#one top comment reads: why do you say you don’t mind if people think you’re her dad when you clearly want to be in a relationship with her? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

joemama-2 · 10 days ago

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velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 10.4k tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation a/n: eek series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

i mean, im not that surprised he’s sexy as hell

that’s actually crazy

imagine hiding your son for five years 😶😶 how can you be ashamed of that

doesn’t he literally have a girlfriend?? himari nakamura??

↳ yep for almost two years now

↳ wonder how she’s holding up i’d be pissed, unless she knew

rich people are always shady as fuck

You don’t even know how many comments you’ve read. Staying up practically the entire night, busying yourself with the endless scrolling of people who have not a single clue of how your life actually is. Meddling in your business and acting like the shit they’re spouting on the internet is okay.

They ranged from positive (sort of) to extremely personal and negative.

i bet she just did it for the child support

i wonder if he’s actually the dad, women like that lie and lie just cuz the dad is rich as fuck

i feel so bad for that boy

Bad? Why would they feel bad for him? You’ve given everything you can and then some to ensure Koji’s safety and innocence. You’ve never put him in harm’s way, difficult situations, hit him, nothing. Of course you’ve raised your voice, but every parent does. Why are these reasons suddenly acting like they know a fucking thing or two? This is insane.

The only positive ones you see are praising your son for how cute he is, how much he looks like Satoru, and how he’ll probably get everything he wants. That’s not true, you’re not going to spoil your kid and you’re sure as hell not letting Satoru do it either; he’s humble, that’s how you want him to be. Still, you do feel uneasy at strangers on the internet for talking about your baby like this, in reference to a photo none of you knew was taken.

And you still don’t know who took it.

That’s what infuriates you the most. Because who in their right mind would do that? Who thinks they’re that fucking entitled to chime in on your personal business—your family.

When you find them, you swear on everything you’re punching them.

Your head hangs low, the hood of your sweatshirt pulled tight, shielding your face as you step into the café. You keep your gaze down, avoiding the eyes of the baristas and patrons scattered around. The familiar hum of the espresso machine feels deafening today.

Maybe no one will notice. Maybe no one cares.

But you know better.

That damn image, plastered across every TV screen and newsfeed yesterday, is still burned into your mind. Why do people even care this much? You’re beyond pissed off. Who in their right mind thinks they have the right to invade your personal life like that? To turn your family into fodder for the public?

Maybe no one will say anything. Who even watched the news anyway?

More people than you think, actually. You keep moving, but Hana has other plans.

“Y/N!” Her voice cuts through the noise like a whip, and before you can react, she grabs your forearm, dragging you into the storage room in the back.

“Hey, what the—” you start to protest, wincing as her grip tightens, but she doesn’t care. She whirls around to face you, her expression a mix of shock and disbelief.

“What the hell is going on?!” she demands, gesturing wildly with her hands. “You were on the news yesterday!”

Your stomach churns at the reminder, and your jaw clenches tightly. You pull your hood down, resigning yourself to the conversation you were hoping to avoid. “I know that already,” you snap, folding your arms across your chest.

“Koji’s father is multi-billionaire Satoru Gojo?!” Her voice rises in pitch, and she looks at you like you’ve grown a second head. “Is that for real? You’ve been hiding this?!”

You take a deep breath, counting to three in your head. “Yes, Hana. It’s real. Koji’s father is Satoru Gojo. Can we not do this right now?”

But Hana doesn’t back down, her wide eyes searching your face for answers. “Are you kidding me? Of course we’re doing this right now! You’ve been sitting on this—” she throws her hands up, “—while the rest of us thought you were just, like, a regular single mom? What the hell, Y/N?”

“Because it’s none of anyone’s business!” you hiss, your voice rising then lowering, not wanting anyone else to overhear. “Do you think I wanted this to come out? Do you think I wanted his world to invade mine?”

Hana softens slightly, her eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Okay, fair. But you should’ve told me, at least. I mean, I’m your friend.”

“I didn’t tell anyone for a reason and I don’t owe anyone anything,” you mutter, running a hand through your hair. “And now it’s everywhere. Do you know how terrifying that is? For me? For Koji?”

Hana sighs, leaning back against the wall. “Okay, okay. I get it. This whole thing’s a mess. But what are you going to do now? I mean, the story’s out. People are gonna talk, Y/N. A lot. Especially if it involves a man like him.”

You swallow hard, the weight of her words settling heavily on your shoulders. “I don’t know,” you admit quietly, your voice trembling. “I just want to protect my son.”

Hana nods, her expression softening further. “We’ll figure it out. But you’re gonna need a plan. And.”

“Hana, I—“ you’re really trying not to snap at her, really. But she’s pushing every button you have right now and your patience is running extremely low. Don’t snap, she’s just worried. “I know what to do, thank you. But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t meddle in my business too. We’re friends, yes, but understand right now that I’m going through a lot of shit and don’t need to be told what to do and when to do it. So get off my back.”

Hana blinks, a little caught off guard by your sudden announcement. Her mouth slightly agape, clearly not having expected your outburst. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, her expression shifting between hurt and something close to understanding. She straightens, her arms falling from where they’d been crossed over her chest. “Y/N, I wasn’t trying to—” she begins, her voice softer now, but you cut her off.

“I know,” you say, your voice quieter but still firm. “I know you’re trying to help, Hana. And I’m grateful, I am. But right now, I need to handle this on my own. I need space. Can you give me that?”

She nods slowly, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Okay,” she says after a moment. “I get it. I’ll back off. Just—if you need anything, anything at all, I’m here. You know that, right?”

You exhale, some of the tension easing from your shoulders. “Yeah. I know.”

Hana offers you a small, tentative smile before stepping aside, giving you the room you so desperately need. As she moves to leave, she hesitates at the curtains, glancing back at you. “For what it’s worth, Y/N…I think you’re handling this a lot better than you think you are.”

You don’t respond, just nod in acknowledgment, and she disappears back into the front of the café. Alone in the small back room, you lean against the wall, closing your eyes for a moment to gather your thoughts.

Better than I think, huh? You shake your head, rubbing at your temples. It doesn’t feel that way.

You’d be lying to yourself if you said this probably won’t be that bad; not a big deal. But hell, it was huge. You hate unnecessary attention, especially attention from hundreds, if not thousands of random strangers. You’re recalling the incident from earlier when you dropped Koji off at school. Mr. Ito stopping you once more and confessing his surprise to you. In his words, “I didn’t know Koji had such an…esteemed father.”

You held back a slew of insults, keeping it classy, as always. But as the days go on and the more shit that seems to be happening to you, you’re getting this close to breaking that. It’s the way he, everyone else, and even Hana seems so…shocked. The lingering glances from other parents at drop-off, the whispers in the hallways. It’s the way their surprise feels so…palpable. You get it, in a way. Satoru Gojo is larger than life—powerful, wealthy, and untouchable in a way most people only dream of. But still, the shock in their eyes stings more than it should. Did they think you weren’t of caliber to bag a man like Satoru? Did they think a man like that wouldn’t even dream of having a child with a woman like you? It feels a tad bit insulting. Actually, scratch that—it feels like a slap in the face.

The implications gnaw at you, poking at insecurities you’d rather not acknowledge. This is exactly why you hate social media. You’re already growing too conscious of the comments people are making—caring too much and it was just revealed. And the worst part? You can’t even fully blame them. Satoru’s world is one you’ve never truly belonged to. You’re not the glossy, magazine-cover type, and you don’t have the pedigree or connections his circle would expect. But that doesn’t mean you’re less than, and it sure as hell doesn’t mean Koji is any less precious because of it.

You sigh, rubbing at your temples. If only these people could see you for who you truly are—if they could see the strength it takes to raise a child on your own, to hold your head high even when the world tries to tear you down. But no, all they see is the scandal and the drama, their curiosity morphing into judgment. Sure, you made mistakes—big and bad ones. But you’re doing all this in order to make up for those mistakes. And sure, Satoru doesn’t 100% forgive you—you’re not sure he ever will—but you don’t think he would agree with these kinds of comments being made. Right?

You huff. Let them talk, you think bitterly, though the tightness in your chest betrays the confidence you’re trying to muster. Let them all talk, they know nothing.

The minutes feel like hours. Unsure of how long you’ve exactly been here. Equally nervous about looking at your phone to check.

“Oh my god, look. It’s her.”

“Shhh! She’ll hear you.”

“I wonder if she’ll give us pointers.”

“You’re insane.”

The conversation doesn’t fly over your head. t’s like they want you to hear, voices loud enough to penetrate the usual clatter of the café. You swear, they’re practically aiming their words right at you. Your grip tightens around the rag in your hand, knuckles going white as you scrub the already spotless table. The motion is a little too aggressive, the poor table bearing the brunt of your simmering frustration. Your jaw clenches, brows knitting together as you try—desperately—to keep your temper in check. Jaw clenching and brows knitting together, you’re counting down to ten and back.

One…two…three… you recite in your head, attempting to steady your breath. It’s an old habit—one you learned a while back from you’re therapist, one you’ve relied on in situations like this, but today it feels like it’s barely working. Four…five…six.

You glance up, just for a second, and immediately regret it. The group of girls sits near the window, leaning into each other as they giggle, their eyes darting your way. They’re not even trying to hide it anymore. One of them, a blonde with an annoyingly perfect smile, nudges her friend and whispers something, sending the others into another fit of laughter. Your fingers flex around the rag, itching to throw it across the room. Breathe, you remind yourself. Just breathe. They’re not worth it. But it’s hard to ignore the knot tightening in your chest, the sting of humiliation creeping in despite your best efforts. Because you know exactly what they’re laughing about, what they’re whispering about. It’s not just idle curiosity—it’s judgment, plain and simple. And maybe, just maybe, if this were any other day, you’d let it roll off your back. But today? After everything that’s happened? After seeing your son’s face plastered on screens and hearing people dissect your life like it’s a soap opera? You toss the rag onto the table, standing up straighter as you look their way. They immediately quiet down, eyes widening like they’ve been caught red-handed.

“Can I help you?” you ask, voice calm but carrying just enough edge to make them squirm.

The blonde fidgets, her confidence faltering under your gaze. “Oh, um, no, we were just…”

“Enjoying your coffee?” you finish for her, forcing a tight smile. “Good. Let me know if you need anything else.” Without waiting for a response, you turn on your heel and walk behind the counter, the satisfaction of their stunned silence doing little to ease the weight in your chest. Nine…ten… You exhale slowly, trying to let it go, but the anger simmers just beneath the surface.

It’s going to be a long day.

—-

The walk back home with Koji feels like you never want to use your senses again. It feels like a marathon you never signed up for, every step heavier than the last. The pounding in your head has escalated into a full-blown migraine, the sharp pain clawing at the edges of your skull. You clench your teeth, trying to hold it together, willing the tears pricking at your eyes to stay put. Koji chatters beside you, his small hand in yours, his voice a muffled hum against the overwhelming throb in your head.

So much has changed within just the span of a week and none of it feels good. You like change, but not like this. Not the kind of change that’s so spontaneous and out of nowhere that it makes you dread the littlest things. The kind of change where you feel like every way you turn, it’s a dead end. Every thought spiraling into another reminder of how much you’ve lost control, or of how much you never had it to begin with. The kind of change that you never fucking asked for in the first place. The kind of change where you feel like a ticking timebomb. A simple walk home feels like an obstacle course. The sound of Koji’s innocent laughter, once a balm to your soul, now feels like a weight pressing down on you, a reminder of how fragile your balance is.

This change doesn’t come with warnings or instructions. It doesn’t let you adjust, and doesn’t give you the chance to prepare. It just dumps its baggage on your doorstep and forces you to deal with it, whether you’re ready or not. And right now, you’re not.

The last thing you want to do is blow up on someone who doesn’t deserve it, especially your son. You glance down at him, his bright eyes scanning the world around him with that endless curiosity only a child can have. His tiny fingers grip yours with a trust that makes your chest ache. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t understand the storm brewing inside you. And he shouldn’t have to.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Koji’s voice is soft, his head tilted as he looks up at you with concern.

You force a smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I’m fine, sweetheart,” you manage, squeezing his hand gently. “Just tired.” He nods, seemingly satisfied with your answer, and resumes his animated recount of the day’s events. You let him talk, his voice a small distraction from the noise in your head. One step at a time, you tell yourself. One breath at a time. For him, if not for yourself.

You wonder to yourself how many more times you can continue repeating that phrase to yourself, like a broken record spinning endlessly in your mind. Shouldn’t you be allowed to do some things on your own? Something that isn’t tied to the constant grind of making sure Koji has everything he needs, of shielding him from a world that feels more hostile every day? Everything you do is for him—every decision, every sacrifice, every moment of biting your tongue when you want to scream. It’s all for him.

But what about you?

The thought is bitter, curling in your chest like smoke. It feels selfish even to entertain it, but the exhaustion is suffocating. How long has it been since you’ve done something just because you wanted to? Since you’ve allowed yourself the luxury of thinking about what you need, instead of what everyone else expects of you? Is it selfish? Is this not how a good mother thinks?

The doubt gnaws at you, persistent and sharp.

Not like you’d know the answer to that question. Your mother—a woman you rarely ever want to think about—never gave you the guidance for situations like this. You have no inspiration, nothing. You’re doing everything free-handed. She didn’t leave you with blueprints for moments like these, no voice in your head to tell you what’s right, what’s wrong, or even what’s okay. She was a void, an absence, and that absence shaped you more than you’d like to admit.

And now here you are, trying to be everything for your son that she wasn’t for you. But it feels like you’re fumbling in the dark, building something fragile with trembling hands. There’s no instruction manual for this, no map to follow. You’re doing everything on the first try, improvising as you go. Every decision feels like a gamble. Did you do enough today? Did you do too much? Did you make the right call, or are you setting him up for something you can’t even see coming? The uncertainty is exhausting.

You glance at Koji, his small hand still tucked safely in yours, his voice cutting through the haze of your thoughts. He’s so blissfully unaware of the turmoil raging inside you, and that’s how it should be. He deserves that innocence, that security. But the weight of always being the strong one, the reliable one, is starting to crush you. How much longer can I keep this up? The question whispers in your mind, and you hate it. You hate that you’re even asking it, hate that it makes you feel weak. But the truth is, you’re tired.

And you don’t know how much longer you can keep pretending that you’re not.

You focus on Koji again, his small frame silhouetted against the afternoon light of the day. He trusts you implicitly, and looks at you like you’re the answer to everything. And the weight of that trust makes you want to cry and scream in equal measure. How can I possibly live up to that?

They never said motherhood was easy. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. Maybe this is what being a mother really is—second-guessing everything, carrying the weight of your own past, and still showing up every day, trying your best.

You don’t know if that’s enough. But it’s all you have.

It seems like you’re in for a surprise every second of the day.

Satoru, much to your own dismay and confusion, is perched against your apartment door; waiting for you again. Like a magnet, Koji runs into his lower half, hugging his father with all the strength his five-year-old body will allow.

“Hey, little man. I’m happy to see you.” Satoru smiles wholeheartedly, patting Koji’s back with gentle ease.

“Hi, Papa! I missed you.” His voice is muffled by Satoru’s clothing.

The older man laughs, relishing in the moment for another second, before opening his light azures. His eyes look like they’re darting all around you, as if making sure you’re okay. Standing up, he shuffles his hands in his pockets.

“What are you doing here? You didn’t tell me you were coming,” you mutter, walking up closer. Arms crossing.

He nods. “I know, I–I should’ve told you. But this was urgent and I knew you were busy at work.”

A hum is all you offer, unlocking your apartment door and stepping in. The semi-warmth envelops you like a worn blanket. Finally, in the comfort of my own home. Even if it is just for a little bit before you’re off again.

“Call off his babysitter.”

You look back, watching him close your door and lock it. “What? Why?”

“Because I’m here.”

Koji runs off to his room, presumably to play with his toy collection. Leaving the two adults alone. Biting your lip, attempting to come up with something to say—or what to say first. Luckily, he beats you to it. “I want you two to spend the night at mine, don’t go to work. I’ll pay you whatever you miss out on. I know you saw the leak and I’m working on figuring out who the hell did it. But until then, I’m a little concerned for your guys’ safety, so stay at mine until we figure things out long-term.”

You stare at him, caught off guard by the resolute earnestness in his voice. The Satoru you know isn’t usually this serious, this concerned. It’s disarming—attractive, and for a moment, you don’t know how to respond. “This is my home, Satoru,” you finally say, your voice quiet but firm. “I can’t just up and leave because of a leak. And I can’t run every time something like this happens. That’s not a long-term solution either.”

“I get that,” he says, stepping closer. “But this isn’t just about you. It’s about Koji. Someone took that photo, and I don’t know who, or how, or what their intentions are. Until I do, I can’t take chances.”

“And I get that, but I can’t just—sleep at your place.”

“Why not?”

“Because that’s just…weird.”

“Fuck, Y/N,” he exhales out. “You think something’ll happen? It won’t. I'm doing this for Koji and you because I care. Not because reviving something that’s long-ended is my priority.”

“It’s not about that,” you snap, your voice rising before you catch yourself. You close your eyes for a second, exhaling sharply, trying to rein in your frustration. “It’s just... complicated, Satoru. You showing up like this, offering to fix things with money, with solutions I didn’t ask for, for problems I never wanted—it’s overwhelming.”

He takes another step closer, his presence filling the small entryway. “You think I don’t understand that?” His voice softens but carries an edge of urgency. “Y/N, I’m not trying to make this harder for you. I know this is all... messy. But I can’t sit around and pretend I’m okay with you and Koji being here while someone out there is bold enough to invade your privacy like that. I’m trying to protect you. You can’t keep pushing me away like this, you said you wanted to make things better.”

“I know, but—”

“Then stop it. Stop arguing, complaining, whatever. You’re not going to keep me out of Koji’s life any longer, or yours. They already posted another damn picture of you today at work.”

What? You blink your eyes, widening them. You don’t even want to see the photo evidence, gulping down the weird lump that forms in your throat. What the fuck is going on with my life right now? You hesitate, biting your lip. His words chip away at your defenses, but the walls you’ve built don’t crumble that easily. “And what happens if we go to your place? What’s next? You swoop in, play hero, and then leave us when this blows over?”

His jaw tightens, the faint hurt flashing in his eyes almost imperceptible. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

“Isn’t it?” you counter, arms crossing tightly over your chest, a weak attempt to shield yourself from the weight of the conversation. “That’s what you always do, Satoru. You show up when it’s convenient for you, and when it’s not, you disappear.”

The words hang heavy in the air, stinging both of you. For a moment, he doesn’t respond, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I’m not leaving you this time,” he says quietly, lifting his eyes back to yours. “Not until I know you two are safe. I’m not running, Y/N. Not from this. But you have to stop trying to keep me at arm's length, I’m trying my best to help.” His eyes lock onto yours, pleading yet determined. You hate how convincing he can be when he’s like this. How he makes you question your own resolve. “Please,” he adds, his voice dropping. “Just for a little while.”

The conviction in his voice is startling, and it makes something inside you waver. You’re tired, too tired to keep arguing, too tired to keep carrying everything on your shoulders. It’s true, you’re feeling yourself pushback on him. He deserves this—time with Koji, protecting him, and more. It’s just so hard breaking from the fragile bubble you built for your son and you. Satoru’s presence is like a sharp knife, waiting to just poke through it with ease, to get to his family.“Fine,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “But just for tonight. Koji and I will come to your place for tonight.”

Relief washes over his features, but he doesn’t smile. He nods, stepping back to give you space. “That’s all I’m asking.”

As you turn away to gather what you need for the night, you catch a glimpse of Koji peeking out from his room, his eyes wide with curiosity. You put on a smile for his sake, but deep down, you can’t shake the unease settling in your chest. This isn’t just about staying at Satoru’s place. It’s about what this means—what it could mean—and the part of you that still isn’t sure you’re ready to face it.

The inside of Satoru’s Mercedes is spacious, but asphyxiating. Koji in his car seat in the back, watching something on his tablet. This is the first time you’ve been in the car with Satoru since way long ago. It’s nostalgia, but sickening at the same time. You remember how he would place his hand on your thigh, squeezing it lightly. Or how he likes to rest his hand on the gearstick, or his elbow on the middle console.

Your skin prickles with goosebumps when he brushes against your arm as he reaches for the temperature controls, adjusting the heat. It’s a small, thoughtless gesture, but it sends an involuntary jolt through you. You glance out the window, pretending to admire the blurred city lights instead of acknowledging the memories flooding back. The hum of the car engine fills the silence, an uncomfortable contrast to the weight of everything left unsaid. Koji giggles at something on his tablet in the backseat, his innocence a stark reminder of why you’re here and why you can’t let your emotions take over.

“You okay?” Satoru’s voice breaks the quiet, calm yet cautious.

“Fine,” you reply quickly, too quickly. You keep your eyes glued to the window, your arms crossed as if to shield yourself from the proximity.

He stops at a red light, leaning back in his sight. He’s a pro at side-eyeing you as you’re faced away. Seeing the way your hands ball into small fists. Nervous. Your foot is tapping on the floor. Thinking. And if he looks closer at your chest, he’ll notice how it’s rising up and down a little more quickly than normal.

Oh.

He clears his throat, looking forward as the light turns green. Focus on driving, focus on driving. He doesn’t push, but you can feel his gaze flickering toward you now and then, like he’s reading every shift in your posture, every flicker of hesitation. It’s infuriating how well he knows you, even now. You glance at Koji briefly before turning your gaze back to the window, watching the city lights blur into streaks as the car moves. The nostalgia you felt earlier morphs into a bitter taste in your mouth. You hate how easily Satoru slips into the role of a doting father, as if the years of his absence never happened.

You need to get a better hold of your jealousy.

“You’re quiet,” Satoru says, breaking the silence.

“Just tired,” you reply curtly, not bothering to look at him.

He hums, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. “Long day, huh?”

You roll your eyes. “You could say that.”

His gaze flicks to you briefly before returning to the road. “Look, I know this isn’t ideal. But I’m glad you’re coming with me. It’s the right thing to do.”

You let out a dry laugh, finally turning to face him. “The right thing to do? Since when have you ever cared about the right thing, Satoru?”

His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then he exhales deeply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I care now. Now that you’ve granted me that option,” he says quietly.

You want to scoff, to throw his words back at him, but there’s something in his tone that makes you pause. Something raw, unguarded. The way he gets out those snark remarks angers you, but only further solidifies the weight of your actions, and the fact that things will never be the same.

The rest of the drive is spent in silence, both of you lost in your own thoughts. When the car finally pulls into the underground garage of his penthouse building, Koji’s excitement is palpable.

“Wow! This place is huge!” Koji exclaims, his eyes wide as he looks around.

Satoru chuckles, stepping out of the car and opening the back door to unbuckle Koji. “Wait till you see the view, buddy.”

You follow them, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. As you step into the elevator, you can’t help but feel like you’re being pulled back into a world you thought you’d left behind—one of complications and heartbreak. Satoru presses the button for his floor, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just for one night.”

You don’t respond, staring straight ahead as the elevator begins its ascent. But deep down, you know it’s never just one night with Satoru.

“No running.”

“Sorry, Mama.”

You place Koji and your bags on one of the chairs in the kitchen, watching your son rush to his father’s living room. Satoru follows him, hands on his hips. “Hey buddy, bought some toys for you. Do you want to play with them? You like Spiderman, right?”

If possible, Koji’s eyes light up even more with excitement. Gasping and squealing, nodding his head furiously. “I love Spiderman! Mama threw me a Spiderman birthday last time.”

Satoru hums. “Wish I coulda seen that.”

You freeze at Satoru's words, your hand halfway to unpacking one of Koji’s bags. His tone is light, almost wistful, but it feels like a loaded statement—one that stings more than you’d like to admit. You glance over at him and Koji, your son practically bouncing on his toes as Satoru kneels to pull out a neatly wrapped box from a hidden cabinet. “Here you go,” Satoru says, handing it to Koji. “I think you’ll like what’s inside.”

Koji tears into the wrapping with glee, revealing a Spiderman action figure set. He gasps, clutching the box to his chest like it’s the most precious thing in the world. “Thank you, Papa! This is so cool!”

Your heart twists at how easily Koji has taken to calling him that. It’s like Satoru’s sudden presence is a gift he didn’t realize he’d been missing. And yet, for you, it’s a reminder of the years of absence—of the birthdays and milestones Satoru missed. “Please, don’t spoil him too much,” you mutter, finally unpacking Koji’s things and setting them on the counter.

Satoru looks over his shoulder, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “What’s wrong with a little spoiling? He deserves it.”

You exhale sharply, not bothering to mask your irritation. “What he deserves is consistency.”

His smirk falters, standing back up to his full height and coming over to you. Keeping his voice level calm, in case Koji decides to listen in. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head.

Satoru narrows his eyes slightly, his expression unreadable as he watches you busy yourself with Koji’s things. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You let out a humorless laugh, refusing to meet his gaze. “It’s exactly what it sounds like. Don’t read into it.”

His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t push further—not yet. Instead, he leans against the counter, folding his arms as he observes you. “Y/N, you can’t be the angry one in this situation. I thought you understood that.”

“I’m not angry.”

“Then what are you?”

“I’m just—” you let out a big breath, looking up at him once more. “I’m tired. Forgive me if I’m not overly happy right now.

Satoru’s gaze softens, his posture relaxing slightly, though the tension in the room lingers like a heavy fog. “I’m not trying to add onto that, I’m just trying to be here for my son.”

I know that. I don’t know why I’m snapping. All you can offer is a nod, reaching into your bag, and grabbing a change of clothes. “I…I’m gonna go shower, watch him please.”

Satoru nods, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before shifting to the living room where Koji is engrossed in his toys. “Of course. Take your time.”

You offer a small, tight-lipped smile before retreating down the hall, clutching the clothes in your hands like a lifeline. Once you’re inside the bathroom, the door clicks shut behind you, and the weight of everything crashes down. Leaning against the counter, you grip the edge tightly, your knuckles turning white as you take slow, measured breaths. The mirror reflects a version of yourself you hardly recognize—tired, frazzled, and barely holding it together. The faint hum of Koji’s laughter echoes down the hall, grounding you for a moment. At least he’s happy. That’s what matters.

The shower is a welcome escape. The hot water cascades over your skin, washing away the grime of the day and the lingering tension from your conversation with Satoru. You let your head fall forward, droplets sliding down your face, mingling with the tears you didn’t realize had started to fall. You didn’t mean to snap at him. He’s trying, you know that. But the past doesn’t let go so easily, and the overwhelming mix of emotions—anger, fear, hope—leaves you feeling unsteady. And you feel angry at yourself for letting your emotions slip through, getting the best of you. You’re surprised Satoru hasn’t been more outwardly rude to you, short, or even snappy. It seems like he’s taking this all better than you are, and once again, that bitter jealousy of yours is shining through. How he can just handle things so smoothly—at least that’s what it seems like. But he’s used to all this: the spotlight, public eye, attention. You just wish things could’ve been handled…differently.

Everything feels like a domino effect, starting all with that dreaded day at the grocery store. How so much has changed.

By the time you step out, you feel a fraction lighter, though the knot in your chest remains. You towel off, change into your clean clothes, and take a moment to steel yourself before heading back into the fray.

When you return to the living room, you find Satoru sitting cross-legged on the floor with Koji, holding up a miniature Spiderman figure. Koji is giggling, animatedly explaining an intricate story about how Spiderman saves the day. Satoru glances up as you walk in, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Hey. We’re just working on a top-secret mission over here. No big deal.”

Koji looks up too, beaming. “Mama! Papa’s playing Spiderman with me! He’s really good at the voices.”

You can’t help the small smile that forms, even as your heart aches a little at the sight. “Sounds like you two are having fun.”

Satoru nods, his expression soft. “We’re a good team.”

You stand there for a moment, watching them, the weight of everything pressing down on your shoulders once more. Maybe this is what Koji needs. Maybe this is what you need. But trusting him again…that’s the hardest part.

That night, eating dinner at Satoru’s long dining table, the same one where you faced his parents, it all feels strange, to say the least. The clinking of cutlery against porcelain plates echoes faintly in the vast dining room, filling the silence between the three of you. Koji hums to himself as he picks at his plate, occasionally glancing at his father to tell him some small details about his day or ask about the toys he’d gotten earlier. Satoru engages him with ease, his tone light and playful, but you can see the flickers of something deeper behind his smiles—guilt, maybe, or a desperate need to make up for lost time.

And then there’s you, sitting stiffly at the other end of the table, your appetite wavering as your mind keeps drifting back to the last time you sat here. That memory is sharp and vivid, like an old wound that hasn’t quite healed.

But Koji’s laughter brings you back down to Earth. Looking up from your plate of food to the sight before you. Father and son, son and father, family. They look so alike, you don’t think you can ever get over the blatant resemblance. Satoru’s genes are just very strong. You wish Koji could’ve inherited a few more things from you. You place a hand on your lower stomach, as if a physical touch will make the strange abundance of butterflies flying around in there to go away.

It’s strange, this setup. Domestic in a way you never thought you’d experience with him again. But it’s also…nice.

It feels whole, like this is how things should be. Would’ve been had you not held your tongue for so long. And you’re starting to think to yourself how much you like this sight. How it’s making you feel at home.

But this isn’t your home. However, you think you can pretend for just one night.

“You’re not eating much,” Satoru says, pulling you out of your thoughts. His voice is casual, but there’s an undertone of concern.

Your eyes widen at him, realizing you’ve been caught staring and quickly looking back down. “I’m fine,” you say, forcing a small smile. “Just sleepy, I guess.”

“I bet,” he says, and while his tone is conversational, his gaze lingers on you, searching for something beneath your calm facade.

“Yeah,” you reply shortly, stabbing at a piece of vegetable on your plate. You don’t want to talk about your day or your worries or the mounting anxiety sitting heavy in your chest. Not here, not now.

Koji interrupts before Satoru can press further, his voice bright and full of excitement. “Papa, can we watch a movie after dinner? Mama too!”

Satoru grins, lightly pinching his cheekbone. “Of course, buddy. What movie are we watching?”

Koji claps his hands together, listing off a couple of titles before settling on one of his favorites. You manage another smile, this one a little more genuine, as you watch the way Satoru effortlessly makes Koji light up. For a moment, the tension eases, and you let yourself focus on Koji’s joy. Maybe this is enough for now. Maybe that’s all you need to get through the evening.

But as you glance at Satoru across the table, his eyes catching yours for a brief second, you’re reminded of how fragile this truce feels. Of how much history lies between you, threatening to resurface at any moment.

Koji picks Spiderman, of course. You’ve watched this movie at least a hundred times now, maybe more. You can practically recite the lines perfectly. The movie plays on, the familiar dialogue flowing like background noise to your swirling thoughts. You’ve seen this scene so many times—the hero’s triumphant swing through the city, the bad guy’s dramatic monologue, the moments of comic relief Koji always laughs at—but tonight, it feels different. There’s an added layer of tension sitting heavy between you and Satoru.

The living room feels unusually cozy, the dimmed lighting casting a warm glow over the space. Koji wiggles in his spot, clutching a Spiderman plush as he stares at the screen with unblinking eyes, thoroughly engrossed. You, on the other hand, are trying not to let your exhaustion bubble over. Koji sits between you two, Satoru’s arm over his little shoulders. Satoru’s arm rests casually behind Koji, but every so often, as he adjusts his position, his fingers graze your shoulder—a light, fleeting touch that feels far too deliberate to be accidental. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems entirely focused on the movie, his face relaxed, a small smirk tugging at his lips during one of Koji’s excited reactions. So, you ignore it. But you do shift slightly, creating just enough distance to break the contact. If he notices, he doesn’t say anything.

Koji laughs out loud at a particularly funny scene, leaning against Satoru’s side. “That’s so cool, Papa! I wanna do that someday!”

Satoru chuckles, ruffling Koji’s hair. “Maybe we’ll get you a Spiderman costume, and you can be the hero of the city.”

Koji beams at him, his excitement is contagious. For a brief moment, you allow yourself to appreciate this dynamic, the way Satoru fits so naturally into Koji’s world. You hate to admit it, but this is what Koji’s been missing—what you’ve been missing, too, in some small, buried way. Satoru’s hand once again brushes your shoulder during his next adjustment, that buried part of you is quickly overshadowed by the reminder of why this dynamic fell apart in the first place.

Luckily, Koji is already showered and dressed for bed in his matching red set. So as the movie progresses, nearing its end, so does his sleepiness. You along with him. Koji’s head begins to droop as the credits start to roll, his little body leaning further into Satoru’s side. His eyelids flutter with each blink, his earlier excitement now replaced by the slow pull of sleep. Satoru’s about to make a remark, before looking over at you and seeing your body slumped over on the other side.

The scene feels peaceful in a way he hadn’t anticipated—a rare moment of quiet amidst the chaos that’s been your guys’ lives lately. Koji’s soft breathing grows steadier, his small body completely leaning into Satoru’s side now, one hand clutching his Spiderman plush while the other hangs limply at his side. Satoru glances down at his son with a faint smile, brushing Koji’s hair out of his face with a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He looks over to you next, ready your head resting on your hand. Your expression is soft, lips parted slightly as you drift into the kind of sleep that only exhaustion can bring. Satoru looks at the clock; 9:00pm.

For a moment, he just watches you both. Koji, who looks so much like him it’s almost uncanny, and you, the woman who’s somehow always managed to throw him off balance without even trying. He sighs softly, shaking his head at the scene before him. For a split second, he feels a shadow—a ghost from the past appears beside Koji. A baby girl who would’ve been seven by now.The baby girl who never got the chance to grow up. In that fleeting, haunting moment, he imagines her sitting there too, nestled beside her brother, giggling at Spiderman’s antics. He can imagine her features. She would’ve looked so much like you, it’s painful.

His chest tightens, and he has to look away, focusing on a random corner of the room as he fights to steady his breathing. It’s not fair—to her, to Koji, or to you. And yet, here he is, caught in the what-ifs and the might-have-beens, unable to let go of a past that feels like it happened both a lifetime ago and just yesterday. The glimpse is gone as soon as it comes, to which he’s thankful for because he is not crying right now. With a small grunt, he stands up and carefully moves Koji into his arms. Adjusting the boy and making sure he’s not waking up, he walks him over to the spare bedroom.

Satoru moves quietly, his footsteps soft against the floor as he cradles Koji in his arms. The boy’s head rests comfortably on his shoulder, his small body relaxed and completely unaware of the careful handling. The weight of his son in his arms, the warmth of Koji’s tiny form, is a stark reminder of everything he’s been missing. He pushes the door to the spare bedroom open gently, trying not to disturb the silence of the house. The moonlight filters through the curtains, casting a calm glow across the room. Satoru places Koji carefully on the bed, tucking him in with the same gentle movements he’s always used. He watches for a moment as the boy shifts slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips before settling back into a peaceful sleep.

For a second, Satoru just stands there, hands lingering at Koji’s side as if unsure of when to leave. It’s as if the past week—no, the past years—are catching up to him in this very moment. He never thought he'd be here, standing in a room like this, watching his son sleep under a roof that used to feel so distant. His chest tightens, but he refuses to let himself feel the weight of it. Not yet. Not with Koji so close. With one last look, he slowly pulls away, stepping back into the hallway and quietly closing the door behind him. The house feels colder as he moves through it, but this time, it’s not because of the empty spaces or the lingering tension. It’s because, for the first time in years, he’s truly trying to figure out where he fits in all of this.

And it’s a lot harder than he ever expected.

He walks back to the living room, your body now completely lying on your side. His lips purse as he stands before you, unsure if he should wake you or move you himself. Would that be okay? Is he crossing some boundary of yours if he touches you fully and intentionally?

Satoru stands there for a moment, studying you as you sleep. The soft rise and fall of your chest, the way your body curls slightly into the pillow, creates a sense of peace in the room, but also a sense of tension in him. The pull to reach out, to make sure you’re comfortable, is strong. But he hesitates, his mind racing with thoughts about boundaries, and the last thing he wants is to make you uncomfortable, especially when everything already feels so fragile between the two of you. He watches for a few more seconds, the quiet of the room making everything feel so... still. He doesn’t know how he got here, standing in the middle of the room, feeling so torn. Part of him wants to just go ahead and make sure you’re properly tucked in, like he did with Koji. But that other part of him continues to wonderf if that’s overstepping, if his presence, even now, feels intrusive. Satoru exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. Finally, he decides to attempt to recreate his actions for Koji; it’s the least he can do.

He bends his knees slightly, hands reaching out. But just as his fingertips graze your bare arms, you’re jolting up and awake. Head swiveling around, eyes barely open and bleary. “What’s happening? Where’s Koji?”

Satoru freezes, his fingers hovering in the air as your voice cuts through the stillness. His eyes flick to you, wide and disoriented from the abruptness of your awakening. "Y/N?" He murmurs, his voice low and hesitant, almost as if he's unsure whether you’re fully awake. "Koji’s in the other room, he’s asleep."

You sit up, rubbing your eyes, still trying to shake off the remnants of sleep. Your thoughts are jumbled, disoriented from the deep slumber you’d just woken from. “I— I didn’t hear him... when did he go to bed?”

Satoru, still crouched by your bedside, lets out a soft sigh, his expression softening. "I put him down a few minutes ago. He was out before the movie ended." He pauses for a second, watching you carefully, his hand still lingering awkwardly in the air as if unsure whether to touch you or not. "You were really tired, so I thought I'd handle it."

You blink, the fog in your mind barely beginning to clear. Slowly, you nod, still trying to process everything in the haze of your exhaustion. “Thank you.” The words come out quieter than you expect, but there’s something in your voice that surprises both of you.

Satoru’s gaze lingers for a moment, a mix of concern and relief flashing in his eyes. He stands up, backing away from the bed slowly. “I didn’t want to wake you,” he says softly, hands running through his hair as he takes a step toward the door. “But you should go to bed. You can sleep with Koji or um—in my bed if you want.”

You stare at his figure, the weight of the situation still pressing down on you. There’s so much

happening, so much you didn’t expect, and yet… for some reason, having him here, like this, almost feels normal. You rub your temples, trying to stave off the headache forming.

“I’ll sleep out here, of course,” he quickly adds on, realizing the small, but accidental hinting.

You raise an eyebrow at his quick backpedaling, a small, almost reluctant smile tugging at the corner of your lips. It's been a long time since you shared any sort of space with him—especially under these circumstances. But the way he’s stumbling over his words, trying so hard to make things comfortable, it makes you wonder if maybe he’s not as composed as he likes to act. “Thanks,” you murmur, rubbing your temples again. The migraine's intensity is growing, and it's all you can do to keep your emotions in check. You hadn’t expected this—any of it. Satoru’s presence here, offering you comfort in his own odd way, only complicates everything more. You never asked for this kind of help, but you can't deny the relief it brings. “I’ll sleep with Koji.”

Satoru’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his expression softening as if he’s weighing his words carefully, trying not to overstep. He knows you’re not the type to ask for help. Hell, you hardly ever accept it when it’s offered. But tonight is different. Tonight is full of a thousand unspoken things. The lingering tension, the awkwardness of it all, and the confusing emotions between you two. It’s all too much, too quickly, and yet you feel the pull of something familiar—a bond you haven’t felt in years. “You sure?” he asks, his voice low. Almost like he’s waiting for you to give him some kind of permission or reassurance, something that lets him know you’re okay. His presence, his concern for Koji, it’s all so overwhelming in its own way.

You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying to ignore the way your pulse quickens just having him this close, even if it is just in the same house. “I’ll be fine,” you say, your voice a little softer than you intended. The last thing you want to do is drag him back into your life fully. But he’s already here, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you're too tired to argue. "You don’t have to stay out here." The words hang in the air for a beat.

You take this moment to rise from the couch, wiping your eyes once more. “Where is he?”

“Spare room,” he points.

You nod, more to yourself than to him, and retreat to the spare room. The migraine pounds in the background of your mind. Mind still riddled with sleep, you accidentally bump your shoulder into the wall, footsteps faltering. He moves faster than you anticipated—expected, his hands finally making contact with your upper arms; stablizing you. His touch itself feels reminiscent.

His grip on your arms is steady, firm—just like it used to be. You catch your breath for a moment, not expecting the familiarity of his touch to feel so grounding. For a split second, you’re taken back to moments from the past, the memories of simpler days when his touch brought comfort instead of tension. You want to pull away, to remind yourself that things aren’t the same anymore. But you’re too tired, too worn out, and for a moment, you let yourself lean into the stability he’s offering without question.

"Careful," Satoru’s voice is quiet, but there's a soft edge to it, like he’s genuinely concerned. His hands stay on your arms, not pulling away immediately, as if waiting for you to give him a signal that you’re okay.

You blink, the haze of sleep making everything feel just a little more surreal. "I’m fine," you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, but it lacks conviction. Your body feels heavier than it should, and your mind seems to be swimming in fog.

He doesn’t let go right away. Instead, his fingers give a slight squeeze, a small, unspoken reassurance. "You sure? You look like you’re about to fall over."

"I’m just... tired," you say, the words slipping from your lips before you even realize. You wince internally, but it’s too late to take them back now. There’s no point.

Satoru nods, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the hallway, but the way his eyes linger on you makes something in your chest tighten. It’s like he’s still trying to figure you out, still trying to read you after all these years. He always was good at that. Without saying much more, he gently guides you to the door of the spare room, a hand hovering above the small of your back; his touch still light but firm. He’s not pushing you, just there, a quiet presence in the storm. "Get some rest. I’ll be nearby, just in case."

You nod, feeling a strange mixture of gratitude and frustration well up inside you. "Thanks," you murmur, finally able to pull away from his grip and step into the room.

Before you close the door, you glance over at him, standing there in the hallway, his figure outlined by the soft glow from the living room. "Good night," you add, your voice a little softer than you meant it to be.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but there’s a flicker in his eyes that you can’t quite place. After a beat, he says quietly, "Good night, Y/N."

And then, with one last look, he walks away, leaving you alone in the quiet darkness of the room. The door clicks softly behind you, and for the first time in days, you feel a small sense of peace—fragile, uncertain, but there all the same.

Satoru has taken the liberty of getting Koji dressed and ready for school. Shushing his son with quiet murmurs so you won’t wake up. He’s a little surprised, but you must be that tired. Satoru usually wakes up earlier than most, having went to go check on you two, but getting shocked to see his son using the bathroom instead and saying something about how “Mama’s still sleeping, I have school.”

He’s a smart kid—a very smart kid. He guided Satoru the entire ride, remembering the name of his school and which streets to use. You raised him well. He parks his car in the lot, it stands out like a sore thumb among the civics, corollas, and trucks.

Carrying Koji in his arms towards the boys classroom. “Excited, buddy?”

“Mhm!”

Satoru smiles and kisses his cheek. “I’ll pick you up, okay?”

“Okay, Papa. Thank you.” Koji gratefully responds.

“No need to thank me, Koji. It’s my job.”

Satoru can feel the lingering stares and hushed whispers as he walks down the hallway to his son’s class. Ignoring it like a pro and focusing on one thing and one thing only. As they approach his room, Mr. Ito is standing outside like usual. As soon as the man sees the two, his eyes visibly widen before playing it off with a cough of his throat. “Good morning, Koji. Gojo.”

Satoru remembers the guy as the one from the cafe. That one. He nods in understanding, setting Koji down and crouching with him. “Have a fun day, I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Papa.” Koji kisses his cheek and rushes inside happily.

"Morning," Satoru replies coolly, standing tall as he watches Koji run off to join his classmates. "I trust Koji’s been good?"

"Of course, of course," Mr. Ito replies quickly, his smile tight, the words coming out a little too fast. "He’s been a delight to have here. Very bright."

Satoru nods, but his eyes never leave Mr. Ito’s. "Glad to hear it."

There’s an awkward silence that stretches between them, but Satoru isn’t in the mood for small talk. He could read the teacher’s discomfort, and he’s not about to play into it. After all, it’s not like they’re friends, or even acquaintances. Mr. Ito shifts on his feet, and Satoru can tell he’s trying to think of something to say, something that will smooth over whatever awkwardness hangs in the air. “So, where’s Ms. Y/N today?”

Satoru’s brows tick, arms crossing. “At home.”

Mr. Ito nods, clearly trying to gauge whether there’s more to the story, but Satoru doesn’t give him any openings. He’s not in the mood to entertain questions about you, not now, not here, especially not from someone like him. "Ah, I see," Mr. Ito mumbles, his voice trailing off as he shuffles his feet again. "I just thought... well, with everything that’s been going on, I expected to see her here, too."

Satoru’s eyes narrow, though his expression remains calm, just a hint of warning in his tone. "She’s handling things on her own. We’re both doing fine. You don’t need to worry about it. You have a class full of children to teach."

The other man hides his displeasure behind a stiff nod. “Right, right. Just wondering, that’s all.”

“Don’t have to, she already has a man for that.”

Satoru wonders why he’s being do damn weird right now. Possesive almost. You two aren’t together, but the way this guy is asking about you, it’s slightly setting him off. Who does he think he is worrying about you?

Mr. Ito falters, his smile fading as Satoru’s words hang heavy in the air. "Right, of course," he mumbles, clearly taken aback. He shifts on his feet, his eyes darting to the ground before locking back onto Satoru. "Just asking, I mean… it's just a lot going on, you know?"

Satoru’s gaze hardens, the protective instinct that rises within him catching him off guard. He takes a slight step closer to Mr. Ito, his tone deliberately neutral but carrying an edge. "You don’t need to worry about her. She’s got it covered."

There’s a flicker of something in Mr. Ito’s eyes—something that hints he’s about to say something else, but he swallows it down, nodding stiffly instead. "Yeah, of course." He quickly looks away, clearing his throat. "Well, I guess I’ll… I’ll get back to the class."

Satoru stands still for a moment, his posture rigid, a sharp edge in his expression as he watches Mr. Ito retreat. He doesn't know why it bothered him so much. The guy wasn’t even doing anything wrong, not really. But the way he was asking about you—like he had any right to—made something inside Satoru twist uncomfortably. He couldn’t shake the feeling that this man didn’t belong in your world, that he had no place prying into your life.

Satoru finally exhales, shaking his head. Whatever. It was just a teacher.

With one last glance at the classroom door, he turns and heads back to the school doors. There's no reason to overthink this. It’s just… odd. He can’t let it get to him.

You wake up that day to a lone bed. Groaning to yourself as the sunbeams spray across your face and momentarily blind you. Hand reaching out for the space next to you. Instead, you see a note saying: dropped koji off, i’ll be back around noon to grab some lunch. sleep up

Instantly, your eyes widen, springing up out of bed. Reaching for your phone, the time reads 11:30pm. “Shit!” you curse to yourself, rushing out the door and to your bag still on the chair from last night. You dig in for your work clothes, changing right there and then and praying to the gods that Satoru doesn’t walk through this door. Brushing your teeth, hair, washing your face, putting some moustirzer and sunscreen on, all of it takes way too long. By the time you’re done and messily putting your shoes on, it’s twelve. Four hours after you were supposed to be at work. Hana’s going to kill me.

Grabbing your bag with rough and rushed movements, you’re sprinting to the door at this point. Out of breath and already conjuring up a sorry apology for Hana. you reach the doorhandle, flinging it open. But as soon as you do, you come to an abrupt stop.

Because standing before you is a woman, a woman you’ve seen before on Satoru’s lock screen. The same woman who kissed the lips that you used to. Arms crossed and a nasty scowl forming on her face as she eyes you up and down in a criticizing way.

Finally, she scoffs out.

“Do you know who I am?”

a/n: they so cute

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babysukiii · 10 months ago

Text

regina’s puppy (2)

// regina has a soft spot for you, but when she refuses to accept why, someone else might swoop in and take your attention away from her. //

warnings: mean!regina (not to reader), slightly jealous!regina, oblivious!reader, mutual pining, annoying boys, regina being soft for reader, talks of sexuality

(this is part 2 to the series, read part 1 here)

when you walked into the cafeteria the next day, you were already fed up with the way people were acting today. ever since you got to school this morning, you were receiving various stares and hushed whispers. it caused an ugly feeling of insecurity to follow you around all morning until lunch. your eyes scan the cafeteria for the blonde, and you see her standing in line. your eyes brighten at the sight of her, and you begin to make your way to her.

“hey gina.” you greet her happily. as soon as she hears your eager voice, her eyes tear away from the person she was talking to, just to look at you. you’re wearing a baby pink long sleeved fitted top, and a pair of dark denim high waisted bellbottoms that regina exclusively picked out for you. her eyes trail up and down your body, before her lips tug into a smirk. you look so different than your usual shy, covered up self. regina’s always thought you were pretty. it was adorable how you could wear baggy jeans and oversized sweaters, along with worn out shoes, and you’d still look cute. but right now, regina thought you were—

“you look so hot.” she blurts out, and one of the jocks that’s standing nearby chimes in.

“hey, y/n, did you do something different with your hair?” he asks from a few feet away, and regina refrains from telling the blockhead to go fuck himself, but she’s curious to see how you’re going to react to the newly found attention. “yeah, i tried a new serum called, “fuck off”.” you snap, frustrated with the unwanted attention you’ve been receiving today. regina’s lips twitch and she can’t hold back the maniacal grin plastering itself onto her face. your eyes widen in regret/horror before you clasp a hand over your mouth. you get this adorably sheepish expression on your face that you flash regina; “i’m sorry, that was so mean. but you’d think i’d have a sign on my head that said “bother me” with how much people have been talking to me today.” you retort, sounding agitated.

“get used to it, y/n. they didn’t realize underneath all those hoodies, there was a girl.” she states, as she takes a tray of food, and waits for you to get yours. you snort at her comment, “that’s exactly why i wore them. they’re like an invisibility cloak.” your statement makes her genuinely laugh, and the sound never ceases to make your stomach flip. you don’t even mind the way people are whispering as they glance in your direction.

you sit right beside regina; trying to ignore the nerves bubbling in your belly. when gretchen and karen approach the table, the brunette eyes you uncertainly. “um… why are you here?” gretchen asks, and you open your mouth to respond, but regina is speaking for you. “y/n is sitting with us from now on.” regina says curtly, her tone stringent and up for no debates. “what!? but she— she didn’t take any of the tests! she doesn’t know any of the rules!! she barely has a social status!” gretchen nearly squeals, while karen offers you a smile. “i really like your top! i saw that at hollister! can i borrow it some time?” the raven haired girl asks, ignoring her best friends freak out.

regina glowers at gretchen, “you were barely anything before me, so you have no say in anything that goes on at this table.” she hisses, causing gretchen to snap her mouth shut. regina’s mood switches quickly, a content smile etching onto her face, “now that that’s settled, karen, why don’t you fill y/n in on our rules.” the blonde requests, and karen nods obediently. “rules?” you inquire carefully, and karen nods again. “yup! we have rules we have to follow in order to sit here. rule number one, don’t wear tank tops two days in a row...” she starts, and you nod as you begin to listen to the strange yet, iconic rules.

you nod along, mentally taking down each one. once karen is finished, your gaze flickers towards regina. “so for the tank top rule, do i have to wear a tank top at least once a week, or is that optional?” you ask, genuinely curious. regina lets out this uncontainable giggle that gretchen and karen had never heard from the blonde. “you don’t have to wear a tank top at all silly, but if you do, don’t wear one two days in a row.” she informs you, and you nod. “what are the tests i have to take to sit here?” you question, remembering what gretchen said earlier. regina shakes her head, “those won’t be necessary. you’ve proven your worth to me already.” she says simply, as she takes a sip of her energy drink.

gretchen gawks at the blonde; her mouth agape. she couldn’t figure out for the life of her, why regina was letting you of all people get away with this. “try this, it’s peach.” the queen bee waves her drink at you, and you take it, sipping a bit. your nose scrunches up in disgust, “ew.” you murmur, and she flashes you a pointed look before snatching the drink back. “what is that?” you question, and she flashes the can at you. “peach-nectarine redbull.” she responds, and you make a face of dissatisfaction.

“what? they’re good! aren’t they, karen?” regina asks, gesturing to the blueberry redbull beside karen’s tray of food. karen nods in agreement, “yup, regina’s fridge is full of them.” the raven haired girl chimes in, and you offer the blonde a look of dismay, “those things are heart attacks in a can, gina.” you scold her. “you shouldn’t drink them so much.” you add, and regina rolls her eyes dismissively, but her heart leaps due to your obvious concern for her wellbeing. “i don’t think i’m gonna have to worry about a heart attack till i’m like forty, y/n, relax. i need these to get through the day.” she says, and you frown.

when the bell rings, you and regina leave the cafeteria together. before you can walk away towards your next class, regina wraps a firm hand around your wrist. “did stacy agree to let you be part of the team?” she asks, and you nod. “yeah, she talked to me this morning. but i don’t think i wanna be a part of her club anymore.” you admit, and regina glowers, “why not? i swear to god if she said something else—“ regina nearly growls, but you cut her off before she can threaten stacy’s life again. “no! don’t worry, gina she didn’t say anything bad.” you promise her, causing her to search your face for any signs of dishonesty.

you don’t tell regina the only reason you no longer have an interest in debate club, is because you’d rather hang out with her after school instead. she shoots you that infamous grin that causes the butterflies in your stomach to repopulate rapidly. “well, i guess that means you can hang out with us after school now. we’re going to karen’s house today, so meet me at my locker after your last class.” regina’s request is more like a command, but you aren’t complaining.

you nod dumbly, as she walks away from you, and your eyes are glued on her the entire time. regina looks over her shoulder, catching your entranced gaze on her. it causes a fire to ignite in the pit of her stomach. she turns away, turning down the hallway and disappearing. your cheeks feel as though they’re burning, and the bell rings, indicating that you’re late for class. you shake your head, trying to push away your regina-induced thoughts before you rush to class.

throughout the rest of the school day, more boys try to talk to you. you’ve never really came out or thought twice about your sexuality; you’ve always known you were into girls. you thought it was pretty obvious, but now you were wondering if it wasn’t. “hey y/n!” micheal, one of the boys in your last period catches up to you as you walk towards the exit of the school. your step falters slightly, as he approaches you, holding the exit doors open for you.

“i was just wondering if you had any plans right now?” he asks you, flashing you a shy smile. you stop walking, feeling a bit bad as you get ready to reject him, but he continues rambling. “cause there’s this cool burger place that—” he gets cut off by that familiar voice that causes a wave of heat to surge through you. “come on y/n!” regina causes you to turn your head, there’s aways that stupid little flutter in her stomach whenever she see you. though it turns into boiling hot rage when she sees the way that boy is eyeing you shamelessly. you flash her a smile before turning back to micheal, “sorry, micheal, i have plans with regina today.” you tell him, and his face falls. he looks visibly disappointed. “oh, for sure! have fun! maybe we can hang out tomorrow?” he sounds hopeful, and you open your mouth to reject his offer again, but this time regina is intervening.

“she’s not going to be available tomorrow because she’ll be hanging out with me. again. and same answer for the day after tomorrow.” regina’s voice is harsh, and enough to make a grown man cower away. micheal looks ostensibly upset, but everyone knows better than to talk back to regina george. “come on, regina, i was just trying to ask her out—” he tries, but she cuts him off. “well don’t.” she hisses, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. “look at her, and look at you. you’re like an off brand tony hawk. y/n wouldn’t go for you even if you were the last person on earth.” she cruelly says with a sneer.

“now, come on, y/n. karen’s mom always makes the best lemon squares. you’re gonna love them.” she places her hands on your upper arms; fingernails digging into the fabric of your shirt. her grip is firm but not enough to hurt. she leads you away from micheal, and you feel a surge of guilt, but also an unknown heat pooling at the bottom of your abdomen from how upset regina was about micheal. her grip on you tightens, “ugh, he seriously thought he had a chance with you. you can do better than some lame guy on the soccer team.” she rants, as she leads you towards her jeep where karen and gretchen are waiting.

“he’s in my english class. he’s always sat next to me.” you confess, and regina stops in her tracks, taking her hands off you, causing you to stop as well. you look at regina, who has her arms crossed, “well, starting tomorrow you aren’t sitting by him anymore.” she states, her tone signifying that she’s up for no disagreements. “unless you like him.” she adds, sounding borderline unrecognizable. you scoff, “you think i’d like him? i’m actually kind of insulted you think he’s my type.” you respond, and regina feels a strange sensation of relief. she doesn’t understand why the thought of you dating some sleazy guy around here made her blood boil.

regina offers you a satisfied smile, as if she wasn’t just upset a second ago. her shift in emotions is a bit concerning, but you think it’s adorable how bratty she can be, and then content not even a moment later. but maybe you were biased when it comes to regina george, because you thought everything about her was absolutely adorable. “good. then it’s settled, you’re not sitting next to him, or talking to him anymore.” she declares, and you nod obediently. “okay, gina.” your voice is so innocent and light; you don’t sound the slightest bit upset or reluctant to do as she says. she revels in it.

“good girl. come on, lets go. the girls are waiting for us.” her pleased tone sends this thrill of excitement to course throughout you. those words; “good girl”, they caused your tummy to flutter so much it felt as though it was going to burst. you were a blushing mess as regina pulls you to her car. she notices how flushed your cheeks are, and she smirks. “y/n gets shotgun.” regina says bluntly, and gretchen’s eyes widen in bewilderment. “why does she get shotgun!?” she shrieks, and regina scowls, “because it’s my car, and i said so.” the blonde snaps in response, causing gretchen to pout.

you all get into the car, and just like yesterday, regina hands you her phone. “pick a song.” she orders, and you immediately oblige. gretchen’s jaw drops in offense, “you’re letting her aux!? you never let any of us aux!” she points out, as the queen bee pulls out of the parking lot. “y/n’s taste in music is better than yours.” regina deadpans, as you put on a faye webster song. “i love this song.” karen chimes in, and gretchen huffs. “everyone loves faye webster, karen!” the brunette snaps.

karen’s house isn’t as big as regina’s house, but that isn’t shocking. you think regina might have the biggest house in town, and you aren’t even sure what her father does for work. regina was right about karen’s mother making the best lemon squares though. you shamelessly eat three, and regina is enamored as you make endless conversation with karen’s mom. the older woman finds you just as charming as most of the teachers at school do. regina wonders if they notice how sweet your smile is, or how bright your eyes shine when you talk about something you enjoy.

regina notices everything about you. the way the blood rises to your cheeks whenever she compliments you, or remembers a small detail about you. whenever your hair falls below your shoulders in thoughtless curls; she finds herself thinking about how long it takes you to curl your hair in the mornings. sometimes it’s in a ponytail, or carelessly undone. regina often wonders how someone can look so effortlessly good all the time.

she drops gretchen off at home first in order to spend some time alone with you; she tries not to dwell on why. as soon as the brunette is out of the car, regina’s tough facade is crumbling away. “did you see karen’s dads hair? it’s a toupee.” she reveals, causing your eyes to widen as you burst into a fit of giggles. regina swears her heart nearly stops beating at the marvelous sound. “seriously!?” you ask, clearly shocked, she nods, letting out a few stray laughs. “yeah, one time karen dropped it in the toilet. he grounded her for like two weeks.” she tells you, eliciting even more giggles from you. “poor mr. shetty. he seems so nice. it’s not his fault he’s bald.” you comment earnestly.

regina’s heart swells at how adorable you are, and how you look sitting in the passenger side of her car. she gets so lost in her thoughts about you, that she doesn’t even realize the lights turned green. a loud car horn pulls her out of her ongoing thoughts, causing her to scowl and beep back. “fuck you, bitch, just go around!” regina yells, as she rolls down her window to flip off the old man behind her. you gasp, but can’t seem to contain your uncontrollable laughter.

“you’re so funny, gina.” you breathe out, looking over at her with this expression of adoration, thankfully her eyes are on the road. “i’m so glad that my anger issues amuse you.” she murmurs sardonically, and you release a little chortle. “it’s not my fault you look so cute when you’re angry.” you blurt out, and your entire face changes into a shocked expression as you realize what you just said. regina glances at you, noticing your sheepish expression. she smirks mischievously, “you think i’m cute?” she asks, feigning obliviousness.

you look over at her with a face that says “are you serious?”, and you snort. “you know you’re cute! i mean, you’re regina george. you’re everything.” you say this so easily, it causes her whole world to stop spinning for a while as her inside turn to mush. you don’t even realize the words you say have such an impact on her. the blood rushes to her cheeks, and your eyes nearly widen as regina blushes because of you. “i’ve been called a lot of things before but never “everything”.” she tries to sound nonchalant, and taunting like she always does, but her voice comes out abnormally soft. she doesn’t even recognize herself.

when she turns to get a quick look at you, she sees you’re already staring at her. your eyes hold such a look of admiration as you gaze at her. “i’m just being honest.” you respond, looking away shyly. regina’s heart is in her throat, as if it’s trying crawl its way out of her and into your lap. she tries to focus on driving, but she can’t stop stealing glances at you.

“earlier when you said micheal wasn’t your type, were you just saying that, or were you being honest?” she asks randomly, breaking the short silence. you furrow your brows, “why would i lie about something dumb like that?” you ask in response, and regina shrugs. “so i would shut up about it.” she suggests, and you frown. “i never want you to shut up though. i like hearing you, even when you’re mad.” you reveal truthfully, making her heartbeat stutter. “but i was being serious about micheal not being my type. no guy really is…” you trail off sheepishly.

there’s a sense of satisfaction that comes with knowing regina’s suspicions were correct. you’re into girls, and regina knows you’re into her. she can feel it, and your behavior proves it. “good.” the blonde says, sounding more than pleased as she turns into your neighborhood. regina was right about you; she was definitely going to be able to have as much fun with you as she thought.

a/n: @kate03-27 hope you enjoy!

also, comment if you wanna be tagged in the next part :) thanks for reading <3

#regina george x fem reader #regina george x y/n #regina george x you #regina george x reader angst #regina george mean girls #renee rapp x fem!reader #renee rapp x reader #regina george x reader #regina george x fem!reader #regina george #renee rapp #renee rapp x y/n #mean girls

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brailsthesmolgurl · 7 months ago

Text

“I feel like I am getting fatter.”

My dear readers, I had decided to include prompts in my works as I thought this might cater to the readers of mine who prefers a shorter read. All of my prompts are my ideas (feel free to drop me any if you do have any in mind) and they will be based on my opinion of the boys :> I apologise if my writing may be offensive to some people but this is my take hence it would be nice if you could be more open-minded :,)

P.S: This fictional write is not meant to be a skinny-shaming/fat-shaming piece because I strongly believe no matter what size you are, you deserve to be loved by all! Personality triumphs over looks afterall!

Preview: An insight into what the boys think when you tell them that you feel like you’re getting plumper.

RAFAYEL

He just stares at you wildly; eyes widened, eyebrows raised to form arches, jaw opened slightly in a state of disbelief at what he had just heard coming out of your mouth. “How could you say such things to yourself?” He palmed his own face, shaking his head in suit. “You coming up to me and putting yourself down just because you think you’re chubby is ridiculous.” When he noticed that you did not say anything to rebut him, he walked closer to you, tilting your chin upwards so you may gaze into his orbs of nebulas. “You are not chubby in my eyes my love.”

“But, I just don’t like the way I look in the mirror Rafayel…” Your confidence had always been in a dip when it comes to your own body image. It especially affected you when recently, news regarding your relationship had taken a turn for criticism towards your body. You wanted to look compatible to your lover and you figured the best you could match him is if you own the body and curves of a runway model. “And, maybe, I just thought I might look better beside you if I am well…skinnier maybe?”

The man erupted a laughter, a genuine laughter of amusement when you told him that last bit of your concern. Rafayel is never the type to prey on one’s insecurity but when your determination to lose weight is based off of on pleasing his fans, he could not care less. “No my love, you do not have to lose weight just because some simpleton made some comments about your body. Come, let’s have a seat okay?” He tugged onto your wrist gently and then sat the both of you down onto the plush sofa of his. Plopping his head against the headrest, he turned his face to look at you. “Do you know back in the days, artists from ancient times prefer drawing women of flesh rather than bones?”

Seeing you hesitated to answer him, he continued on. “That is because bones equal to famine, flesh equals to well-fed my love. It is a sign of royalty. And you, I see nothing but a woman of royalty even if you do not see it yourself. The world nowadays are falling back on appreciating women with healthy bodies and I will always be here to assure you that in my eyes, you are not chubby. As you are to me, a sign of royalty which dates back to the ancient times and even till this day and age.”

Rafayel has always have a way with his words. That is the reason why you fell for him. At first, you may think satire is a part of his image, but eventually, you realised that this man spits euphemisms, and that his mockery never falls short of facts. He is very knowledgeable of the world and the way things work. “But if you still do want to lose weight, I shall do it with you as much as I hate working out. But no harm in keeping my princess fit as a fiddle if she wishes for me to join.” He blushes, eyes glanced away from yours for a moment when his mind flashed an image of you being all hot and bothered after a workout session.

“Thank you for saying that Rafayel. It really helps in calming down my nerves.” You smiled back at him, leaning your head against his shoulders and he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

“By the way, just so you know, I prefer drawing you in this ‘chubby’ state—as you would call it—because I think the curves of your body catches the sunlight beams very well and it makes you look ethereal.” Rafayel grins cheekily, fingers trailed against your jawline gently as he studied your features and allowing his imagination to run wild, already planning on his next piece of artwork featuring you, his one and only muse. This time, he shall also make it his statement piece to the haters that his love for you shall not run amok and perhaps, suggest a change in the world’s definition of beauty with his artwork.

XAVIER

“So, did anyone suggested that to you?” Xavier looked up from his plate, swallowing the piece of meat after he had finished asking his question. He had noticed recently when the both of you were on dates, you had been avoiding snacks and junk foods that you would never have resist before and that was when he decided to butt in to ask if you were on a diet and when you admitted it, the conversation was led up to this point. “Or, was it in your own head?”

“I realised it when we were doing the fitness assessment before the hunter’s task that day.” You explained, the fork pushing the pea on your plate, watching it rolled around in circles. During the assessment, everyone is required to get on the scale for a routine check and update for one’s personal records file. You remembered your confidence had started to plummet bit by bit when you noticed all the female hunters are averagely weighed below normal BMI weight.

Although no one was laughing at you as the scale announced your weight but you could almost taste the hint of embarrassment at the back of your throat as you stared at the numbers shown on the scale. You figured, a good hunter should not be overweight right? Or else how does one, being overweight, excel in physical tasks? Hence, you had decided to be harsh on yourself to lose weight for the sake of excelling in physical tasks and to fit in amongst your peers. “I am one of the few ones that probably exceeded the normal weight requirement for a hunter.”

“But you are still one of the best hunters among our division right?” Xavier was quick to catch up on one of your worries for being too overweight to complete physical tasks. “You should not worry much about your weight if you are actually pulling the weight of being a good hunter. Pun intended.” His pun made you pressed your lips tightly to form a thin line. It was funny but it was said at the wrong time.

“Then do you think I am chubby?” You raised an eyebrow and the blond man in front of you let go of his piece of meat and you watch the slice of meat slipped right into the bowl of spicy soup. This conversation is getting serious now if he is willing to overcook that piece of meat just to engage in this conversation.

“I never thought you were chubby. Other girls are just too skinny to my liking.” He placed his chopsticks aside and stared right at your face, cerulean orbs burning with underlying annoyance because of what you had said about yourself. “And I don’t think your weight affects your hunter skills as they are both separate entities by itself.” Humming to himself, his hand rubbed the base of his chin as he thought of what else to say to boost your confidence. “Speaking of which, skinnier girls do tend to end up meeting their demise faster than girls like your size.”

“What do you mean by that?” You watched as the man picks up the chopsticks and starts digging around the soup base for his missing piece of meat that is probably overcooked to his taste.

He shrugged casually. “They just look all the more fragile to me. Most of the ones that got admitted to the hospitals are the skinny ones that tends to get more broken bones and bruises even from fighting the easiest category of wanderers.” He shoved the meat into his mouth almost animation-like and started chewing. His face flashed a hint of disgust as he struggled to swallow the piece of meat down his throat. “My point is, as long as you are healthy and not easily bruised, nobody is going to care about your weight. But if they ever do, I know you can easily prove them wrong.”

Xavier is more of a motivational speaker type of boyfriend. Not because he does not want to comfort you, but he would much rather remind you of the strengths you already have and that you should not get easily discouraged by such a minute issue. Not to mention, although adorning the face of an angel, this boy here does make some pretty sarcastic remarks here and there. “Here, have some more meat, it might help you to lose weight. But it would also help you to gain more muscle which would be more helpful during combat rather than being a bag of bones.”

ZAYNE

“Just because you are sat down and you realised that you had ‘flaps’ does not make you fat y/n.” Zayne laid the tray beside you, taking a seat next to you in the hospital’s cafeteria. After the routine check-up with Zayne, it usually wraps up with you stepping onto the scale and the numbers on the scale are not showing your average weight anymore. Thus, your frown pointed towards the scale gave Zayne just enough of a hint for him to catch up on what was churning in your head. “Y/n?”

“I’m sorry, it just never came to my mind that I had gotten heavier since my last checkups.” You gnawed onto your bottom lip, fingers prancing along the material of your pants. “It does not help either when my colleagues said that I had gotten a bit bloated lately.” Sighing, you hid your face in your palms. “Not to mention, my boyfriend is a doctor, what an irony for you to date someone who isn’t physically healthy right?”

Zayne placed a box of milk in front of you, the one that you would always go for whenever you stop by his workplace. “Y/n, statistically speaking, your weight data is not considered overweight. Nor would it compromise your health in any manner. If it helps, you do not look fat to me.” The doctor glanced over to you, watching you as you only started reading the labels across the box milk instead of ripping it open to drink it like a maniac you always tend to be. “Are you planning to lose weight then?”

“I guess I am planning to. For the sake of my own health and the image of our relationship.” Zayne frowned slightly at your response but of course, being the husband material he is, he would do anything to make you healthy. Even if that means he does not necessarily agree with your standpoint.

“Wanting to be healthy would be a good start, but losing weight for the sake of our relationship’s image is not a good idea. I am glad to have someone healthy by my side.” His voice was comforting, his tone soothing to your ears. “I have another surgery scheduled in 20 minutes so I have to go now, but do not attempt to lose weight without me being around you. Do you think you can at least do me that favour?” He pushed his chair back and stood up, a hand placed on the top of your head in the form of a head pat. “I do not wish to see you jeopardising your own mental health over your weight.”

The doctor leaned down to kiss your forehead before he took the milk and placed it within your palms. His lips turned upwards into a gentle smile. “I will see you after work later.” And he went off, blending into the crowds in the crowded hallways. But it did not took long before your phone rang, and you received a call from a random number.

“Hi is this Miss y/n?” The feminine voice spoke on the other end. You agreed and introduced yourself, asking her what was the purpose of the call. “Dr.Zayne had asked me to set up an appointment with you for 3pm later so that we can go through your nutritional plan later. He told me that you wanted to lose weight don’t you?” You were nearly speechless when she said that. No wonder Zayne rushed off all of a sudden. He did not have a surgery scheduled, he only wanted to make an appointment with an in-house nutritionist to help you in losing weight. Afterall, he is not against the idea of you losing weight but he would much rather you do it in a healthy manner.

Your heart felt fuzzy when you are constantly reminded of the way Zayne would always takes care of you, even if he does not particularly look like he cares. “Yeah, that’s me. May I know what did Dr.Zayne said to you?”

“Not much, he only told me that his spouse is unhappy with her healthy body and that she would like to achieve a slimmer figure…” The girl’s voice trailed off a little, seemingly a little hesitant. “But he also told me to set up a 7 day workout plan for you so that you may get too tired of losing weight and you might just give up on it halfway.” OOF. Guess Zayne is totally fine with the way you look.

#love and deepspace #love and deepspace x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #lnds #xavier love and deepspace #fluffy #rafayel x reader #zayne x reader #xavier x reader

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spookysteddie · 1 year ago

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That Friday Night

Modern!Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Influencer!fem!reader

read part one here

18+ MINORSDNI

cw: alcohol, drugs (weed and cocaine), clubbing, slight Dom!Eddie if you squint, possessive!Eddie, swearing, pet names, oral (fem!receiving), light choking, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, edging, creampie. (let me know if I missed anything)

wc: 4.3k (I'm so sorry)

a/n: First of all, I want to thank every single person who liked, reblogged or made comments about part one. I was shitting myself posting it because (like I said) this is not an original thought. I'd read a few and it gave me this wave of inspiration. I am very proud of this part. It's also a little long (sorry sorry sorry I couldn't stop) . Also I don't think I'll be doing a tag list? When I used to do that no one on the list would like the fic and it was a lot of work. I hope that is okay? Let me know if you want more! I love and appreciate all of you!

...

You weren’t the type of person who got shy. Your entire job is being in front of a camera, telling people what you like, what you wear, the type of music you listen to. You did brand deals and went on lots of trips with people you didn’t know. Public interaction was easy for you and you definitely enjoyed it.

But being personally invited to your favorite band's concert (even if you had tickets already) as their frontman's personal guest? It makes you weak in the knees.

Telling your team about the phone call went about as good as one would expect. Anna and Case frown at you while continuing to say ‘you could’ve let it go to voicemail and we could’ve handled it directly with his people. AND why did you have him send the information directly to you?’

They weren't necessarily wrong in being upset. There were plenty of ways a conversation like that could be twisted and fucked with, especially if, for whatever reason, someone was recording the phone call. It was very easy for them to manipulate and edit that kind of shit, and drama was the last thing you wanted.

However, the rest of the week went by without an issue. The gossip magazines had moved on to something else (though there were a few who continued to speculate about your non-relationship with Eddie. You did your deals, and kept yourself busy. And by the time Friday rolled around you were hardly nervous.

Or that’s what you kept telling yourself.

“Bell bottom star pants. Absolutely,” Hana says from her place on your bathroom counter, practically in the sink. “With that black leather top you love AND the red leather jacket. Oh! Oh! Oh! And the red boots!”

You put the outfit on, looking in the mirror, “you don’t think it’s too… stereotypical?”

Hana looks at you through the mirror, “no such thing. You look great.”

Hana was one of the few people in your life who’d tell you like it is. You could trust her to tell you if her gut feelings were off, or on. She was your best friend and one of the few people who weren’t just here for the exposure. She’s here to be your cheerleader and you were hers.

“Alright, let's get this going before I change my mind which I am two seconds away from doing.”

…

You should’ve changed your mind.

You can hardly keep from throwing up as you're led by security to a private entrance. To get there you have to pass by their tour buses. All you can hear is loud music and whooping from inside. It’s clear they’re running around in there as the bus is rocking and all you can do is pray they don’t see you.

You’re far too sober for the interaction you’ll be having at this current time.

Unfortunately for you, the universe hates you. Just when you think you’re home free, the door opens, almost smacking you in the face.

“Don’t think you can get away that easy, Asher,” Eddie says as he looks down at you. His pupils are blown wide, clearly from whatever drug he’s consumed. More than likely cocaine and weed. His words aren’t slurred so he isn’t drunk, though he does have a beer bottle in his large hands.

God his hands, there have been many times where you’d imagine them wrapped around your throat, cutting off air as he fucks you like he hates you. You bet he could reach you even as he’s eating you out, he’s so tall and long.

You wish you could say the grin you shoot at him is fake, however with the way he’s looking at you, like he wants to devour and smother you, it's not. You feel like a fucking school girl who has a crush. Your heart pounds so fast in your chest and you swear everyone around you can hear it.

“We weren’t running away,” you say, voice a little breathier than you’d like. “Um this is my best friend-”

“Hana, nice to meet you,” he cuts you off. It’s then that you see his eyes get wide and you know he’s been stalking your profile. Not that you can say anything because you’ve done it… a lot. “I, uh, saw the instagram story you put up earlier.”

Hana smirks, “sure you did, big boy.” She pats his chest and is clearly much braver than you. That’s another thing about you and her, if one of you is feeling not confident, the other makes up for it. Like, on your own, asking for ketchup feels like cutting off a limb, but if she can't do it then it's up to you and vice versa.

Eddie scratches the back of his neck, his black t-shirt stretching over his wide shoulder, “want to join us? We have alcohol!”

“We would love that. Wouldn’t we?” Hana looks down at you with her brows raised, still taller than you in heels.

You nod, “yes. Yeah absolutely! Are we allowed to photograph in here?”

You know it’s a stupid thing to ask, but you also don’t want to take a photo of you and Hana and then not be able to post it. And what if you get photos with the rest of the band? Everyone already knows you’re going to be here. Just not… in this tour bus.

Eddie nods, holding out his hand, “you are allowed to do whatever you want, pretty girl. And if anyone has an issue, send them my way, yeah?” He kisses the hand you’ve placed in his before leading you up the stairs of his bus.

It's chaos in there, pure and utter chaos. You turn to look at Hana, silently telling her how insane this is. She nods slightly, but you see the grin on her face. Hana loves this stuff; the parties, the madness, all of it.

Eddie introduces you to the band, pulling you in closer by the waist. “You all need to be on your best behavior. No one touches her. Do you all understand me?” Your heart flutters at how serious he is and it instantly forces his bandmates eyes to fall to your feet. It’s impressive, actually.

Suddenly, a bottle of beer is in your hands, passed to you by Eddie. “Oh… thank you.” You can hardly look at him as a small smile forms on your lips. His attention makes you feel all kinds of funny inside, your stomach doing flips. You know you have to look at him eventually, but he’s just so pretty that it actually hurts.

“Um, so are you excited for your show?” This time you manage to actually drag your eyes to his. He smiles at you, his teeth so beautiful and perfect. It’s when he sits down that you realize that was a stupid question. Of course he’s excited. This is his actual job.

He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees as he looks up at you through his lashes, you could kiss him. But you don’t for obvious reasons. Reasons you can't really think of at the moment. Not when he’s looking at you like that. The beer bottle hangs in his right hand between his legs.

“Very. Not much comes close to the feeling I get when we’re on that stage.” He shakes his head, curly hair moving with him, “plus, being able to hear people sing my songs back to me is fucking incredible.”

His hand finds yours, pulling you a little closer. Eddie is testing the waters, you know this. Unfortunately for you, your brain can’t see through the cloud of lust. So, you let him pull you closer, sit you on his lap, and wrap an arm around you.

Your brain does catch up, quicker than expected. “It seems like it’d be incredible. I applaud you cause I could never do that. I have stage fright.”

He blinks up at you, “stage fright? Haven’t you done red carpet interviews and stuff?”

You shift a little, shrugging, “well yes. But that’s different.” You can't stop the awkward laugh that comes out of you. It was true, it was different. You weren’t exactly sure why but it was.

Eddie's thumb moves along your side slightly and it leaves goosebumps in its wake.

“I’m being honest, the lights are so bright that I can’t see everyone in the crowds. Mainly just the front rows. Makes it easier.”

Eddie puts his beer bottle on the ground by his feet before sitting up and grabbing a joint. He’s quiet as he lights it, puffing out smoke to get it going. “Want some?”

He holds the joint towards you, waiting for your answer. You’ve done this before at the frat houses at college. You’ve done it here and there in high school as well. This is second nature, but this time you’re nervous. What if you forget how to inhale? What if you throw up? Any number of things can happen.

Something happens inside you and your brain finally catches up to itself. A small stroke of confidence happens and without taking your eyes off of him, you lean forward, wrapping your lips around the joint and inhaling. His eyes stay locked on yours, his tongue wetting his lips. You pull back, slowly blowing out the smoke.

“Fuckin’ hell.” It comes out in a whisper and you know he didn’t mean to say it out loud. His eyes falling from your eyes, to your lips and back again.

God you want to kiss him. His pillowy lips would feel amazing against yours, you just know it. You start to lean into him, desperate to know if you’re right.

A bang on the door scares the fuck out of the both of you and Eddies boot knocks over his bottle. It’s a good thing he drank most of it, the contents not spilling on the plush carpet.

“Let’s get going guys. Put your dicks back in your pants, we have a show to do.” You know that voice, that’s their manager. He’s the one who called your people to make sure you had all the rules for this evening.

Photos are fine.

Everyone must be tagged.

Nothing negative.

Absolutely no photos of any white substances. Even if it’s sugar.

That last one would be hard considering it was on every flat surface in neat, clean lines.

You go to stand up, but Eddie stops you, his hand tightening on your hip. “Promise I’ll see ya after?”

You nod, “y-yeah of course.”

Before you know it, his lips are on yours. The kiss is soft, sweet and you don’t want it to end. In fact, you totally forget about all the other people in the room. Your hands find his face, pulling him closer as his tongue begs for permission. And once you grant it, it’s game over.

He tastes like beer and weed and cigarettes and you love it. You want more. You want to get closer.

But it’s not long before the door to his trailer opens up, his manager stepping into the bus. “I said get your dicks and tongues together. We cannot be late.”

…

By the time the show is over you barely have a voice, and you’re sure you’ve never been more turned on in your life. It might seem silly to say, but Eddie's kiss lingered the entire show and all you want is more.

Back stage the band is still running on adrenaline, drinking water for once to try and refuel for the rest of the night. The rest of the night being a club that they frequent. A club you don’t go to because of that exact reason.

“Ohhhhh! There's the prettiest girls I’ve ever laid eyes on!” Eddie's voice booms as security goes to double check you and Hana. “Hey! Leave them alone. They’re with me.”

Security stands back, hands raise like he knows it’ll cause more issues if he doesn’t. You almost feel bad for the poor guy, he was just trying to do his job. Like what if you had a bomb or something?

“C’mon we gotta get outta here.” He laces his fingers with yours before he pulls you along with him. You look over your shoulder, catching Hana's eyes.

Go! She mouths, hanging off Gareth's arm. I’ll meet you there!

And so, you go. Are you nervous? Yes absolutely. Are you going to pretend you aren’t and have some confidence? Yes. Fake it till you make it right?

Eddie opens the door to the car, extending a hand, “ladies first.”

You grin at him as you elegantly slide into the car, “wow. I didn’t know you were such a gentle man.” This time when you giggle, it's cute and self assured.

“Yes, I have been told my entire life that I look,” he slides in sucking in a soft, thinking breath, “mean and scary.”

“You look like a doberman but they’re precious babies.” You mean it too. He looks a little mean and scary, especially in the red lights of the stage. Not to mention the “devil music” (says the media) which can get a little dark. But that’s what makes it great, in your opinion. Plus, he does look like doberman. Like he could probably kill you but would actually not?

“‘Precious babies?’”

You nod, “mhm! I grew up with them. Very sweet and love kisses. Oh! And they each had their own comfort toys.”

“Then maybe I am one because I do love kisses.” He’s closer now, his breath fanning over your face. He still smells like beer and cigarettes mixed in with the smell of his cologne.

It’s your turn to close the gap and planting your lips on his. The kiss is hotter, more intense. One could argue it’s because of the alcohol swimming in your system that makes you so bold. You’re buzzed, but not drunk. It isn’t long before his hands are in your hair, tugging. It makes you moan in his mouth, opening up to him.

He sits back, his hands in your hair pulling you with him, making you sit in his lap. Your legs rest on either side of his hips, your cunt nestled right against the bulge in his pants. He couldn’t hide it even if he wanted to. You test the waters by rocking your hips, the friction being so sweet that you’re the one who lets out a moan.

“God, that is the sweetest sound I’ve ever heard.” He kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking as he goes. “Should record it and use it in our next song.”

You hum and grin, “I wouldn’t mind that. Always wanted to be in a song. Can’t sing though.”

He nips at your ear, “that’s my job baby.”

Eddie's large hand grips your hips, stopping your movements. You want to whine, you want to protest. You were so fucking close.

“We’ll save that for when we're back at my place.”

You grin and kiss along his jaw, “who says I’m going back to your place?”

“The way you were just grindin’ against my cock, angel.” He grins, “also with how you’re lookin’ at me.”

“And how am I looking at you? Hmm?”

“Like you want me to fuck you while your brain leaks out your cunt.”

You shudder at the crudeness of his words. No one has ever spoken to you like that and looked like him. The car stopping in front of the club saves you from trying to come up with an answer. One you know will either be embarrassing or non-existent.

He looks over at the paparazzi that is waiting and sighs, “are we going in together or…”

The decision you make is quick. If you’re going to do this, even for one night, you’re going to do it together and let them talk. You give him a quick kiss, “together. Give ‘em something to talk about, yeah?”

So, you do.

The second you’re out of the car, cameras flash and photographers call out a mix of your name and his and you can hardly understand what they’re saying. You don’t stop to pose, letting them only photograph you and him walking hand and hand. Give them crumbs as your manager says. Once you’re in the club, not even needing to show an ID or give a name.

From there the night happens in a blur. The band has the VIP section where bottles of expensive liquor are brought over by women dressed in a bikini. You know how much all of this costs (more than you can afford that’s for sure) but you also know that all of this is on Eddie and the bands tab. He’s told you six times.

So you drink. And you smoke. And you watch pretty white lines disappear, most of which disappear up Eddie's nose. Of course you take videos, vlogging your night and making sure to follow all the rules that were set prior to this meeting. Taking photos to remember the night. Hana is having a blast, taking shots like it’s her job and making out with Gareth in between. Of course she takes photos with you, sitting in your lap and giggling so much the photos come out blurry. But those are your favorite kinds of photos.

“Dance with me?” Eddie says in your ear over the music.

You take the shot that is in your hands, “lead the way.”

The second you’re surrounded by sweaty bodies you feel invisible. You’re sure someone has cameras on you and him but at the moment you don’t care.

Your hips move to the music, back against Eddie's chest while his hands explore your body. His lips move against your neck, sucking a dark mark into it that you know you’ll struggle to cover later. Again, you don’t care. What you do care about is the hardness that you feel against your back.

You spin around, grinning up at him. God he’s so fucking tall you have to tilt your head up a good bit to look at him.

“We should get out of here,” you say as he pulls you into him.

He smirks, “thought you weren’t coming back to my place sweetheart.”

“Seems I told a fib. Now, I need you to take me home and fuck me like you hate me.”

It’s all he needs before he’s grabbing you by the hand and pulling you out of the club. The car is there and he quickly pulls you into the back seat. Once those doors are closed, the window tint so dark you couldn’t see inside if you tried, his mouth his on yours. Your stomach flips and the neediness you feel coming off of him. He pulls you till you’re straddling him, legs on either side of his hips. Not really the safest but at this point, all you need is his lips on you.

The ride to Eddie’s consists of lots of kissing, so much so that you know your lips are swollen. You don’t get to see much of Eddie’s house, too focused on getting inside the house and into his bedroom. He drags you up the stairs, your hand is his. And once you’re in his room, he has you pressed up against his bedroom door.

“You’re so fucking hot, baby.” Eddie pushes your jacket off your shoulders while he speaks, his words going straight to your clit. Your mind can barely comprehend that Eddie Munson, the man you’ve had a crush on since they were considered an ‘underground band,’ is currently taking off your clothes.

You do the same to him, pushing his leather jacket to the ground before tugging at the ends of his shirt and pulling it over his head. “Me? You are so beautiful.”

He hums, popping the button on your jeans, “should we take a poll on who's prettier? Winner takes the loser on a date?”

That makes you laugh, “sounds like a deal. But first, you need to fuck me.”

His eyes nearly go black at that and before you can think, he’s throwing you on this bed. You land with a small oomph. You decide to take a little initiative, pulling off your boots, scooting off your pants and pulling off your top.

Eddie watches, rapt and almost possessed, his eyes scanning your partially naked body. It’s not anything more than someone would see if you posted in a bathing suit, but you can’t help but feel nervous that he isn’t going to like you.

He quickly puts those fears (fears he knows nothing about) to rest as he settles between your legs. His eyes don’t leave yours as he kisses up your thighs. You know there is a wet patch on your underwear and you know he can see it. You do feel embarrassed about it, but at the same time, Eddie is slightly rutting against the bed so he must like it. Right?

You can feel your body heat as he gets closer and closer to your center.

“Eddie, please don’t tease me.” Never have you begged a man. Typically whoever you were in bed with did the begging, much to your dislike. You were desperate for someone to take charge. Now you know why they didn’t. One bruise and they get shit from all your followers. Even if you tell them to leave these men alone.

But Eddie? He wasn’t afraid.

“But it’s so much fun to watch you squirm.”

You huff, squirming exactly like he said as he sits up to pull your underwear down your legs before setting back between them. “Need you to touch me.”

He licks a stripe up your slit, sucking on your clit as he gets to the top. The sound that falls from your lips is beautiful, sweeter than the sound you made in the car. Now Eddie really wants to put you in a song, but the jealous, primal side of him never wants someone else to be able to hear your moans.

In fact, he doesn’t want to think about any of the other men who’ve heard you make these sounds. Murder wasn't really on his list of things he enjoyed. Bar fights? Yes. Murder? No.

“You make the prettiest sounds, sweetheart. S’very hot.” He slides two fingers inside you with little resistance, curling them up to hit the spongy spot inside you. The stretch feels good, your hips moving on their own, riding Eddie's fingers.

You're close, the build up of this moment really getting closer than you originally thought. “Squeezin’ my fingers so tight, baby. Are you close?”

You nod, afraid if you speak you’ll say something ridiculous.

But that isn’t good enough for Eddie. “Words.”

“V-very.”

That was clearly the wrong thing to say because he pulls his fingers from inside you, the emptiness making you gasp, “no! No, no, no I was so close!”

He laughs as he pushes his pants and boxers off his body. “Exactly. Want you to cum with my cock inside you.”

You look down between your bodies and your eyes widen. He was big and you accidentally voice what you’re thinking, “fuck… not gonna fit.”

His laugh drags your eyes back to him, his cock moving through your slick and bumping your clit. “Baby you are so wet that I have no doubt it’ll fit.”

You don’t have time to be embarrassed about it because Eddie is pushing inside you. The size of him stretching you makes you feel like he’s going to split you in half. But you don’t care, the burn just turns you on more and more and before you know it he’s seated inside you fully.

“Fuck, Eddie.”

Eddie is panting, trying to keep still so he doesn’t cum before he wants to. “Feel so fuckin’ good, sweetheart. A man could become obsessed with this pussy.”

He moves right as you begin to speak, nearly knocking the air out of your lungs. He feels like he’s everywhere. “W-witchcraft”

He fucks you harder, his cock hitting your cervix. You’re definitely going to have a bruise there but it's so worth it.

“Didn’t know you were into dark shit. S’my schtick.”

You wrap your legs around him, orgasm building again, “more alike than you originally thought huh?”

He wraps a tattooed hand around your throat, squeezing gently and making your head spin, “oh, angel, I knew how alike we were the second you told everyone how bad you wanted to fuck me.”

“C-can you blame me? Knew you’d fuck me just h-how I like.”

You clench around him making him hiss, “yeah you need someone who will take control huh?”

The hand around your neck slides down your body till he finds your clit, circling it.

“Oh god! Please.”

“I can get used to you prayin’ to me.” His thrusts are losing rhythm (something he’s usually very good at keeping) and you know he’s close. “Cum baby. I need it.”

And it’s all you need to fall over the cliff and into bliss. He follows you, coming inside you while you squeeze around him. You both moan each other's names and you sigh as you come down.

Eddie breaks the silence first, “that was… amazing.”

You hum in agreement as he slides out of you and curls up beside you. You take a moment before getting up and cleaning up in the bathroom. When you come back Eddie has left out an old Corroded Coffin t-shirt and some boxers. And once they’re on, you slide back into his bed, laying your head on his chest.

“We should put that poll up, huh? I’m itching to win this bet.” Eddie laughs as he says it and before you know it, you two are finding a photo the both of you like and posting it on your story with the caption, ‘which one is prettier? Honesty is the best policy.’

“And now… we wait.”

#stranger things #stranger things fic #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson imagine #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #modern!rockerstar!eddie munson x influencer!fem!reader #rockstar!eddie x fem!reader

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Just the Two of Us: Starry Night

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: Steve stops by unexpectedly.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Your phone buzzes again. You’ve been ignoring it. To you, it’s more a nuisance than a convenience. The only people calling want to sell you something and your work only emails. You get your assignments and you complete them. Simple as.

You prefer simplicity. You’ve lived in chaos before and you hope you never do so again. Ironic to think you came to New York, then. Well, it’s easy to blend in there.

You finally pull your eye away from the lens and check the screen. You hover your finger over dismiss before you read the ID. Steve? You tap ‘answer’.

“Hey?” You utter, “what’s going on? It’s late?”

“Ah, you know, bored,” he answers.

“You’re bored so you’re calling me at nine?” You scoff.

“What? Are you surprised the old man stays up past six?” He chuckles. The background noise is a garble of passing cars and a few honks. It all seems to echo dully.

“No, I’m just...”

“Busy?” He intones.

“No. Just didn’t expect you to call.”

“Ah, were you about to turn in? Bit early,” he turns the judgement on you.

“I wish. Kinda restless.” You admit. “Wait, I thought you were out of town.”

“Yeah, I just got back. Hey, do me a favour and tell me which one of these buildings is yours.” He says.

You hesitate. Huh? Your silence leaves the line to drone. He says your name.

“Where are you?” You ask.

“I don’t know, that’s the problem.”

“Aren’t you from New York?” You challenge.

He sighs, “okay, let’s rephrase. I don’t know where you are.”

Once more, you pause. You’re not exactly prepared for company. In fact, you’ve never let anyone else into your tiny apartment. On top of that, you’re huddled under a blanket on your balcony, in a pair of old sweats and an oversized cotton tee.

“You’re coming here?”

“Sure. Ah, come on, I’m wandering around. I’m starting to get looks from the creeps like I’m one of them,” he quips.

“Alright,” you murmur and recite your address. “Buzz up. Code is 1147.”

“Right, think I can handle that.” You hear scuffling on his end. “See ya soon.”

The call cuts and you lower the phone. Steve is cool. Well, he is a hero. An Avenger. You don’t really get why he still hangs around. You’re lame. You’re just you. Yet here he is stopping by like an old friend from college. It’s strange, as you think of it, how abruptly he just barged in on your night, but he is the Cap, so what’s the big deal?

You should be grateful. It’s been a while since you had a friend. Since you even had the choice to have one.

You stand, careful not to knock into the telescope, and pull the blanket around your shoulders. You step into your apartment, brisk from the night air, and look around. You don’t have much, but enough.

You clear off the futon and fold it up into a couch. The squeal of the metal hurts your ears and is capped off by the buzzer’s horrid drone. You go to answer, peering around your bachelor in dread. Why didn’t you think of it before? This place isn’t fit for Steve Rogers.

“I’m here,” Steve chimes through the static.

“Uh, yeah, er, are you sure—we could go somewhere?” You offer, even if you’re not in the mind to leave.

“Nah, can I come up? Everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” you assure him, “one sec.”

You press the other button and your stomach flips. Great. That’s it then. He’ll see how you live and realise he’s too good for you.

You wait by the door and peer through the peep hole. When you hear his footsteps from down the hall, you flip back the lock and look out around the wood. You wave to him as he approaches.

“Oh my god,” you can’t help but exclaim he reaches you. He has a gash across his hairline. “What happened to you?”

He frowns then reaches up to try to tug his hair over the cut. “It’s fine. It’ll be all healed up by the morning.”

“The morning? That’s a nasty one.”

“Yeah, well, the serum...”

“Right, right,” you roll your eyes at yourself. How can you forget?

“Well, you look cozy,” he smiles and gestures to you.

You look down at the fringed edge of the blanket hugged around you.

“Yeah, I was just outside.”

“Really? In this weather?” He wonders.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “I guess you wanna come in then.”

“Ideally, yeah,” he snorts.

“Okay, but uh, like, it’s pretty small so...”

“Oh, don’t even worry about it. I’m used to small things. I was around in the 30s, you know? I’m sure I’ve seen worse,” he chuckles. “Besides, anything’s better than a foxhole.”

You step back and nod. You never really forget who he is but you don’t always consider everything he’s done. Everything he’s been through. It makes you feel a little less cursed yourself.

He steps inside and looks around. You see the twitch in his brow but nothing else. No reaction, but you’re certain he’s judging.

“I told you--”

“What were you doing outside?” He bowls over your embarrassment.

“Um, looking at the stars.”

“You can see them in this stuff,” he squints.

“I have a telescope,” you close the door and he bends to untie his boots.

“Really? So, it’s like a big thing for you. All professional and stuff.”

“I just like to look,” you shrug.

“That’s... cute. Interesting. Probably see more outside the city though,” he muses.

“Probably,” you agree. “So, I don’t have much else going on. You want a hot chocolate or something? I was about to make some.”

“Hot chocolate?” He echoes as he strides around the small space. “That sounds delicious.”

“Just the cheap stuff,” you counter.

“I don’t mind,” he turns his back to you and sits on the futon. It creaks perilously under his weight.

He doesn’t seem bothered as his head tilts and he seems to stare at the papers stuck to your wall to form a haphazard star map. You cringe. You’re an uber nerd sometimes. He must think so.

“You did that?” He asks as you dip around to the small kitchen, penned in with only a counter.

“Uh, yeah. It’s just... It’s not very accurate I’m sure...” You mutter.

“Still pretty interesting,” he leans forward, his arms on his knees.

“I’m sure you’ve seen more interesting things,” you argue as you fill the kettle. “You don’t have to lie to me, Cap. Aren’t you supposed to be honest?”

“I’m not Abe Lincoln,” he chuckles. “I’m being honest though. I like to draw too.”

“It’s not really drawing.” You twist the stove knob as you put the kettle on the burner. “Just... making dots and lines.”

“I don’t know. It’s still artistic in a way,” he says.

“Alright,” you say doubtfully. “So, what has you so restless that you’re knocking down my door?”

You come out to the front room, not that it’s very separate from everything else, and step up next to the couch.

“Well, to be honest, my other friends are too busy for me these days. But also, I’m too busy for them. You’re more fun.”

“Oh, fun? Hot chocolate and stars,” you shake your head.

“Yes,” he insists as he looks up at you. “Can I see the telescope?”

He stands up and you lean back on your heel. He’s a lot bigger up close. You tend to steer clear of others. You’ve never been very comfortable with proximity.

“Uh, sure,” you back up, barely restraining your frantic nerves. “Sure, I’ll show you.”

You sweep around the back of the couch, the blanket flapping against your back and go to the balcony. You sense him behind you. You step out and hold the door before he can catch up. He emerges and you turn your focus to the scope. It’s easier when you have a distraction and you could go on for hours about all the cool features of the one thing you splurged on in the whole place.

#steve rogers #dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #series #drabble #au #just the two of us #captain america #marvel #mcu #avengers

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iznyangwoni · 5 months ago

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EASY TO LOVE |chapter sixteen !

“You come with me.” Jungwon pulls your shirt lightly to catch your attention. You were about to get in the car with Wonyoung and Moka, so you turn around confused to look at the guy.

His brows are furrowed again, and his jaw is clenched. You decide to not comment on that, and instead you sign at Jay to switch places with you. Jungwon is basically dragging you into his car. “Jungwon.” He doesn’t answer, he opens the door for you and then just gets in the car.

Everyone else has already left, meanwhile Jungwon seems to be distracted, and really, really pissed. It’s annoying you. It really is, but you don’t want to stay in a car with him for two hours in a bad mood, so you put your hand over his before he can start the car. “Is everything okay?” “I don’t know, you tell me.”

He says, before brushing your hand off and starting the car. You look at him as if he’s crazy, because he’s honestly acting like it, you turn around to face the window, your arms crossed. The first thirty minutes of the ride are so silent its killing you, especially since only a few hours ago you both were in your room doing all kinds of things. What the hell could’ve gone wrong in so little time?

“You know, usually normal people have a conversation about what went wrong.” Jungwon lets out a sarcastic laugh, and you know for a fact that its not an amused one. “Well maybe you should figure it out yourself since you like acting like a damn smartass.” If his words weren’t pissing you off so much, you would’ve appreciated his appearance this morning way more.

He’s wearing a white sleeveless top, his arms flexing while he drives are about to drive you crazy. but this is not the right time. Still, you try again to be gentle, thinking that maybe it would help him calm down too. “I told you i dont like fighting with you, Wonie..” “Y/n right now its not the time to talk to me like that.”

You didn’t really notice at first, but he’s going really fucking fast. “Tell me what’s it about then? I cant read your mind.” You’re trying to act calm, but its so hard with him acting like this, speeding through the street and not giving you any reasons for your attitude. “Did you fucking got Minji expelled?” You keep silent.

Oh. So this is what is about. Jungwon takes a look at you when you dont answer, he already knows its the truth. You did it and he couldn’t understand why you did that over just a picture of the two of you kissing. “Y/n!” He almost shouts your name and you close your eyes for a second, he hits the steering wheel while also going faster.

“Slow down!” You shout back, you look at the mirrors, the street is completely empty, but that doesn’t make it any better. You put your hand on the handbrake, not wanting to pull it, but at least he would get the memo that way. “Jungwon slow the fuck down.” He doesnt think twice before taking your hand and putting it on your thigh. “Don’t you dare.”

“Slow down, you’re scaring me.” Jay had told you how fast of a driver Jungwon is, but this still doesnt seem normal. The guy sighs, his hand still on yours as he slows just a bit down, if he kept going that fast you would’ve probably threw up somewhere. “We shouldn’t talk about these things when you’re driving.”

“Oh sure now you’re the one who doesn’t want to talk.” “Jungwon-“ “Did you do it, yes or no?” You keep silent once again. The answer is obvious but you still cant bring yourself to tell him the true reason for that. You don’t want to tell him how scared you are about that video being leaked, you don’t want things to go back how they were last year.

“Jungwon you wouldn’t understand..” You feel your voice breaking, you know he’s never going to talk to you ever again after this. “Yeah i honestly don’t understand ruining someone’s life for so little so maybe you’re right.” “It’s not something so little.” Jungwon parks on your driveway, neither your mother or brother are home at the moment, but you dont want him to get inside the house right now.

“What it is then? Y/n i tried to act like i dont care, i really did, but this is getting bigger than i thought and i need to know now.” You shake your head to say no, your throat is already hurting, you dont want to cry. He’s going to hate you either way, so might as well go all out. “I can’t tell you. Just accept it.”

“Y/n you just ruined Minji’s life, how can i accept it?” You can see the disappointment written on his face, and that honestly breaks your heart even more, so you break eye contact, your eyes on your hands, playing with the keys of your house. “And who the hell are Ricky and Jiyoon?” You panic as you hear those names, where the hell did he get those?

“How much more do you know?” “That is not the point.” “Just tell me!” Jungwon stays silent when you snap at him like that. He can see your hands shaking, but he doesn’t say anything about it, his voice comes out much colder when he speaks next. “Only that you got them expelled too.”

You nod, it’s still much more than what you’d want him to know, but at least he isnt aware of what actually happened. “Y/n just how much more are you hiding? I care about you, and if the fact that something happened to you is true, then i need to know what it is. But by the only pieces of information i have, you look like the villain here.”

You chuckle sarcastically, of course you’re the villain in this story too. So why would you tell him the truth? He’d probably find a way to blame it on you just how many others did. You shake your head again, taking off your seatbelt and opening the door. “Y/n.”

“I told you you were getting too attached, Jungwon. I am not a good person, i do shitty stuff and dont get consequences because of my surname. I’m a spoiled, evil, mean little girl who has never had a bad day. And everything else that people told you about me. I’m sorry you believed that i wasn’t.” and with that you get out of the car, slamming the door loudly before getting in your house.

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serpentandlily · 1 year ago

Text

Wicked Games III

Wicked Games - Dark!BatBoys x Reader

Summary: Desperate to pay off a debt, you decide to break into the penthouse of one of Prythian’s richest males, one rumored to make his money in a less than legal way. But after witnessing something you weren’t supposed to, you find yourself caught in a wicked game of cat and mouse with three of the most dangerous males in Prythian. (Modern AU)

Warnings: smut (minors dni pls), dubcon, dark themes (if you would like more in depth warnings before reading, feel free to message me!)

a/n: Thank you so much for all the love/kind words you guys have left me regarding this series! I know I'm shit at replying to comments but I do read them all and they def warm my cold lil heart. Hope you guys enjoy this one ;)

➻❥ Part I ➻❥ Part II

༺♥༻

Part III

༺♥༻

A week had gone by with no word from Rhysand, something that both relieved and also frightened you. You were still embarrassed about that night at the club with them. You had let them touch you, had let them bring you so close to the edge. In public too. As soon as Rhysand had dropped you back off at your apartment that night, you felt mortified.

Still, the silence this week had put you on edge. Every noise made you jump, everywhere you went you looked over your shoulder constantly.

Either Rhysand had considered your debt to him paid, or this was another mind game to him. He hadn’t even texted you. And it wasn’t like you could text him. No number had shown up the last time he had texted you.

You were left in a state of limbo and you should’ve felt peace at his lack of a presence in your life, but it was only the opposite.

You were currently curled up in your bed, watching a show on your small laptop before your shift tonight, when a knock at your door had you almost throwing the laptop across the room.

You swallowed audibly, your pulse spiking. Fuck, was it Rhysand? Had your devil in disguise returned?

“Bunny, open up,” Tamlin shouted through the door. “It’s me.”

Shit. Fucking shit. You forgot that you still owed your ex money, money you were meant to get to him this week. Now part of you was wishing it was Rhysand at your door.

You got up from the bed and opened the door to see Tamlin before you, a hand resting against the top of the doorframe and a grin on his face.

You watched as his green eyes darted behind you, looking into your apartment as if he were checking for something before they returned to your face. He brushed past you into the apartment despite your noise of protest. You closed the door behind you and rested against it, crossing your arms.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said. And you meant it. If you were still being watched and a male was seen coming into your apartment, chances are he’d end up dead. “I don’t have your money yet.”

Tamlin raised a brow. “That’s what I’m here to talk about. Do you want to tell me why I got a personal visit from the Shadow this week who paid off your debt to me in full?”

Your eyes widened in shock. That was not at all what you were expecting him to say. “I’m sorry, what?”

Tamlin roamed around your apartment, picking up random trinkets and stuff thrown about. “You heard me correctly. One of Rhysand’s dogs came and paid off your debt. And I heard a rumor that you were seen with Rhysand himself at his night club. Do you want to explain that too?”

You bristled at his tone. You didn’t belong to him anymore. He had no right demanding information from you. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. Shouldn’t you be happy that you were paid?”

Tamlin scoffed, turning to face you. “So it’s true then? You’re whoring yourself out to Rhysand of all people? Gods, bunny, I knew you were stupid but this…this is truly idiotic.”

You clenched your fists in anger. You released a long breath, trying to maintain your composure. “Tam, I think you should leave. If my debt is paid off then we have nothing to talk about.”

“Like hell we do,” he snapped at you. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all week long. Why have you been ignoring my calls?”

“I got a new phone,” you replied. “Sorry.”

He sighed and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

You pulled your phone from your pocket and handed it over. It was easier to just do as he said instead of arguing about it. It would get him out of your apartment faster too.

His eyes widened as he looked at the new iPhone but then narrowed. “How the hell were you able to afford this?”

He grabbed it and started entering his number. “It was a gift.”

He scoffed again, sending himself a text from your phone. “So is that why you broke up with me? Was I not rich enough for you? Decided to go suck the dick of a felon for more money?”

“I really think it’s time for you to go now.” You glared at him, ripping your phone out of his hand. “For your own good.”

“Whatever,” he muttered, pushing you out of the way to storm from your apartment. “Don’t try calling me to bail you out of jail once you get caught fucking Rhysand.”

He slammed the door behind him, rattling the walls. You rolled your eyes just as your phone dinged.

Unknown: I take it by the look on Tamlin’s beastly face that you didn’t let him fuck you?

You: Still watching me? Why don’t you go find a new hobby to partake in? Unknown: Why would I do that when I get so much pleasure from watching you without you knowing where I am?

A picture was sent a second later. A blurry shot of you inside of your apartment in just your underwear. You let out a curse.

You: Fucking pervert. Unknown: If I’m a pervert, then what does that make you, little mouse? You were ready to come all over my lap in the middle of a club. Or did you already forget about that?

Fuck no you hadn’t forgot about that. It was all you thought about late at night. That desire, the hot feeling of their hands on you, the pulsating music and lights.

You: Fuck you

You made sure to add the emoji of a middle finger to the end of that message.

Unknown: Oh you will, little mouse, you will. You: Like I said, you’re delusional and sick in the head if you think I’ll ever want any part of you. Unknown: Oh, little mouse, you have no idea just how sick I am. But you will find out. Be ready by 8pm tomorrow night. And wear that little black dress again. It’d be a shame if I never had the chance to rip it off you.

You sent him the emoji of a middle finger again before tossing your phone down on your bed. You were not ready for another night with him…with them. Not when the need for all three of them still burned inside of you.

༺♥༻

It was a black SUV that was waiting outside for you this time. Azriel hadn't come to get you at your door either. The driver opened the backseat door for you and you slid in, noting it was just Rhysand waiting for you inside.

He gave you a feline grin, his eyes raking over your body, clearly pleased with what he saw.

"Where are you taking me this time?"

You didn't waste any time with a greeting. Rhys raised an eyebrow at you, waiting for something. You rolled your eyes when you realized what.

"Where are you taking me this time, sir?" you spat out.

"I'm attending a personal event tonight and I need a date."

"So is this how repaying my debt to you is going to work? Just act as your escort until you decide I've repaid you? I'm sure you can find another girl willing to accompany you for free."

He smirked at you, throwing his arm over the back of the seats, his fingers brushing against your shoulder. A shiver ran down your spine at his touch and by the glint in his eyes, you knew he had felt it.

"It's cute that you think this has anything to do with a debt you owe me, darling."

You crossed your arms with a huff, "Then what the fuck else does it have to do with?"

"Such a filthy mouth," he chided. "I already told you, little mouse. You were mine from the moment I laid my eyes on you. I gave you a week of freedom, but don't get any ideas, darling. You are mine and I will do whatever I want with you."

"I am not yours."

"And you think I'm the delusional one."

You narrowed your eyes at him. He was such an arrogant prick. Before you could reply, the car stopped and the driver interrupted their conversation.

"Sir, we are at our destination."

The driver stepped out of the car, opening the door for you. Rhysand came around the other side of the car and held out his hand for you. You begrudgingly took it.

Rhysand gave the driver a dip of the head. "Thank you, Charles."

You were standing in front of a large mansion, servants already waiting at the door to open it as you two walked up the front steps. Rhysand dipped his head at the servants as you passed and the sound of chattering became more clear once you stepped through the threshold.

A slinky looking male walked up to greet you. He was handsome, if not for the pinched look on his face, with light blonde hair and pale skin.

"Rhysand, so glad you could make it tonight," the male said, sounding anything but pleased.

"Keir," Rhysand greeted back. "I would never dream of missing one of your parties."

Keir, you had heard that name before. He was the mayor of Hewn City. Surprisingly, this was your first time ever seeing him.

The sarcasm in his voice was evident. If Rhysand didn't want to be here, then why had he come? It didn't seem like this Keir guy wanted him here either.

"And who might this be?"

Keir's eyes roamed over you, making your insides curl with disgust.

"This is y/n," Rhysand said. "My fiance."

What. The. Fuck.

He was lucky you hadn't grabbed one of the champagne flutes being passed around by servants or the wine would've sprayed out of your mouth. Why the fuck would he call you that?

Keir's eyes lingered on your hand. "Hm, no ring for the beautiful lady?"

"It's being custom made as we speak." Rhysand grinned, dangerously. "But I got ahead of myself and proposed without it. It was hard not to when she looks like this, wouldn't you agree? Didn't want her to get snatched up by some other male."

“Of course, congratulations,” Keir agreed, though it sounded anything but friendly. “If you’ll excuse me, there are some other guests I have yet to greet. Please, enjoy my party.”

You let out the breath you were holding in as the male disappeared into the crowd. Your eyes instantly shot to Rhys.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed under your breath. “Why did you introduce me as your fucking fiancé?”

“Not here, darling,” he answered with a grin, his eyes darting around to the people surrounding you.

He led you through the crowd, occasionally saying a greeting to those he recognized. Many eyes followed after him, you noticed, then lingered on you. You were met with more jealous stares from other women than you could count.

Rhysand pushed a champagne flute into your hands but you noticed he didn’t have one for himself. “Drink, darling, relax. We are here to be stared at, enjoy it.”

“You don’t seem to like Keir all that much,” you whispered to him, sipping on the champagne. “So why bother coming?”

“Because, Keir likes to believe that he has full control over his shitfilled little city and I like to remind him who is really in charge every once in a while.”

“Watch it,” you grumbled. “I live in that ‘shitfilled little city.’”

Rhysand leaned down, his breath brushing against your ear. “Not after tonight, you don’t.”

You glanced up at him. “What?”

But he stood back to his full height and said nothing else, eyes looking over the people still staring at the two of you. You felt your cheeks turn a bit red at all the attention.

You were silent as you finished your glass of champagne, placing it on the empty tray of one of the staff members walking by once it was empty.

As soon as you were done, Rhysand linked his hand with yours again.

“I think we’ve been seen enough. Come, there is something I wish to show you.”

You followed him out of the crowd and away from the main room. You soaked in the beautiful paintings and rich decor as he led you down an empty corridor and into a conservatory.

Your eyes widened as you spun around, glancing at the ornate room. Flowers of all shapes and sizes were spread everywhere, along with a few chaises and armchairs. The windowed ceiling and walls let you see the night sky, the stars glimmering above you.

It was something you had only seen in magazines and movies. It was stunning, beautiful. You turned to face Rhysand to see him staring at you already, a soft smile on his handsome face.

Your cheeks turned a bit pink, causing his smile to turn into a grin. He sunk down onto one of the chairs and tugged on your hips until you were sitting on his lap. The familiar position from the club already had your blood turning to fire.

“I hate the man,” Rhys started. “But Gods, he does have one of the best views of the stars.”

You looked up again, agreeing. One of Rhysand’s large hands wrapped around your waist, dragging you back to his hard chest while the other rested on one of your thighs.

“Are you going to tell me why you told him I was your fiancé now?” you asked as his fingers began to rub circles on your waist.

“Because you are,” Rhysand murmured, pressing a kiss to your bare shoulder. “I told you, little mouse, you are mine. I intend to make you my wife because I am never going to let you go now that I’ve found you.”

You were fucked in the head. Seriously. Because his kiss and his words caused heat to start coiling in your lower stomach.

“You truly are insane,” you whispered.

And he was. Rhysand was one giant, walking red flag. But you had never had good taste in men anyways.

“Am I?” he whispered back.

He kissed your shoulder again before moving up your neck to your jaw. Your breath hitched as his finger grazed the underside of your breast. He smiled against your skin, pulling you even closer.

“You know, I’ve been watching you all week long to see if you would follow my rules,” he murmured, huskily. “And darling, you have been a very, very good girl.”

You arched into his touch now, gasping as his hand trailed up your ribcage to brush against your breast. You should really be putting a stop to this. But…fuck it. It was a hot being in the hands of such a powerful man.

His hand continued its journey until it wrapped around the front of your throat.

“And good girls deserve to be rewarded,” he purred into your ear. “Don’t you think?”

His other hand pushed your thighs open and you swallowed audibly. Your eyes darted to the door leading into the conservatory where anyone could walk through.

You needed to put a stop to this. “Rhysand, someone could walk in at any moment.”

The hand that was resting on your throat gripped you by the chin instead and turned your head to look up at him. His pupils were blown, his pretty violet eyes now a dangerous black. His gaze darted between your own eyes and lips, hungrily.

“They all know better than to follow me, darling,” he said.

His hand hiked your dress up to your hips and you caught his wrist. “W-What are you doing?”

He shrugged off your grip. “Relax, little mouse. Let me take care of you.”

Your skin was flushed with desire, a whimper escaping your lips as he stroked your clothed center. He pushed your thighs further apart and you let him, cursing yourself in your head.

“That’s it, darling,” he praised. “Take your reward like the good girl you are.”

His fingers hooked around the waistband of your thong and began to drag it down your thighs.

“Really, Rhysand, s-someone could come in,” your voice cracked as he dragged your thong all the way down your leg and over your black stilettos before sliding it into his pocket.

Despite your protest, you did little to stop him. Didn’t even close your legs. You were a fucking idiot. And you would regret it later. But for now…

A wanton moan slipped from your mouth as Rhysand’ fingers stroked your bare pussy. You ground your hips into him, gasping as you felt his hardened length beneath you.

“I think that just turns you on even more, little mouse,” he teased, brushing his fingers against you again. Your cheeks flushed at how wet you were already. Something Rhysand seemed very pleased about.

He groaned as you shifted your hips again, digging into his hard cock. He started rubbing your clit with his fingers and you tossed your head back against his shoulder with another moan.

He kissed your exposed neck, grazing the fragile skin with his sharp canines.

“S-stop,” you choke out. “We shouldn’t.”

His fingers left from between your thighs and you’re protesting groan went completely against what you just said.

“Stop,” he mocked, bringing his fingers up so you could see the glistening shine on them from your arousal. He ran them down your lips, spreading the taste of yourself on them. “Does this taste like you want me to stop?”

He shoved his fingers into your mouth.

“Suck,” he commanded.

It was instinctual, primal even, to listen to him. You sucked on his fingers and he let out a groan as he watched you, turning you on more. The taste of yourself covered your tongue.

He yanked his fingers free and placed them back between your legs, lightly brushing your aching center.

“Say anything other than my name and you don’t get to come,” he growled. “Do you understand?”

You bit your lip as he began to rub your clit in circles again, staring down at where his fingers were touching you.

He forced you to look up at him again, his grip on your jaw so tight you let out a pained whimper. “I said, do you understand?”

You nodded as his fingers continued their assault, leaving you panting. “Y-yes, sir.”

He gave you a devil's grin. “Good girl.”

And then his lips smashed against yours. They were soft, softer than you imagined and you eagerly kissed him back as that electric feeling continued to build and build in your lower stomach. He tilted your chin up, deepening the kiss with a growl as his fingers slipped from where they had been rubbing your clit to tease at your entrance.

He swallowed the moan that came from you with his kiss before he suddenly thrusted one finger inside of you. You gasped in pleasure, which he took advantage of, sticking his tongue in your mouth and claiming it as his.

You withered in his lap, grinding against his hard cock as you panted, his finger thrusting in and out of you. Your vision nearly went white as he added a second one, filling you so deliciously.

Your head fell back against his shoulders, breaking your kiss apart. “Rhys.”

He trailed kisses down your jaw to your neck, nipping and sucking on your flesh. “You’re doing so good, darling. Gods, you are so tight. I can’t wait to feel you wrapped around my dick.”

You groaned at his lewd words, your orgasm building.

“Rhys,” you begged, grinding your hips in rhythm with his fingers. You had been so on edge all week and thinking about that night in the club, so you knew it wouldn’t take very long to make you come around his fingers.

“That’s it. Come for me, darling,” he purred into your ear.

His thumb brushed against your clit and that was the final thing that tipped you over the edge. You mewled his name over and over again as your orgasm crashed through your whole body, arching into him. He kept thrusting his fingers in and out, riding you until your nails were biting into his skin.

You fell limp in his arms as he finally pulled his fingers from you. You watched through hazy eyes as he brought them to his own lips this time and licked them clean. “Gods, you taste so good.”

You were still trying to catch your breath, letting him pull your dress back down. He admired your flushed face, your swollen lips with a grin. “See, wasn’t that so much better than being punished?”

You nodded, your eyes still hooded and Rhysand chuckled.

“Is my little mouse tired now?” he cooed. He patted your butt, helping you stand on shaky legs. “Come, let me take you home, darling.”

He guided you out of the mansion with a hand on the back of your neck until you reached the black SUV waiting for you. Charles was there, opening the door already. Rhys helped you slide inside before coming around the other side of the car.

He pulled you into his side, letting you rest your body against his as the car started up, and you let him, finding some comfort in his warmth. Within a few seconds of driving, you felt your eyes slowly start to shut.

What felt like a minute later, you were jostled awake only to realize Rhysand was carrying you out of the car. You blinked, trying to wake fully but still felt so lethargic. How long had you been driving for? Keir’s

mansion hadn’t been that far from your apartment.

“Where are we?” you slurred as Rhys pushed your head into the croak of his neck, carrying you up what seemed to be steps.

“Home, darling,” he murmured to you.

You didn’t think twice about his words or you might’ve realized that you had a different understanding of what that meant than he did. Only nodded and closed your eyes again, falling back into a blissful sleep.

༺♥༻

When you woke up the next day, you were met with the sight of an unfamiliar room. You jolted up, the black sheets you had been under pooling at your waist. You had no idea where you were. Your eyes darted around the huge, ornate room.

The walls were a cream color with gold moulding. A huge window was on the left side of the room, beautiful dark red curtains partially covering its view. You were in a four poster bed with a gauzy canopy. There were a total of three doors on the various walls, all closed except one that led into what looked like a bathroom.

Where the hell were you? The last thing you remembered from last night was Rhysand telling you he was taking you home. But this was certainly not your home. Hell, there was no way you were even in Hewn City. You could tell by the lack of smog in the sky from the view out of the window.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed,

rising. You frowned when you realized you were no longer wearing the dress from last night but a skimpy nightgown. The wood floor was cold under your feet as you made your way to the bathroom, happy to find a still packaged toothbrush and toothpaste.

Once you had freshened up, you explored the other doors in the room. The first one you opened led to an empty hallway. You quickly shut it and went to the other one which opened to a walk-in closet. Your eyes narrowed as you took in the only things hanging in there. Lingerie of all types in all different colors, sheer and silk robes, and heels.

You grumbled to yourself, grabbing one of the silk robes and putting it on over your nightgown, not that it did much to cover you more.

You hesitantly made your way into the empty hallway, slowly walking as you listened for any signs of people. There were doors lining the walls but you didn't open them, hoping to find a living room or something of that sort instead. You must've been in a mansion because you swore the hallways seemed neverending.

"Is that a little mouse I see scurrying around?"

You let out a noise of surprise, jumping at the loud, cheery voice that called out from behind you. You whipped around to see Cassian standing at the end of the hallway, his chest bare with his shirt thrown over his shoulder and glistening with sweat. You couldn't stop your eyes from roaming his body, his insane, god-like body. Gods, who the hell made him?

When you met his eyes again, the grin on his face told you he knew that you had just been checking him out. You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest. "Where am I? What is this place?"

"This," Cassian chimed, "is our home, little mouse. Rhysand's mansion. Our compound. Call it what you want."

"I thought he lived at The Sidra."

Cassian ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. "No, who the fuck would want to live in Hewn City—no offense! That is just where we do our business when it involves that city, so no one knows where we actually live."

"Okay," you said slowly. "So where the hell are we? And why am I here?"

“This property is so big, it’s basically its own small town. You won’t find anyone else for miles and miles, little mouse, so don’t bother running,” he winked at you. “As for why, I’ll let Rhys explain that. Speaking of, he asked me to check if you were awake and to escort you to his office.”

You begrudgingly walked to him, letting him start the course to Rhysand’s office, hoping to get some answers.

“I heard you two had quite the night, little mouse,” Cassian said, grinning down at you.

You had to admit, next to Cassian you were basically a little mouse. The male was a giant, at least a foot taller than you. But something about his demeanor made him less threatening. He seemed like the friendliest out of the three. Not as dark and foreboding as the other two.

Your cheeks turned red as you looked away. “So Rhysand is the type to kiss and tell. How juvenile.”

Cassian let out a laugh that made you do a double take. He was beautiful. Not as pretty as Azriel or regal as Rhysand, but equally attractive in his own way. More masculine and brutal in his beauty.

“I’m telling him you said that,” he said.

You shrugged your shoulders, examining the place as you walked down the hallway. Outside of the room you had been in, the rest of the place had a much more modern feel, with dark gray walls and dark flooring.

“Here we are,” Cassian said, stopping you just before a large set of double doors. He pushed them open, gesturing at you to walk-in first like a gentleman.

Rhysand’s office was huge. The first thing you noticed was the wall that was a window, overlooking the backyard. Rhysand was sitting at a large desk in front of it, in an armchair that resembled a throne.

Bookshelves lined the walls, many books and expensive looking trinkets on them. On the other side of the room was a weapons rack locked behind a gated case full of guns and pistols.

Your eyes went back to the desk, noticing now that Azriel was also in here.

“Sleeping beauty is awake,” Cassian announced in greeting. “Found her roaming around the halls.”

“Thank you, Cass,” Rhysand said with a dip of the head.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me. I think it’s time I give our little friend Devlon a visit.”

Cass nodded at Rhys and stepped out of the office, closing the doors behind him. You watched him until he disappeared from view before turning back to face the other two.

“Come here, little mouse,” Rhysand said, pointing to the empty chair that Azriel was leaning against across from him.

You took a seat, looking at Rhysand cautiously. He was wearing a black t-shirt that showed off the black swirling tattoos on his arms, ones you hadn’t seen before.

“Why am I here? I thought you were taking me home last night, not kidnapping me,” you snapped.

Rhys placed his arms over his head, leaning back in his chair like a king with no crown. “You are home, darling.”

“Stop with the bullshit, Rhysand. Take me home. Now.”

“Like I said, little mouse, you are home. This is your home now. I won’t have my fiancé living in that squalor.”

“I’m not your fucking fiancé! You’re psychotic! Take me home!”

“We really have to do something about that mouth, don’t you agree, Az?” Rhysand looked at the shadow that was hovering behind you.

He must’ve nodded because Rhysand looked back down at you.

“I’m not playing around, Rhysand,” you growled. “Take me home!”

Rhysand rose, placing his palms on the desk as he peered down at you. “And I’m not playing around either. It is not safe for you to live in Hewn City now that I’ve told Keir that you’re my fiancé.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Why on earth did you have to tell him that then? I am not your fiance. I am not your girlfriend. I am simply someone who owes you a debt that you literally met only two weeks ago.”

“I’m growing tired of this, little mouse,” Rhysand snarled, prowling around the desk until he stood before you. “I think I have made myself very clear. This has nothing to do with a debt. You are mine. Mine.”

“And I’m growing tired of you acting like you own me! I am not yours!”

“Really? Let me ask you this, little mouse. Does anybody else make your body sing the way I do? Has anyone’s touch ever turned you on fire like mine? Admit it. Your body belongs to me. All I’m missing is your heart. But that’ll soon be mine as well.”

You felt heat creep up your neck because he was right. A simple touch from Rhysand did cause a spark inside of you that you had never even felt before. Even Cassian’s touch that night at the club had awoken something in you. Like your darkest desires had been unleashed that day and now, no other touch would compare. But you didn’t want him to know that. For your own dignity.

“You think very highly of yourself, Rhysand,” you scoffed, looking away.

But he had seen the color on your cheeks, had seen the darkness burning in your eyes.

“Look at me,” he ordered. You swallowed, your eyes darting back up to his striking face. A muscle in his jaw was clenched and he rose to his full height. “You live here now. This is your home. It is not safe for you to return to your apartment and frankly, you were never safe there to begin with. I’ve already had someone retrieve the important things from your place and they are all waiting for you in your new room, the one you woke up in. You are not locked up here. I will give you a car. You may come and go, but you will always tell either me, Azriel or Cassian when you are going to leave.”

He had a point. Your neighborhood was extremely unsafe. And if people knew what you meant to Rhys, it would only put a target on your back. You cursed him in your head. This had been his plan all along. To find a reason to make you live here.

“And what if I take the car and never come back?” you asked, staring defiantly up at him.

He smirked. “Then I will find you and we can play this game of cat and mouse forever.”

You bit your lip, wanting to retort but the look in his eyes, that feral, crazed looked stopped you. This was the most powerful and dangerous male in all of Prythian and you knew without a doubt that he would find you, no matter how far you ran. This beautiful, lethal male was obsessed with you…and you were fucked up for being so utterly turned on by it.

“Did I make myself clear?”

You nodded and he looked at you expectantly.

“Yes sir,” you grumbled.

Just because you were agreeing, just because you were filled with craving and desire, didn’t mean you were just going to throw yourself at him. No, you would make this just as difficult as he did.

“Good. Now get on your knees,” he commanded.

Your eyes widened. “W-what?”

“I said get on your knees, little mouse.”

You hated the way your body listened, falling to the floor in front of him.

“Take off my belt,” he ordered.

You glared up at him. “Fuck you.”

“See, that’s why you’re in trouble right now. That filthy mouth,” Rhysand growled. “Take off my belt, little mouse. Don’t make me ask you again.”

You continued to glare at him as you reached up and started to undo his belt, your cheeks heating with embarrassment as you realized he was rock hard underneath his pants. You yanked it from him roughly and he smirked as he grabbed it from you, handing it to Azriel over your head.

Your brows furrowed in confusion as Azriel bent down on his haunches behind you. Rhysand gave him a nod of the head and suddenly, two scarred hands were grabbing your wrists and twisting them behind your back. You let out a yelp as you felt Azriel loop the belt around them, trying to shrug him off, but he was much stronger. He tightened the belt until your wrists were secured behind your back to the point of pain.

“What are you doing?” you hissed up at Rhysand.

Rhysand unbuttoned his pants with one hand while the other landed on your head, stroking your hair. “Teaching you another lesson, little mouse. If you want to have a filthy mouth, then I expect that you to do filthy things with that mouth.”

He unzipped his pants and pulled his hard cock free. Your eyes widened as you took in the sight of him, at how large he was. You had felt it against you, of course, but seeing it was different. You couldn’t help but imagine it ramming into you over and over again until you screamed.

“Open your mouth,” he directed.

You shook your head, pressing your lips together.

“Open your mouth, now,” he ordered again, his voice as dark as night. You just glared up at him, keeping your mouth firmly shut. He let out a scoff and looked at Azriel who was still kneeling behind you. “Azriel.”

You didn’t know what that command meant until you felt Azriel’s hand wrap around your throat from behind. You restrained from opening your mouth and he began to squeeze and squeeze. You whimpered at the pain but kept your mouth shut until your lungs were empty of air, burning in your chest. He eased the pressure a little bit and you finally gasped for air.

Rhysand took the opportunity to thrust his dick into your mouth, using the hand on the back of your head to guide you. You choked as he hit the back of your throat, tears forming in your eyes. He let out a groan, tossing his head back.

“Come on, little mouse, suck my cock and you might get a reward yourself,” he growled.

Fuck it, you decided. If you were going to do this, you were going to completely own him like he thought he did you. You hallowed out your cheeks and flattened your tongue, bobbing your head. He hissed, his hand tangling in your hair. You ran your tongue down the vein on the underside of his cock, pulling another groan from him.

You glared up at him, tears slipping down your cheeks as you choked on his dick, taking him as far as you could. He started pushing your head back and forth for you, fisting your hair. You used every trick you had in your arsenal, drawing moan after moan from his mouth.

“Fuck, darling, your mouth feels so good,” he growled.

You continued to glare at him.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. I know you’re enjoying this,” he grunted, thrusting his cock in your mouth, fucking your face as you could do nothing, not even brace yourself against his thighs with your arms held behind your back.

You scoffed around his cock, denying his claim.

“So if Azriel were to touch you right now, he wouldn’t find your dripping with how much this turns you on?”

You growled, causing him to groan again at the vibration. He looked at Azriel and suddenly a hand was reaching down between your legs, pushing your panties to the side and stroking your center. You moaned at the touch of his fingers, already knowing what he found. He lifted his fingers, showing off the glistening arousal coating them.

“Thought so,” Rhysand grinned, fisting your hair even tighter. “Continue, Azriel.”

You had no idea what that meant until you felt Azriel’s fingers stroking your pussy again. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he rubbed circles around your clit. You were absolutely throbbing.

Rhysand continued to thrust into your mouth, grunting as his pace quickened. “Gods, you take me so well, darling. Like your mouth was made for this cock. Fuck.”

His dirty words only turned you on more. You could feel your own arousal dripping down the side of your thigh. Azriel’s other hand slid between your legs, his fingers teasing your entrance as he continued to rub your clit. You gasped as he slid a finger inside of you, pulling it back out slowly, and then roughly thrusting it back in.

You were certain you had never been more turned on in your life before. Stuck between these two males, one fingering you from behind while the other used your mouth brutally. You cried as Azriel added a second finger, continuing in pace with Rhysand’s thrusts into your mouth.

“Fuck,” Rhysand snarled, his thrusts became sharper, faster. Tears were pouring from your eyes as he hit the back of your throat time and time again, making you choke on his dick. “That’s it, darling. Gods, just like that. Fuck.”

It was so hot how much control you had over Rhysand in this moment, despite the position they had put you in. He was a slave to you right now. You were the owner of his pleasure. You moaned around his dick as Azriel quickened the thrusts of his fingers inside of you.

You felt Rhysand tightened in your mouth before he slammed your head to meet his thrust, burying his cock into your throat, chanting your name over and over. You choked as hot liquid spurted into your throat but Rhysand kept you there, his cock buried in your mouth, not letting you go. You swallowed all of his cum until the veins in his arms were protruding from the overstimulation. He finally pulled out of your mouth, letting you gasp for air.

As soon as your mouth was free, Azriel ripped a hand away from your pussy and grabbed you by the back of the throat. He pushed you forward until your face was pressed against the ground, your ass in the air. You moaned as he pushed his fingers deeper into you while holding you down.

“God, please,” you mewled.

“I am no God,” Azriel growled into your ear, his voice so dark and sensual, it pushed you closer to the edge.

His hand tightened on your throat until your vision was nearly white and your body was shaking with pleasure. You felt your orgasm building and building, pushing your hips back to meet each thrust of his fingers until you cried out his name, wave after wave of pleasure taking over your body.

He didn’t stop as you pulsated around his fingers, didn’t stop until you were crying and begging him to. Only then did he yank his fingers free. Your body went limp as you panted, his hand finally leaving your throat so you could breathe properly.

“And that is what you get for obeying me, little mouse” Rhysand purred from above you.

༺♥༻

The next day, Rhysand gave you a full tour of the entire place. You were blown away. There were two huge garages full of sports cars, motorcycles and SUVS. An indoor and outdoor gym. Three different pools and hottubs. A weapons room. A fancy, formal dining room along with another more intimate one. Many different rooms for meetings. An intel room full of high-tech computers and equipment. A large living room with a massive tv, fireplace and sitting area. A beautiful kitchen that was stocked with just about everything you could dream of.

It was truly an unbelievable place. He even had gardens outside, five different gaming rooms, a lounge, four different bar set-ups. Cassian had been right when he described it as a compound.

Once the tour was over, it had taken just a little over an hour, Rhysand led you to the kitchen to get some lunch. They also apparently had a personal chef who made all their meals. You couldn’t wrap your head around it. You had been poor all your life. Had never even been to a hotel that was half as nice as this place was.

Rhysand was explaining some of the rules they had here when Azriel and Cassian walked into the kitchen, both shirtless. Your eyes raked over their bodies, unable to stop yourself. You looked back at Rhysand to see him grinning. You scowled at him. You waited until they left before you said anything.

“Do you also make them walk around half dressed?” you gestured to your own attire. Your closet was still only full of lingerie and robes. When you had asked for clothes, Rhysand had just told you he much preferred you like this.

“Oh no, darling, they are doing that on your behalf,” he purred.

Your eyebrows raised. “What? On my behalf? What do you mean?”

“Well, you see, Cassian and Azriel have a bit of a bet going on.”

“What does that have to do with them hardly wearing clothes?”

“They’re both trying to entice you, darling. The bet is for which one of them you’re going to fuck first.”

“Who says I want to fuck either of them?”

“Still playing this same game, little mouse?” He gave you a look that had your jaw clenching.

“And what about you? Are you not part of this bet?”

“Oh no, darling. They both know you’re going to be fucking me first,” he grinned. “They have strict orders not to have you before I do.”

“Is that so?”

You bit back a grin, suddenly twisting at the thought of a new challenge. You looked at the door the two male had disappeared through. You were absolutely going to do everything you could to make one of them disobey Rhysand. It would be fun to finally have some control over the situation, to finally knock the arrogant leader down a peg.

But which one was likely to give in first?

Well, that was something you were definitely going to find out.

༺♥༻

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whipped-for-kpop-fics · 25 days ago

Text

Naive - L.C

💡Who: Lee Chan (Seventeen) x female reader 💡What: Best friends to ??? Angst. Thriller. Soft moments. Dark themes (please check warnings). 18+ 💡Word count: 11.5k 💡Warnings: Profanity. Stalking. Nonconsensual voyeurism. Nonconsensual photos. Cheating. Major injury (Not Chan or reader). Mentions of a car accident. Mentions of sexual harassment. Mentions of panic attacks and almost panic attacks. No smut, but suggestive content, some dirty talk and mentions of sexual acts. Very morally dark character. Drugging. Kidnapping. Restraints. Chan calls reader angel a lot (mostly because I don’t wanna use y/n), and baby in the second half.

Summary: Breakups are always painful, but at least you have your best friend by your side to make everything better. Right?

Minors do NOT interact, which means reblogging and/or commenting on this story. I WILL block any account that interacts without an age indicator in their bio.

-2024 Masterlist-

A/N- I know nothing about flower meanings, it all came straight from Wikipedia so don't blame me for inaccurate meanings, it's just a fic.

“It’s okay, he’s in the past, he’s not worth your tears,” your best friend soothes as you cry into his chest for the third night in a row.

“I-I should’ve li-listened to you,” you sob, gripping his t-shirt tighter and curling up smaller.

“It doesn’t matter now; what matters is you ended it and never have to deal with that asshole again.”

“A-asshole is too kind.”

Chan chuckles and tilts his head against the top of your head yet says nothing more and simply continues to hold you until you run out of tears for your cheating, pervert of an ex-boyfriend. Proving once again that Lee Chan is the only man you can ever trust to be good and honest.

Over a year ago, you met Lee Chan while in the gardening section of the bookstore. It was a cliché romcom moment where you both reached for the same book and your hands met before your eyes did. He smiled at you with a soft little chuckle and said something like “guess we both want to know what Victorian people thought flowers meant”, which somehow led to you both buying a copy of the book on the Victorian language of flowers to take to the nearby coffee shop with the intention of reading side by side. Though very little reading happened, and you found yourself sitting there with Chan for hours; laughing and talking as if you’ve known one another for years. It was like he was made to be the other half of you, designed with only you in mind.

At first, you thought maybe it was true; that Chan was your romantic soulmate. But you were seeing someone else at the time and pushed the thought of Chan being anything but platonic entirely out of your mind.

It’s a year and multiple failed relationships later, while you’re out shopping on a rare day off, that something changes.

“What do you think of this one?” Chan asks, drawing your attention to where he’s a few racks away donned in the black, leather biker jacket he just found on the men’s sale rack.

“Oh,” you murmur, suddenly hit with the realisation that your best friend is ridiculously attractive.

It’s not that you’ve ever thought Chan is ugly; in fact, you first paid attention to him in the bookstore past a glance because of how handsome he is. But that was over a year ago and your thoughts have never moved on from considering him the same kind of beautiful as you would a piece of art that you see in a store, yet easily move on past without looking back.

Yet now, you’ve noticed and suddenly can’t draw your eyes away from him.

“Hello?” Chan laughs, waving his arms to bring you back to reality when you do nothing more than stare at him for almost a full minute. “You alright? Getting hungry?” He pouts at you teasingly. “Does the baby need num nums?”

“I hate it when you say that” you remind and stick your middle finger up at him, making him laugh while you turn back to the sale rack you had been looking through.

“I know, why do you think I say it?” He cackles and bounces over to prod you and gain your attention back. “You didn’t say what you think? Do I look sexy?” He wiggles his eyebrows at you while posing in the jacket. “Should I get it?”

“Yeah,” you answer with a nod after taking his body in once more and turning away.

“Was that yes to getting it, or that I look sexy?” He murmurs from suddenly behind you with his mouth right by your ear. You jolt in surprise having not heard him approach, then turn to whack his arm while he cracks up laughing. “You think I’m sexyyy!” He sings loudly, just to annoy you.

“Why are we best friends again?”

“I took pity on you and your bad taste in men.” He definitely deserves the hit this time, even if he’s right.

Ever since you’ve known Chan, you’ve had nothing but terrible luck with picking men to date. You always think they’re okay at first, but then the red flags start popping up and begin waving manically in the hot air spewing from their mouths.

You really thought you had run out of bad luck and finally picked a good one with your ex. He was kind and endlessly attractive; a hard worker, yet always made time for fun and relaxation; and his parents loved you.

It lasted a whole seven months before you found another woman’s underwear in his car, and you realised you should’ve listened to Chan’s gut feeling about Kyle from the start. Finding a stack of polaroids of various women getting changed when you were emptying his apartment of your belongings that same night only made the heartache worse. Not only did he cheat on you, but he also likes to take photos of unsuspecting women through windows and cracked doors.

Upon turning your back on him three weeks ago, you decided to give up on men and always listen to Chan’s gut instincts from now on.

You don’t need a boyfriend; you just need your best friend.

Just when you’re about to leave your apartment building to meet with Chan for lunch one day, you come face to face with your ex. He looks, frankly put, like shit. He used to be so well put together, never to an obsessive degree but he was always well rested and tidy, but now he looks like he hasn’t slept or eaten in at least two days with his hair sticking up a little as if he’s been running his hands through it repeatedly. He’s still wearing nice clothes, but they’re creased, and his shoes aren’t even properly tied.

“What are you doing here?” You hiss while glaring at the man and trying to step past him, but he gets in your path with his hands held up placatingly; he even doesn’t attempt to touch you or get in your personal space.

Vaguely, you think how weird it is of him to respect that boundary yet have polaroids of you half naked in the changing room at your gym. A completely separate gym to the one he frequents too, which somehow makes it even worse; that he went so far out of his way to take the photos you never consented to.

“I just want to talk to you, please? Just a few minutes and I’ll go, and you’ll never see me again,” he pleads. The genuine desperation in his eyes makes you relent and nod. “Can we go somewhere a little less public? I’m not asking to go somewhere isolated, just not the middle of the building lobby.”

Again, you relent and move to the side of the lobby out of the light foot traffic; still perfectly in sight of others yet far enough away to have a private conversation.

“Thank you,” he breathes out gratefully and relaxes a little as you lean one shoulder against the wall with your arms crossed over your chest.

“What is it? I’m going to be late to meet Chan.”

“Right, how is he?”

“Good, it’s Chan. He’s always good.” The words are a little pointed, designed to hurt, and the way his features flinch at the jab sends a little surge of satisfaction into you. Though there’s something in you aching at that same hurt in his eyes; it looks too real.

“Yeah, he’s a good guy,” he agrees softly, and you hum. “So uh, I just…I can’t stop thinking about what happened.”

“Cheating on me or taking photos of women without their consent?” You question, glaring again at the reminder of why you want nothing to do with this man before you. This pathetic, sad eyed, mess of a man.

It’s funny how far he’s fallen in so little time. Strange how a man who cheated on you in the backseat of the same car he often pulled you into with shared giggles, can break so much at being called out on his misdeeds.

You really thought he would just move on to the next conquest and forget all about you for good, just like he did while with the other woman. Or women. You never asked how many there were.

Yet the man before you doesn’t seem to have moved on at all.

“I didn’t do either of those things,” he repeats the words he had said to you a little over a month ago. You didn’t believe him then; you were so full of anger and betrayal as you tried to cradle the pieces of your shattered heart and hoped he hadn’t stolen any of the pieces leaving you unable to stitch it back together again.

Now that you’ve let go of most of your anger and Chan has helped you in putting the pieces back together to the point that your heart is almost whole and healing, you can see through the pain and tears and notice that this man in front of you looks genuine. He’s looking at you without any attempt to look aside or shrink away. He isn’t hiding.

“I found underwear in your car Kyle,” you point out, holding your ground even if you suddenly realise that something here doesn’t feel right. “And those photos in your apartment.”

“I know, I know, and I’ve been trying to figure out how the fuck they got there because it wasn’t me.”

“You live alone and don’t share your car.”

“I know!” He exclaims, hands flying up in frustration, though it doesn’t feel like it’s aimed at you, especially as he steps back to make certain that he doesn’t accidentally hit you. Kyle’s always been considerate like that; always made sure to give you a wide berth when he flung his arms around in play or frustration. But that doesn’t mean he can’t be a cheating pervert. A man can be against physically harming his partner and still betray their trust so deeply.

“Then only you could’ve put them there.”

“No, no, I didn’t though,” he steps closer while lifting his hands between you, though he brings them to his own chest instead of touching you. “Look me in the eye and tell me I have ever done a thing to make you think I would cheat on you or take photos without consent. I never even asked you for pictures; you were the one who offered and asked if you could send me pictures months into our relationship.”

The thing is, he’s right. Although you did have sex regularly and he would send you dirty texts when he was in the mood, Kyle never asked for nudes. You had to be the one to bring it up and ask if he was against that kind of thing.

Now that he brings it up, you can vividly recall him telling you that does enjoy nudes and would certainly enjoy seeing photos of you like that, but he also knows how dangerous they can be to send and receive because of hacking, losing phones or breaking up. He had been so genuine about it and triple checked that you were comfortable with it entirely before giving you consent to send him photos whenever you wanted.

“You had those polaroids, you didn’t need me to send you any,” you reason in a mumble. You don’t even know if you believe what you’re saying at this point, or if you’re just trying to explain the behaviour away. Something isn’t sitting right in you.

“Why would I want polaroids of random women I don’t even know when I have you?” He asks, eyes silently begging you to understand.

“There were photos of me too,” you answer.

“What?” He frowns confusedly. “I didn’t see those, just the top ones before you took them all away.”

“You know I was in there, at the gym changing rooms.”

“I’ve never been anywhere near your gym!” He puts his face in his hands. “I don’t understand what the fuck is going on. I swear I have never been to your gym.” He looks at you imploringly as his hands drop. “And you know I keep my car clean, there’s no way I would’ve failed to notice that underwear; so if I did cheat on you, do you really think I’d miss the evidence and leave them somewhere you’d see them?”

You open your mouth to retort automatically, only to realise there isn’t a single word ready to roll off your tongue. He’s making far too much sense and that doesn’t make sense.

He cheated on you. He’s a pervert who takes photos of unsuspecting women in vulnerable situations. He’s a terrible person.

At least, you thought he was.

Maybe Chan is right and you’re just naïve when faced with a handsome man giving you big puppy dog eyes.

“I need to go,” you decide after a few long moments of trying to form some kind of reaction other than staring at him with furrowed brows. “Chan’s waiting.”

“Right,” Kyle lets out a disappointed sigh, yet nods resignedly and steps back as if giving you space to leave. He hadn’t been in your way in the first place but it’s a silent sign that he won’t try to stop you. “I guess I can’t say anything else to convince you that I didn’t do those things, and I never would. I…I wanted to marry you, you know?”

“What?” You whisper in shock, eyebrows lifting as your eyes turn wide. “Marry me?”

“Yeah,” he lets out a soft, humourless laugh and runs one hand through his hair while looking aside, a shy flush creeping onto his neck and ears. “I was in love with you.”

“You were?”

“Yeah, well, no, actually, that’s a lie.” He looks at you and catches the way your face falls into a frown hearing him admitting to lying to your face like that. “I’m still so fucking in love with you that I can’t function properly knowing you hate me. I’m not asking you to come back to me; I know that won’t happen. I’m just…asking you to really think about it, about us, and me. I never lied to you, never showed you a false me. You know me better than anyone else. Do you really believe I did those things?”

“What took you so long?” Chan pouts at you when you sit down in your usual seat opposite him at your usual table in your usual café. “Angel?”

“Uh, so Kyle was at my apartment,” you inform, picking up your mug that’s been waiting for you for ten minutes already thanks to Chan always ordering for you both. Usually you arrive minutes before your food and drinks arrive, but today you’re late for the first time.

“What?” Chan’s face drops so drastically it throws you off for a second. You’ve never seen such a dark expression on him; you’ve never seen him so entirely void of any light. He doesn’t look like your best friend. “Your apartment? Did he force himself in? Did he hurt you?”

“No, no, I meant the lobby and no, he’s never hurt me. He wouldn’t do that.”

“He cheated on you, took fucking creeper shots of you in your gym and you think he’s above putting his hands on you?” He scoffs, shaking his head a little and pushes the salt across the table to you. You hadn’t asked for it, but you will before you start eating.

He’s always doing thoughtful little things like that for you, but you’ve never really noticed it until the last weeks. Silently noticing what you need and giving it to you with a smile.

But he’s not smiling now. He looks concerned now, rounded eyes locked on you and head tilted down a little as he frowns, almost looking at you through his eyelashes. “I don’t want to be mean or anything, but he fooled you before, angel, he’s clearly trying to do it again. I don’t know what he said to you, but you’ve got that lost look you get when you don’t know what to do.”

“He made good points, Channie,” you reply as you salt your fries before putting the shaker down. Chan doesn’t even look at it past a quick glance before sliding it back to its home out of the way.

“What good points could he have for cheating on you?”

“He said he didn’t do it-” Chan sighs heavily, cutting you off.

“Angel, he said that before, remember? Why do you suddenly believe that piece of shit?”

“Because…he looked honest.”

Chan stares at you for a moment before he sighs and reaches over to hold your hands. “I say this with all the love in me, but you’re not the best judge of character, angel. You’re naïve, innocent. I love that you see the good in the world and everyone, really, I fucking love it; it’s really sweet and cute. But it’s going to get you hurt all over again if you let him fool you like this.”

You look down at your hands in Chan’s, then back up at his face. His gaze is entirely open; big eyes and soft, naturally pouting lips. Your heart skips a beat.

You look away while nodding in understanding, silently telling him that you’re listening to him as you free your hands so that you can pick up your fork.

“Good, I really don’t want to see you hurt again like that. It broke my heart,” Chan says, relaxing as he picks up his own fork to stab too many fries onto the prongs, which he then points at you. “If you break my heart again like that, I’m stealing your TV.”

“My TV?” You sputter in surprise before laughing. Chan grins around the too many fries in his mouth and nods. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me though,” he sings around his mouthful while stabbing more fries.

Even with the view of his partially chewed food in his mouth, you can’t really deny it.

“No! Stop it!” You giggle while trying to block Chan from entering your kitchen behind you. “It’s not ready!”

“Just tell me what you’re doing!” He replies, laughing along with you as he tries to dart around you.

“Not yet! Just wait, you impatient shit!”

“No!” He wraps his arms around your waist to pull you away from the doorway and spin you both, so his back is to the kitchen now instead of yours. “Ha!”

“No!” You gasp and reach out, grabbing fistfuls of his t-shirt and in a panic, you yank him closer harshly, unintentionally making him stumble into you.

“Shit, are you okay?” He worries once you’re both steady and he’s holding your upper arms to nudge you back just enough that he can look at your face. You’re frowning, though he can only see your furrowed eyebrows thanks to your hand being over most of the bottom half of your face to cup your nose as his shoulder had collided with it. “Oh, did I hurt you?”

“Asshole,” you murmur while nodding, even if it doesn’t hurt that much; you just honestly like being doted on by your best friend to the extent that you are willing to play up minor injuries to gain his gentle touch and attention.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he apologises, frowning at you as he carefully tugs your hand down. “Let Doctor Channie see.”

“You’d be a terrible doctor,” you reply, moving your hand down to let him cup your face so that he can tilt your head into the light coming in through the windows and see your features better.

“What? I’d be great!” He defends, pouting at you offendedly.

“You thought the uvula is what you pee from.”

“It’s not my fault!” He blushes a little at the reminder of his innocent mix up. “Nobody told me that dangly thing isn’t tonsils! And the pee pipe thingy starts with a U too!”

“Urethra.”

“Exactly, they’re so similar! They should name them differently. Anyway, that doesn’t mean anything, I’d still be a good doctor.”

“Yeah, until you try to catheter someone’s throat.” His expression turns unimpressed, and you can’t help but giggle. He rolls his eyes as his lips turn up into a smile.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmurs, turning his attention back to your slightly red nose.

“Mm, so what’s the verdict doc?” You tease, poking at his stomach and trying not to focus on the physical reminder that your best friend has abs under his baggy clothes.

“I think you’ll be okay with the right treatment.”

“And what treatment is that?”

“The best thing for a boo-boo,” he replies seriously, and then visibly nearly breaks into a laugh at the almost glare you land on him. “What?”

“I’m not a baby.”

“Yes you are. My baby,” he coos and taps his thumbs to your cheeks. You hope he doesn’t see or feel the way they warm at his words. “I specialise in baby angels, I know this.”

“You’re seriously ridiculous.”

“Mm, so, are you consenting to Doctor Channie’s effective boo-boo treatment?”

You raise an eyebrow at him. “You haven’t told me what it is yet.”

“You know what the treatment for a boo-boo is, angel,” he chuckles and tilts forward to press a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “Like that.”

“I didn’t consent to that treatment, I can sue you,” you mumble, trying to distract from the growing pink on your cheeks. Chan’s eyes glide over your features, lips turning up into a soft smile. “Stop smiling at me like that!” You whine, slapping his waist so gently that it can’t even be classed at a slap, more like you’re just putting your hands on his waist with a little force.

“But you’re so fucking cute,” he reasons, smiling wider. “My cute baby,” he murmurs lowly and brushes his nose against yours gently. Your breath hitches at the tender action while your fingers curl reflexively to loosely grip his t-shirt. “Do I have consent to administer treatment, angel?” He whispers, lips so close to yours that you can almost feel them moving as he talks.

“I…” Just as you start to nod, your phone starts to ring in the kitchen, making you jump in surprise and jolt away from Chan in a natural reaction to the unexpected noise. “I should get that.”

“Right,” Chan mutters, dropping his arms to his side with a disappointed frown as he watches you scoot around him to enter the kitchen.

When you pick up your phone from the counter, you’re more than just a little surprised to see your ex’s mother calling you.

You haven’t heard from her since the breakup when she messaged you to say that she doesn’t know what happened, but she hopes that you and her can still be friends as she values you so highly. You hadn’t responded then; you hadn’t wanted to interact with anyone who you knew through him, even if you had regret ghosting her afterwards because she genuinely is such a lovely woman who always treated you lovingly.

Still, even with the period of no contact between you, you pick your phone up to answer the call. “Hello?”

“O-oh thank goodness,” the still familiar voice sobs in relief.

“Auntie? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“It’s Kyle, there-there’s been an accident.”

Just over an hour after receiving the call, you’re tucked up in between Kyle’s parents on the couch of the private room with their arms around you, both of them crying for their son as you do your best to comfort them while feeling numb yourself. You’re too in shock at the sight of the heavily injured man laid unconscious on the bed to process it.

When you had arrived with Chan right behind you, the pair had just about managed to tell you through their tears that Kyle had been driving to work that morning when another vehicle had violently run him off of the road.

It had been on such a quiet road so early that nobody else was around; no witnesses to give details of the other car, nor to run to his aide or call for help. By the time someone found the wreck in the ditch, it had been long enough that too much damage had been done.

And now, even after hours of surgery, there’s no knowing if Kyle will make it through the night, let alone wake up again. There’s only waiting.

So, you wait.

“They’ll call if there’s any sign,” Chan reminds as he helps you out of your jacket. “You spent two days by his side, angel, there’s nothing more you can do for him. He’s not your responsibility or person to care for anymore. His parents and sister are there, and they promised to call you.”

“I know,” you reply, moving woodenly as Chan leads you through your apartment to the kitchen with his hand in yours to keep you moving.

He flicks on the light and falls still at the sight of the mess you left on the counter from leaving so quickly three evenings ago to get to the hospital. He never learned what you had been refusing to let him see until now. “Cake,” he murmurs, noticing the half decorated cake on the counter, surrounded by all the items you had been using to decorate it.

“For your new job,” you reply with a shrug. “It’s no good now. Sorry, I’ll buy you a replacement tomorrow.”

“No, no, you don’t have to. Just knowing is enough for me,” Chan assures, turning to bring you in to hold against his chest where you melt against him with an exhale. “I appreciate the thought and effort you went to, angel; that means more than a store bought cake ever could.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t finish it.”

“It’s not your fault. Let’s order something for dinner and while it’s on its way, I’ll clean this up while you go shower.”

“Do I smell?” You mumble against his shoulder.

“Like sadness,” he retorts with a joking edge to his sombre tone that makes you jab your fingers into his waist in scold. He yelps and contorts away from your fingers without releasing his arms from around you. “And meanness.”

“Meanness,” you repeat, scoffing a short laugh and leaning back from his shoulder to look at him.

“Yes. It’s mean to take advantage of my weak spots.”

“You do it to me all the time.”

“Yes, but you’re the nice one, my angel,” he coos, pinching your cheek before he lets you go to nudge you out of the kitchen while you try to recall just when it got so normal for Chan to call you his.

Since becoming best friends with Chan, it’s not unusual at all to return home and find him in your apartment as if he owns the place. Honestly, you genuinely think he spends more time in your apartment than his own, especially the past couple months. The couch is practically his bed at this point.

What is very unusual however, is to arrive home to find the door slightly open and hear another voice talking with Chan from inside your apartment.

“Chan?” You call in a cautious, soft voice as you nudge the door open and peer around it.

“Hi, angel, welcome home,” Chan greets, smiling at you and motioning you to join him opposite the two uniformed police officers standing and talking to him in the entrance hall.

“What’s going on, Channie?” You ask as you stand at his side and cling to his hand while remaining just a little behind him and away from the officers. They’re both taller than you and Chan, with one of them being thick with muscle and rather intimidating. Though when he smiles at you in polite greeting, most of the fear melts away.

“This is Officer Choi Seungcheol and Officer Chwe Hansol, they’re here to talk to you about Kyle,” Chan explains, motioning to each man in turn.

“Is there news on who ran him off the road?” You ask, looking at the two men with hope in your eyes and chest. It’s been over a week since the incident and there hasn’t been any more information about who put Kyle into such a devastating condition.

The last you heard, they had managed to get sight of a damaged SUV in the general vicinity from CCTV a handful of roads away, but the plates turned out to be stolen from another car across the country over a year ago and the windows were blacked out so there’s no way to tell who was driving the car. Whoever it was clearly knows the streets well enough that they escaped the CCTV quickly and the vehicle hasn’t shown up since. Nor has one matching the description been scrapped or sent to be fixed.

“That’s not our department,” the intimidating officer, Seungcheol, replies while giving you another gentle little smile. “I’m afraid we’re from the sexual crimes division, ma’am.”

“Sexual crimes?” You whisper in shock. “Wh-what?”

“We’ve received reports that Kyle has sexually harassed and stalked multiple women over the past year.”

“No, he-he wouldn’t-” you argue, shaking your head as your hands start to tremble ever so slightly, so you hold onto Chan’s hand tighter with both of yours to try and cease the shuddering movements. “You’re wrong.”

“I understand that it’s hard to hear these things about someone you thought you knew, but we have to follow up every lead we have to get all the information we need to press charges.”

“He’s in a hospital bed!” You baulk and let out an incredulous laugh. “You want to charge a man who might not even wake up? What kind of a person are you?!”

“It’s not our choice, ma’am. We’re just doing our jobs and trying to get justice for the victims.”

“I’m not having any part in this. I have nothing to say to you. He never did a thing wrong to me. Get out,” you insist, pointing to the door. “I’m not going to let you bring these accusations into my home without proof.”

“We have proof,” the other officer speaks up, earning a slightly disapproving look from his partner, but he isn’t stopped. “We saw proof ourselves; photos of women taken from outside of windows and other positions that clearly show a lack of consent. And a hidden, digital diary alluding to the acts that match up with statements we received from victims.”

“Photos?” You repeat disbelievingly.

“Yes ma’am, and I’m afraid you were in some. Based on the angle and quality, we believe the photos were taken from a roof into what we can only assume is your own bedroom.”

“My bedroom?”

“Yes ma’am. May we see your room and take photos for comparative purposes?”

“My bedroom…” You can only repeat, too in shock to do anything else as you stare dumbly at the two uniformed men in front of you.

“I think she needs a moment,” Chan says while putting his arm around you to support your gradually weakening body.

“Of course, we’ll wait right here,” Seungcheol agrees in a gentle tone and nods understandingly.

Chan carefully takes you to the living room to sit you on the couch and kneels in front of you. “Baby, breathe, come on,” he encourages softly as he holds your face. “You’re going to have a panic attack if you don’t copy me, come on.” He starts to take exaggerated breaths; big inhale, hold, slow exhale.

You blink at him unseeingly for a few of his breaths before your eyes drop to his mouth and you naturally copy the man who has helped you level your breathing more times than you can count the past year.

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he praises. “A few more for me, you can do a few more for your Channie, right?” You nod so he smiles and takes a handful more deep, steadying breaths, each of which you obediently copy. “Good, well done.” He leans forward and kisses your head. “I’ll deal with the cops, okay? You just sit here and let your Channie handle it all. You just relax, angel.”

There isn’t a single part of you that wants to face the officers and their accusations again, so you simply nod and let Chan tuck a blanket around you as you curl up against the back of the sofa, before he turns on the TV just loud enough that when he goes back into the hall to talk to the two men, you can’t make out their low murmuring voices.

Throughout the remainder of the visit from the two officers, you don’t move, just sit staring blankly at the cushions in front of you as your mind whirls.

You don’t know what to believe. When Kyle had visited you that day, you really did believe him. Even now, there’s a part of you that struggles to believe the sincerity in his eyes and voice to be nothing more than a clever act to fool you. He has never laid a hand on you, never forced you to do anything or kicked up a fuss if you rejected his advances. Kyle was good.

Or maybe not.

If the police aren’t lying to you, then they have proof; more photos, even though you took the ones you found that time and burned them all, and witness accounts, or well, victim’s statements would be the correct term.

You know it’s possible to spend your entire life with a person and never truly know them, but you truly had thought that you knew Kyle. You had been so close to falling in love with him; that’s why it had hurt so much. You truly had believed that one day, you’d fall mutually in love with him, with a good man, and have a happy life together.

But all this; the accusations, the proof you had found yourself even if you still struggle to accept it at face value, it just goes to show that you never really know a person.

“They’re gone,” Chan’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. You turn your head to watch him cross the living room to sit at your side and invite himself under the blanket. He puts his left arm on the back of the couch in a silent offer that you readily accept, shuffling closer to tuck up under his arm and settle when it’s around you securely.

“Was it my room?” You ask, not really sure if you want to know the answer. But you need to.

Chan lets out a breath that sounds like a reluctant sigh. It’s almost answer enough, yet you need to hear it. “Yeah, angel, it looks like it was your room. They took photos and are going to go to the roof of the motel opposite to take a photo from there to see if it matches. I’ve given them my number to keep me updated and so they contact me if they need to, not you. I told them about the photos you found too and that you burned them so no-one else can have them.”

“Should-should I have reported him then?” You wonder, suddenly worried that you had potentially endangered women by not stepping up.

“Maybe,” he replies in a way that you just know means he thinks you should’ve, but he doesn’t want to upset you.

You curl up smaller and turn your face into his shoulder to let the familiar, soothing scent of his cologne and laundry detergent ease you.

Chan tilts his head on top of yours and holds you that bit tighter. “At least he can’t hurt anyone else anymore.”

The words are supposed to be comforting, but they don’t comfort you at all.

The news comes only a few days later.

It didn’t take long to gather evidence to support the accusations against Kyle. The warrant for his home turned up the photos and a hidden memory stick containing a written diary with documents matching dates of some of the statements, though many more entries without a woman to match to the words. The police just had to confirm the evidence and talk to some people before moving forward with it, like they did with you and Chan.

If it wasn’t for Kyle’s condition, the case would’ve been closed only two days after the police visited you, and he would’ve been sent off to prison. As it is, the man still hasn’t woken and the doctors aren’t confident that he ever will, so he can’t really be held accountable for his actions.

When Chan tells you the news, you feel bad that for the first time, you’re glad that Kyle is unconscious and likely to never wake up; at least this way, he won’t have to face the accusations which a part of you still can’t believe are true.

What you are finally letting yourself believe though, are all the times Chan called you naïve.

“Delivery for the cutest baby angel to have ever existed,” comes the greeting from behind the massive bouquet of flowers almost shoved in your face the very moment you open the front door of your apartment to see who has been insistently ringing the bell.

“That is an obscene amount of flowers,” you murmur while eyeing the bouquet.

It lowers and your best friend’s head appears as he pouts at you cutely. “Don’t you want it?”

“Gimmie,” you encourage, making grabby hands. Chan grins and hands you the bouquet, which is literally three times bigger than your head, before stepping into the apartment while you wander off, happily admiring and sniffing the multitude of flowers.

It’s not unusual for Chan to bring you flowers at all; rather, it’s unusual for your home to not have flowers gifted to you from your best friend. Even if he can’t visit you he sends you flowers at least weekly, and the ones he sends tend to always be more extravagant as if he’s making up for not giving them to you in person.

Every single bouquet is always handpicked by Chan; he always chooses which flowers to give you, not based on their colour or scent but for the meaning.

One of the things that helped you and Chan bond when you first met was your shared love of flowers and their meanings. You both know the meanings of a vast array of flowers, and he always includes yellow roses in his bouquet to symbolise your friendship.

Today is no different; there is an abundance of yellow roses in the bouquet, but there are a mixture of other flowers often in yellow themes, as it seems rather common for yellow flowers to symbolise friendship and happiness.

But sometimes there’s other colours; a little pop of pink tulips to show he cares, white carnations with a cheeky wink as he calls you baby angel, fragrant lavender to remind you of his loyalty to your friendship. Every bouquet is carefully crafted as a message; to tell you that Chan is your best friend and will always be there to love and support you.

And today, right there amongst the usual flowers, a handful of light pink roses.

You run through your mental list of flower meanings. Pink roses tend to mean grace, dark pink for gratitude and light pink has a few meanings just like many flowers. Many of the flowers Chan gives you have multiple meanings, but when put together the bouquets he gives you all mean the same thing. However, light pink roses aren’t used to symbolise friendship, innocence, or care. They mean youth, energy, passion, desire. None of those really blend with the rest of the bouquet’s meaning and it throws you for a loop.

“Did they put in the wrong flower?” You ask, pointing to the light pink roses as you look over at Chan puzzled. He walks over to peer at the bouquet and where you’re motioning, before shaking his head. “But they don’t mean friendship,” you mumble confusedly and look at the flowers again as you try to decipher their reasoning.

Chan doesn’t say a word, just leans his left hip against the counter, left palm on the surface and right hand fiddling with the unused belt loop on your jeans as he waits.

“Wait!” You turn to face him while pointing an accusing finger at him. “Is this you calling me a baby again? Light pink roses for youth?”

Chan chuckles and shakes his head, sliding two of his fingers into the loop now you’re facing one another and letting his palm settle against your hip. “No, it’s not that, though that’s a good one, I should’ve thought of that.”

“Then what?” You tilt your head a little, pouting naturally with your innocent confusion.

“You know. I know you know this one, angel,” he encourages and tugs you closer.

“Joy of life?” You offer, too used to him leading you around and being physically affectionate to really register how close he has you, or how his thumb is gradually tugging at your t-shirt where it’s tucked into your jeans.

“No.”

“Well it’s certainly not energy, you always say I lack energy. Or are you trying to like, manifest energy for me?”

“No, but once again, that’s good, I’ll make you a manifestation bouquet one day soon.”

“Then what? I’m confused, Chan.”

“Want me to tell you?” You nod in confirmation. “What if I show you?”

“What?”

He smirks a little, then pushes off of the counter and cups your jaw with his left hand. “Should I tell you, or show you, baby?” He murmurs, voice pitching low in a way that sends shivers up and down your spine. He leans in closer, brushing his nose against your cheek and nose in a teasing manner, but he doesn’t do anything more. “Well?”

It takes a few seconds for you to react; your heart is racing with anticipation, and you need to swallow a few times. He pulls back and notices your gaze slide down to his lips. “Show me,” you say in a voice so soft and shy it’s practically a whisper.

Chan doesn’t need to be told twice; he darts forward to slot his lips against yours for the first time. There’s no hesitance in his movements, no gentle teasing and dancing as he eases you into it; he kisses you passionately from the first moment, guiding your head to tilt in the perfect angle to deepen the kiss to a filthy degree when he coaxes your mouth open only seconds after his lips touch yours.

You never expected this from Chan; never imagined he’d kiss in such a manner that you feel like he’s consuming your heart and soul in the best of ways. He’s only been kissing you for a few seconds, yet your knees are weak, and you have to cling to him to keep yourself upright.

The moment your hand grips the back of his neck, Chan groans in pleased approval against your mouth and pins you roughly against the counter; his hips pressed against yours and his right hand giving up being subtle about his wants as he yanks your t-shirt out of the waistband of your jeans so that he can slide his hand underneath and run his palm against your bare skin.

Of course, a kiss that passionate can’t go on for too long, you especially need to catch your breath as you hadn’t been prepared at all for the intensity and keep forgetting to breathe as your lips and tongue move with his.

Though when you press against his chest and turn your head aside slightly to try and catch your breath, Chan doesn’t stop kissing you, he just relocates his focus, leaving a trail of hot, open mouthed kisses over your jaw and down your neck.

“Wanted you for so fucking long, angel,” he admits, voice thick with arousal and sounding unfairly in breath even if his chest is heaving too. He drags his teeth over the crook of your neck making you gasp and grip him tighter. “Driving me crazy, ‘m so hard. Can I have you? Can I take you to bed and drown in your pussy? Fuck you so hard I owe you a new bed?”

“Fuck,” you breathe out and grab a handful of his hair to drag him back up. His eyes are so hooded that you’re not certain he’s even looking at you. He looks so far gone and it does dangerous things to you. “Y-you do so much for me, Chan.”

“What?” He blinks away some of the lust dazing him to peer at you confusedly, and a little offended and the out of place comment. “What are you talking about all of a sudden? I’m trying to take you to bed, and you say that? You can just say no, not do some weird speech.”

“I’m not doing that,” you assure and move your left hand off of his shoulder, down his torso and under his oversized t-shirt to find the button of his jeans. He looks down in surprise, then back up at you with desire flooding back into his expression and eyes as you skilfully get his jeans open. Neither of you care that they immediately drop to the floor around his ankles with the jangle of his keys in his pocket, as you get your hand in his boxers. “Let me do this for you.”

“Fuck, yeah, yeah, whatever you want angel,” he approves before leaning in to seal your lips back together.

After your tryst in the kitchen, which lead to half of the bouquet getting destroyed when Chan bent you over the counter chest first into the flowers, sex is suddenly on the table for the two of you. Often literally. It seems as if that encounter opened the floodgates of a year of repressed desire from Chan and alerted you to the fact that his passion is more than just a little reciprocated.

Of course, you’ve known for a while now that you’re attracted to Chan; ever since the realisation that day in the store thanks to the leather jacket, which he is often prancing around in, especially since he’s realised how much you like him in it. Sometimes he’ll even turn up at your apartment, open the zip of his jacket and reveal that he’s wearing nothing but your marks underneath, leading to you pinning him to the closest surface to expand on the collection.

What you hadn’t known is just how deep your attraction runs. That at some point within you, the lust starts to morph and before it reaches your chest, it turns to a love which squeezes your heart a little every time he slows down to press a soft kiss to your lips, or you find him looking at you with eyes sparkling with adoration.

You never imagined that you would fall for your best friend, yet here you are, weeks into your relationship turning sexual, and falling asleep naked in his arms more often than not while not wanting the morning to come because you know he’ll leave before you’re awake so that he can go home and get ready for work.

There’s a part of you that has, on more than one occasion, almost blurted out that he should just bring his work clothes over; you’ve already made space in the wardrobe to hang his shirts and space in the drawer for his trousers. But you don’t.

As much as you’ve come to understand and accept that the love you feel for Chan is no longer purely platonic, you aren’t ready to move on from your ex. There’s still a piece of your heart in Kyle’s hands, even if they are limp in his hospital bed and your heart should’ve been released back to you months ago.

You’ve tried to move on; you thought it would’ve happened naturally thanks to your recently developed feelings for your best friend and the regular sessions of getting fucked dumb into various surfaces by the man.

Still, Kyle remains, and you don’t understand why your heart won’t let you love Chan entirely.

You hope that Chan is happy with this; that he’s content to spend spare moments between your usual hangouts and your thighs. You don’t want to have to tell him that you’re not over Kyle; you know that Chan doesn’t like the man. Although he never voices his displeasure in you still visiting the Kyle in the hospital, you can always see it in his eyes when you leave and how he fucks you that bit harder when you return.

Hope, it seems, is still stubbornly stuck in the bottom of the box, and has no place in the real world, especially not yours.

“You have a key,” you point out flatly when you open the door having expected the takeout you’ve ordered for dinner for yourself and Chan, yet find the man himself on the other side of the door with his hands behind his back and still wearing his work clothes. “What’re you hiding? Please tell me it’s dinner; I thought you’re the delivery man you know?”

“It’s not dinner,” he chuckles, then brings his hands around to reveal this week’s bouquet. Tulips; red, yellow, and orange. Love.

“Chan…” you trail off, not sure what to say and expression downturned when you look up at him. You can practically see the moment you break his heart.

“Oh, I guess I misread this,” he smiles embarrassed and awkward, even with the pain evident in his eyes. “I thought that you might return my feelings finally, but I guess not.”

“You’re not wrong,” you confess softly. “I just…I’m not over Kyle.”

“What?” His features scrunch in bewilderment. “You’re not over the man who would be arrested for sexual harassment and stalking right now if not in a coma? Am I hearing that right?”

“I still can’t connect that to the man I knew.”

“He really fucked with your head, didn’t he?” His arms lower defeatedly.

“No, he didn’t. He was just…good to me.”

“He cheated on you, angel, he wrote about it in his diary and other women have said as much too. What’s it going to take for you to accept that and move on?”

“I-I don’t know, Chan. I’m sorry but I just can’t do that. I’ve tried to get over him, but it hasn’t happened.”

“Well…I’m not going anywhere,” he declares and steps forward to offer the bouquet. “You may not be able to love me and be with me the way I want, but I still love you, with everything in me and I’ll be here for you all the same.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

“Baby,” he chuckles and tenderly cups your cheek in one hand, the other still holding the tulips you’ve yet to accept. “I’ve loved you since the moment I first laid my eyes on you; I’ve been by your side through all of the assholes you gave your time to, even if they didn’t deserve it. This one will pass too.”

“What if it doesn’t?”

“It will,” a flash of determination appears in his eyes as he smiles at you. “You’ll be mine soon enough, I promise you that, angel.”

At first, you had been cautious with Chan after his confession. You don’t want to hurt him and make him suffer at your side, so you pulled back on the affection and stopped the sexual aspect of your relationship entirely. Chan hadn’t been very happy and pouted at you when you turned him down the first time, but he didn’t push it and accepted it. Though he still reaches out to pull you close to hold and well, you don’t really want to quit him truthfully, so you let that happen.

After a few weeks, it’s as if the month of mind-blowing sex never happened and you and Chan are back to being nothing more than best friends. He keeps to his word and remains by your side as he always has, with no pushing or attempts to get you to reconsider and accept his love wholeheartedly.

Maybe that’s why one day when you’re laid side by side on a picnic blanket looking up at the stars with the snacks and drinks, which Chan supplied for the stargazing session, contently settling in your belly, you look at him and for the first time, you don’t feel as if your heart is missing a single piece.

“What?” Chan asks, side eyeing you amusedly when you’ve been staring at him instead of the sky for a few seconds too long. “Are you about to tell me that the stars in the sky don’t sparkle as bright as the stars in my eyes?”

“Where do you even come up with this stuff?” You laugh and nudge him playfully before sitting up. “Whoa,” you murmur when your head spins, eyes slamming closed and hands flying out to try and balance yourself.

“Angel, what’s wrong?” Chan’s hands are on you in seconds as he sits up to support you.

“M wobbly,” you slur, trying to look at him as your hands grip him tight. “Channie,” you start to panic as the dizziness doesn’t subside at all, if anything it feels like it’s getting worse as he starts to multiply before your eyes. “S-something’s wrong.”

“Shh, it’s okay, Channie’s got you, lay down angel, Channie’s got you,” he soothes, gently laying you back down on the blanket and propping himself up on his right elbow as his left hand cups your cheek. “You’ll feel better soon; just close your eyes and let your Channie look after you.”

“Chan…” You’re finding it harder and harder to move your body with every second. It feels as if your muscles are turning to sludge and bones rubber. You try to lift your arm from where it flopped to your stomach when he laid you down, yet you can’t lift it.

Chan watches the panic fill your eyes and strokes his hand over your head, then back to your cheek again. “You’re okay, my love, I’ll never let anything happen to you. Your Channie will always look after you.”

You can’t even open your mouth to respond. A choked sound leaves your parted lips as your vision starts blurring darkly around the edges.

“I will do whatever I need to, to make sure that nobody can ever hurt you again, my angel,” his voice is taking on a strange otherworldly quality, fading in and out every other syllable.

It feels as if you’re becoming one with the ground under you. It’s still hard against your back, yet it feels as if you’re melting into it, like every point of contact is rapidly ceasing to exist as you fight to keep your eyes open.

“Close your eyes, baby,” Chan’s warped voice meets you. He says something else, but a buzzing appears, overlapping his muffled words until the high pitched sound is all you can hear.

You feel something touch your forehead and brush down gently, forcing your eyes closed. You don’t have the strength to open them again.

It’s pitch black, only the ringing for company until suddenly, it leaves.

There’s barely time to register the pure silence before your consciousness melts into the ground to join the rest of you.

Everything comes back to you all at once.

Your body jerks awake as your eyes fly open. The soft, natural light around you is too bright on your sore eyes and the gentle sound of the birds outside singing their morning song pierces your sensitive ears. Instinctively, you close your eyes and lift your hands with the intention of pressing your palms to your ears to block out the noise, but something stops you from raising your hands more than a few inches.

Panicked, your eyes open and look down to find thick, padded straps around your wrists and buckled in place with a chain connecting each to the wooden frame of the bed under you. You tug, but they don’t give. You try to move your legs, but your ankles are bound in the same way; even if you don’t look at them to check, you just know you’d see the same binds there.

“Breathe,” the voice is familiar, is the one that you’re so used to listening to that you find yourself listening and taking some deep, stabilising breaths without even thinking about it. “Good girl.”

After a few seconds, you realise that Chan is in the room; the strange room where you’re cuffed to a strange bed. You have no idea where you are; the walls look wooden and it smells kind of musty, like it hasn’t been used in a while, but the familiar scent of Chan’s laundry detergent meets your nose from the soft, clean pillow under your head when you turn your head to try and find the man.

He’s sitting in a rickety old rocking chair near the closed door of the small room.

There’s nothing else in the room; no curtains on the window on the wall, which the right side of the bed is pushed against; the window is cracked open, letting in fresh air but even from where you’re laid, you can see bars on the outside. There’s a bulb hanging from the centre of the ceiling emitting a redundant, soft orange glow. And nothing else.

Just you, the bed, the chair, and the man you thought was your best friend looking at you as he gently rocks back and forth, back and forth, the chair creaking with every movement.

For tense moments, minutes maybe, you just stare at Chan in horror. This is not the man you’ve spent the past almost two years side by side with. This is not the man you had been seconds away from telling that you finally loved him with everything in you.

Your Chan is beautiful inside and out; with bright eyes always shining with mirth and adoration when they find you, and a smile that could weaken the toughest of hearts. He was love and happiness. Your love. Your happiness. You don’t know where that’s gone.

This Chan terrifies you. His face is flat, no smile, no sparkle in his eyes. He’s looking at you with an expression so dark and haunting; something similar to the way he looked when you told him that Kyle turned up at your apartment building all those months ago in the café, yet somehow so much worse.

For the first time since meeting Lee Chan, you look at him and you want to be as far away as possible, and then further. This isn’t a man you want to be near. Yet, you’re left without a choice.

“Wha-what’s going on, Chan?” You stammer.

“This is your fault, you know,” he informs matter-of-factly. “If you had just said yes to me that day, if you hadn’t held onto that fucking asshole, then this would’ve never happened. We could be at home, in bed; I could be buried deep in your pussy and filling you with cum again and again until you’re round with my baby. We could’ve been happy; had our family, gotten married,” he huffs a dry laugh and abruptly stops rocking. “We could’ve had the perfect fucking family, baby! We could’ve been perfect. But no! You had to cling to that asshole!” He gets to his feet, flinging his arms up in the air as his lips start to split into a disbelieving smile.

He doesn’t even seem to notice that you flinch and try to move further away from him as he steps closer. He seems entirely caught up in his own monologue as he starts to pace the short length of the room to your left.

“I’ve done everything I can to win you over! I studied you for fucking months before showing myself to you. Changed my hair, changed my style, even changed my fucking interests to suit your tastes!” He wheels around and stalks closer to put his right hand on the headboard above you while he stares down at you with eyes wide. “I fucking hate flowers, you know? Hate those stupid fucking things, yet I read every fucking book I could find to learn about them. Learned how to grow them from tiny little seeds all for you,” he points at you. “And what thanks do I get?” He laughs and pushes away from the bed to turn and take a few steps away. “Nothing! Okay, no, no, that’s not fair to you,” he concedes.

Chan turns to face you with his hands and features settled so suddenly into something so placating that you wonder if you had imagined the unhinged mess he was seconds ago.

“I got to taste that pretty little pussy and feel it around my cock, your mouth too. Fuck, baby, I could’ve held out longer if you hadn’t ended that but you, you little cock tease, had to give me a taste of heaven and rip it away from me.” He tuts disapprovingly and gives you an exaggerated pout. “You’ve really broken my heart, you know?”

“Th-then let me go and you never ha-have to see me again,” you try to reason, but he laughs; a full, loud, rolling laugh while leaning over with his hands on his knees as if you’ve told the best joke he’s ever heard.

“Oh, angel!” He exclaims as he straightens up, clapping his hands amusedly. “That’s good, really good. You’re so funny, baby, it’s one of the things I love most about you. You’ve always made me laugh.”

For a few seconds, he looks at you so tenderly that he looks like your Chan again; the Chan you fell in love with, the Chan you wish you had realised was a trick from the start. It makes sense that he always called you naïve when he knows from experience how easy it is to fool you.

“You’re mine now, ‘till death do us part and all that. Sorry I don’t have a ring for you, I’ve never been one for accessories.” He lifts his bare hands to wiggle them at you.

It’s only now that you realise he isn’t wearing a single piece of jewellery, something you thought wasn’t possible for your Chan. His clothes aren’t baggy and hiding his form, and hair no longer shaggy and in his eyes. He’s wearing blue jeans like usual, but these ones are straight legged and show off his thick thighs and ass; his plain white fitted t-shirt is tucked into his jeans neatly, showcasing his slim waist and strong upper body; with his hair neatly styled back in a casual, yet neat, manner. You’ve never seen him like this; he looks older this way, less playful.

It's another reminder that he’s not your Chan. He never truly was.

“I wish it didn’t come to this; you know?” He comments while walking over to sit on the edge of the bed by your waist and brush the back of his fingers over your cheek, entirely ignoring the way you flinch away from this touch, even if it is painfully tender. “You’re so beautiful; I’ve wanted you from the moment I first laid eyes on you, even if you never saw me.” He sighs dramatically and gets up to stand beside the bed. “Even back then you looked anywhere but me. It’s funny though,” he muses, pacing a little as his lips start to lift and bring back that manic smile he earlier wore.

It scares the shit out of you.

“You never once questioned your bad luck,” he quotes your own words with a mocking tone, trying not to laugh as he does so. “Or how it only appeared once I came into your life. You really are fucking naïve, baby.”

“What did you do?” You whisper, horrified at the realisation that Chan had been the reason that all of your relationships have failed.

Now that you think about it, he had always warned you away from them all for some reason; some kind of claim of a bad feeling, a rumour, seeing them kissing another woman. You never questioned how he always had something to say about every single man you showed interest in, or seemed to know things he shouldn’t really know. You put too much trust in the man from day one and now it’s come back to bite you in the ass.

“Whatever I needed to. It was all so easy too, like you wanted a reason to leave them all. I really thought it was because you wanted me,” he laughs darkly and pins an equally as dark look on you as his smile drops. “And then Kyle came along. Fucking Kyle. Perfect Kyle with his clean record and respect and giant, squishy heart. Well, it’s extra squishy now I pushed him off the road,” he laughs, eyes lighting with twisted delight.

“No,” you choke out. “You- no- you didn’t- tell me you didn’t do that to him, Chan,” you plead desperately.

Chan laughs and walks over to lean over you again, his left hand braced against the headboard and the other playing with the strands of your hair on the pillow beside your head. “If only you had believed me. If you hadn’t let him talk to you that day; if you had just kicked him out and come right to me like you were supposed to, it would’ve never happened, angel. You had me right there waiting for you and you picked that asshole and now guess what?” He looks at you with a bright, manic smile, eyes wide and shining with mirth you wish doesn’t exist. “He’s never fucking waking up, baby!” He beams, looking so proud of himself. “I made sure of that!”

You feel sick to your stomach.

It must show on your face because Chan’s own falls and he frowns at you. “Don’t look at me like that. This isn’t my fault.” He scoffs and backs up from the bed as that terrifyingly haunting look returns to his features. “I didn’t think I’d have to go this far; I thought you’d accept all those rumours and evidence I spent so much time, money, and effort planting. I bribed and blackmailed so many people the past months. Got the asshole fucking convicted and you still refuse to pick me.”

Chan sighs heavily, as if it really does pain him, before he pivots and walks to the door to open it, though he turns just enough to look back at you.

“I can’t tell if you’re too smart to believe all that or fucking stupid to still want to be by his side after all the accusations. Maybe he did brainwash your naïve little self.”

He stares at you for an unnervingly long moment as if he’s trying to figure you out and wondering what exactly Kyle did to earn your loyalty, and how exactly he can mimic it to make you his.

“Oh well,” he decides with a shrug, making you jolt at his sudden voice. “Not that it matters anymore because I’m not letting you leave here. If you’re not going to be mine on your own terms, we’re doing it my way.”

He closes the door after him, and you break with the sound of the lock clicking into place.

Tears roll down your cheeks and temples, soaking the soft pillow under your head as sobs tear from your chest. You keep tugging at the binds holding you down, yet they don’t budge.

You’re stuck here.

Even if you somehow escape your binds, there are bars on the window and a lock securing the thick wooden door.

You’re stuck here. For good.

Forever.

Stuck with the man you had trusted to look after you, to be by your side for a long time. You just never expected it to be like this. You as his prisoner; his little plaything to do with as he pleases until he gets bored of you and then… you don’t even want to think about it.

The sun slowly rises higher and higher into the sky and finally, you stop pulling at your binds, stop crying; out of energy and tears with your whole body hurting, yet nothing in comparison to the pain in your heart where it’s stomped into the wooden floorboards and covered in Chan’s footprints.

You dread the moment he returns. Dread having to live your life like this.

But you know you don’t have a choice. You’re his now, to do with as he pleases. You no longer have a choice in how your life goes.

The click of the lock disengaging sends fear racing through your tired body, adrenaline pumping, yet there’s still nothing you can do as Chan steps into the room with a tray in his hands and a smile on his face.

“Hi baby, it’s time for food! I made your favourite.”

As you watch him approach wearing that same cute smile that first drew you to him, all you can do is curse yourself for being so fucking naïve.

Don’t forget to reblog if you liked to help spread the story and let others read it too! And don't be shy to leave comments or send an ask so I can see your thoughts 🥺 💖

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ponderingmoonlight · 1 year ago

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waayy to classic but having to share a bed while they were 'just friends' ? Yk where they actually like each other but too shy ore prideful? MAYBE WITH MEGUMI cu he's my our pretty boy ANY ANY OTHER CHARACTER YOU WANT

THANK YOU THANK YOU I LOVE YOUR WRITING

Okay, that escalated quickly. This might be a classic, but I simply love the idea! I added a little twist to each character so it isn’t always the same. I’m thinking about writing this for every character, so let me know if you’d want to read that. Hope you enjoy <3

JJK men sharing a bed with (y/n)

Pairing: Megumi x reader; Nanami x reader; Yuta x reader

Word Count: 3k

Notes: Part ll (Gojo sharing a bed with (y/n) at a love hotel

Part lll (Toji, Geto, Haibara, Choso)

Megumi Fushiguro

You hated big parties. To be honest, you hated every kind of party, although it’s comforting that Megumi is here too. A glimpse into his grumpy but forbidden stunning face is enough to perceive the fact that he dislikes it here as much as you do.

“I don’t know why I’m even here. How did she manage to pull us with her?”, Megumi grumbles, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“Well, I guess Nobara can be quite persuasive”, you remark while watching Yuji play twister with a screwed up face.

You sign. The music blasts so loud that it threatens to rip your eardrum apart, your head began to ache the minute you stepped into this big house. Who lives here anyway? It doesn’t matter. If you don’t come out of here within the next few minutes, you’re going to throw up on the expensive looking carpet in front of you.

“Hey (y/n), are you alright? You look quite pale”, Megumi comments while eyeing you intensely.

Fuck. Your heart hammers against your ribcage. He is so close to you that you can take in the sight of his gorgeous face in great detail, only one look at his lips is enough to change the color of your face into deep red.

“To be honest, I don’t feel so good. This is just too much for me I guess”, you whimper, eyes glued to the ground in a despairing attempt to stop yourself from staring at him so ruthlessly.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner? Come with me.”

He grabs your hand and pulls you with him, through the endless crowd of people, the blasting music and stinging scent of alcohol. Is he…really holding your hand? He’s touching you. Megumi Fushiguro is really touching you. You feel like flying and drowning at the same time, tired while being wide awake. Of course he touched you from time to time, after all he is your training partner mostly. But tender contact like this is very rare. You know this is actually your fault, given the fact how shy you act around him. But something about Megumi Fushiguro just makes your heart skip a beat and turns your senses upside down. Maybe you will tell him some day. Maybe…

“Nobara, is there a place where (y/n) and I can rest? She doesn’t feel well”, Megumi literally barks at her.

“Um, I think there’s a guestroom down the hall on the right. It’s a little quieter there I guess.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns on his heels, your hand still intertwined with his own, and dashes down the hallway.

“Finally”, he mutters and opens the door to a small but cute guestroom.

You close the door behind you and take a deep breath. Finally no loud music, drunk people and scent of alcohol that stings in the air. Megumi flops onto the bed, gaze set upon you.

“What are you waiting for? I thought you don’t feel well, lay down.”

Your eyes widen. There is only one bed in this room and he’s lying on top of it. Could you possibly…lay beside him? It would be big enough to fit you both, but with very little space. This means you are forced to touch each other, even if only your skin brushes against his. Your head turns pink all over again, eyes pressed closed to get the image of him holding you in his arms until you slowly drift off to sleep out of your dirty mind.

“B-but there’s only o-one bed”, you stutter.

“So what? It’s big enough to fit us both. Come here.”

He pats the soft mattress beside him invitingly. Can you really do this? It seems like there’s no other possibility anyways, so…

You let your worn-out body fall next to him, arms slightly brushing against his. It feels so good to finally breathe and to rest your head a little. You curse yourself for coming her in the first place even though you know well enough that you absolutely hate big and loud parties.

The reason for you being here lays right beside you, though.

“Are you feeling better? Maybe I can get you a glass of water or-“

“No”, you interrupt him.

“I’m absolutely fine, thank you.”

“You look a little red, almost as if you have fever. Are you really feeling alright, (y/n)?”

He places his hand on your forehead and you swear you can see the sparks that evaporate from your skin the second he touches you. You wish you could tell him how you feel, that you want to stay with him like this forever, but you are too shy to even admit your feelings to yourself. Megumi is a friend, a colleague. Nothing else, right?

“Let’s just rest a little, okay? Maybe you’ll feel better after a good nap.”

“Do you really think we can just…sleep here?”, you question.

“Sure, why not? It’s a guestroom with a bed in it”, Megumi replies dryly and shrugs.

“Only one bed though”, you blurt out.

Megumi shifts his weight beside you and now faces you completely.

“Is this a problem for you? I can go if you’re uncomfortable.”

“No I’m not! You’re not the problem here! It’s just…”

You can’t find the words. In fact, you feel like your whole head is empty.

“Let’s just nap, shall we? We can talk about this tomorrow when you’re feeling better”, Megumi suggests.

You simply nod and turn to the order side, heart still racing inside of your chest. Maybe a little sleep wouldn’t hurt after all…

______________________________________________________________

“Quiet Itadori, (y/n) and Megumi are in there.”

“ALONE!?”, Yuji cries out.

Nobara rolls her eyes and hits him roughly.

“How dumb are you actually? Shut the fuck up, idiot. We need to be quiet.”

Slowly, she opens the door to the dark room. There you both lay, bodies intertwined with each, your steady breath being the only sound that fills the rooms.

“They’re cuddling!”, Yuji screams and turns on the lights before Nobara is able to stop him.

“What the hell?”, Megumi’s sleep drunken voice mutters.

You open your eyes and blink against the harsh light that invades the whole room. What time is it? Why do you feel so warm and cozy? Did you still get home somehow? Oh, that delicious smell that tingles your nose. It reminds you of…

MEGUMI.

Megumi’s hands are wrapped around your waist, his broad chest pressed against your back. Your eyes widen, suddenly your body feels on fire. And even worse, Nobara and Yuji stand in the doorframe and stare at you with their mouths wide open.

“Did I miss something?”, Yuji cries out.

“We just shared a bed. You’re embarrassing me in front of (y/n)”, Megumi mumbles, his hands still resting still against your body.

“Hey, you owe us an explanation! You never told us there’s something between you both!”, Nobara speaks up, her finger pointing directly into Megumi’s face.

“So sorry about that”, he whispers into your ear, his warm breath against your ear sending shivers down your spine.

“N-no p-problem.”

Your voice isn’t more than a fade whisper, still completely in shock by the fact that you are held by Megumi Fushiguro. In presence of his friends. In. A. Bed.

Nanami Kento

You toss and turn in your sleep. How many nightmares did you have this week? You lost count. Over and over you repeat Haibara’s death in your head and the way you just stood there and didn’t do anything about it. That was over 10 years ago, but the death stare in his eyes still haunts you to this day late at night.

Your whole body is covered in ice cold sweat, whimpers escape your mouth as you desperately try to shake away the scorching pain that repeats the second time around.

“Why are you just standing there, do something (y/n)!”, Nanami’s voice screams at you.

It isn’t true. Nanami never raised his voice at you like that.

“You are absolutely useless. Do you really call yourself a jujutsu sorcerer? You should have died in his place.”

“N-no”, you mutter, shaking your head over and over again.

Nanami is a light sleeper anyway, but the sound of your whimpers and silent screams wake him up immediately. He sits up in bed, feet carrying him automatically to your doorstep. It isn’t a secret to him anymore that you are plagued by nightmares since the incident with Haibara. It always feels like a knife in his throat to see you this broken after so many years.

“(y/n)”, he softly whispers.

There you lay, completely covered in sweat, body shaking uncontrollably while you sob in your sleep. He kneels down next to your trembling frame, gently caressing your face with his thumb. God, why do you have to suffer like this? It isn’t fair that you have to feel so miserable because of some fucking curses. You don’t deserve the pain that dreadful day caused you.

“It’s just a dream, (y/n). Wake up, I’m here”, he speaks into the unforgiving darkness of night.

“Nanami, I-…so s-sorry…All my fault…”, you mumble, tears streaming down your disturbed face in a river.

His heart clenches. What are you dreaming about? Nanami’s grip tightens around your shoulders, softly shaking you in a frantic attempt to wake you up.

“Hey, none of this is real. I’m here, (y/n).”

Your eyes snap open and dart around with no aim. Your rushed and sharp breathes ring through your ears, heart hammering against your ribcage.

“There you are”, a familiar voice next to you comments.

“Nanami”, you breathe out.

It was just a dream. All of the things he said, the things you saw over and over again weren’t real.

“Fuck, I’m sorry”, you mutter and bury your face in your hands.

Was he here the whole time? Your cheeks feel puffy and soaked and tears, embarrassment consumes you entirely. How much you hate it when he sees you like this, vulnerable and weak. It’s not the first time that Nanami puzzles you back together after a nightmare.

“Don’t be, come here.”

His strong arms embrace you in an instant and slowly but surely push your nightmares away.

“What was it this time?”

“It’s like my brain wants me to think that you hate me I guess”, you mutter into his arms while holding onto his shoulders for dear life.

This situation is so common that you lost count on how many times he visited you already over the last few years. The second you open your eyes, you stare into his brown orbs that make your world whole again. Since the day Haibara lost his life. Since the day your nights turned into nightmares.

“But I’m right here and I’m telling you that I don’t hate you at all.”

You let out a silent laugh. Oh, how much you hoped this would come to an end. You aren’t even able to remember the last night with proper sleep.

“Would you mind staying here for a while?”, you shyly request, avoiding eye contact.

“Scoot over.”

Your back rests against the cold wall while he wraps one arm around your shoulder and places your head on his chest. The way his heart beats steady against your ear seems to calm you down immediately, almost therapeutic.

“I hope you don’t mind having so little room. I’m slightly taller than you I’m afraid”, he murmurs, gently stroking your back.

“I’m the one who should ask you that. After all, I woke you up and now force you to stay with me”, you reply with a nervous grin.

“Wouldn’t be a problem to put in some ear plugs or leave you alone. Come on, (y/n). I’m here because I want to be and not because you force me to. You are my friend, I hate to see you like this and I’ll do anything I can to make you feel at least a little better.

You bury your head in his soft t-shirt and hold onto him a little tighter. How do you deserve that this great man is lying next to you in your very own bed night after night? You really don’t know. All you hope is that it doesn’t stop though. Maybe, just maybe he will someday stay here with you forever…

Yuta Okkotsu

“Are you alright (y/n)?”, Yuta’s worried voice shouts over the blizzard that mercilessly haunts both of you this late at night.

You feel like dying. Hands and feet? No more feeling. Your nose? Running like a river while being numb at the same time. Your limbs feel like they’ll fall off any given minute while you want nothing more than a warm bed, a cup of tea and to watch some Netflix. How the hell did you end up in this living hell? Oh right, that stupid mission. Well, at least Yuta is with you. Otherwise you would have gave up already.

“Actually no. Everything just hurts”, you choke out.

Yuta takes you in his arm, hand covering your face from the unforgiving whipping of the wind.

“I know this is rough, but we have to hold on for a little longer. Gojo-sensei told me that the cabin is only a few minutes away”, Yuta assures you.

“He also told us to bring bathing suits with us…”, you grumble.

Do you have any other choice than to rely on Gojo’s word and Yuta’s sense of direction? Absolutely not. Your feet carry you on their own trough the snowy street, eyes glued to the ground underneath while you can’t shake the comfortable feeling of Yuta holding you in his arm away. God, let this hell end. Otherwise you’re really not sure if you’ll stay conscious within the next hour.

“There it is!”, Yuta announces.

Your eyes dart up. The last house of the street, rather a small cottage to be exact.

“That doesn’t look inhabited at all. Are you sure this is the right house?”

“We’ll have to find out! And to be honest, do we have another choice? I don’t want to spend another minute outside if I’m being honest”, Yuta replies while scratching the back of his head.

Fair enough. You follow him to the doorstep and watch him turn the key in the lock. At this point it wouldn’t be a surprise if the door doesn’t open, but it does. You enter the dark cabin.

“It’s still fucking cold”, you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Let’s see if there are some blankets or even better a heater.”

You can’t help but stare at the boy next to you. A few months ago he was so shy and unsure about himself. But now it seems like his confidence never wavers as well as his cool head. At the moment he’s definitely the more collected one.

You do as he told you, searched the tiny cabin for a heater only to find a small bed and one single blanket.

“It’s not much but it’s more than nothing. Go ahead, you can have the bed and blanket.”

“That’s completely out of question, Yuta. Your lips are totally blue and your whole body shivers. I’m not taking that blanket alone”, you reply, shaking your head violently.

But what is the solution, then?

“You can have it.”

After all, Yuta is the one who guided you here. You’ll get through this night somehow.

“I have an idea, but it might sound dumb…”, he begins, voice showing no sight of his new grown poise.

“Just say it”, you demand while eyeing him.

Why does his face suddenly turn even redder and why is he fumbling with his hands this nervously?

“You know, we…we could share the blanket and bed…But only if you want to and are comfortable with it!”, he blurts out.

Huh. Your heart skips a beat when the consequences of his suggestion hit you.

“So like, cuddle?”, you question with your eyes bored into him.

“Please forget I ever said that.”

“I mean, you’re kinda right. In this cold it’s better to warm each other up…”, you stutter.

Thick silence hangs in the air between you two and makes you want to go back into the blizzard. Fuck, the fact that you caught feelings for him doesn’t make this easier at all. Normally you are outspoken, self-assured and centered…What the hell happened to you? Why are you just standing there like an idiot, staring at him with your eyes wide open?

Yuta is the first who dares to move. With a swift motion, he takes off his shoes, positions himself in bed and puts the blanket on top of him.

“Then come here. Maybe we’re even able to get some sleep!”

You hesitate. This is the first time you get so close to him apart from training sessions. Yuta never touched you, let alone shared a blanket and a whole bed with you. But your body screams in icy agony and begs you to take his offer desperately. Jump over your shadow, just close your eyes and lay down beside him.

The warmth of his body seems to swallow you whole the second your body brushes against his. God, you never realized how good he actually smells. Has it always been like this? And that look in his eyes seems so…different.

“You know, I’m glad to be stuck with you, (y/n)”, he confesses, his hand sliding down your arm and leaving a trace of prickling fireworks under your skin.

Fuck it. You bury yourself against his warm and large frame, face resting on his neck while his arms immediately take your invitation. While it’s still cold, the adrenalin that rushes through your veins and the heat that radiates from his body are more than enough to keep you warm in this adventurous night.

“Me too, Yuta”, you confess shyly.

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m1ssunderstanding · 1 year ago

Text

Get Back Rewatch 55 Years On: Day Six

Paul and Linda: walk in. Me: Panics in bisexual

He’s so weird. He’s been carrying her purse, gives it back, then tries to change his mind again and the look she gives him. ‘You’re very cute, but I can carry my shit.’

But the “Linda’s a cameraman.” Rare Paul feminism moment. Slow clap.

And then instantly, “I’d better go and put in some piano practice.” You fucking addict. Linda, what are you getting yourself into, girly?

“Actually, we’re going on a farm in Scotland.” “I’d love to find a . . . a farm.” I wonder at what point he showed it to her. So far, they’ve done the dirty weekend in LA, Christmas in Liverpool and Portugal, a stay in New York, and now London. Have they done the Mull of Kintyre at this point? Oh, boy. Today might be the Paul and Linda show for me, folks :/

Why does she look like a loving mom watching her daughter’s dance audition?

Paul taking Mal’s advice on “Standing” VS “Waiting”

“I feel the most relaxed around Ring.” Linda/Paul/Ringo threesome fic when?

Ringo again with the EXCELLENT taste in jackets. That blue is So pretty. With the black velvet collar. Immaculate.

“There’s enough obstacles without putting them in the song” is the most Paul quote ever. It’s like his artistic mission statement. The surface read of Paul’s songs is that they’re just these weightless, meaningless, pretty nothings. But the real read (part of) is that they’re meant as comforters, bolsterers, flashlights, and silver linings.

He does love a good pair of hands, doesn’t he?

He really is showing off for her, though, here. When Linda hasn’t been here, has Paul ever just sat down at the piano and run through all his new songs? Not even close. And it’s so immature and so lovely.

“It was like a comedy, when I heard it.” Proceeds to sing some of the most heavy, blue lyrics. The above comment on Paul’s music notwithstanding, I must admit there are also extreme levels of emotional repression going on.

“Castle of the King of the Birds”!!!!!!! First of all, who is the "king of the birds" if not Paul McCartney? It’s so extremely beautiful. Achingly so. When I fist heard it, I was like “where have I heard that before?” and when Peter Jackson pointed out that it’s the Top Gun theme? How many songs out there are actually Paul McCartney’s illegitimate children? Like, be Lennon/McCartney with me, for a minute here, and translate this sexual metaphor into musical terms. Paul just jerks it a bit, and before he can even finish, about ten people are pregnant from a drop of his precum and ten magical star children are born who he has no idea of. Does that make any kind of sense at all to anyone?

Honestly love the political version of get back. And clearly so does Yoko. That’s the most I’ve seen her get into a song they’ve written, like, ever. Hey, guys. I have an idea. Maybe you should ask the actual immigrant for ideas on your pro-immigration song. Just a thought.

When you’re trying to flirt with your new GF but your ex keeps making you giggle

A vignette of Lennon/McCartney’s writing process. Paul: trying to make up some lyrics. John: makes a joke lyric. Paul: puts it in and it works better than what he had. John:

John: I’ll be taking me shirt off. Paul: definitely not picturing it at all

Okay but my hot take is that the first two verses at least of “Came in through the bathroom window” are a diss track at Jane. Seriously though, it’s got to be one of my many underrated favs to come out of these sessions. Also, they’re so in love doing this one, my heart can’t take it.

“This isn’t daddy’s tea, is it?” And Yoko just, without skipping a beat, says, “No.” Girl, I know he’s the one calling you mommy in bed, don’t lie.

It’s the mutual caring of it all, you know? How he’s sitting in her lap while playing with her hair. How he makes her laugh and she buries her face in his tummy. Gosh, she’s gonna love that tummy for almost thirty years. And while the breakup is heartbreaking, isn’t that lovely to think about?

George, you should’ve made a Bob Dylan cover album. He sounds sooo pretty.

Ah, yes. The “Just Let it Be, love. He’s not going to leave you.” Dream Song. Which John does not look enthusiastic about. And then it becomes “Well, you said he wouldn’t leave me, mama. But, you know, he went and did it.”

Peter Jackson, WHERE is that Linda/Yoko dish session audio, you absolute monster! Those are Not small-talk faces. Would I rather listen to what they’ve got to say than hear one of the twentieth century’s greatest masterpieces come to be? Yes. Yes, I would.

#whew #Barely made that one in time to technically be on the same date #Taking the LSAT tomorrow afternoon send good vibes #paul mccartney #the beatles #john lennon #mclennon #ringo starr #george harrison #get back #also why do I always call Linda and Yoko girly? I literally never say that irl

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billlydear · 2 years ago

Text

SUPERNOVA - BILLY HARGROVE X READER (PART ONE)

word count: 3135 // masterlist | inbox (please request) | WIP list

Summary: max's english tutor has a black eye and a shitty alibi. billy sees right through it.

Contents/Warnings: fem!reader, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual happy ending, mentions of abuse, injuries mentioned (black eye), reader is abused by her mother just like billy is by his father

A/N: thank you for 300 followers!!! have this as a little gift from me to you <3 basic biology part three is in the works, don't worry! i just wrote this in a fit of sleep deprived passion the other night after thinking about it for a week or so and i wanted to share :) i hope you enjoy! the ending of this is pretty straightforward and, though i plan to write more parts, this can be read on its own for now.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

There’s never a good reason for Max to stomp into Billy’s room. It’s always either her demanding a ride somewhere, asking for money, or shouting at him to turn his music down. This time, though, there’s no music playing, and it’s nearing 11:00 PM, so he’s not sure why she’d need money or a ride.

He glances up at her, really more of a glare, through his eyelashes, reclined against the wall as he lounges on his bed. He’s got a magazine in hand and the pages are as boring as the cover was, but he’d rather stare at faded jet ski advertisements than read the book he’s supposed to be working on for English.

She stops just inside the doorway, jacket on and shoes laced. He narrows his eyes at her, something of a question, and she sounds just as venomous as he looks when she replies.

“I need to borrow your window.” She mutters, piercing eyes set on him.

He’s heard her say a lot of weird things since they started living together. Mom, I can’t find my left rollerskate, Why is my bra in the freezer?, and We’re not going in the theater, we’re going to sit outside and talk, have previously topped the list but this is off the charts.

“Sure, Max,” He drawls, fingers tightening against the waxy magazine paper, “Just haul it back in here when you’re done, okay?”

“You know what I mean,” She huffs, already lunging for his bed. She practically topples him in her overzealous attempt to reach the window, and he shoots a hand out to steady himself as the mattress rocks. He has half a mind to kick her onto the floor but he watches her click a flashlight open from her jacket pocket, and stares with suspicious intrigue instead.

“Come on, come on,” She huffs, clicking the light on, off, on, off, “Where is she?”

“Who?” Billy leans forwards, peering out the window into the blackened neighborhood, “Jesus, Max, don’t go shining lights into people’s windows at night, they’ll think you’re some creep trying to watch them change.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you know that from experience,” She grumbles, shoving his hand away when he tries grabbing the light.

“I’m not kidding,” Billy seethes, muscled arm coming to combat her defenses, nearly shoving her off of the end of the bed, “What are you even trying to do, anyways?”

“I’m trying to talk to my tutor,” She snaps, landing a sharp slap to his thigh that reddens the skin there, “Butt out, butthead.”

“Assface,” Billy grumbles, rubbing at the tender spot on his leg with half a mind to whack her upside the head. She ignores him completely, desperately flicking the light at a ground floor window.

“Do you really need tutoring help now?” Billy groans, the incessant clicking preventing him from what was supposed to be his before-bed relaxation.

“She wasn’t at school today,” Max explains in a huff, “Or- like, she didn’t show up at my school. She called this morning to say she was sick, but she sounded fine, and I heard someone in the parking lot say that they saw her outside her house, just sitting there, like, really late last night.”

“So she was getting some fresh air,” Billy deadpans, “Now get out of my room.”

“Would it kill you to cooperate?” Max turns to him with such a judgemental stare that Billy’s surprised he doesn’t wither away right on the spot. Hell hath no fury like a teenage girl scorned, he thinks, annoyance bubbling in his chest.

“She’s obviously not coming,” Billy reasons, his patience wearing thin after almost two minutes of flashlight nonsense, “She’s probably sleeping. She’s got the flu or something, and you’re gonna wake her up and make her even more sick. Just leave her alone, and leave me alone.”

“I’m not asking you to be a part of this!” She gushes, jaw set in a hard frown and eyes rolling when he props his elbow up on the windowsill, cheek smushed into a bored expression against his palm.

“I just want to see if she’s okay, because she doesn’t normally get sick, and I haven’t seen her window open all day, and I really think that something might be wrong, so-”

After a staggering two minutes and forty-six seconds of morse code from hell, your curtains part. Max practically lights up at the sliver of light that appears between the drapes, but when your face pops between it, her breath hitches in a gasp.

Your eye is bruised. It’s swollen shut and purple, an ugly stain that blooms down your cheek, like a rose that sticks its thorns straight into Billy’s chest. His posture, previously saggy and bored, stiffens until he’s nearly pressed against the glass, brows furrowed in horror as his lips part ever-so-slightly.

“Oh my god,” Max breathes, and you regard them both with a weary gaze.

Max lifts the lower half of Billy’s window, slipping out the gap with such agility and speed that Billy doesn’t have a chance to try to stop her before she’s already outside. He rushes to follow her, cringing as his bare feet land in damp piles of leaves.

“What happened to you?” Max runs to your window, bracing her hands on the sill.

“Nothing,” You try to smile, and it pulls at the skin around your eye, finishing the expression off with a wince, “I just- it’s silly, okay? I slipped and fell on the ice out front and I hit the stair rail on the way down. I was too embarrassed to go to school, ‘cause I knew everyone would ask, so I just called out sick. I’m sorry, Max, I know today was our day, but I’ll do double time once this heals.”

The more you ramble, the quicker you spew your pre-determined speech, the more the thorns lodge themselves in Billy’s gut. It’s familiar behavior, having an outlandish excuse at your disposal, reciting it like poetry, blaming the bruises on a misstep down the stairs rather than a rage-fueled fist. He’s done the same to countless teachers, all staring down at him with a condescending sneer, assuming he’d instigated another fight.

Max might not be well acquainted with different types of bruises - and god he hopes she never has to be - but Billy certainly is. And your black eye is not from a stair railing, he knows that. It looks the same as his does whenever Neil decides he’s in a fighting mood, and it doesn’t seem like you have the frozen peas that Billy usually medicates his marks with.

“It’s okay!” Max promises, and thankfully she commands enough of your attention to where you don’t notice Billy’s grief-stricken stare, looking for all the world like he’d been punched in the gut.

‘It’s okay, we can just meet up some other time. Or- or I can come over to your house! So you don’t have to show your face anywhere. And I won’t tell,” She insists, hands dug snugly into the pockets of her jacket, “I’m good at keeping secrets.”

So are you, Billy notes, just not to the people with the same ones.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” You frown slightly, biting the inside of your cheek, “This really hurts, and it’s kind of giving me a headache, so… might be best to just meet when it’s healed.”

“That’s fine,” Max nods, reaching up and through the window to sling her arms around your neck in a rushed hug, “Just- call me when it’s better, okay? My teacher set us this new essay, and it’s got some stupidly complicated prompt, so I need your help figuring out-”

Billy watches as your head ticks up, eyes widening slightly as you tune into the sounds of your house. He knows the look all too well, you’ve heard someone coming.

“That’s great Max,” You stammer, reaching for the window pane to close it, "I’ve gotta go!”

“-how to… write it.” She finishes, face wrinkling in confusion when you slam the window shut, yanking the curtains closed, “Feel better…”

“Go,” Billy jumps to action, hearing a raised voice from within your room, not your own, “Max, move!”

He pushes her along the side of their house, shoving her around the back until they’re out of the line of sight from your window. He peers around the corner from behind an overgrown trellis, one that lets him see you without you seeing him. He waits with bated breath, ignoring Max’s indignant protests and slamming a hand over her mouth.

She licks his palm, but he manages to stay calm and keep it there. He will smear it on her cheek later, though.

Sure enough, Billy watches your curtains fly open. There’s a woman in the window now, and you’re standing behind her, expression unreadable. Then you speak, and Billy can’t hear it. Your voice must be soft, gentle, calming. The woman barrely reacts, eyes scanning wildly for whoever you’d been talking to. But Billy keeps Max quiet, pinching her hard when she tries escaping his grip.

Billy watches the woman in your window with a hatred he’s only ever felt towards Neil. She acts the same, menacing glares and a puffed-up chest. You react just as he does, a personified tension-diffuser as you shrink in on yourself and give steady, slow answers. She’s shouting, you’re mumbling. She’s advancing, you’re backing away. She’s grabbing your wrist, forcing you close to her, and you’re squeezing your eyes shut.

Billy’s stomach churns; he can’t watch this any longer.

He herds Max to the other side of the house, keeps her restrained with one hand and pries at her window with the other. It opens smooth and easy, no squeaking that would alert their parents to their escapade.

Once they’re both inside, she flips.

“You asshole,” She huffs, “You manhandled me! You really couldn’t just let me have one nice conversation with my friend? You had to yank me away like some psychopath?”

“She wasn’t going to come back,” Billy murmurs, a glint in his eyes urging her to lower her own voice, “And she didn’t fall down the stairs. Go to sleep, Max.”

He feels a pillow hit him in the back as he strides out of her room, and each step down the hallway towards his own feels like he’s numbing from the inside out. The role reversal of his own life had been so mind-shattering, watching a scene from his household happen in real time in front of him instead of a torturous memory in his nightmares.

By the time he reaches his room, his fingers are too numb to shut the door. He kicks it closed instead, staring out of the still-opened window to watch your own. The curtains are drawn again, shutting you off from the world.

He stands there staring for what feels like seconds, but is probably minutes with the way his brain is warping his thoughts. Abuse felt so lonely, it was a soundproof room with padded walls, but they stung like hot coals when his dad came stomping in to shove him up against them. His family, his safe space, his padded room, came with the irony of only existing alongside pain, fear, and anxiety. And knowing there was an identical room beside his for god knows how long, thick layers of insulation drowning out each of your cries and blocking out each other’s existence, makes him sick.

His eye stings with the residual image of your own, a feeling he knows all too well. His hand, on instinct, tingles with a cold sort of sensation, the same that he got from grabbing the ice-covered peas out of the freezer.

He’s off to the kitchen in a hurry, feet padding carefully across the floor so as not to alert anyone of his presence. The biggest challenge is opening the freezer door quietly, but he’s a pro at it by now. He takes the peas back to his room, but this time he doesn’t curl up in his bed with them pressed to his eye, he clutches them tightly and heads for the window.

Max’s flashlight is discarded on the sill, and he wraps it in his free fist. He clicks it on cautiously, testing the sound to see how it echoes in the empty space between your house and his. It’s not obnoxiously loud, hopefully no one can hear it.

He flashes it against your window, only for a second, then ducks beneath the sill. He waits, expecting an explosion of sound as your mother reaches out to grab him. But nothing happens, so he straightens up to his full height. The wind nips at his bare arms, goosebumps erupting over the skin not covered by his muscle tank. He waves the flashlight once more at your window, covering it with his thumb to flash it instead of clicking the button rapidly.

He hears shuffling from inside, then silence. Then shuffling again, a little closer, and silence. Then more shuffling, and the routine continues until he hears your fingers scrape at the window pane.

You duck under the curtains this time, easier to slip back inside and shut the window instead of drawing the curtains, “Max, I can’t-”

Billy doesn’t know what to say when your eye catches him. He blinks, once, twice, three times, watching as your anxious eyes rove over him. Only then does he register the chill in his hand, the peas.

“Here,” He murmurs, voice soft and slightly raspy, as he holds the package out to you, “Ten minutes, then turn the package around, then ten more minutes. And if it’s still icy, do it over again.”

You take the peas because you have to, because he’s pressing the cold package into your hand. Your fingers wrap around it and you peer curiously at the image on the front, only glancing back up at him when he shifts in his stance, leaves crushed beneath his feet.

“The package rustles,” He warns you, “Be careful. Don’t get caught.”

“I won’t,” You finally murmur, breaking your stunned silence, “I- Uh, thank you. It’s.. Billy, right?”

“Yeah,” He breathes, nodding once. He’s half aware that his curls aren’t exactly perfect like they typically are, because nodding sends one of them tumbling into his eyesight over his forehead, “That’s me.”

“Y/N,” You mumble, and this time even Billy hears the heavy footfalls in your hallway. They set you on edge again, and he yanks his fingers back from the windowsill so that you can snap it shut, “I gotta go.”

“Bye,” He whispers, voice lost to the night as he stands outside your window. He ducks beneath the sill again, where your mom can’t see him if she decides to search the premises. He doesn’t hear anything from your room, though, and he takes it as a good sign when the footsteps retreat. Then he hears the soft crunch of the package of peas, muffled beneath what he assumes is your blanket as bed springs creak from within.

His eyes snap shut at the sound, envisioning you curled up beneath your comforter, hugging the bag of peas to your bruise. It’s a position that feels so natural to him he almost replicates it, back slumped against the siding of your house. The rustling stops; you got yourself settled.

Only then does he move, climbing back through his window and shutting it for the night. He can’t sleep, though, eyes drifting towards your window from his seat on his bed. He watches, he waits, he stares until his eyes sting, every second that passes a blessing for the lack of commotion it causes. When he does fall asleep it’s after the upstairs lights of your house have shut off, because only then is it over, only then is it safe. He sleeps in solidarity with you, knowing that the click of the lightswitch puts you at ease just like it does him; if there's someone else awake, it’s not safe to sleep. He’ll wake up tomorrow morning with a stiff neck from sleeping up against the wall, but his eyes will flutter open and the first thing he’ll see is your window, hopefully open to showcase peace inside.

Never in his life has he felt connected to someone his age. That’s what abuse does, that’s what Neil does. He isolates Billy, keeping him under his thumb so the boy can’t escape his clutches. But now there’s a glimmer of hope right next door. Hope, he supposes, isn’t the right word. A muddy black eye isn’t hopeful. It is, though, when it’s matching his own, when your scars and bruises line up with each other’s to map out constellations of torture. He wants to chart them, find out where the patterns are, spit out the stories behind them.

He’s spent enough time stargazing his own past, picking a new ball of fire each night to examine. To pick apart, to wish he’d have acted differently in, to regret. Now there’s a whole other sky mere feet away from him, and he yearns to chart it, to explore its patterns in the desperate hope of finding companionship. Oh, that cluster? A missed curfew. That bright one? Backtalk.

He’s always felt like a potential supernova. Like one day, all of the hurt, rage, and despair inside of him is going to burst forth in an explosion of color, blood and guts paired with anguish and heartache.

And now, knowing there’s another ticking time bomb beside him, two panes of glass separating the two dying stars, he has hope. Maybe it’s morbid, to want to explode in tandem. To seek connection in even destruction. All Billy knows is that if he can’t get out, he’ll die.

He thinks about it for a moment; getting out. Shooting across the galaxy, hurtling over the inky black sky until the swirling black hole that is Neil Hargrove can’t suck him in anymore. Landing somewhere where he burns bright without the threat of explosion.

And for the first time since that vision began, he sees two stars. One yours and one his, twin flames, both rocketing towards a safe corner of the universe, one where no one else can dim your glow.

Billy knows right then and there, he has to get to know you. He’s never tried making real friends, never wants to get close enough to have to reveal that Daddy hits him and Mommy - New Mommy - doesn’t care. But you’re the same as him, a dimming star puttering along with the desperate hope of migrating instead of exploding. And if you can feed off of each other’s light, merge into one, he knows you’ll be strong enough to escape together, to go out without a bang.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated! your feedback motivates me to write more, so thank you for your support :-)

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove x y/n #billy hargrove angst #billy hargrove fluff #billy hargrove oneshot #billy hargrove blurb #billy hargrove drabble #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove fic #billy hargrove x reader fanfiction #billy hargrove x fem!reader

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