonight is definitely different. It’s been almost three hours and Dazai isn’t letting either one of you finish. You’ve been on the edge for probably two and half of those hours and it’s torture.

This is cruel and unusual punishment and it’s all Dazai’s fault.

Every time one of you is about to come he slows down or pulls out completely only to distract you by kisses. His lips sear every inch of your body. Dazai gives you absolutely no time to protest or to rest. It gives you each only a few moments before he’s diving into you again with the same agonizing pace he’s set, slower and harder than usual.

You're a mess, your brain has been turned to mush and the only coherent thought you’ve managed to keep intact is the need to release. Your ability to speak is in the same condition. Pleas of your need to release spilling from your swollen lips, but they fall on deaf ears because Dazai clearly has no plans of granting any of your requests.

The brunette is too caught up in his own need to release. He isn’t just torturing you, but himself too. He can’t rip his eyes away from the way your glistening sloppy cunt sucks him in and keeps a vice grip hold. He’s not sure where the self control is coming from but he barely manages to keep this up. The only thing keeping him from letting you finally cum is the thought of having to go back to his dorm and spend the rest of this night alone with his own thoughts.

He’d be damned if he let that happen when your company is so, so much sweeter than his own.

Even now, your incoherent words sound like music to his ears. “‘Samu…’Samu, please. I can't- ‘s too much- ahh- I need to- oh my god- I need to cum, please, please…”

It’s getting harder for Dazai to deny you and he thinks he’s on the verge of giving in. Even so, Dazai’s movement instinctively slows down and you let out a hiccuped sob. He looks down at you and he really thinks he’s gonna lose all senses. You are a beautiful mess — a devastatingly beautiful mess. Your hair is matted down on your face from a mix of tears and sweat. Your eyes rimmed red from the amount of crying you’ve done. Skin flushed the prettiest pink color and marks littered your body, courtesy of Dazai himself.

In the split moment it takes for the agent to admire you, clearly distracted, you wrap your legs around his waist. It’s your desperate attempt to keep him close and finally give you what you’ve been begging him for. As if Dazai’s conviction hadn’t already been crumbling, this was the final blow to send it crashing all the way.

Dazai picks up his speed and crashes his lips into your own as you both finally find that release you’ve been chasing for hours. Your room is filled with muffled moans mixed together and the wet sound of Dazai’s hips crashing into yours before stilling completely and spilling inside of you. Everything is dizzy and Dazai can’t form a single thought. His mind is filled with fog and his ears stuffed with cotton. Nothing is registering but the white hot pleasure pooling in his stomach and spreading through his entire body like electricity.

His length throbs inside of you with each release of his seed that he’s pouring into you. The build up made his plummet last longer than it usually would. His whole body twitches, already hypersensitive and he hasn’t even completely finished inside of you yet. Dazai’s vision focuses and you’re in no better shape. Your eyes are still screwed shut and your body is borderline convulsing. The tight grip you have around both his waist and his cock keeps him from pulling away from you at all.

When you’ve both come down, the brunette can’t bring it in himself to get up to clean himself and leave. Instead he collapses into your hold, laying face down into your chest. By the sound of your breathy chuckle and the way you begin to run your fingers through his hair, despite it being wet from sweat, Dazai can tell you’ve come back to reality.

Dazai shifts, making an effort to pull away but the action is stiff. He doesn’t want to leave but he knows if he doesn’t, he will be overstaying his welcome. Your hold on him, however, doesn't falter and you let out a soft hum.

“Stay.” Dazai’s head shoots up at that and he just stares at you for a few moments. You’re visibly nervous and start to elaborate when you really don’t need to because Dazai was already sold by the single syllable. “It’s later than usual and I really don’t mind the company. Also your body must be exhausted.”

Dazai tries to widen his eyes in shock but the detective’s eyelids become too heavy for him to keep open anymore and he wordlessly resigns. His head drops back to your chest — this time he makes sure to make himself more comfortable on top of you. He decides to stay nestled in between your thighs even though he’s softened now.

Dazai doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t think he has to, his body language is enough to tell you he’s not going anywhere.

#dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd x reader #bsd smut #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs smut #dazai x you #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x you #dazai x fem!reader #bsd x fem!reader #bungo stry dogs x fem!reader #bsd dazai #writings ʚїɞ

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idk-karla · 9 days ago

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The Neighbor, pt.3

Pairing: bucky barnes x single!mom!reader (Post Thunderbolts)

Summary: Bucky's internal battle about his feelings for you

Author's Note: Couple things: 1. I don't feel confident writing in Bucky's POV so sorry I had to go third person to show you his perspective. Also didn't mean for it to be a slow burn but here we are lmfao. 2. didn't mention it here, but Sam will be in future chapters. I don't accept any Stucky divorce, those are my fathers. 3. Ya'll, I went down this Bucky rot and started writing this story and I genuinely didn't expect anyone to like it as much. I just wanna say thanks for you tumblr girlies, you guys have been sooooo amazing. My light in dark times, truly. Thank you. 😭

Part 2

Masterlist

Bucky felt different lately.

Lighter, somehow. Like the weight of the world wasn’t crushing him the way it used to. The shift had been subtle at first, a tension he hadn't realized he’d been carrying slowly starting to ease. Then a quiet he hadn’t known he craved settling in… something oddly close to peace. Not absolute peace. Bucky was not a man that was ever going to have absolute peace, but he hadn’t expected to have any. But now those quiet moments where his mind usually got loud with all the bad memories were coming less and less. Now those quiet moments were filled with thoughts of a little girl who started leaving crayon dinosaurs in his mailbox and her gorgeous mother.

God the way she looked at him undid him every time. She looked at him like he was a man. Not an Avenger. Not the Winter Soldier. Just… Bucky. A man worthy of softness, worthy of sharing her time with her, worthy of being in her daughter's life. Of staying.

He liked that she was patient. Kind. She never pushed, never pried. And when she listened, she really listened, like what he said mattered. She never flinched when he got quiet. Never rushed to fill the silence. She let it be there between them, unthreatening and soft.

And Ellie. God, that kid had him wrapped around her sticky little finger with. She greeted him like he was a hero every time he walked through the door. The way she trusted him, loved him without hesitation, was almost overwhelming. It made something ache in his chest, something he hadn’t dared to name in years.

It made him think about a family. A dream he had given up long ago, especially with his past. No woman would ever want to be with a 107 year old brain washed, retired assassin. But in the warmth of her smile and the back of his mind that familiar thought had crept in, dangerous and warm. What if?

He’d started spending more time at his apartment than the compound. He was even thinking about buying real furniture for the first time since moving in, maybe even secretly taking a damn cooking class- not because he gave a shit about cooking, but because she did. Because she smiled when she cooked, and he’d do anything to keep that smile on her face.

His team was also starting to notice the changes, unfortunately for him. John was already suspicious about how much time he was spending away from the compound after months of practically never leaving. Ava had chewed him out for missing a sparring session, and he’d taken the tongue-lashing in silence, only half-listening as he stared at his phone with a text from her still unread.

He hated to admit, the sneaking around the team made him feel young. Like a teenager again. He was nervous to tell them. They were his found family, the only family he had after nearly a century of blood and gore. What if they didn’t understand? What if they thought he was getting too soft?

He hadn’t even told her how he felt. He wanted to. God, did he want to. If it was up to him he would fall face first into her and never let her go again. And he had sneaking suspicion she felt the same way. There were signs: lingering glances, the way she always found a reason to touch him, knocking on his door because she needed sugar when he himself had carried her groceries, sugar included, in a few days before. But every time he got close to saying something, the fear crawled in.

To say Bucky had lived a hard life would be an understatement. He remembered every atrocity he had committed and just how many enemies he’d created. What if someone used them to get to him? What if she got hurt? What if Ellie got hurt? What if the Winter Solider programming was still in him and he hurt them? The thought of either of them in danger made him want to punch through a steel tank. The thought of him being the hurting them made him want to curl into a ball and die.

Not to mention, he hadn’t had a real relationship in decades. He barely knew how to flirt, let alone be someone’s partner. She deserved better. And yet… he couldn’t stay away.

Now he stood in front of a punching bag, beating it like he could pummel the thoughts right out of his head. Even with the extra weight the bag carried to accommodate for his super-soldier strength, he was hitting it so hard the metal chains suspending it from the ceiling groaned with every strike. His vibranium fist met leather with a thunderous thump that echoed through the training room.

“Easy,” Yelena called from the doorway, twirling two knives between her fingers. “Valentina’s gonna throw a fit if you break a fifth punching bag this week. Those things are custom-made and expensive as hell.”

“Valentina can kiss my a-”

“You’re always such a ray of sunshine, James.” She used his first name like a weapon, and it hit its mark. She always did that when she wanted to needle him, and usually he’d just roll his eyes. Today, though, he wasn’t in the mood. The growl that rose from his chest wasn’t entirely playful.

“You’ve been acting suspicious lately,” Yelena said, circling him like a cat with too much energy and not enough prey.

“Fuck off,” He muttered, low and annoyed.

“Hmmm, I don’t think I will.”

Yelena threw her knives across the room without warning. They sliced clean through the practice dummy and into the wall that was already Swiss-cheesed with all kind of weapon holes. Bucky would seriously have been worried about it collapsing if it hadn't been made from pure concrete.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re in a crappy mood or you’re gonna make me guess?” She ducked past him and yanked her knives from the dummy, sauntering back.

“No,” Was all he replied. He watched her from the corner of his eye, still facing the bag, his fists clenched at his sides. He didn’t swing again. Just let the bag sway in front of him.

He doubted Yelena would be the right person to give him dating advice. Truthfully, if he had to call anyone, he would call Sam. But he knew Sam was going to lose his mind over this like a 15 year old girl, so had been avoiding him.

Yelena shot him a grin that could only be described as evil. Shit. He was screwed. She’d tear the truth out of him with her bare hands.

She was low-key his favorite, though he’d rather eat glass than admit it. He got along with most of the team. Ava was intense, but fair. Alexei was unhinged and hilarious. Bob liked books, which made for some quiet conversations in the downtime. He even tolerated John, with effort. But Yelena understood things about him no one else could. The darkness. The noise. The way silence could sometimes feel like a scream. She got on his nerves more often then not, they all kind of did, but he would move heaven and hell for them. The same way he would do it for her.

That was the only feeling that didn’t scare him. If there's one thing Bucky knew was how to fight. How to protect. He would do it for his team. For her. For Ellie.

“Is someone after you?” Yelena brought him back out of his thoughts. Bucky frowned, but didn’t respond. He went back to the punching back while Yelena ran down the options: “John used your favorite towel and now it smells like Axe body spray and narcissism?”, “You finally downloaded that dating app I told you about and got catfished.” “Did Alexei throw out your favorite hair gel in one of his cleaning frenzies?”

Until she said, “Holy shit, is it a woman?”

Bucky groaned, turning his back to her and slamming the bag so hard the chain rattled. “Yelena.” He finally replied in a warning tone.

That must’ve been confirmation enough because she stopped what she was doing to squint at him. “Oh my god, it is!”

“It’s not, shut up.”he snapped, crossing his arms like a sulking teenager.

“You’re lying so badly it hurts.” She was practically bouncing now. “Tell me why this girl has you ready to disintegrate a punching bag, Barnes.”

She pulled on her wraps and gloves, gearing up. “You’ve seemed… lighter lately. Not so broody. But today,” she gestured to his face “you’ve got that angry puppy dog look again.”

Bucky sighed, wiping sweat from his brow. “Christ somehow you’re more annoying than Sam.”

“You’re either going to have to beat me unconscious or tell me because I'm not gonna let it go..” She launched into a spar without warning. He barely blocked the first hit. They fell into rhythm, trading blows and dodges, movements tight and controlled. Bucky was glad for the distraction, hoping he could keep her from talking anymore.

But true to her word, Yelena added, “I saw that glittery handmade postcard you were trying to hide the other day. Found it under your pillow.”

He stopped, stunned. “You went through my stuff?”

“You won’t talk to me,” she said simply, like that justified everything.

“Not cool, Yelena.”

“Who gave it to you?”

He hesitated. “My neighbor.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “The drawings were pretty infantile for a neighbor.”

"Her mom. Her mom is my neighbor."

A pause. Then: “That’s who’s got you all mopey?”

He rolled his eyes, punching just past her ear. “She’s… different.”

That made Yelena go quiet. Really quiet. Her stance softened, the teasing dropped away like a mask. And somehow, that silence was worse than the banter. So he filled it.

“She’s good,” he added quietly. “Like… real good. The kind of good that makes you want to be better. I don’t want to drag her into… this.” He gestured vaguely at the walls, hard and imperfect as him.

Yelena stepped forward and jabbed two fingers into his chest. “It’s not dragging if she chooses to walk beside you.”

“She deserves more.”

“So do you.”

He looked down. “Being with me puts her and her daughter in danger.”

Yelena took a breath and backed up, fists raised again. “You broke a mind-control program with nothing but willpower. You single handedly toppled governments. You scare grown men just by walking into a room. You’re not afraid they’ll get hurt, Barnes. You’re afraid you will.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying you’re using the past as a shield,” she said, and hit him hard in the ribs. “Because you’re terrified of what happens if you let someone actually love you.”

He didn’t respond.

“You’re scared she’ll look at you one day and see the Winter Soldier.”

He flinched.

“Newsflash, grandpa. She already knows who you are. And she’s still letting you into her life. Her home.”

Yelena tilted her head. “So what are you gonna do?”

He let out a slow breath. “I don’t know.”

Part 3.5

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rogue-durin-16 · 2 months ago

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HEAD-TO-HEAD (part XXVI/?)

Summary: Joe thought she was pretty. Had he just said that, things might have been different for them. Maybe they wouldn't have gone head-to-head at each other for three years like it was a contest.

Pairing: Joseph Liebgott x Reader

Genre: angst splattered with fluff/rivals to lovers

Tags:

Head-to-head: @derersketnoget @ladystardustfromarss @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @sxalbatf @jetjuliette @luvrottt @fromjupitertocentauri @ecompstolemysoul @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @bitter-post-millennial @gotxpenny @knight-of-thesun @scottstr3et @aliciax3

Band Of Brothers: @fernando-jpg @chubbypotatoepie @tvserie-s-world @clumsy-wonderland @lordndsaviorwinters @lanadelray1989 @chanshugsaretherapy @hoddystark @gotxpenny

Permanent taglist: @randomparanoid @karlthecat15722 @thebutchersdaughtersblog @amourtentiaa @comfort-reads

Warnings: language, blood, gore, violence

A/N: GOD WE MADE IT. Okay I hope y'all enjoyed the ride, because GODDAMN IT'S BEEN SIX MONTHS. What are we gonna do now huh? I'm kidding, I see y'all's requests and I'll be working on them. Thank you for sticking around for this long ass fic that took over my Tumblr. Enjoy<3

Head-to-head masterlist

Band of Brothers masterlist

Rogue-durin-16 masterlist

The wind out on deck had teeth, but I needed the bite. Inside the ocean liner, there wasn't a single noise I could stand anymore; laughter, yelling, crying. I knew it was time to bolt when I saw some of the boys exchanging addresses—one last attempt to postpone losing ourselves to the real world.

I had made up my mind about it long ago. Contact would just make everything worse. What the fuck would I write, anyway? 'Hey, I hope you're good. Everything still hurts.'

I leaned against the railing, one palm braced against cold metal, the other flicking my lighter under the lip of a bent cigarette I'd pull out of a half empty pack on my way out.

Flick. Nothing.

"Piece of shit." I muttered, shaking it once. I gave it one more try. Still dead. Two set of footsteps walked by and stopped right at the turn. I didn't care, so I didn't look.

"How did you manage to get through the war with that shit lighter?"

My heart just about gave out.

I turned slowly, disbelieving. Y/n's eyes meet mine as she retraced her steps and approached me, mouth curled around the ghost of a tight-lipped smile. It read as a bittersweet greeting, as much as an apology.

"Fuck." I breathed, frozen halfway through the motion. She snatched the cigarette out of my mouth, trapped it between her teeth and lit its end in the blink of an eye. Handed it back and stared at the side, overlooking the fact that she had knocked the air out of my lungs with what had become a mundane motion between us.

Because I couldn't remember the last time we had shared a cigarette, nor the last time I'd seen her smile. I couldn't remember much, I was realizing just now, aside from blood splattered on the hotel's hallway and sheer fear and white-hot rage.

Three Months Earlier

Fist met cheek with a wet crack. Ramirez didn't hold back. None of us were. Not after what this bastard had done.

The private—the fucker who'd pulled the trigger—was sagging in the chair, split lip pouring red, eye already swelling shut. I had a fistful of his greasy hair, yanking his head up harsh enough to tear it every time his head dropped.

"Where's the damn gun?" Bull insisted.

The private didn't answer. He had stopped answering around thirty minutes ago. Maybe he thought he could sit through this, take the beating, walk it out. So I leaned forward for him to hear me loud and clear.

"You're gonna give us that fuckin' gun," I hissed through gritted teeth, voice steady and mean. "Then I'm gonna shoot your brains out with it."

I meant it. Every syllable.

The bloodshot eye he could still open dragged away from me and over my shoulder, widening with sobering recognition.

"Do I ring any bells?" she asked, voice lethal, carrying through the room and straight into the replacement's ears.

My hand kept the iron grip on his locks as I spun to check I hadn't gone insane. Sure enough, there she was, leaning against the far wall of the lounge. Her tank top clung to her like gauze, stained with the dark crust of blood that hadn't quite dried. Barefoot. Pale. Skin slick with sweat or fever—I couldn't tell which.

I couldn't tell much aside from the fact that she shouldn’t be standing.

"You sonofabitch." in the blink of an eye, she was on the move, stalking across the floor like death itself in cotton and blood. The lightbulb made a flash of metal flicker in her hand. A blade.

"Hey—no," I dropped the culprit's head to intercept her halfway. Her body crashed into mine, all heat and tremble, and I took the opportunity to keep the blade at bay by restraining her wrist. It felt wrong how easy that was. "What are you doing?"

Her breath came in short, hard puffs; her glare, glassy and furious, trained on the slumped man behind me as she spat, "I'm gonna bleed him like a pig."

"When you think she can't get more stupid," Martin muttered somewhere in my left, and God was he right.

She was shaking, too light and too hot, holding herself together by the same furious grief that had left my knuckles busted and my sleeves blooded.

"Let me go." She writhed in my grip, trying to push past me. I halfheartedly held firm.

"Not happening."

"Let her try."

"Shut up, Alton." Don jumped in, pushing himself off the chimney's corner. He moved closer, catching Y/n's elbow from behind to gently make her step back. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

Y/n shook him off hard. Too hard. She gasped and staggered, one hand flying to her side as if pressing the dressing would stop the stitches from pulling.

"Shit—" I cursed, catching her again before she toppled over. "Stop. Fuckin' stop, alright? Please." With one arm desperately wrapped around her waist, I walked her back a step. Two. She was burning through the cloth and I couldn't do anything to fix it.

Her forehead hit my shoulder for half a second, like she was just so goddamn tired.

The door flung open with a thud, grabbing our full attention. Speirs' boots stopped right before the beaten up soldier, who was still trying to look smug through a face that was more pulp than person.

"Where's the gun?" Speirs questioned, faux calm reining in his ruthlessness.

The bastard had the nerve to smirk as he threw the same quip that had been earning him the punches. "What gun?"

The back of Speirs' sidearm caught him across the face, splitting the other cheek clean open.

"When you talk to an officer," Speirs' tone lacked patience and dripped with danger. Not a good sign. "you say Sir." He raised the pistol. Pointed it directly at the private's forehead.

Everyone stepped back, almost unnoticeably. We all heard the stories. No one wanted to look. No one but Y/n, whose chin was tilted just enough to watch the scene over my shoulder, her free hand holding onto my jacket for support.

The room held its breath for a second or a minute, before our commanding officer spoke again. "Let the MPs take care of this piece of shit."

On cue, More and Bull got a careless hold on the private by his arms and dragged him out of the room, a chorus of muted grunts echoing behind them.

Talbert, who had trailed into the lounge after Speirs, asked tentative, "Is Grant dead?"

"Kraut surgeon says he's gonna make it." He announced while shoving his sidearm back into his holster. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding.

Y/n straightened up the best she could, her palm rapidly tapping my shoulder. "Joe, let go."

I didn't have time to react before our Captain entered my peripheral vision, his crimson splattered hand wrapping around Y/n's bicep to pull her away from my arms.

"The hell are you doing on your feet, Sergeant?" He inquired, sharp gaze scanning Y/n's covered ribcage. She didn't get to make up an excuse. "First Sergeant Talbert, why isn't Y/l/n in the hospital?"

Talbert hesitated. "Sir, Spina—"

"Spina's a medic, she needs a damn doctor." He peeled her away from me, aiding her with more care than the man would admit to later. "C'mon, we're driving you to the hospital."

Maybe I should've said something. To her, to Speirs, to anyone. Should've gone with her. I just stood and watched them carry her out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

I willed my brain snap out of it, shaking my head imperceptibly as if to physically pull me out of the stupor.

"Thought you got shipped to the States." I attempted.

"Got shipped to England." Y/n corrected me. "Got word the Toccoa veterans were leaving, so I hitched a ride." She tucked the lighter into her pocket and leaned back against the railing, her moves obviously slower and more mindful despite her pretending otherwise. "Surprise."

I dragged hard on the cigarette, just to keep my hands busy. "No one said anything."

"Wasn't trying to make a big entrance."

"No shit." I turned back to the dark water, standing shoulder to shoulder with her, the sound of waves against metal echoing below. "Malarkey knows?"

"I'll look for him."

The Statue of Liberty was still a distant speck behind gray clouds.

"We won." she commented matter-of-factly, trying to build a conversation from scratch. As if that had ever worked with us.

Still, I indulged her effort.

"Yeah. We did."

"You hear about Japan?"

"Who didn't?" I flicked the ashes off board. "Whole world's gone to hell and back."

She nodded, foot tapping the planks. "Heard some of the guys stayed back in England."

"Can't blame them." I said, because 'I considered it' would arise questions I didn't want to answer. Not to her, not to anyone.

At the turn of the deck where Y/n had come from, movement caught my eye—someone lingering at a cautious distance, arms crossed, watching the scene. It took me a second to recognize Andrew. He looked different; older, duller. Out of place, just like we'd all be in a couple of hours.

"Where'd he come from?" I asked, nodding toward him, doing my best to keep my tone in check.

"He came to see me at the hospital." She threw a look over her shoulder, not so much to check what was I looking at as it was to make sure he was still there. "Found me pretty quick. Guess being the mail boy has its privileges."

I nodded, exchanging the sight of the man for the horizon's; the faint outline of New York parted the sky from the ocean.

I could've looked for her when we got to England. I should've asked around. Wouldn't have been too hard—tracking down a female paratrooper. Why didn't I?

"Why don't you go in?" I said after a while, mentally drawing a line in the sand. "Let the fellas see that pretty face of yours got the color back."

She shrugged, tugging at a loose thread on her fatigues' sleeve. "I'd rather stay here."

The silence stretched. Only the churn of ocean filled it, that and the creak of footsteps from restless soldiers wandering behind us. I glanced over at her.

"You going back to Norfolk?" I asked.

She breathed out a single laugh, almost amused. "Where else would I go?"

I bit back a reckless offering. 'You could come with me' wasn't something she'd like to hear. It wasn't something I'd like to lay out between us either, bare and desperate like a child begging not to go home yet.

What was home, anyway?

"You going back to San Francisco?" she echoed my question, her observant gaze skimming over me.

"We'll see about that."

Another pause. Another crack in the conversation we couldn't quite patch.

"Luz is asking for everyone's address," I said it like an afterthought, pretending I wasn't desperate to push her away before I spilled unwanted truths all over the outdoor deck. "You should go give him yours before he realizes you're on the ship and chases you for it."

"Maybe I will." She gave a half-smile that didn't reach her eyes. "What's your address, Liebgott?"

I looked down at the cigarette burning between my fingers. Hesitated. "Can't remember." That was a lie, yet it felt cleaner than the truth.

Her face fell when she put together the pieces, reading between lines what I'd already decided. She took a breath. Resignation. "Tell you what," she folded her arms over her chest, the words sticking halfway in her throat. "I think I'm gonna miss you."

A joke, most likely, but it didn't land like one.

"Don’t worry," I ran my free hand through already disheveled locks. "one month with lover boy Andrew and you won't even remember my name."

She stared at me like I had offended her. Maybe I had. Maybe I deserved to see her scoff, turn heel and leave me there.

With a sigh, she reached for my hand. Took it in hers. Pressed something into my palm.

Her lighter.

"Keep it," she said. "Or throw it overboard, I don't care. I hate smoking anyway."

She lingered for a beat, then leaned in and kissed my cheek. Quick. Chaste. Soft enough to fucking kill me. I tried to catch her lips with mine on instinct, but she was already pulling away. Like she knew. Like she had felt me move and decided to purposefully beat me to it.

She squeezed my arm, warm and final, and walked back to her friend without another word.

I stared at the lighter in my hand.

America grew closer, and I felt my heart break.

We'd run out of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

READER'S P. O. V.

The noise at the docks was deafening, overwhelming—cheering, crying, shouting names into the chaos. The second our boots hit New York's soil, the world broke open in celebration.

We were being swallowed by the crowds. Men from Easy jostled shoulder to shoulder, some already sprinting toward waiting families, others standing still, lost. Flags waved, hats flew, the scent of salt and steel mixed with perfume from people who hadn't known the inside of a uniform. Someone threw a bouquet. A woman screamed someone's name and collapsed into his arms.

In the middle of it all, I felt a hand close around my bicep, forced gentleness barely masking urgency, and tugged me slightly away from Andrew before anyone could clock it. The ruckus swallowed the movement.

"What's the lighter for?" Joe's clipped question went right into my ear.

Thrown by a question I didn't expect to hear, I turned to face him. We were being pushed and pulled by bodies on all sides, but he kept me tethered. "Smoking, hopefully." I tried. "Don't burn shit up with it. It's got my initials."

He exhaled sharp through his nose, tugging on my arm just enough to pull something else out of me. I didn't have it in me to fight it, so I gave in.

"Don't want you to forget me." I confessed, fear, heartache and embarrassment bubbling to the surface all at once.

His grip tightened, and his voice raised. "Don't need a fucking lighter to remember you."

I opened my mouth, but someone bumped me from behind. I stumbled forward, into him. His hands caught me like it was second nature at this point.

"You don't have to keep it," I insisted, placing a hand on his chest as a leverage to push myself a step back. "I told you to throw it away if you—"

"I'm in love with you."

It hit harder than a gunshot, straight to the chest.

"Head over heels for fuck knows how long," he went on, not looking away from me for a second. "It's fuckin' pathetic. I don't need a lighter to remember that, alright?"

My pulse was too loud in my ears. A lump in my throat blocked any response I would have wanted to give him. Someone shoved through again, knocking him slightly off balance. His hand left my arm for a second.

"Keep it," was the only sentence I managed without having my voice shattering. "Please."

Joe muttered something under his breath—'fuck', maybe—and reached for his dog tags. Before I could ask what he was doing, he slipped the chain over his head, the rusted star of David glinting under the sun, and looped it over my neck instead. They were warm from his skin.

His hand lingered at the base of my nape for a second before he leaned in, kissed my temple, and spoke against my hair, "Take care of yourself."

I grabbed the front of his jacket. My fingers found his collar and brought him into a kiss, quiet, barely there, but enough.

Enough.

He kissed me back.

And then he let go.

I watched him disappear into the crowd, into a hundred people moving in a hundred directions, oblivious to yet another goodbye among all the reunions.

"Y/n! God, I thought I'd lost you. C'mon!"

Andrew's voice called behind me, so I walked back toward him on reflex, leaving my heart somewhere on the dock.

'I'm in love with you'.

Too late for it to matter.

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monstersholygrail · 1 month ago

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Octopus Hybrid Bff Pt 3

Preview— Patreon Exclusive

Octopus Hybrid bf x fem!reader— groping, grinding, multiple orgasms, a lot of sex, tentacles filling your every hole, fingering, edging, aftercare

If Octopus Hybrid Bff thought he was losing patience with you before he had gotten a taste of your perfect fat cunt, then he was practically hanging on by the world’s thinnest thread by now.

He had finally done it. Had you underneath him, writhing against him, and squirting on his massive cock over and over again. All night long. You both literally missed your first classes the next day. And by the time you were able to stand, your ability to walk was shaky at best.

And your bff was a complete freaking idiot and he knew it. Instead of convincing you to be his mate and finally confess his feelings for you, he got lost in you.

You had him pussy whipped for you after the first damn climax. It just kept getting worse from there. Every time your pussy fluttered around his girth and clamped down on him, basically begging for him to slam his length down even deeper, he got a little more brainless.

You fucked him stupid, stripped every pretty little thought out of his himbo brain.

He whimpered with every thrust, tears fell down his cheeks till you kissed them all up. Which only made him cry and fuck into you even harder.

By the end of the night, or morning technically speaking, he didn’t have a single thought in his head. So there was no chance to confess his feelings and beg for a chance to be a good mate to you.

He missed the window and it was gone forever. Now he was stuck in this amazing yet painful situation with you, his best friend and the love of his life.

For the past two weeks the two of you have been fucking like rabbits and sure, that’s been so great. There’s only one thing he likes more than being inside your snug warm pussy. And that would be to have you as a mate.

But you just couldn’t see it, or refused to. Every longing glance, every slip up where he calls you his mate, and every snap of his hips as he fucks his cum back inside you like he’s trying to breed you, you miss it.

He knows you’re an oblivious little thing but, cmon, he’s dying here. Even he isn’t that oblivious. At this point he’s on the edge of giving in, so close to finally just confessing to you. Making his intentions as clear as day. It may be the only way.

This is a Patreon exclusive fic so you'll only be able to read it there! Check it out if you're interested in reading the entire fic and many more. I have a ton of other exclusive and early access fics that you can read there too!!

Get 40% off of any Patreon tier by using the code: Merjune

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timmyyyturner · 1 year ago

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Dm's: Jason Todd x Fem! Reader

TW: Alcohol.

jasontodd: I'm in love with you.

y/nl/n: i literally have no idea who you are.

It started a few months ago when you were followed by some random guy on Instagram. He had a racking of 28 Million followers and you were just a girl with 2K posting GRWM's and make up tutorials.

jasontodd: you looked so pretty in your livestream like MARRY ME TF??? ♡ liked by y/nl/n

y/nl/n: thank you, baby ♡ liked by jasontodd

You didn't get why you were so special.

y/nl/n: *voice memo* I'm serious like is there a reason you think I'm soooo pretty? ♡ liked by jasontodd

jasontodd: Damn. Even your voice is hot.

jasontodd: I'm sorry for inhaling the same oxygen as you🙏

y/nl/n: LMAO

It was kinda cute, kinda stalkery. Every single thing you posted he liked, seconds after. Praising you like you were an absolute goddess. At first you thought maybe it was a fake account but no, he was the real deal (he sent you a picture of his ID with blurred out details). When you Googled his name, you didn't expect his adoptive dad to be the BRUCE WAYNE. You might not be Wayne obsessed but everyone in Gotham know who Bruce Wayne was.

jasontodd: You busy??????

y/nl/n: no, why?

It was late almost 3 in the morning and you'd been occupied by messaging some guy who slid into your dm's six months ago. You were surprised when a incoming video call notification popped up on your phone. You were hesitant to but answered it. "Hello?" His camera was moving a lot but it was quite on his side, you could hear how heavy his footsteps were. You were laying in bed cozied up holding your pillow in your arms, another propping up the phone.

"Gimme a second." You watched him set the camera up in his bathroom, toothbrush hunging from his mouth. "There." He continued brushing his teeth. "Where are you going dressed so handsomely?" He snickered. "Well, pretty lady. It's not where I am heading but where I've been. I just got home from a friends after party."

"Probably using the art of back bending to bring home chicks?" You tilted your head. "Unless the chick was you, pretty, Ion want her near me." You smiled, He yawned causing you to do the same. "Dick is making me brush my teeth cause I threw up in his car and now my breath stinks." You nodded, listening to his little rant. "He's getting me a bucket so I don't choke on my vomit in my sleep, how many people do you think died like that?"

"Well-" You attempted to answer but he cut you off unintentionally by throwing up off screen, thankfully before returning to the screen, rinsing his mouth and rebrushing his teeth. "Who's Azealia Banks? Is she a influencer?" You smiled. "She's in the music industry, a real controversial person." He hummed.

"Who are you talking to?" Jason picked up his phone. "My girlfriend and you can't see her cause she's mine, your brain will hurt with beauty." Jason kissed the screen before you heard Dick approach him. "C'mon Jay get in bed now."

"No." You watched Dick attempt drag Jason— who was throwing lowsy kicks and punches at Dick— to bed. You giggled watching the camera angle change in the hands of drunk Jason before the phone fell somewhere. "Get. In. Bed."

"No." It was funny hearing Jason have an actual sibling bond. "Fine, I'll just call in the big guns. ALFRED!" You could hear Jason mumble a 'fine' before a ruffling of blankets as he got in bed. "NOT ON YOUR STOMACH!" Dick yelled, picking up the phone, looking at you. You waved at him sweetly. "Jason, there's no way you pulled her. She's so pretty and nice and you're... Jason." Jason snatched the phone frowning. "I don't like you." Jason laid on his side, Dick was on his way out of the room before turning to Jason to say something. "Hey, Y/n, do you wanna get married tommorow?"

"Uhm, I'll discuss this with sober you, okay baby." Jason hummed. "Can you stay with me until I fall asleep?" You smiled. "Okay." Dick smiled leaving the room.

He fell asleep a little over a hour later. You pressed a kiss to your screen before hanging up and going to bed. He woke up with a throbbing headache. He grabbed his phone seeing you posted on your story 30 minutes ago. He opened it seeing a picture of him and you on a video call. Did he call you last night?

"don't go! what if I choke on my drunk vomit and die?!" - jason todd. He chuckled reading that. He liked the story immediately getting a reply.

y/nl/n: alive then?

He smiled.

jasontodd: Sorry about last night lol.

y/nl/n: lol don't worry about it :))!

After that you sent him a picture of lots of you cooking, which he liked. What you did next though surprised him.

y/nl/n: 📍live location

y/nl/n: join me? we can discuss our marriage, boyfriend ;)

He never got out of bed faster.

#jason todd #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #red hood #Drunk Jason Todd #he makes me so soft #timmyyyturner

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all-with-angel · 2 months ago

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Cross my heart, I hope you die

Summary: In which you try to avoid the rude, short-tempered and dangerous special grade sorcerer, Sukuna Ryoumen, who happens to also be your senpai. But whatever you do, it seems that he simply never leaves you alone. Part 1 || Part 3 || Part 4

❥ Sorcerer!Sukuna x male!Reader

❥ rivals to lovers, cursing, injury on reader, other warnings on pt.1, m!reader

W.C. 5.3k || Masterlist || A.N. This chapter is a bit longer than usual but for good reason hehe

Soft, golden light filtered through the curtains. You hadn’t meant to sleep so deeply, especially not in a different bed beside your worst enemy, after a mission that definitely hadn’t gone as smoothly as you’d hoped. But the bed was warm, the blanket heavy in a comforting way, and while you were sure Sukuna was sound asleep beside you and you could feel the distant sting of the cut on your arm- It was nothing compared to the comfort of your pillow.

You felt good. Better than you had last night. The dull sting of your arm had faded to a distant hum, the pain reduced to something background, almost forgettable. You groaned quietly, scooching further into the warmth of the pillow beside you.

It was soft. Strong. Broad in places and lean in others. Your cheek was pressed against something firm but giving, like a pillow that fought back in just the right way. You were snuggled up beside it, and something heavy rested around your waist, anchoring you in place.

The pillow huffed at your movements, holding you closer as it buried itself in your hair. The movement satisfied you, sighing as you relaxed into the comforting position. Your brain, still wrapped in the hazy fog of sleep, lazily supplied: This pillow is amazing.

Wait.

…Wait a damn minute.

Pillows didn’t breathe. Pillows don't huff and they definitely didn't wrap arms around you.

You stiffened. All the previous comfort thrown out the window as you snapped your eyes open. The first thing you saw wasn't the grey of the sheets- But instead lightly tanned skin, marked with black tattoos.

It was Sukuna and you were clinging to him like he was your favorite stuffed animal, actually, both of you were clinging to each other, cuddling.

Motherfu-

There are gentler ways to wake up in the morning.

Sukuna found out, that getting kicked in the ribs was not one of them.

Sukuna hit the floor with a dull thud, limbs dragging the sheets down, breath stolen from his lungs in a single, ragged grunt. For a second, he didn’t move. He just lay there, face-down, half-swaddled in hotel bedding, groggy and murderous.

“…The fuck,” he rasped, voice still thick with sleep but laced with venom. He sat up quickly, angry crimson eyes narrowing like twin slits of simmering rage.

And there you were. Sitting on the bed, flustered and red in the face like you were the one who’d just been rudely awakened via WWE Smackdown.

“What the hell is your problem?” Sukuna yelled, still sat on the cold floor as he was almost sure his ribs were starting to bruise.

You stared down at him, eyes glancing everywhere but his own as you started to scowl. You looked more freaked out about it than him and he’d usually eat up that angry and flustered expression any other day, it didn’t change the fact you kicked him in the ribs and out of bed.

“You- You deserved it!” Fucking seriously? Sukunas mind thought as his eye twitched. As evil and conniving and bitchy as he was, he was innocently sleeping in a shared bed.

“I—!” you stammered, cutting yourself off halfway through your sentence. “You were on my side of the bed.”

Sukuna’s brow twitched. “Your side?” he scoffed, yanking the comforter off his ankle like it personally offended him. He shoved himself up, looming over your form with a glare that would send any lesser man cowering. You were not a lesser man, however. But it was new, the way you avoided his eyes by looking at the suddenly interesting wall.

“So you fucking kicked me off of the bed?” He growled, the fog in his brain giving way to rational thought. He squinted at you, noticing how your jaw clenched, in the heat rising in your ears, and how you seemed to use the remaining sheets to cover yourself. You weren’t just irritated.

It was embarrassment.

You were hiding something.

“Like I said, you deserved it.” You turned away fully now, moving to get off of the bed. Sukuna could feel a vein pop on his neck- And dear god if he wasn’t in love with you, you’d be dead. A great mercy, his love is.

He continued glaring at you as you moved to the bathroom, nonchalant as if you didn’t just wake him up in the rudest way possible. He knew he was a bastard, but that was his thing, not yours. And you were acting awfully a lot like a bastard in his honest opinion.

He clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes as he kicked the comforter away to grab his uniform from his bag. “Whatever.”

In your defense, you panicked.

You cringed inwardly, staring ahead like the quiet buildings would offer you salvation.

You’d kicked Sukuna out of bed. Hard. Right in the ribs. No warning, no buildup—just panic-fueled instinct followed by a hastily muttered "you deserved it" and a swift retreat to the bathroom, where you’d nearly drowned yourself in cold sink water trying to erase the feeling of having woken up in his arms.

It wasn’t like it meant anything. You were asleep. People shifted. Grabbed pillows- or each other, in this case, but this was just science. Something normal. Logic. Physics. Geometry? No no no, your thoughts were wandering.

You shook your head, glancing at Sukuna who walked just a few steps ahead of you, unbothered and unknowing of the morning events prior to his rude awakening. Your face heated up just thinking about it again. Ignorance is bliss in his case, you presume.

He hadn’t realized it, thankfully. You could tell. He looked too confused to be faking it. But you knew that confusion had festered into irritation, especially with how you'd refused to explain.

Still, what were you supposed to say?

“Hey, sorry I kicked you out of bed this morning. I accidentally used you as a body pillow and it made me panic because I might sort of maybe not only feel burning rage for you?”

Yeah. No.

You exhaled through your nose, shoving your hands into your pockets and scowling at the pavement.

It wasn’t anything serious.

That was the line you were choosing to repeat today. Nothing serious. Just a dumb accident. Bodies moved on their own when asleep. Your dumb, hormonal teenage brain was reading into it too much.

You glanced at Sukuna from the corner of your eye. You should tell him, you thought for a moment. That thought was immediately shut down with the fact that he would never let you live it down. Hell, he’d probably use it as blackmail. You snarled at that, imagining all the leverage Sukuna would gain against you.

“Hey,” Sukuna barked, voice sharp and low.

You jolted, snapping your head toward him, nearly tripping over your own feet.

“What?” you asked quickly.

Sukuna’s eyes were narrowed, staring at a cluster of buildings down the block as he tilted his head. His hand twitched at his side, the faintest glimmer of cursed energy pulsing around him.

“There.”

You blinked quickly, clearing the fog of overthinking and focusing to sense any odd cursed energy in that general direction.

Yeah. There it was.

A pulse. Faint, but steady. Like the heartbeat of something wrong buried under the calm of the afternoon.

As if sensing your realization, Sukuna fully turned towards the cluster of buildings, warehouses, you realize- When did you two end up near the coast? Oh whatever. Your pink-haired partner unceremoniously leaps up into the air, leaving you to follow him.

You followed without hesitation, the weight of your awkward inner conflict briefly shoving itself to the backburner as adrenaline took its place.

You and Sukuna stood at the edge of the shadow-drenched structure, its massive, rust-coated doors creaking faintly in the wind. The cursed energy leaking from within was oppressive, thick enough that your skin prickled the moment you stepped near.

This was it. The source.

You exchanged a glance with Sukuna, who looked calm- maybe even uninterested. His lips curled into the faintest smirk, like the idea of walking into a death trap was mildly amusing. Knowing him, it probably was.

"Took it long enough to show itself," he muttered, cracking his knuckles.

You gave a small grunt in response, your fingers curling around the hilt of your katana. The cursed tool vibrated faintly in your grip, responding to the malice thick in the air. You take another step forward and you hear Sukuna call out to you, “Hey.” His smirk disappearing suddenly.

You turn to him and raise a brow. He stares back at you for a moment before glancing to your arm, squinting before he looked back up at you. “Remember to dodge, dumbass.” He huffs out before turning away and walking further into the maliciously black fog.

You blink, caught off-guard by the comment before your mind snapped back at you to follow him already. Your feet move after him, you barely responded with a “Oh. Yeah.” Before the darkness consumed you.

After a moment of walking in the smoke, you're met with a clearing. With the curse the two of you were looking for smack dab in the middle. Bingo.

It was massive, hulking and hunched like a demon carved from shadows and stitched with bone. Its limbs were long and disproportionate, arms dragging across the ground, twitching with too many joints. It didn’t have a face—just a jagged mouth stretching across its chest, filled with rows of teeth that didn’t match.

You didn’t need a reading to know it was a special grade.

Your lips thinned into a line, hand instinctively grabbing the hilt of your katana as you changed your stance.

Sukuna, however, grinned.

“Finally,” he muttered. “Something fun.”

It turned toward you both, that massive maw letting out a shriek like shattering glass. Let the fight begin.

You two moved in tandem—something you’d both gotten better at, even if neither of you ever said anything. Even if neither of you wanted to acknowledge it, both of you felt something akin to pride at knowing what the other would do.

You struck with clean, practiced precision, your katana gleaming with controlled bursts of cursed energy. Sukuna was more chaotic, more reckless—he dove into the fray like it was a game, his fists glowing, each hit sending tremors through the floor.

The curse was powerful, but not invincible. Together, you were wearing it down.

Until it adapted.

You didn’t see the trap until it was too late. One of its arms had faked being severed- an illusion crafted from cursed energy. While you’d been dodging another attack, it shot that limb forward like a whip, catching your side and slamming you into a wall hard enough to crack the concrete.

Your breath left you in a sharp grunt. Fog clouded your vision. You tried to move- only to realize too late that you were pinned, the dark smog hardening like stone over your leg and part of your torso. You were stuck.

“Shit,” you hissed, struggling.

The curse turned its attention to you, its mouth yawning wide in a grotesque grin, as if it had just caught itself a snack.

Sukuna’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade. “You idiot!”

You looked over just in time to see his expression shift—his smirk gone, replaced by something far colder, far sharper. His eyes burned with something ugly and bright, his lip curled back in a snarl.

The cursed energy around him exploded.

It was like watching a storm rip itself out of his skin. His body expanded mid-air, muscles twisting, skin stretching, his school uniform shredded in seconds and only leaving his pants. Four arms erupted from his torso, long and clawed. His face split, one half now warped and mangled like a cracked porcelain mask, jagged and asymmetrical. Four eyes blazed with rage, glowing deep red, each one locked on the curse like it was already dead.

So this was the height of his cursed technique. You’d heard the rumors straight from Gojo and any other teacher. Whispers of Sukuna’s Cursed Technique. That it was violent. That it changed him. That the last time he used it, they had to rebuild half the training grounds.

Now you understood why.

He was atleast three meters tall now, body veined and covered in pure muscle. “Damn.” You couldn’t help but whisper to yourself. You had never seen it.

Until now. And despite the horror of it, despite the monstrous size, the twisted form- you weren’t afraid. You were in awe. He looked badass- And hot, your mind supplied, much to your chagrin.

One moment, the curse was on one side of the room, the next, he was plummeting outside the warehouse. He hit the wall with a loud crash, breaking concrete and opening into the outside. Sukuna was in front of it before it could leave his sight, tossing it back into its original position like a ragdoll.

The monster screamed, but its cries were swallowed by the explosions that followed every one of Sukuna’s attacks.

Cursed energy flared with every swing. A single punch sent shockwaves tearing through the support beams. Cleaves of raw energy rained down in arcs, slicing the curse apart piece by piece. Arms. Legs. Faces. Screaming torsos.

Your restraints faded away quickly, the monster (which one?) in front of you deciding to use all of its strength to fight the other.

Your chest twisted as you watched. Standing dumbly with a light grip on your katana as Sukuna ripped the curse to shreds.

With one final roar, Sukuna brought down all four fists at once, crushing what remained of the curse into the ground. The force shattered the floor and sent tremors up the warehouse walls. Windows exploded. The roof cracked. And with a final, wild burst of cursed energy, the entire warehouse collapsed.

“Oh shit-” You stepped back, eyes flitting to the exit and realizing you wouldn’t make it in time without getting crushed by debris. That same second, you felt a pair of arms pull you up before a distorting nausea washed over you.

Your feet left the ground, and it felt like the world was spinning in ways only a 12D world could. The only grounding thing that assured some muddled part of your brain that you were still human was a pair of thick and warm arms.

Wobbling as your feet met the sweet, sweet feel of the floor, your head pounded as you noticed the world around you had shifted from a dark and dingy warehouse to blue skies and concrete ground.

Dust billowed around you as the warehouse fell. You fell to your knees, coughing, shielding your face as debris clattered to the ground. Your hands held your head, throbbing painfully as you come to realize you were just teleported out of the building. And holy shit, why is it on fire?

You squinted at the bright orange roar of flames in front of you, eyes widening in worry for just a moment as you think of Sukuna- You look around you, only to find a hulking figure to your right, staring down at you with mild disinterest. Oh, he was bigger up close.

Your brain returned to normal as you asked Sukuna, “Did you do that?”

The giant of a man grinned down at you, a pair of arms crossing over his puffed out chest in pride. “What? Impressed?”

You roll your eyes, landing back at the burning warehouse. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t even slightly impressed. “Maybe.”

Sukuna’s pride swelled tenfold at that, scoffing as his grin simply grew. You could feel the ego radiating off of him already. Maybe you should've kept your mouth shut- But he did save your ass, so you’d let him have this one.

Slowly, painfully, you got back to your feet. Standing side-by-side with Sukuna, who you noticed started to shrink and turn back to normal-ish. He was still incredibly tall, but he looked- felt less monstrous. His grin couldn’t be erased, he had impressed you and that was enough of an ego boost as it is.

You were hit by exhaustion, the adrenaline giving way to the weight in your bones. It doubled after you realized something. “Sukuna.”

“Hm.”

“We forgot to put a veil up.”

In the distance, you could hear the wail of sirens. Between the two of you, you could already feel the realization and irritation that you two would be in for a scolding of a lifetime.

The train rattled along the tracks with a steady clatter, the late evening crowds pressed shoulder-to-shoulder in the fluorescent-lit car. The mass of commuters smelled like stress and cheap fast food. Your uniform was still singed from the aftermath, soot smudged up your sleeve, and your sword was rested across your lap atop your duffel bag like a heavy reminder of the catastrophe you and Sukuna had just barely walked away from.

He luckily had an extra uniform on him, so he looked as clean as a baby. Lucky bastard. You couldn’t even squeeze in a quick shower, the second you stepped foot on the hotel you were called and berated by Yaga himself. Something something veil, something something public. Whatever.

You didn’t speak for the first three stations. Just breathed. Thought. Replayed the warehouse collapse and all its flaming, civilian-alerting, very-much-against-regulations glory.

“..We should’ve set up a veil.” You mumbled.

Sukuna groaned beside you, head tipping back against the glass of the train car. “No shit, Sherlock.”

“There were civilians. There were phones.” You rubbed your eyes, dragging your fingers down your face. “That warehouse was on fire. It collapsed on live camera.”

“I said no shit, what do you want, a medal?”

“I want not to be expelled, Sukuna!”

“That makes two of us.”

Another pause. Someone sneezed on the far end of the car. A child wailed. Your eye twitched.

Somewhere between the awkward silence and the ambient hum of the train, your irritation ebbed just a little. Just enough for that ever-persistent guilt to crawl back into your chest.

You hadn’t said anything about this morning. About the bed. About the cuddling.

Eugh. No. Stop thinking about that.

You huffed a quiet laugh.

“...You think they’ll send us to clean toilets for this?”

Sukuna gave you a sidelong glance, brow raised. “If they’re smart, they won’t even look at me.”

“Threatening the staff. Nice.”

“Not a threat. Just… a strong suggestion.”

You gave him a look, but the corner of your mouth twitched. He caught it, of course, and had the audacity to smirk back.

“I do hate the higher-ups though,” you muttered after a moment, as if it was some big confession. “They act like we’re disposable.”

Sukuna nodded slowly. “Because we are.”

You blinked at him.

He rolled his shoulders, not meeting your gaze. “To them, anyway. Just meat shields with cursed energy. If we die, they send the next batch of students. Rinse, repeat.”

You swallowed.

There was a bitterness to his tone you weren’t used to. You always knew Sukuna hated the rules. The bureaucracy. But this wasn’t rebellion—it was resignation.

You shifted slightly in your seat, the weight of exhaustion settling deeper into your bones. “So we’re just… pawns.”

“You’re just now realizing that?”

“No,” you said softly. “I guess I was just hoping we’d be useful pawns.”

Sukuna hummed, “You're pretty useful.”

“You think so?”

“As a punching bag.”

“Oh fuck you.” You grumbled, clicking your tongue. So much for that.

You sighed and let your head fall back. Your shoulder ached, your lungs hurt, and your vision blurred a little every time the train swayed. The adrenaline had worn off entirely now, leaving only the thick pull of exhaustion in its place.

Sukuna glanced sideways.

Your shoulders had gone slack. Your grip on the katana had loosened, the weight of it now resting completely against your lap. Your eyes had drooped to half-mast, your head tipping forward slightly before snapping back up. You were fighting it, but you were losing. Hard.

“You better not fall asleep on me,” he muttered under his breath.

You mumbled something incomprehensible and immediately leaned the wrong way—your head listing to the side, toward the cold, unforgiving steel pole separating the seats. Your temple grazed it once, a dull clink that made Sukuna wince instinctively, even if he pretended not to care.

Then you tilted again.

Sukuna cursed himself, hoping you were knocked out and asleep already. Your head met softer, but firm flesh instead of the steel pole. His hand cupped around the side of your head, muttering something sharp under his breath, and guided your head sideways, away from the metal bar, until it landed against his shoulder with a muted thump.

Sukuna sat there, jaw tight, one hand still ghosting near your shoulder like he wasn’t sure if he should move it. His face was turned slightly away, eyes on the blur of passing buildings outside the train window, trying his best to act like this was nothing.

Like your head wasn’t on his shoulder.

His eyes drifted down to you—your face, tired but calm now, finally free of the tightness that always haunted your brow. Your breathing was slow, your mouth parted slightly. There was a bruise forming on the side of your neck, and dirt smudged along your jaw. He noticed a tear in your uniform sleeve.

Sukuna clicked his tongue as he noticed the bandages under your sleeve again, the same ones he’d wrapped on your arm just a night ago. He thinks about replacing them, maybe a bit salty at the idea that Shoko will heal you up better once the two of you arrive back at Jujutsu Tech.

But whatever. Atleast you’d be okay and out of pain. Until then, he can be bitchy about it.

The office reeked of old wood, dust, and authority. It wasn’t even musty in a charming way—it was the kind of staleness that settled into your bones, thick with judgment and long-standing grudges. The kind of place where the walls seemed to whisper, “We don’t want you here.”

You sat stiffly on the cushioned bench, still sore and mildly scorched from the warehouse incident. Your uniform was freshly washed but the collar still smelled faintly of smoke. Beside you, Sukuna stood with his arms crossed, eyes low, shoulders tense beneath his jacket. Not slouched, not defiant—just waiting. Coiled.

Like a trap someone was too stupid to stop poking.

The elders sat across from you both like a council of gargoyles, lined up behind the long lacquered desk, their gazes heavy and expressionless in the way only the truly, infuriatingly powerful could manage. The one in the middle, an ancient man with half his face sagging like wet parchment, spoke first.

“No veil. No perimeter. No coordination. Do you understand the magnitude of this failure?”

You blinked slowly.

“Yes, sir,” you muttered.

“Good,” the oldest one rasped, voice like creaking bamboo. “Then explain yourselves.”

You glanced at Sukuna, but he stayed silent. His expression was blank—expressionless in the way that only Sukuna could manage. He looked carved from stone, jaw clenched tight, eyes forward. You turned back.

“There wasn’t time to set a veil,” you said. “The curse was unstable and could have fled. If it reached a populated area, the damage would’ve been worse. We prioritized immediate containment.” You pulled that excuse out of your ass.

“Containment?” Another elder huffed. “The warehouse is in pieces. That was not containment. That was carnage.”

You hesitated. “We eliminated the threat.”

The room fell quiet.

One of the elders leaned forward, fingers laced in front of him. “You’re a second-year. You don’t make that call.”

Your jaw tightened. “With all due respect, sir, I was following the lead of the senior on-site.”

Their eyes slid to Sukuna.

There it was.

“Ah, yes. The senior.” The word was said like a bad taste. “Ryomen Sukuna. Again.”

You saw his shoulders twitch at that. Just once.

Another elder spoke, a woman with her silver hair pulled tight in a bun. “This is not the first time you’ve gone too far. The scope of your cursed technique alone is a threat to our society’s secrecy. What happened to restraint?”

Still, Sukuna said nothing.

“I’m aware of his history,” one of them said with a long sigh. “But it seems we’ve made a mistake letting him remain here. Perhaps if we’d followed through with his execution when we had the chance—”

You blinked. “What?”

No one acknowledged you.

“He’s not fit to be a mentor. What kind of example is he setting for the younger sorcerers? Letting second years run wild, exposing the public, destroying property-”

You glanced sideways, brows furrowing. The anger on your tongue prickled, but you kept it there, just behind your teeth.

“He was the only reason we won,” you said, careful but firm.

“That’s not the point,” one of the others snapped. “We are not questioning his power, we are questioning his control. That monstrous form you unleashed,” She looked at Sukuna like she was examining a carcass-“wasn’t that banned from use without permission?”

“It wasn’t a conscious-” Sukuna started, tone even, but they didn’t let him finish.

“You’ve been warned before. Contain it. Restrain yourself. Or it will be restrained for you.”

Something clenched in your gut. Restrained for him? You glanced back at Sukuna. The air around Sukuna shifted- tight, humming with power just under the surface. He was quiet, but his jaw was locked. Hands curled in tight fists at his sides. His cursed energy flickered like heat rising off asphalt.

And still- he said nothing.

“They should’ve executed you when they had the chance,” the first elder murmured, not even hiding it anymore. “You’re a liability. A mistake.”

What the fuck?

“Hey,” you said sharply, leaning forward. “He didn’t lose control. He won. If he hadn’t stepped in, I’d be dead. That special grade wasn’t just tough—it was relentless. He didn’t ‘show off.’ He ended it. And he kept it away from civilians. The building was empty.”

“He didn’t put up a veil,” the woman repeated flatly.

“I didn’t either.”

“You’re a second year. He should’ve known better.”

“So we’re punishing him for being stronger than me?” you snapped.

Sukuna shot you a sharp glance, like he wanted to tell you to shut up before you made it worse, but you were already standing.

“I get that you hate him,” you said, breathing hard now. “But you don’t get to pretend it’s about rules. If this was anyone else, you’d just assign more missions or cut their pay. You just want him gone.”

Silence.

Then, the final nail:

“We’ve decided,” the elder in the middle said, cutting through the air like a blade. “Ryoumen Sukuna will be reassigned to Kyoto Jujutsu High. Effective immediately. Perhaps they can instill the discipline we clearly cannot.”

Your ears rang.

Your fingers twitched at your side, aching for the hilt of your katana. But before you did something you’d regret, Sukuna grabbed you by the back of your collar and dragged you out of the meeting room while muttering some half-assed excuse to leaving.

You didn’t hear it, not when your pulse was in your ears and you were ready to pounce on the damn higher ups.

Sukuna didn’t say anything else.

The next few days passed like fog. Heavy. Quiet. Wrong.

Sukuna didn’t say much to anyone (Which was a miracle in itself). He didn’t complain, didn’t throw a fit. He trained like usual. Ate like usual. Slept (maybe?) like usual. But everything about him felt… held back. He walked around like someone already packed his bags, even when they hadn’t yet.

He acted like he was used to this. Maybe even expected it.

It felt like a train was thrown at you. It felt so wrong. On one hand, you were glad he wasn’t bothering you anymore- on the other, he wasn’t bothering you anymore. Bothering you was the only time you two interacted, you had realized on the first day. It was.. something.

Your friends didn’t really seem to care.

“Good riddance,” Gojo said with a shrug. “Now we can train without getting our heads bitten off.”

“Wasn’t like he hung out with us anyway,” Geto added, stretching his arms behind his head.

Shoko sipped her soda. “Don’t tell me you’re sad.”

“I’m not,” you replied too quickly.

Shoko raised a brow. “You sure? You’ve been real quiet. Quieter than usual. Which is saying something.”

“I’m not sad,” you repeated, walking ahead of them, hands shoved into your pockets.

You weren’t. Not really. You and Sukuna weren’t friends. Hell, other than maybe rivals you two had nothing going on between you. You knew nothing of him, his past or how he acted like he was used to every demeaning stare. He knew nothing of you either.

But he did. He does know you. Alot of you. But that's because he forced himself into your life, because he's a stalker. A weirdo, a monster.

The word left a bitter taste in your mouth, No, he wasn’t a monster. Just a stalker. Your rival.

The morning he left, you found him by the school gate, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from the shower. His eyes flicked up as you approached.

“Hey.”

His eyes narrowed at you. “If you're gonna make fun of me, save it.”

You snickered at that, but it had no humor behind it. “Why shouldn’t I? You never held back with me.”

“Oh I did, believe me.” He grinned.

You rolled your eyes, “Sure.” sarcasm laced in your tone. A few moments passed with awkward silence, Sukuna leaned against the school gate, you standing a few feet away.

“Didn’t think you were the sentimental type,” he said suddenly, glancing at you.

“I’m not,” you said simply, staring at a spot just past his shoulder.

He didn’t buy it. You could tell. Not when you’d argued with the higher ups and probably would’ve ripped the old hags to shreds if Sukuna didn’t hold you back. Silence stretched between you like wire. Tense. Thin. You shifted your weight slightly, fighting the need to rub your neck.

“You waiting to cry or something?” he asked dryly with a smirk. “Want me to pat your head, tell you it’s gonna be okay?”

“Oh please, I’ll cry at your funeral.”

Sukuna scoffs, “Aw, promise?”

“Cross my heart,” You make a show of crossing an X over your heart, “-I hope you die.”

That finally got a smirk out of him. A small one. Tired, but genuine. “Looking forward to it, then.”

You bit your cheek as you thought about something else to say, when you did open your mouth, a car pulled up by the gate. Sukuna shoved himself off of the pillar, not taking another glance back at you.

You hesitated.

There was so much you wanted to say. That it wasn’t fair. That it shouldn’t have ended like this. That you weren’t sure why, but this mattered. But instead, all you managed was, “You gonna set a veil next time?”

Sukuna paused in his tracks, hand hovering just above the car door handle, you’d think he didn’t hear you if not for the laugh he let out. A quiet huff.

“I’ll consider it.”

He got in the car and you didn’t move until the taillights disappeared down the hill.

Part 4 here

TAGLIST (open)

@prettorett @rikabby69 @iamlizardgod @cheeselordbones @mistalli @poopooindamouf @im-so-goddamn-tired @someone0vx @enchantingkitty @majest1cfrog

A.N. Everyone say bye bye sukuna!! Dw he'll be back<3 someday

#Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x m!reader #jjk x male reader #sukuna ryoumen x male reader #Sukuna x male reader #Sukuna x reader #Sukuna Ryomen x reader #Sorcerer!Sukuna #Sorcerer!Sukuna x reader #yandere sukuna #yandere sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #Sukuna Ryomen #jjk sukuna #Sukuna crack #Sukuna fluff #Sukuna angst #angels fics •°. *࿐

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plasticflowersinahistorycemetery · 4 months ago

Text

exhibitionism

part IV

Pairing: SugarDaddy!Ben x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're settling into something you don’t fully understand, but it feels too good to question—too intoxicating to resist. Ben’s world is bleeding into yours, shaping it, owning it. He gives, and you take, but you’re starting to realise that nothing he gives is without cost. Doesn't matter how much that drink was anyway.

Warnings: 18+!, Ben once again being his own warning, age gap, language, misogyny, drug consumption, smut (kissing, biting, marking, slapping, dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, overstim, forced orgasms, fingering, handjob, cunnilingus/oral, p in v, cum on face, throttling, rough sex, semi-public sex, somnophilia, sexsomnia, dub-con), mind games, manipulation, degradation, power imbalance, I may have missed some. (There's a bunch in this one, agh!)

Word Count: 6,697

A/N: Besties, when I tell you this took everything from me... I mean it wholeheartedly. Burnout has officially hit, and my brain feels like goddamn mush right now. I'm not even sure I proofread this properly smh. I'm not sure I'll get time to fully write the next instalment tomorrow because I've got a super busy workday, tons of appointments, but I will probably get partway started on it. Lil appearance from more of The Boys in this one, only brief mentions, but I like integrating them into this AU. Like a lil easter egg, teheh. <3 And the foreshadowing from Butcher at the end was the part I got most excited about, honestly. Cryptic motherfucker, always. The fic ain't called "exhibitionism" for nothing. 👀 You know the drill: if all the warnings listed above aren't evident yet, they will be. And please let me know what y'alls thoughts are. I am so grateful to each and every one of you for reading the utter sewage my brain creates. Signing off, until the next one. All the love.

Without further ado: EXHIBITIONISM

Power is not taken. It is given.

A glance across the bar. A drink set down without a word. A hand at the small of your back, guiding you somewhere you don’t belong.

It starts small—a single indulgence, a breathless yes.

Then, suddenly, you are on display. Draped over his lap, diamonds at your throat, whiskey on your lips. A possession. A prize. A thing to be seen.

Because men like him do not love. They own.

Morning crept in slow and golden, stretching lazy fingers of light through the blinds, spilling across the tangled sheets and the expanse of your bare skin.

The air smelled like him—cologne and sweat and sin—clinging to your body, to the silk of his pillows, sinking deep into your bones. You stirred, muscles aching in ways that made your stomach clench with something warm and satisfied, stretching like a cat before finally rolling out of bed.

The penthouse was quiet, except for the distant hum of the city far below. Your steps were soft against the cool marble as you padded into the kitchen, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from your eyes. That’s when you saw it—

A small note on the counter, scrawled in what you assumed was Butcher’s blunt handwriting, sitting beside a Plan B.

Ben’s smirk was already curling at the corner of his mouth when you turned to find him leaning against the counter, watching you with that lazy, knowing amusement. He pushed off with an easy roll of his shoulders, stepping into your space, patting your ass before grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

“Go on then,” he murmured, filling the glass with water and pressing it into your hands. “Take it.”

You scowled at him, but you swallowed the pill anyway, washing it down under his watchful gaze. He looked too damn pleased with himself, grinning as he pressed a slow kiss to your temple before ushering you towards the shower.

The water was steaming by the time you both stepped in, the morning unfurling in quiet touches, hands gliding over slick skin, fingers threading through hair, the press of lips at the nape of your neck. It was unhurried, indulgent, all the urgency of the night before tempered into something softer, something that felt dangerously close to domestic.

By the time you were dressed, Ben had already decided breakfast was happening at some ridiculous rooftop restaurant, the kind that overlooked the city, all glass and steel and expensive finishes. He ordered coffee and something hearty, sipping slow while you picked at fruit and yogurt, the conversation easy, teasing, laced with the occasional knowing glance that had heat curling in your stomach.

After breakfast, you met up with Butcher, who wasted no time pulling up photos of apartments closer to Ben’s building.

“This one,” Ben said, barely glancing at the others before nodding at the one with the small, covered balcony. The space was perfect—something about the idea of you sitting out in the rain, curled up with a book, had him making the decision in seconds.

Then it was back to his penthouse, back to tangled sheets and tangled limbs, the hours slipping by in a haze of heat and slick skin, moans swallowed by deep, open-mouthed kisses. He left you completely spent, fucked out and boneless, only pausing his grumbling long enough to drive you back to your apartment. The whole ride was a steady stream of muttered complaints about your neighbourhood, about how it was a goddamn miracle you hadn’t been mugged yet, about how he was getting you the fuck out of there.

“Class schedule.”

You blinked at him, still dazed, before rattling it off. He grunted, nodding. “I’ll send some people over when you get back tomorrow to start packin’ your shit.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he wasn’t done.

“You need any more textbooks?”

That did it. Your face softened, eyes going wide and warm, something fluttering in your chest that you couldn’t quite suppress.

Ben saw it. And he smirked. “Christ, look at you,” he drawled, laughing, shaking his head. “You didn’t make that face when I bought you a whole fuckin’ wardrobe, but mention some books and you’re about ready to cream yourself.”

You huffed, shoving at his chest, but he caught your wrist, yanking you in for one last kiss, deep and slow, like he was trying to swallow you whole.

The next morning, you fell into a rhythm. You sent him a picture of two outfits, and he picked the jeans and the blouse.

Monday was lectures, the familiar comfort of academia wrapping around you like a second skin. Literature, language, the hum of the NYU campus filling your lungs like fresh air. You read in a café, met up with Hughie from Language, and Frenchie and Kimiko from Lit for lunch, an easy camaraderie settling between you before you all went your separate ways.

When you got home, a team was already waiting, efficiently packing up your apartment, boxing up memories, folding your life into neat stacks ready to be moved.

Tuesday followed the same rhythm, though the day was punctuated with texts from Ben. Filthy. Teasing. Full of smug impatience.

Bet that professor of yours wouldn’t be able to finish his lecture if he knew what you let me do to you.

And—

You gotten yourself all wet thinking about me yet, baby?

By noon, he demanded nudes, and you had to send them from a bathroom stall between classes, biting your lip as you hit send, warmth flooding through you at the immediate, possessive response.

Wednesday, everything was packed and ready. Ben showed up in the morning to meet your landlord, wrapping up the lease without a second glance, barely disguising his disgust at the place. His presence filled the almost-empty apartment, making it seem even smaller, even less yours.

Thursday, you moved.

The new apartment was waiting, the transition seamless, orchestrated by Ben’s efficient, silent influence. And standing there, at the front door, you realised something—you weren’t just moving apartments. You were moving into something entirely new.

And that was fucking daunting.

You hesitated in the doorway, heart thudding against your ribs, fingers curling into your palms. The apartment was perfect—too perfect. Light poured in through the massive windows, catching on soft pastels and warm wood, the carefully curated balance of elegance and comfort. It felt like you in a way that your old apartment never had.

And that was the part that terrified you.

Your breath came slow and uneven as you stepped inside, eyes scanning over the furniture, your furniture—only better.

Your little cream love seat and vintage armchair were there, the pastel pillows and soft throws draped just as you liked them—but there was a new sofa too. Big. Plush.

But the new dining table caught your attention—matching chairs, sleek but cozy, nothing like the old mismatched ones you’d made do with.

And then there was the bookshelf. Massive. Elegant. Full. Every book of yours finally had a home, instead of being stacked in chaotic, unstable towers on the floor.

“Jesus,” you breathed, barely above a whisper, stepping deeper inside.

Behind you, Ben leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, smug as all fuck, watching you take it in.

“Not bad, huh?”

You turned to glare at him, but it didn’t hold any heat. He knew what he’d done. Knew exactly how overwhelming this was for you. His lips curled, just barely, and he straightened, moving inside with slow, predatory steps, following your path through the space like a shadow.

The kitchen was next—a fucking upgrade. Marble counters, brass fixtures, farmhouse sink, all sleek and way too fucking nice for someone like you. Your fingers drifted along the counter’s cool surface, trying to ground yourself, but Ben’s heat was already at your back, pressing in close.

He exhaled against your ear. “Y’gonna stare at ‘em all day or let me fuck you against ‘em?”

You sucked in a sharp breath, shaking your head, moving away before you let yourself melt. The bathroom was next, and it sealed your fate.

A clawfoot tub. Deep, luxurious, like something out of a fucking dream.

Your stomach twisted. You turned to face him, voice uneven. “Ben, I—”

But he was already grinning, leaning against the doorframe like he was enjoying the hell out of this.

“Keep goin’, sweetheart,” he drawled, gesturing lazily. “Ain’t even seen the best part yet.”

Your jaw clenched, but your feet carried you forward anyway. The bedroom felt like stepping into a dreamscape. The silk bedding, pastel and delicate, the new wardrobe and dresser already stocked with your things. He’d kept your lightwood bed, but everything else was elevated, just enough to make it clear that this was different.

Your throat felt tight. Too much. Too fucking much.

The last thing left was the balcony.

And the second you stepped outside, you broke.

The hanging chair, the plants, the fairy lights, the small bistro table—all of it settled into you like a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. The soft scent of flowers mixed with the distant city air, the quiet promise of solitude. The moment you took it in, really took it in, you whipped around and smashed your lips to his.

Ben caught you instantly, groaning into your mouth, gripping you like he’d been waiting for you to crack. Your fingers dug into his shirt, his arms cinched tight around your waist, his heat overwhelming every last thought in your head.

When you finally broke away, your breath was ragged. “I can’t—” You swallowed, chest heaving. “I can’t let you pay for this. How much even is this place?”

Ben just fucking laughed.

One hand gripped your jaw, tilting your face up so you had to look at him, so smug you wanted to slap him and fuck him at the same time.

“Doesn’t fuckin’ matter,” he murmured, kissing along your jaw, nipping at your neck. “Chump change, sweetheart.”

You gasped as his teeth scraped your pulse, your hands clutching at his biceps as he backed you into the railing, pressing you firmly against the cool metal.

“Now,” he continued, voice a low, dangerous purr, “Let’s go christen every fuckin’ room.”

You barely had time to breathe before he was hauling you inside, dragging you straight to the living room, lips crashing into yours, devouring you like he was starving. Your back hit the love seat, his hands everywhere, pulling at your clothes. Tugging. Gripping. Taking.

Then it was the kitchen. He shoved you up against the marble counters, hands groping under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the cool stone. His mouth was hot and demanding, moving down your throat, his hands already slipping under your clothes, pushing them aside.

He kissed you in the bathroom, bent you over the sink, his breath ragged against your ear as he whispered, “Gonna wreck you against every fuckin’ surface in this place, doll.”

Then it was the bedroom, your back hitting silk sheets, his weight pressing you deep into the mattress, hips grinding down, lips bruising against yours, murmuring filthy things about ruining these nice new sheets with you.

By the time he dragged you back out to the balcony, sweat-slick and completely spent, your head was spinning. The apartment smelled like heat and sex and him.

Ben was grinning, tucking his face into your neck, voice still wrecked from hours of claiming you.

“There,” he murmured, pressing one last possessive kiss to your throat. “Now it smells like home.”

The night air was crisp against your sweat-slick skin, the city stretching out below in endless neon veins, blinking and alive, thrumming beneath your feet like a pulse.

The scent of him clung to you—smoke and sweat, sex and heat—woven into your very being. You stood on the balcony, caught in the quiet aftermath, his body flush against yours, heat radiating from every point of contact between you.

Ben exhaled hard, fingers flexing on your waist before he reached for his pack of cigarettes, sliding one between his teeth before offering you the pack. He didn’t say anything, just held it out like it was expected, like it was second nature to include you in his vices now.

You hesitated for a second, then plucked one free. He smirked around the cigarette between his lips, flicking his lighter open with one smooth movement. The flame caught in his eyes, sharp and knowing, and he let it burn just long enough to make you wait before lighting yours too.

The first drag filled your lungs, burning hot, the nicotine grounding you in the moment. You exhaled slow, watching the smoke curl into the night air before swallowing hard.

“This is… a lot.” Your voice came quieter than you meant it to. “I feel bad letting you pay for all this.”

Ben scoffed, shaking his head as he leaned back against the railing, one arm still looped around your waist, keeping you close.

“Already told you, sweetheart,” he muttered around his cigarette, voice rough and amused. “It’s chump change.”

You frowned, taking another slow drag before exhaling through your nose. “It’s just… it’s a bit daunting, you know?” You glanced up at him, then back out at the skyline. “I only met you six nights ago, and now I live in a whole new place.”

Ben said nothing, just watched you with that unreadable expression, eyes dark and steady, cigarette smouldering between his fingers.

You sighed, your free hand curling against his chest, absently tracing the fabric of his shirt. “I guess I’m just worried it won’t work out, and then I’ll be out on my ass with no safety net.” You huffed a humourless laugh, shaking your head.

“I don’t wanna have to crawl back to my parents and tell them they were right.” Your jaw tensed, voice sharpening. “Not that I fucking would.”

Ben cut you off before you could spiral further.

“You’re never gonna be out on your ass again.”

The way he said it—flat. Firm. Absolute—made something in your stomach twist.

You turned your head, brows drawing together. “Ben?”

He exhaled smoke, slow and steady, his free hand dragging over your hip, slipping beneath your shirt to spread wide against your bare skin. He wasn’t looking at you, not at first, just watching the city lights like he was making a decision in real-time. Then, finally, he turned his head, gaze locking onto yours with a certainty that sent a shiver down your spine.

“You haven’t even known me a week,” you murmured, searching his face. “How do you know you’re not gonna find some prettier, better girl and wanna turf me out?”

The look he gave you—sharp, incredulous, disgusted like you’d said something offensive—had your stomach flipping.

“There ain’t a fuckin’ prettier girl,” he said, making a face, like the very suggestion was absurd. “And there sure as fuck ain’t a better one.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He shifted, cigarette dangling from his lips as his hand on your waist tightened, his voice dipping into something low, possessive, dangerous.

“You’re fuckin’ everything I’ve been lookin' for.” His fingers flexed, grip unrelenting, pulling you closer. “Smart, funny, fuckin’ gorgeous.” His lips curled around the words, dragging them out like he wanted to carve them into your skin.

“You fuck like a whore and take everythin' I give you—” His breath ghosted hot against your jaw as he leaned in. “—and still look up at me like you want more.”

Your pulse roared.

Ben smirked, watching the way your body reacted to his words, the way your thighs pressed together just slightly, how your fingers tightened around your cigarette.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled slow, smoke swirling around both of you before he nudged your chin up with two fingers, gaze dark and unreadable.

“Finish your smoke,” he murmured, voice dropping into something lower, lazier, filthy with certainty. “Look at the pretty lights. And stop that girly little brain of yours from worryin' too much.”

You let out a breath—half a laugh, half surrender, shaking your head.

“You’re a dick,” you muttered, but the words held no real bite.

He grinned, smug and knowing. “And you're a fuckin' pussy.”

You rolled your eyes, but leaned into him, letting your body mould against his, warmth seeping between you as the city sparkled below. The lights blinked in the distance, twinkling like something out of a dream, like something unreal, but his hand on your waist was solid, his breath against your temple real, grounding you in the moment.

You took another slow drag from your cigarette, exhaling against his throat, lips parting—

And fuck it.

You turned your head, caught his jaw, kissed him slow and deep, your hand curling into the collar of his shirt.

Ben groaned into your mouth, fingers digging into your waist, claiming, gripping, owning.

You let yourself melt into it, into him, into the feeling of standing there, high above the city, wrapped up in the most dangerous man you’d ever met.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself believe that maybe—just maybe—you’d landed exactly where you were supposed to be.

The night settled around you, thick and quiet, the kind of quiet that came with expensive insulation and the weight of being somewhere that finally felt safe. The apartment smelled like fresh sheets, lingering traces of sex, and the faint burn of nicotine from earlier. You were still reeling, still trying to make sense of it all—the space, the luxury, him—but Ben wasn’t giving you the time to overthink it.

You were curled up on the new couch, legs tucked beneath you, one of your pastel throws draped over your lap. Ben had his arm slung across the back of the sofa, casual, lazy, like he owned the place. Like he owned you.

And maybe he did. You just hadn’t figured it out yet.

His eyes tracked over you, slow, assessing, fingers idly rubbing at his knee. “What time you in class tomorrow?”

You blinked, pulling your thoughts back to the present. “Uh… first lecture’s at eight.”

Ben’s mouth curled, something smug and knowing glinting in his eyes. “Good. I’m stayin’ the night.”

You tilted your head at him, curious. “You are?”

“Yeah.” He stretched, then smirked, shrugging like it was already decided. “Don’t gotta be up ‘til five. Sleepin’ in, really.”

You exhaled a laugh, shaking your head. “That’s sleeping in?”

“For me, yeah.” He flicked his eyes back over to you, watching you shift in your seat, processing what it meant. That he was staying here. With you. Like this was his bed, his space, his routine to alter.

You pursed your lips, rolling the thought over in your head. “What do you do, exactly?”

Ben’s smirk twitched into something a little sharper, a little less amused. “Not important.”

It didn't really catch you off guard, he'd said the same thing when you'd asked before, but you were curious so you pressed. “It is important.”

That made him pause. His head tilted, eyes narrowing just slightly, like he was trying to decide if he should be irritated by that answer. “Oh yeah?”

You swallowed, curling your fingers into the blanket. “You said part of this… deal between us is that I look after you.” You shifted, looking at him pointedly. “That means I should know what you do. So I can help you unwind if you’re stressed. So you can talk to me about things.”

That made him laugh.

Low, throaty, dark amusement curling through his chest, rolling out like it tasted fucking sweet. His head tipped back against the couch, one hand dragging over his jaw as he exhaled.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, shaking his head before glancing back at you, all teeth and smirking condescension. “You really are a sweet little thing, huh?”

Your jaw tensed, but you waited.

Ben shifted, stretching out a little more, taking his time. Making you wait for it.

“S’nothin' exciting,” he finally said, dragging the words out slow, like they weren’t worth rushing over. “Just run the family business.”

You frowned. “What’s your family’s business?”

He huffed a short, amused breath, then looked at you, dead serious. “I own America’s fuckin’ backbone.”

You blinked. “Huh?”

That earned you a smug, lazy grin.

Ben leaned in, voice dipping into that classic-asshole-dirty-talk tone, the kind that made heat settle low in your stomach, even when you wanted to roll your eyes.

“Steel, baby,” he muttered, voice rich, thick with that heavy arrogance. “My company builds the cities you fuckin’ live in. Highways, bridges, skyscrapers—if it stands in this country, odds are, it’s got my fuckin’ name on it.”

You stared at him, lips parting slightly. “You… run a steel company?”

Ben just smirked, watching you.

“Own it.” He let the words hang for a second, savouring the weight of them before adding, “Some of the biggest manufacturers in the country? They bend over and kiss my fuckin’ boots for a contract.”

Your stomach flipped.

Of course. Of fucking course. The power, the arrogance, the complete refusal to accept no for an answer? It all made sense.

“So,” you started, voice light, playful. “You’re a glorified construction worker?”

Ben let out a short, sharp laugh, eyes flashing with something predatory as he leaned in, bringing his mouth right against your ear.

“You keep runnin’ that smart little mouth,” he murmured, breath hot against your skin, “and I’ll show you exactly how hard I work, doll.”

A full-body shudder rolled through you.

Ben grinned, sitting back, completely unbothered, watching your reaction like it delighted him.

Your lips twitched, shaking your head as you let out a breath, looking away before you did something stupid like climb into his lap and beg him to prove it.

This man was going to fucking ruin you.

The first yawn slipped out before you could catch it, your body betraying you in the warm lull of the evening. You tried to stifle it behind your hand, blinking sluggishly, but Ben saw. Of course, he saw.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you with that lazy, predatory gaze, like he was waiting, tracking every little sign of fatigue settling in your limbs. Then, with no warning, he scooped you up like you weighed absolutely nothing, one strong arm locking under your thighs, the other bracing around your back.

A small yelp caught in your throat as your arms flew around his neck. “Ben—”

“C’mon,” he muttered, already striding toward the bedroom, completely unfazed. “Almost bedtime.”

You exhaled a laugh, already half-melting into him, the warmth of his body lulling you further into exhaustion. “You’re such a caveman.”

Ben huffed, the sound thick with amusement, but then his grip tightened slightly, and he dipped his head, voice dropping into that gravelly, smug rasp right against your ear.

“Yeah? Well, I need to get my beard wet first.”

Your breath hitched, heat flashing through your spine like a whip-crack.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You were sleepy, blushing, but that didn’t stop your thighs from pressing together, from your fingers clenching a little tighter in the fabric of his shirt. Because it didn’t matter how disgusting his mouth was—how filthy, how utterly depraved—you loved words. And he knew that.

The bastard smirked when he felt you squirm, his grip flexing possessively around your thigh, squeezing just enough to remind you who you belonged to.

You didn’t argue.

Didn’t protest when he dropped you onto the bed, didn’t say a word when he grabbed the waistband of your bottoms and peeled them off with zero ceremony, like they were a fucking obstacle. The heat in your face only deepened as he dragged you to the edge of the mattress, pulling your hips up so your ass was barely on the bed, your legs draped over his shoulders.

Then he sank to his knees.

And he got to work.

The first long, sloppy, groaning lap of his tongue had your back arching off the mattress. The second had your fingers clawing at the sheets, a sharp gasp escaping your lips. He was so fucking messy, open-mouthed and hungry, tongue and lips and teeth everywhere, greedy and filthy like he was eating the meal he’d been craving all damn day.

“Fuckin’ love this pussy,” he rasped against you, spit-slick and wrecked, his hands gripping your thighs so tight it ached. “So soft, so fuckin’ sweet—goddamn, baby, you’re just drippin’ for me.”

A shudder ripped through you, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. Your thighs twitched around his head, but he only growled, fingers digging in harder, keeping you wide open, keeping you at his mercy.

“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, tongue dipping deep, the sound almost desperate, like he was losing his mind over it. “Could bury my face in this tight little cunt forever.”

Your hands scrambled for purchase, clenching in the sheets, in his hair, anywhere, because the way he was devouring you—

It was too much.

The obscene, wet, sucking sounds of his mouth, the deep vibrations of his groans, the sheer heat of his breath against your slick skin—it had your brain short-circuiting, had your stomach tightening, the pleasure cresting too fast, too sharp.

“Ben,” you gasped, barely coherent. “I—I—”

His eyes flicked up, dangerous, knowing.

“Oh, I know,” he muttered, all smug condescension, his fingers pressing harder into your thighs. “I know what’s about to happen, baby.”

You didn’t, though.

Not until it started building, something different, something new, something that had you gasping, panicking, thighs trying to snap shut.

“B-Ben, wait—”

Slap.

His palm cracked against your inner thigh, just enough to sting, just enough to make you jolt, pleasure cutting through the panic sharp and hot.

“Shut up.” He growled it against you, voice rough with pure fucking authority, and your body obeyed before your mind did, immediately unraveling under him. “Let it happen.”

Your breath hitched, vision whiting out as something broke inside you.

And then—

It happened.

A choked sob tore from your throat as your body gave out, as pleasure ripped through you so violently your hips jolted against his face, liquid heat gushing out of you, soaking his mouth, his beard, the sheets beneath you.

Ben groaned like a man unhinged, his fingers tightening bruises into your skin, holding you still as he licked you through it, fucked you through it, savouring every fucking drop.

“Fuck yeah, baby,” he rasped, completely ruined, his voice breaking into something wild. “That’s it—fuckin’ drench me—Jesus Christ, you’re so fuckin’ hot.”

You were shaking, whimpering, still trying to come down, still trying to understand what just happened.

Ben laughed, breathless and smug, so fucking pleased with himself. His hands finally eased, smoothing over your trembling thighs, gripping them possessively, reverently.

“Didn’t know you could do that, huh?” He muttered, voice hoarse, utterly wrecked.

You whimpered, shaking your head, mortified, trying to cover your face—

He didn’t fucking let you.

His fingers wrapped around your wrists, pinning them to the bed, his mouth dragging wet, open kisses along your thighs, up your stomach, up your ribs, crawling up your body like he wasn’t done with you yet.

“You are so fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, voice thick with filth and praise, his weight pressing you into the mattress. “Gonna make you do that every goddamn night, baby—fuckin’ soaking for me.”

You whimpered, still trembling, still floating, but he just grinned, so goddamn smug, his teeth skimming your jaw.

“Now, go to sleep,” he murmured, nipping at your ear. “You’ve got an early class tomorrow, sweetheart.”

Ben’s hands were steady, careful, as he helped you scoot back properly onto the bed, smoothing his palms over your trembling thighs, gripping where he could, soaking up the aftermath of what he’d just done to you. You barely had the energy to move, limbs heavy and useless, your breath still uneven, skin flushed and oversensitive.

He didn’t seem to mind. Loved it, actually.

Smirking, he sat back on his heels, watching as you climbed under the sheets, dragging them up around you, tucking yourself into the soft, pastel silk like you were burrowing into a cocoon of warmth and safety.

Then, with a huffed breath, Ben stood up and pulled his shirt over his head. A soaked mess.

“Christ on a cross,” he muttered, holding it up in the dim light. “Look at this shit.”

You immediately tried to hide, face burning as you turned toward the pillow, but he caught it—the small, mortified shift of your body, the way you curled inward like you could disappear. And he didn’t fucking like it.

“Hey,” he tutted, sharp and chiding, tossing the damp shirt over the back of your dressing table chair. “Don’t do that.”

You swallowed, exhaling against the sheets, still embarrassed but wrecked, still completely in his grip. He watched you for a second longer, then huffed, shaking his head before shoving his boxers down and climbing into bed beside you.

The mattress dipped, warmth swallowing you whole as he wrapped himself around you, pulling you flush against his chest, strong arms locking you in place like you were fucking going anywhere. His hold was tight, heavy, possessive in a way that made your stomach flutter, even in your exhausted state.

“Excited for tomorrow night,” he murmured against your temple, his voice a low, satisfied rumble. “Gonna pick you up from here when you’re back from class.”

You made a soft, content noise, already half-melting, pressing closer, sinking deeper into the warmth of him.

Then—

Ben shifted, brow furrowing as he felt something under him, something small and soft, and he reached down, pulling it free.

Eugene.

Your stuffed bear, held dangling by one arm in his grasp, Ben staring at it like it personally offended him.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “Eugene, you gotta get the fuck outta here.”

You snorted, laughter bubbling up before you could help it, giddy and wrecked and so goddamn endeared that you physically ached.

Ben just looked at you, then at Eugene, then back at you, dangling the bear slightly, like he was silently asking well?

Still giggling, you took the bear from him, hugging it against your chest, but you also nuzzled further into Ben, burying yourself beneath his arm, tangling your legs with his.

Ben sighed, a deep, satisfied breath, before pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the top of your head.

“Night, baby.”

His voice was low, heavy with something you weren’t ready to pick apart yet, something deep and final and absolute.

You mumbled something sleepy back, warm and safe and tucked into him, and for the first time in a long, long time—

You fell asleep feeling like you belonged somewhere.

When you woke again, it was slow. The kind of thick, heavy sleep that left your limbs boneless, warm, unwilling to move. But the first thing you became aware of was him.

Ben was grumbling into your hair, voice rough with sleep, chest broad and solid at your back, his arm heavy where it draped over your waist. Every breath he took vibrated through you, low and gravelly, lazy but full of complaint.

“Don’t wanna fuckin’ get up,” he muttered, his lips grazing your bare shoulder, breath hot against your skin. His hips pressed forward, and that was when you felt it—

Hard. Thick. Heavy. Pressed up against your ass, all heat and weight, his body surrounding you completely.

“Should just stay here all day,” he continued, voice low, almost slurred, still caught between sleep and wakefulness. His fingers flexed against your stomach, gripping, pulling you tighter against him. “Bury my cock in you and keep it there ‘til I gotta fuckin’ leave.”

A whimper caught in your throat, your thighs pressing together as you twitched in his hold. His breath hitched—then, his grip locked down.

His hand clamped onto your hip, pinning you to the bed, holding you still.

“If you don’t stop wigglin’ like that,” he murmured, voice dangerous, threatening, slow, “I really am gonna stay here and fuck you.”

Heat rushed to your face, your breath shuddering against the pillow as your body went still in his hold.

Ben huffed out a long, suffering groan, like he was physically forcing himself to be good, dragging himself out of bed with a grumble.

You stirred, stretching, before blinking up at him sleepily and shoving the sheets back to climb out of bed yourself.

Ben turned to look at you, brows furrowing, fully perplexed. “The fuck are you doin’?”

You blinked at him. “Getting up.”

His scowl deepened. “No, you’re not. Go back to sleep.”

You tilted your head, watching as he ran a hand down his face, already irritated by the concept of morning.

“But... you need to eat before you go.”

Ben froze.

His hand paused on his jaw. Something dark and hot flickered in his gaze, his breath leaving him in a sharp exhale. Then, he grinned. Slow. Lazy. Dangerous.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, running his tongue along his bottom lip, shaking his head as his eyes dragged over you. “You really are a dream girl, huh?”

Heat licked up your spine, but you held your ground, arms crossing loosely over your chest. “Ben.”

He groaned—but the good kind. The kind that sounded wrecked, that made your thighs clench together.

“Y’know how fuckin’ hot that is?” He exhaled through his nose, stepping closer, gaze dark, possessive. “Sweet little thing, tellin’ me I gotta eat before I go.” His fingers brushed over your hip, teasing, almost reverent. “Fuck me, baby, I could take you up on that right now.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He leaned in, lips brushing your jaw, voice dropping low and thick. “But for now, I need you back in bed.”

Before you could argue, he grabbed you, pushing you back down, the mattress dipping beneath your weight. His hand wrapped around your jaw, fingers pressing into your cheeks, pinning your face to look up at him as he climbed over you, his lips dragging slow and deliberate over yours.

He kissed you hard, sucking at your bottom lip, teeth scraping, his free hand gripping your throat, then your jaw, then your hip. Every touch was bruising, deliberate, a brand of possession that felt like it was sealing something deep into your bones.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, panting slightly, his thumb tracing your bottom lip, swollen from his teeth.

“Need you rested up for later,” he murmured, eyes flicking over your face, drinking you in. “We’re goin’ out.”

Your breath stuttered, heart thudding against your ribs.

Then—he pulled away. You whined, grabby-hands reaching for him, desperate and frustrated.

Ben laughed. Smug, mocking, pleased as fuck.

“Jesus Christ, look at you,” he grinned, shaking his head as he watched you desperately reaching for him. “Clingy little thing.”

Your face burned, but you didn’t stop, fingers snagging at his wrist, pulling him back down just enough to suck another kiss out of him.

Ben groaned, deep and approving, teeth scraping your lip before he finally broke away, thumb swiping along your jaw one last time.

“You’re cute when you get needy, y’know that?” He murmured, mocking, but still praising, still smug as fuck.

You huffed, pouting.

He smirked, straightening, already moving toward his clothes. “Go back to sleep, doll. I’ll be back for you soon.”

The sound of your phone alarm ripped you from sleep, shattering the lingering warmth of your dreams. You groaned, scowling as you fumbled to shut it off, blinking bleary-eyed at the soft glow of morning filtering through your window.

Then it hit you.

This wasn’t your old apartment.

You sat up slowly, heart skipping as you glanced around, reality settling in. New walls, new furniture, new life. The silk sheets pooled around your lap, and for a moment, it felt surreal—like you were still dreaming, like this wasn’t really yours.

It didn’t feel real. Didn’t feel earned. It felt borrowed, temporary, fraudulent.

You shook yourself out of it, exhaling slow before slipping out of bed, padding across the floor to your wardrobe. Focus. Get ready. Move.

You pulled out two outfits, snapping a photo of both before sending them to Ben. His response came fast.

That one. Good fuckin’ girl.

Your stomach flipped, heat creeping up your neck as you bit your lip, shaking your head before sending him another—this time, of you wearing it.

With that, you grabbed your bag and headed out.

The day passed in a blur.

Lectures, notes, the steady rhythm of campus life pulling you into its familiar current. By the time lunch rolled around, you were settling into the café with one of your friends—the same girl from last Friday, the one who had tried to get you to leave before Ben decided otherwise.

She barely let you sit down before she was grinning, eyes alight with curiosity.

“So,” she started, leaning in, “how was last weekend?”

You hesitated for a beat, then gave a small, knowing smile. “It was good.”

Her eyes widened, and she let out an excited noise, smacking your arm lightly. “Good?” She echoed. “Babe, he was fucking gorgeous.”

You laughed, shaking your head, sipping your drink. “Yeah, I know.”

“Are you seeing him again?”

You glanced up, watching her reaction carefully, then nodded. “Tonight.”

Another excited squeal, another wave of gushing, but it didn’t bother you. It was nice, in a way—to talk about him in this context, instead of just feeling him consume you whole.

By the time you finished lunch, she had pep-talked you into oblivion, and you headed back home, your steps a little lighter, a little more confident.

When you arrived, the car was already there. Butcher was waiting, leaning against the door, arms crossed.

You slowed, raising a brow, and he tilted his head in acknowledgment.

“Just gotta take my bags and stuff up,” you told him.

He waved a hand, gruff and dismissive, barely looking up. “Go on, love. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You smirked, shaking your head before heading inside, quickly changing into something better suited for the night ahead.

By the time you came back down, Butcher was already in the driver’s seat, waiting. You climbed into the car, settling into the back, watching the city blur past as he pulled away. The silence stretched just long enough before you finally spoke.

“How are you?”

Butcher snorted. “Like you give a fuck.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I do give a fuck.”

He glanced at you in the rearview, lips twitching in something almost amused. “Yeah, well. Ain’t dead yet, so I s’pose I’m alright.”

You huffed a laugh, fingers drumming absently against your thigh before you glanced at him again. “What exactly is your job?”

That earned you a raised brow.

“My job?” He echoed, tilting his head slightly.

You nodded, watching as he rolled the thought around in his head before giving a gruff, nonchalant shrug.

“Eh,” he muttered. “’M kinda like Ben’s assistant.”

Your brow furrowed. “Assistant?”

Butcher smirked, shaking his head. “Well, that’s the posh way of sayin’ it.”

You snorted, amused and intrigued, watching him as the car weaved through the city, each answer leading to more questions, each detail peeling back another layer.

You shifted in your seat, watching the cityscape blur past in a wash of headlights and neon. The weight of the day sat low in your limbs, the lingering haze of routine blending into something less familiar, less structured.

The car was silent except for the quiet hum of the engine and the occasional clink of Butcher’s rings against the steering wheel as he shifted his grip. His gaze stayed forward, focused, but you could feel his presence as easily as if he were staring straight at you.

You cleared your throat. “Hey—thank you.”

Butcher didn’t react right away, just quirked a brow, flicking his eyes toward the rearview mirror for a split second before looking back at the road. “For what?”

You shrugged, resting your temple against the window. “First of all, for picking me up from the apartment.”

He snorted, shaking his head like it was the bare fucking minimum.

“And,” you added after a pause, something clicking in your head, “for finding the apartment.”

At that, Butcher let out a low, amused exhale. His mouth pulled into something almost smug, but he didn’t say anything, just kept driving.

You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. “Ben chose it, but you found it.”

“Yeah, well.” He shifted slightly in his seat, rolling his shoulders. “Gotta make sure you’ve got a roof over your head, don’t I?”

There was something unspoken in that. Something heavy, something you weren’t ready to unpack yet. You let it sit for a moment, your fingers drumming absently against your knee, before swallowing and speaking again.

“And… for the Plan B last weekend.”

That made Butcher snort. Loud. Like he genuinely found that funny.

You immediately regretted saying it. Heat flashed up your neck, and you turned toward the window, cursing yourself internally.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, shaking his head. “He said you were a shy one. You really are, ain't ya?”

You grumbled something under your breath, shifting in your seat. “I just—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Butcher cut in, still amused, still shaking his head. He let the moment breathe for a second before glancing at you again. “You’re gonna have to work on that, y’know.”

That caught you off guard.

Your brows furrowed, head tipping slightly. “On what?”

Butcher sighed like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He waved a hand, his rings catching in the dim light. “The whole bloody embarrassed about everythin' bit.”

Your frown deepened, stomach flipping in something that wasn’t quite discomfort, wasn’t quite intrigue. “Why?”

He let out a gruff, knowing chuckle, shaking his head. “If you plan on keepin’ Ben, love, you’re gonna be flaunted about. You’ll be fuckin' exhausted if you’re constantly blushin’ over every little thing.”

You stiffened slightly, fingers tightening on your knee. “What do you mean?”

Butcher didn’t answer right away. Instead, he just exhaled through his nose, something deeply amused and vaguely pitying flickering across his face before he waved another hand.

“Nothing,” he muttered, voice low, dismissive, but still loaded as fuck. “Just sayin’—best get used to eyes bein’ on you.”

Your stomach twisted. You didn’t quite know why. Didn’t quite know what he was really saying.

Not yet.

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