#she acts before she thinks. he talks before he thinks

[iimplicitt]

hiii 🤠 anon here

how do you feel about writing for mafia lando where he’s married to the reader who’s not his choice it’s basically an arrangement and his family hates her and she’s having a really hard time in his house and Lando doesn’t notice and he’s cold and one day her family causes her to have a panic attack and he sees her in his room all small and scared and then he helps her and makes her a feel better and etc something about a heated confession and people being put in their place. if you do write this thank you :)

HAPPINESS IS A BUTTERFLY | LN4

pairings: mafia! lando x arranged marriage reader

an/warnings: arranged marriage, violence, mentions of abusive parents, angst, panic attacks, fluff, hea

wc: 5.2k

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

He bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the sleek back car roll up in the long drive way from his office. Windows tinted but he could make out the faint outline of a person as they moved around before Oscar got out of the car to open the door for its passenger.

His new wife.

The words tasted sour on his tongue as he drank some of his whiskey, not caring that it was nine in the morning. He needed a pick-me-up for the day that was ahead.

Gleaming hair caught in the sunlight, a delicate hand with a blinding diamond hesitantly taking Oscar’s as red bottom Louis’ met the pavement.

His eyes narrowed a bit as he watched you, mere curiosity to see how you acted when he wasn’t around. When the wedding happened it was short and extravagant. All the glitz and glamour expected of such a pair. A politician's daughter and a booming business man whose money usually came tinted red. A shame that most of the world didn’t know your fathers money was just as dirty as his.

It was an alliance in London’s eyes. A step towards peace.

He hadn’t even seen you until the white lace veil was lifted.

You were pretty but that wasn’t enough to suddenly sway his mind into liking the whole arrangement. He didn’t have much choice. Having coppers on a payroll was a deal too good to pass up, so he agreed. Shook hands. It hadn’t mattered much, not in the long run. Lando was always busy. Always working. If a marriage hadn’t been forced upon him, he didn’t think he would’ve ever had a ring on his finger.

He watched silently as you waited for Oscar to grab your bags. Your eyes flickering around the property, taking in the well kept gardens and security cameras mounted every few yards. A fortress.

His eyes took in the dress you wore, expensive silk draped over skin. Flowing like liquid in the subtle summer breeze. He took note of how your hand kept flexing, the one with a ring. His ring.

The one he had slid on your finger a week ago as he whispered, “I do.” Your own voice low as you muttered the vow, eyes not meeting his.

He could barely remember what the kiss had been like. It was quick, soft. Obligatory. Both of you seemed relieved it was over with, arms linked with one another as you left the cathedral. White flower petals falling into hair as they were tossed into the sky.

Lando set his tumbler down and backed away from the window, trying to take a calming breath before walking downstairs. He needed to make this livable. An ecosystem. Staying out of each other's way, respecting boundaries. Telling where and what was off bounds. If you needed help, ask Oscar. If you wanted someone to talk to, also ask Oscar. Leave him be, because he was busy.

You seemed reasonable enough in the few minutes of shared company. You knew this was a business transaction. It wasn’t something to get hopes up on. Lando knew you were smart enough not to be a burden so hopefully it would feel like nothing had changed. Just an extra person in the household. Another echoing voice.

He could hear the sharp click of your heels as you entered the front foyer, the soft sound of your voice as you spoke in hushed tones. Your whole presence seemed cautious. Like you were treading in a minefield.

As he stepped down the stairs and into the light, your eyes met. The air shifting. Tense. Dangerous. Your painted lips pressed into a line as you waited for instruction. Ever obedient. Compliance being woven into you as a child.

He had met your father on more than one occasion and he knew he wasn’t a kind man.

But the problems of your past were yours.

Lando sighed lightly through his nose, head tilting and hands in pockets as he let himself look at you for another moment before dismissing Oscar.

The foyer was still. The only thing he could hear was the faint hum of electricity and birds outside. Watching you as you watched him.

“Nice drive?” He asked, not quite sure on the formalities of the situation.

You laughed slightly, the sound coming out in a short exhale as you looked away from him. “It was fine.”

He hummed, not seeing a point in furthering the conversation and he gestured for you to follow him.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The summer had gone by in a repetition of droning days and lonely dinners. The only thing keeping you company were the few books you packed, although you had already read through them all. An endless cycle of talking to the walls and sitting near your window, feeling like a modern day Rapunzel.

It’s not necessarily like you weren’t allowed to go anywhere, but it still felt off limits. Frowned upon. A burden if you were seen walking the halls.

His family didn’t like you very much. Which you both understood yet couldn’t come to terms with. They had to have known this wasn’t any more of your choice than it was his. And why shovel the blame onto someone’s child? It wasn’t your fault your father was corrupted and played a better hand.

Pressing your forehead against the cool glass, you watched as the world went by. The silent hum of air conditioning was the only thing to droll out your thoughts and lately it hadn’t been working. The room felt suffocating but there was no one to turn to. Even voicing your thoughts out loud to yourself seemed like some boundary was being crossed. Maybe even to yourself. That you were starting to get too comfortable.

Oscar seemed nice enough. Timid. Not sure how to approach you or if he even should. He brought your meals to your door like clock work. Part of you felt bad but the thought of eating in the dining room seemed like suicide. You had tried the first night, assuming that was just part of the routine. To have dinner with your…husband.

But Lando was nowhere to be found, leaving you at a large oak table alone and shoveling food around. Appetite non-existent. Oscar had told you he usually took dinner in his office. That most of the other members of the household ate out.

His words hit you dully as you stared at the polished wood, not quite believing this was going to be the rest of your life. Then again, you weren’t sure what you wanted. Did you want Lando to make an effort? Did you even want to be around him? You didn’t know much, just that he was a bad man. But aren’t they all? Apparently that’s all the world thought you were fit for. Violent men with money in their eyes.

No, you didn’t want to know him.

But god, loneliness caught up to everyone.

The hours ticked by and you sat there, tracing lines into the skin of your thighs with your nail. Over and over again till skin prickled and red lines appeared. The itch and sting foreign, numb. As if you’d shot your heart with novacaine. Your eyes unblinking as you did the action, pure muscle memory. You didn’t have to think. You didn’t want to.

At least you never wanted to think about yourself. Your situation. The listless marriage you now found yourself trapped in.

But your mind would wander. What did he get up to? What did he even do? Was it really any different from the current political affairs the nation got up to? Would he one day change his mind and want more?

The thought made you shiver, eyes trailing to your locked door. He’d never tried to come in. Hell, he’d never even been to your room. In the weeks you’d been there you had probably only seen him a handful of times. Walking down the hall and his eyes would catch yours for a moment but nothing else. Looking through you like a ghost. Cold. Indifferent. Sometimes you’d hear him in the house. Talking to Oscar or on the phone. Always business. Always something you didn’t understand.

He couldn’t seem bothered at the thought of you being around. Didn’t seem interested. And that weird, fucked up little voice in the back of your mind whispered that Lando was keeping himself entertained just fine. That he found comfort in other women. Having affairs. You barely felt married. There weren't technically any commitments beyond regurgitated vows. So why did the thought still make your stomach churn?

Perhaps it was the feeling of being unwanted. A constant companion of doubt. Your family didn’t want you, pawned you off. Your husband didn’t want you. You would never get to experience love. You’d go through life longing for creature comforts—

You pressed your forehead harder into the glass. Wanting the thoughts to stop. You pushed so hard you hoped it’d break and you’d go hurtling towards the ground.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Six o’clock sharp.

Dinner.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

You felt like you were going insane. The walls bending inward. The wallpaper swirling. The ceiling breathing.

Crazy.

Wandering the halls was reckless but you started to care less and less if Lando saw you. For the first time in months you wanted him to see you. Be reminded that you were there. Proof you were alive. You were here. Even when it never felt like it. You felt like a phantom who haunted the house, mostly only coming out at night when the rest of the world slept. Chasing the creaks of wood and following the patterns in the rug. Chasing something. Feeling wild. Deranged like a white rabbit who was late for tea.

His mother yelled at you. For something, you weren’t sure what. It seemed like no matter what you did you were wrong. Skin not fitting right over bones. Disassociating and staring at her. That only made her more mad and she slapped you. Not for the first time. Hard across the face. You hadn’t noticed till you heard the echo of it around the kitchen. Didn’t realise till some of the staff gasped, hands flying over mouths. Glowing wide eyes staring at you in shock.

You blinked again, subtle warmth creeping into your cheek. Hand slowly going up to hold your face. What had you done wrong? Why were you always wrong?

His mother scoffed. “You’re no good. You’re not even all the way there are you?” With a look of disgust she turned away, disappearing down the hall.

One of the cooks slowly approached you, as if you were some wounded animal. Holding out a pack of ice. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

“For what?” Your voice sounded distant. Distorted. Like it was coming from somewhere else. Taking the ice, you left. Letting it sit in your hand instead, the bitter coldness of it sending a dull shock up your arm.

You felt like crying. At least you thought about it. But nothing would fall out. Your eyes felt dry and heavy. Staring at nothingness as you walked with your heartbeat thudding in your ears.

This was your life. This was going to be your forever. Sucked into yet another man's orbit who didn’t give a shit about you. Because fuck what you want, right?

You turned into what you thought was your bedroom. You weren’t quite sure how you got there. It had been odd lately. Like moments of time blacked out. Arriving one place and not knowing how you got there. Tuning out to your depressing reality.

You were going to die alone. It wasn’t even your fault. Or maybe it was. Maybe you should’ve tried harder. Fought your father and left as soon as you had turned of age. Why didn’t you try harder to fight back? Did some twisted part of you want this? The lack of effort. Things being handed to you. Maybe you thought you deserved it. After all, you'd been living off your fathers dirty money guilt free. Perhaps this was just your karma.

Longing for a life you’d never have.

You sucked in a sharp breath, tears finally beginning to prick at your eyes. The droplets stung so bad your vision went blurry.

You barely felt it as your knees hit the hard wooden floors. Didn’t register the scratching sound of your nails dragging against the planks, blindly trying to crawl your way out of the hell you were living. Feeling pathetic and ungrateful because you knew it could be worse. It could always be worse.

A sob left your throat, bubbling up and out like acid.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

The door flew open to his office and he was about to yell at whoever had the audacity when he turned, paused. The look on Oscar’s face wasn’t one commonly seen.

“What?”

“There’s a problem.”

Lando sighed, tapping his pen on his desk. “Care to elaborate?”

“It’s your mother and your wife.”

Lando reared back slightly at the word. It wasn’t thrown around often. Hell, he hardly saw you. And when he did, when he’d catch you wandering around well past three in the morning something was just…off. He didn't know how to approach you. Or if he even should. You’d seemed equally disinterested by his company. Staring at him sometimes like he was an apparition that wasn’t meant to be there.

He wouldn’t blame you if you hated his guts. Lando knew most women would prefer a love filled marriage compared to whatever the hell they had.

“What about them?” He asked, eyes flicking down to his papers again. Not seeing why—

“The staff said there was an altercation in the kitchen.”

Pausing, his eyes flicked up. Brow raising.

Oscar sighed, “your wife is in your room.”

That got him up. What the hell were you doing in there? And why? It wasn’t like he kept important documents in there, he knew better than that but he still didn’t trust you much. You were your fathers daughter. Maybe this was all some ploy to get into his personal things, find weaknesses, cracks.

His feet moved briskly down the hall, his polished shoes clicking dully on the ornate rugs and painted eyes followed him as he went. Lando didn’t pause as he saw his door, didn’t pause as he turned the handle.

“What do—“

Lando halted to a stop as his eyes found you. Feeling as if the earth had been yanked out from beneath him when he heard you try to smother the sound of your crying with a hand. Curled up in the space between his bed and the nightstand. Looking so small as you trembled.

Your eyes didn’t meet his. He wasn’t even sure if you heard him come in. Your breathing was too fast, too ragged. Short bursts of oxygen, your lungs not being able to keep up.

He shut the door softly behind him and quietly made his way over to you, lowering himself to his knees. Debating if he should touch you or not. You hadn’t touched in months. Not since the wedding.

“Hey,” his voice was soft and you flinched. Head shooting up and staring at him. He’d never seen you look so frightened and you tried to push yourself back harder into the wall. Shaking your head as if he’d caught you doing something wrong.

He immediately caught the red outline of a hand on your cheek. His jaw clenched. An odd, unbearably awful sensation churned in his stomach at the thought of someone hurting you. Knowing it was his mother only made the fire burn hotter. He didn’t know why. It wasn’t like you were close. But the rage was itching up his spine like a spider.

“You’re okay,” he said again. His voice was rough, but a whisper. He reached out to you, slowly. Hands gently taking hold of you as he pulled your shaking frame into his, feeling the way your lungs struggled to catch up. Your muscles coiled in tension as he touched you. He hated it.

“You’re alright, darling.” He soothed your hair back, feeling your nails bite into his skin as you twisted the fabric of his shirt. Trying to ground yourself. Trying to make sense of it all. Of why he was here.

He knew it had to be confusing. That his sudden reassurance was off putting and regret was starting to inch its way up his throat. The spindly legs tickling and desperate. He should’ve handled this whole thing better. It was selfish. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. Holding your head beneath his chin as you tried to calm down. “I’m here, if you need me to be.”

You didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure what to do. Where to go from there. This was new territory for him. Second guessing wasn’t usually in Lando’s playbook but you were something new entirely.

He began to lean away but your grip tightened on his shirt, your head pressing further into the crook of his neck.

Sighing, he maneuvered himself into a sitting position, holding you in his lap as he leaned against his bed. Giving you time. Gently running circles into the nape of your neck. His grandmother always did that for him, it always seemed to help calm him down. Lando waited patiently, taking in the faint scent of your shampoo. Smiling to himself a bit despite everything because it was the same one he used.

Slowly your harsh breathing began to subside but your body still trembled from the aftershocks.

His fingers still ran lightly over your skin, his voice a low hum and he could feel the vibration of his own rib cage with your weight against him. “I’ve had panic attacks too, you know?”

You didn’t do anything for a moment, and then, like the first break of daylight, you slightly shifted your head and your voice was a whisper. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Something had shifted. Maybe others wouldn’t have noticed, but you did. That next morning there was a knock on your bedroom door. Eight o’clock sharp. You hadn’t slept much, your eyes still raw and body restless from the previous evening. The feeling of his light, delicate touch on you was on replay in the back of your mind. You hadn’t been held in what felt like years.

You hadn’t expected such kindness from him.

Padding over to the door, you rubbed at your eyes, trying to look alive before opening it. “Morning, Oscar–” you blinked at the form of Lando standing in the hall. Wearing a casual linen shirt and dress pants, jacket draped over one arm and he looked at you expectantly.

“Ready?” He asked.

You felt dumb as you continued to stare at him. Not expecting to see him so soon. Not thinking he’d even want to see you after yesterday’s mess. “What?”

He sighed lightly through his nose. “We’re going out for breakfast.”

“Why?”

There was a slight crease forming between his brows. “Do you not want to?”

You blinked again before reality finally caught up to you. “No, no. That’s fine. Just… let me get dressed.” You eyed him as you shut the door. He was acting weird.

It was nice.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

“What on earth are you doing?” His mother shouted over the sound of a power drill. Standing in the doorway with her arms crossed.

Lando looked at her for only a moment. Still cross with her after the kitchen incident a couple of weeks ago. He had yelled at her after he managed to get you into bed. Yelled at his whole family. The staff, for not telling him.

“She is the lady of the household and my wife. You do not touch her, you do not say a fucking word to her unless it’s praise.” He looked directly at his mother. “Understood?”

“I’m building a reading nook.” He finally said, standing back to look at his progress so far. He took you to the fabric store yesterday but you were beyond indecisive and he wasn’t sure the new couch went with the interior of his office.

He had been trying to go out more, just small places. When he found out you hadn’t left the house since you arrived he was confused and furious with Oscar. His friend and right hand had merely raised his hands in surrender, muttering how you had never wanted to go anywhere.

“Whatever for? Since when do you read for pleasure?” His mother asked, mostly teasing. Trying to weave her way back into his good graces. He doubted that would ever happen. He was on the verge of throwing her out but you managed to talk him out of it.

“It’s not for me.” Lando left it at that. Watching how his mother’s shoulders fell at the realisation and she turned away.

He smiled slightly to himself as he set up the couch, pushing it under the window so you could get good light and a nice view of the gardens. Plus, he could watch you more easily from his desk when he worked.

You looked pretty when you were reading.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

For the first time in months you were bored, and not in a bad way. Lando made sure there was always something for you to do when he wasn’t around. Part of you felt bad, following him around like a kicked puppy. But any time you’d start to back off, give him some space, it was like his hand blindly found yours, not even looking up from his work, tugging you back.

Muttering a quiet, “stay.”

You tried to ignore the butterflies that began fluttering in your stomach, chasing after whatever this was. You didn’t know why you felt stubborn over it. He was your husband after all, butterflies are supposed to be a good thing.

You took up cooking as a hobby, mostly different kinds of fresh pasta. Trying to keep your hands steady as Lando would walk behind you, fingers lightly dragging along the small over your back. Leaning over your shoulder, lips nearly brushing your neck as he quietly spoke, “that looks lovely.”

He always spoke so softly to you. His touch always delicate.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Lando fixed his cuff links as he stood in the foyer, making sure his suit was wrinkle free in the large mirror. There was a big Christmas gala that night in London. A whole cluster of politicians, businessmen, philanthropists, etc. He didn’t have much of a role to play besides being seen, given his bookies did most of the under the table work.

When he’d asked you to go with him, you hesitated. He knew seeing your father was something you’d like to avoid. Over time you slowly opened up to him about how strained the relationship was.

He had lifted a hand to your cheek, gently brushing his knuckles along your cheekbones, watching in satisfaction as your pupils expanded at his touch. “I won't let him near you,” he whispered. Watching as you debated before eventually nodding, leaning slightly into his touch.

When he heard the sound of heels clicking sharply against marble flooring his eyes flicked up, watching you approach in the mirror. Looking like heaven in high heels. Your black dress fit you perfectly, the white fur shawl was draped lazily over your shoulders.

Lando felt his mouth go dry as he turned, his heartbeat pounding in his ears as you approached. The sweet smell of your perfume swirling around him, making him feel hazy.

God, if you knew what you did to him.

It seemed like every night now that he dreamt of kissing you, doing a whole list of unruly things. Despite the ring on his hand and yours it still felt off limits. Not feeling sure of what you actually wanted.

“Ready?” You asked, a small smile playing on your lips.

He blinked at you, still in a daze. “What?”

You bit your lip, holding back a laugh and he felt his stomach pool.

“The gala. Yes, right.” He cleared his throat, not thinking twice as he took your hand. “Let’s go.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

You felt all the eyes on you as he took you around the dance floor. The whispers. Lando Norris’ wife who he liked to keep hidden away. Apparently most people hadn’t even known he was married. They thought you were just a new date till they saw the blinding diamond on your finger and his matching gold one.

You felt stiff. Too perceived.

But he lightly took hold of your chin between his fingers, making you look at him.

“It’s just you and me, love.”

Love. You felt equally reassured and nauseous.

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

Lando was using every excuse he could to touch you. Hand splaying on the small of your back where your dress dipped low. Fingers lightly brushing the back of your neck as he talked to the other guests. Hand on your thigh beneath the table. When he’d first done it you jumped slightly and his heart skipped a beat when you looked at him, eyes low, before turning away again and taking a sip of your wine.

He couldn’t help it as his lips pulled back slightly when he began to rub circles with his thumb, feeling the muscles of your leg tighten. But you leaned toward him, an invitation. He felt more drunk off of you than any wine he had been drinking.

He’d only see glimpses of your father. Lingering to the side of the ballroom walls. Whispering in corners with other greedy men. His eyes always on you, though.

Lando didn’t like it. Then again he never liked anything enough for that to be a fair test. But he knew never to ignore his intuition, so he took your hand in his and tugged you along until you were outside, the cold December air twirling around them.

You shivered as you waited for the valet to pull his McLaren around, blushing a bit when he draped his jacket over your shoulders. Or maybe it was just the wind, he wasn’t sure. But he’d liked to think he made you flustered.

The engine purred as he drove away, feeling your eyes on him as city lights flicked back.

“Why’d we leave early?” You finally asked.

His grip adjusted on the steering heel, looking in the rearview mirror, always vigilant. He hadn’t realised till now that going public made you a target. Made him vulnerable.

“Just wanted to,” is all he offered. Not wanting to scare you. He knew you already had a difficult time adjusting to his world. Then again he shouldn’t cut you any credit. Growing up with your father couldn’t have been any easier.

You hummed, not believing him. Your eyes finally pulled away to stare out the window. Letting him relax. It was strange, having somebody for the first time see him. The thought was equally relieving and terrifying.

When they pulled up to the house the car fell quiet, a heavy silence falling over like a blanket. He wanted to say more to you, but what? This was all new territory and the thought of messing up this bridge he’d built—

“Lando.”

He turned, looking at you as moonlight painted your skin through the window.

You reached forward, hand taking his, “I know you’ll keep me safe.” Another pause and you played with his wedding ring. “I trust you.”

୧‿̩͙ ˖︵ ꕀ⠀ ♱⠀ ꕀ ︵˖ ‿̩͙୨

A loud thud woke you up, your heart beating erratically as your door handle began to move. Thankful that you had locked it but fear was still crawling up your spine. You were just about to reach for your phone to call someone for help when a ragged voice poured out from the other side, weakly saying your name. The sound of a body slumping to the floor.

Lando.

You quickly tore off the sheets, stumbling a bit in the dark and you yanked your door open. A hand flying up to your mouth as you took in the state of him. Bruised and slick with blood, one arm wrapped around his rib cage, his breath rattling.

His eyes cracked open, gleaming in the low lamp light of the hall. His lips pulling back in a bloodied grin.

“Hello, darling.”

“Oh my god,” you did your best to get him up, almost falling under his weight as you maneuvered him to your bathroom. “What happened?”

Your heart lurched as Lando coughed, turning his head to spit out some blood into the bin and he sat himself up on the sink. Wincing as he did so. Not answering you.

“Lando,” you said quietly, afraid that even loud noises would hurt him and you gently took hold of his face in your hands. Not caring blood and dirt would get on them. Gently running your thumbs along his cheek bones.

He seemed to melt into you, letting his head fall forward and rest against yours as you brushed the damp curls back. Seeing him like this was a new kind of pain you never wanted to experience again.

“Who did this to you?” Although your voice was gentle, there was a layer of conviction under it that even surprised you.

He sighed, a wheeze coming up from the back of his throat and his hands came up to hold onto your wrists. You didn’t miss his cracked and bleeding knuckles.

“I have a duty of care,” he muttered.

Your father. You felt like throwing up.

Gently pulling his head forward, you held him to you. Letting his heartbeat bring some life back into you. He was okay. He was here. He came back to you. Everything would be fine.

Slowly, Lando’s arms wrapped around you, holding you as tight as he could.

“I’m going to kill him,” you mumbled into his hair and he laughed, not caring that it hurt.

He leaned his head back slightly, eyes flicking between your own and your lips. His hand that had snaked up to the back of your neck pulling you in slightly. Hesitant. Then all at once.

Mouths colliding, a kiss that felt like a tuning fork struck against a star.

His fingers twined in your hair and you tried to be gentle with him. As much as you could. But the feeling of finally was making you feel weightless. Reckless. Desperate as he held you tighter.

You felt high as he whispered the words my wife between kisses.

“So much for a marriage of convenience,” you managed after you pulled away. You didn’t want to, but he needed your help.

He smiled again, those dimples you loved so much deepening in his cheeks. “Nah,” he said lightly. “I think this will be a marriage of inconvenience.”

And he kissed you again.

taglist: @theonottsbxtch @fortunapre @c8lap1nto @ashbone

[theemporium]

a luke blurb where him and his gf don't show much pda but quin and jack accidentally walk in on them making out? i feel like it would be really funny

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

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You and Luke were never big on PDA. 

It wasn’t a conscious choice either of you really made. Truth being told, you never really noticed how ‘un-coupley’ the two of you acted until a friend had pointed it out to you somewhere in the first few weeks of college when they were shocked to learn that you and Luke were a couple. 

But it never bothered you. It wasn’t a big surprise considering the evolution of your relationship with Luke was something that changed gradually over time. You had been attached by the hip since day one, each other’s best friend for as long as anyone could remember. You were always together, always found together, would always be together. There was no one in this world that you would consider your bestest friend over Luke Hughes.

It just so happened that somewhere between the years of high school, that friendship evolved into something a little less platonic. But he was still your best friend. He would always be your best friend before he was your boyfriend. Neither of you acted differently after you got together because nothing in the relationship had really changed after the two of you confessed that night, except for the fact you just happened to make out with him as much as you laughed at the stupid jokes he told.

So even though you and Luke had been together as a couple for the better part of six years, you never really acted like one in front of people. 

Which is why Jack and Quinn tended to be so dramatic whenever the two of you did anything remotely coupley. 

“Did you put sunscreen on today?” 

Luke paused, pulling back and slowly blinking his eyes open to look at you with an incredulous look. “Why the hell are you thinking about sunscreen whilst making out with me?” 

“Because your skin feels really warm,” you retorted, unbothered by the way his lip jutted out with a small pout as you poked the reddening skin on his shoulder. The hiss he let out instantly made you snort. “Fucking knew it.”

“You were hogging the bottle,” Luke retorted, smacking your hand away when you tried to poke him again before it returned to its rightful place on your ass. 

“No, you were more focused on putting sunscreen on me to remember yourself,” you corrected with a smile.

“Yeah, well, you whine so much when you’re sunburnt,” Luke huffed, laughing a little when you lightly smacked his chest. “Kidding, babe, love you.” 

“Whatever,” you muttered as you leaned down, pressing your lips against his and letting out a content noise as he squeezed your ass, pulling you further onto his lap before he pushed his tongue into your mouth and—

“OH MY GOD, MY EYES! MY FUCKING EYES!” 

Luke let out a heavy sigh, his head falling against your shoulder as he grumbled under his breath. “Every fucking time.” 

“Gross, guys,” Quinn frowned at the sight of you two on the sunlounger whilst Jack dramatically continued to gag behind him. “So gross.” 

“What happened to the two of you doing a grocery run in the town?” You questioned, making no move to shift off your boyfriend’s lap, though his hands moved to rest on your waist now. 

“We did it and came back already to find you—” Jack paused, placing a hand on his chest as he shuddered. “Defiling the furniture.” 

“Drama queen,” Luke grumbled.

You snorted. “As if you didn’t do much worse three summers ago when I saw you and that girl on the boat—” 

Jack’s eyes widened. “LALALA! SHE DOESN’T KNOW WHAT SHE IS TALKING ABOUT!” 

Quinn whirled around to look at him with narrowed eyes. “What the fuck did you do on the boat?” 

Luke grinned, turning to look at you as his brothers continued to bicker in the background. “It’s kinda hot when you blackmail people.” 

You grinned back. “Yeah?” 

“Mhm.” 

You tucked your bottom lip between your teeth. “Wanna show me how hot? Preferably in a room with a lock so we don’t have to repeat of the other day.” 

Luke scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Quinn should learn to knock. That is not our fault.”

.

[rafes-slut]

Count Every Inch

Pairing: Friends Rafe Cameron x You

Warnings: Smut, size kink, degradation, praise kink, mild humiliation, teasing, light roughness, explicit language, friends-to-lovers, slight angst, jealousy, possessiveness

Summary: you heard rumor about rafe that he was small and cant please women so you tease him about it until he proves it to you by fucking you and making you count every inch

-----

You should’ve known better than to push Rafe’s buttons. Teasing him was always a dangerous game—one you usually played just to see how far you could go before he snapped. Tonight, you might’ve taken it too far.

It started harmlessly enough, just you and Rafe lounging in his bedroom, half-drunk from the beers you’d stolen from his dad’s stash. You were sprawled across his bed, scrolling through your phone, while he sat at the foot of it, tossing a lighter between his hands, bored out of his mind.

“You know,” you mused, stretching your legs out, “I heard something interesting at the bar last night.”

Rafe barely spared you a glance. “Yeah? What’s that?”

You smirked, biting your lip before delivering the bait. “Some girl was talking about you.”

That got his attention. His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing. “What girl?”

“I dunno. Some random girl,” you said airily, waving a hand. “She said she hooked up with you once.”

His brows furrowed. “So?”

You let the words sit between you for a second, dragging it out just to see the faint irritation flicker across his features. Then, with the cruelest smirk, you delivered the killing blow.

“She said you were small. That you can’t even please a woman.”

Silence.

The lighter in his hands stilled. Your heart picked up when his jaw clenched, a muscle ticking under his skin. His blue eyes darkened, locked onto you like a predator about to pounce.

“What the fuck did you just say?” His voice was low, calm, too calm.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of your own words. Maybe you had gone too far. “I—I mean, it’s just what I heard,” you said, shifting slightly on the bed, feeling the heat of his stare burn into you. “I thought it was funny.”

Rafe set the lighter down with deliberate slowness, rising to his feet. “Funny?” He scoffed. “You think that’s funny?”

You bit your lip, suddenly unsure whether you should keep playing or start backpedaling. But it was too late. Rafe was already moving, crawling onto the bed, hovering over you. His presence alone made the air thick, suffocating.

“Guess I’ll have to prove you wrong then,” he muttered, his lips ghosting over your jaw as his hand slid down your stomach. “And since you think it’s so funny, you’re gonna count every fucking inch.”

Your breath hitched. His fingers traced the hem of your shorts, playing with the waistband, teasing, making you squirm beneath him.

“Rafe—”

“Shh,” he hushed, lips grazing your ear. “You wanted to run your mouth, now you deal with the consequences.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs as he pushed your shorts down, his touch rough, demanding. His fingertips ghosted over your inner thighs, drawing soft shivers from you. The way his touch shifted from teasing to controlling made your head spin.

“You know,” Rafe continued, his voice low and dark, “it’s kinda cute how you act like a little brat. But you forget who you’re dealing with.”

Your fingers curled into the sheets when he pressed against you, the sheer size of him making your breath stutter before he even pushed in. His smirk deepened at your reaction.

“Start counting, sweetheart.”

Your voice came out breathy, almost desperate. “O-One.”

Rafe let out a low chuckle, gripping your thighs tighter. “That’s right. Keep going.”

You inhaled sharply as he pushed in deeper, stretching you, making you feel every inch he swore you’d regret doubting. The fullness was overwhelming, a slow, torturous stretch that had you digging your nails into his shoulders. Each number left your lips in a moan, and by the time you reached the last, your body was trembling beneath him.

“Fuck,” you whimpered, your head lolling back onto the pillow. “Rafe—”

He grinned down at you, his hand moving to grasp your chin, forcing your gaze back to him. “Nah, don’t start whining now,” he mocked, dragging his lips over yours without fully kissing you. “You wanted to run your mouth—now you finish what you started.”

You moaned as he snapped his hips forward, forcing a strangled sound from your throat. His fingers traced down your body, gripping your hips as he rolled into you with an unrelenting pace. He wanted to make sure you felt him, that you understood exactly what he was proving.

“Think you’ll be spreading any more rumors, huh?” His breath was hot against your ear.

You shook your head weakly, your body completely wrecked from the overwhelming pleasure. A cocky smirk tugged at his lips as he pressed a bruising kiss to your lips, swallowing your breathless whimpers.

“Didn’t think so.”

[mononijikayu]

until i found you — ryomen sukuna.

"I figured you’d be into something more... aggressive music." you admitted, watching as he leaned back, arms crossed, listening intently. He scoffed. "What, you think I only listen to music that makes me wanna fight people?" "...Yes?" "Tch. Idiot." He turned his attention back to the music, tapping his fingers idly against his knee. "This one’s alright. But Tchaikovsky’s better." Your jaw dropped. "Wait, you like Tchaikovsky?" "Yeah? And what?" You shook your head in disbelief. "I just... I wouldn’t have guessed." "What, you think I don't have taste?" "I know you don’t have taste."

Genre: Alternate Universe — College! AU;

Warning/s: Short Fic, General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Swearing, Violence, Depiction of Violence, Mention of Violence, Volleyball Captain! Sukuna, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;

Words: 8.6k words.

Note: i'm so sorry for the delay on the satosugu fic, the time frame of my schedule is not allowing me to go and finish it. its going to be delayed. as my apology, please enjoy this litle thing from me. also, im opening commissions, so if you wanna commission me, look here!!! in any case, i love you all so much. see you soon <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip! <3

lovesick playlist

IT WAS NOT LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT LIKE EVERYONE THINKS IT IS.  Not all love stories were meant to be that, after all. But it was interesting nonetheless that it was how you got to know about him for the first time.

The first thing you heard from where you stood was that rather brutish hit of impact. A dull, sickening thud followed by a sharp grunt of pain.

The loud and rowdy crowd that had gathered near the school gate was already thick by the time you arrived. At the back where you stood, their voices a mix of eager whispers and nervous gasps.

A fight wasn’t uncommon near the school, there were quite a lot of delinquents in your school. Even the teachers were wanting to stay clear of it. But the sheer energy in the air told you this wasn’t just any fight. 

You pushed up on your toes trying to see above all these tall figures, craning your neck to see past the wall of uniformed backs. And that’s when you spotted him. Your eyes couldn’t help but widen at the sight you were seeing now. 

That pink haired standing tall above that guy.

His name escaped you, but you’ve heard of him. His name carried weight even in places he had never stepped foot in. If anything, it brought chills to people’s spines. The goosebumps were always felt just at the mention of his name, just as much as fear echoes when you catch his darkened eyes. You’ve never seen him before, that was for sure. But you’ve heard of him. And he had quite the name. 

This is what your friends were talking about. This is a delinquent in the purest sense—not the kind that smoked behind the gym and skipped class for fun, but the kind who sent people to the hospital and still walked away with that damned smirk on his face. And he was smirking now.

Even with the blood bellowing down on his lip, the brutally raw scrape on his knuckles ensuing through each punch, the loose tie hanging off his collar. You could tell he just really looked bored.

That had surprised you more than anything, if you were being honest. You thought that this would at least feel like a thrill for him. Violence usually feels like that. You would have thought a delinquent would feel that way.

Yet it was like he was toying with the guy in front of him, who was hunched over helplessly, clutching his ribs and struggling to breathe at the act of being beaten down by the fiend in front of him.

And still, it was the most uninteresting thing he’s ever found himself doing. This fuschia haired young boy seemed so bored at the prospect of this kid not being able to fight back, or be interesting.

“Oi.” Sukuna drawled, tilting his head as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You done already? That’s pathetic.”

The other guy barely managed to lift his head before the fuschia haired kid moved—fluid, effortless, the kind of speed that made it clear this wasn’t just some reckless brawl. His fist collided with the guy’s jaw, sending him staggering back into the school gate with a loud clang.

“I thought you’d have more fun fighting, huh? You were having so much fun staring at a girl’s skirt just a bit, weren’t you? Come on, you prick. Get up!” 

Somewhere in the crowd, someone flinched. 

Someone else muttered a curse under their breath.

And you—you just stared at what was happening in front of you.

It wasn’t just the violence that had you frozen. It was the way he carried himself, the sheer audacity in every motion. He wasn’t just winning. He was playing over and over again like it was a game, even if it wasn’t. Like a predator dragging out the inevitable just because he could. And he wanted to hunt, he wanted to eat the weak from down under his feet. 

Then, his scarlet gaze lifted.

For a single, breathless second, your eyes met.

A slow, deliberate shift came about him. It was like he had known you were watching the entire time but only now decided to acknowledge it. The corner of his mouth curled upward, something dark and knowing twisting in his expression.

He had noticed you.

A strange heat crawled up your spine, a mix of adrenaline and unease. You weren’t sure what unnerved you more. The fact that he had seen you, or the fact that you couldn’t look away.

 His gaze had been fleeting. It was just a flicker of recognition before he turned back to his opponent. Yet, the fight wasn’t over.

And for some reason, you got the feeling that this wouldn’t be the last time Ryomen Sukuna looked your way. The thought made something tighten in your chest. Then all that was left was a a sharp crack.

A dull, sickening thud as his beaten opponent hit the pavement, groaning in pain. You barely had time to process it as you held your breath, before someone beside you finally snapped out of their stunned daze.

“Someone there, please go and call the teachers to break up the fight!”

The voice jolted you back to reality. A murmur rippled through the crowd—some of the students were panicked, the others seemed to be too excited, some already pulling out their phones and calling help, some were taking a video. 

But that pink haired kid? 

He just laughed.

Low, rough, full of something almost thrilled as he rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck, like the fight had barely warmed him up. The poor bastard groaned, barely managing to lift his head before slumping back down.

“You done?” he asked, gaze dropping to the guy on the ground.

The pink haired kid merely scoffed, brushing dust off his uniform before turning away, completely unbothered. Then his gaze flickered up again. Right at you. It barely lasted only a second. But it was intentional. Like he was acknowledging you. Marking you.

And just like that, with teachers finally rushing onto the scene, that kid with the pink hair turned on his heel and walked off, slipping through the growing chaos like he hadn’t just left another name to fear in his wake. You exhaled, stomach tight, fingers curled into your sleeves.

You should forget this. Forget him.

But you knew—deep down, you wouldn’t.

And something told you that he wouldn’t, either.

══════════════════

YOU WERE SURE THAT THIS WAS GOING TO BE YOUR PEACEFUL TIME. After all, the school rooftop was supposed to be empty during lunch time. Lately, it has been your sanctuary after a long morning of back to back classes.

It was the one place you could escape to when the noise of everything became too much, when the dull routine of school felt suffocating. Up here, the wind was sharp, the air felt clearer, and for just a little while, you could be alone.

But today, someone else was here.

Someone wasn’t supposed to be there.

Yet you can tell someone up there from just the slit of the door.

You quickly noticed him the moment you stepped through the rooftop door. It was a figure sprawled across the concrete near the fence, arms behind his head, one knee bent, the other leg lazily extended.

Even before you fully registered who it was, your body tensed, instincts screaming at you to retreat. But then your eyes landed on his face, and your breath caught in your throat. That kid from the fight on the first day.

Wait, what the hell? You think to yourself almost panicked. Why is he here?

You tried to remember his name for a moment, racking your brain.

That’s right! You gasped quietly to yourself. It’s Ryomen. Ryomen Sukuna. That’s what his name was!

Even asleep, he looked like trouble. His uniform was rumpled, the first few buttons undone, his tie discarded somewhere beside him. A faint cut graced his cheekbone. It seems to be fresh, like he had gotten into another fight earlier but couldn’t be bothered to clean up before crashing here. He must have been exhausted from the fight.

You should leave. You really should. The last thing you needed was to get caught in his orbit. But the thought of giving up your quiet retreat made frustration coil in your stomach. So, with careful, measured steps, you sat down a few feet away, placing your lunch in your lap and making sure to keep your movements silent. Maybe—just maybe—if you were lucky, he wouldn’t wake up.

You weren’t lucky. It happened in an instant. A low breath, a subtle shift. Then, his scarlet eyes snapped open. A cold, sinking weight settled in your chest as your gaze locked with his.

It was the first time you had ever seen his eyes up close. 

They weren’t just sharp, they were dangerous. It was like a blade that glinted under the light, beautiful in its lethality. There was no haze of sleep in them, no confusion. Just silent, unwavering awareness. A predator waking to find someone in its space. His gaze flicked over you, slow and deliberate, before settling back on your face.

“…...The hell are you staring at?” His voice was rough from sleep, low and edged with irritation.

You stiffened, fingers tightening around your chopsticks. Your brain scrambled for a response, something that wouldn’t make this worse. “…Nothing.”

His thick brow twitched. For a second, you thought he might call you out on your lie. But he seemed too tired to even care. Ryomen Sukuna let out a lazy scoff, stretching his arms over his head with a bone-popping crack before settling back down.

“Tch. Whatever.”

And just like that, he closed his eyes again.

You blinked. That was it?

No sneering remarks? No challenge?

The tension in your chest didn’t ease, but the kid didn’t seem to care about your presence anymore. Like you weren’t worth his energy. Like you were barely an afterthought.

The wind carried the distant sound of the school bell ringing in the distance, signaling the lunch break was halfway over. You forced yourself to exhale, slow and steady, before finally peeling open your lunch box.

Maybe, just maybe, you could still eat in peace.

But something told you this wasn’t the last time your paths would cross.

And that thought was far more unnerving than you wanted to admit.

You tried to ignore him.

Tried to focus on your lunch, on the way the wind ruffled your uniform, on the distant sounds of students laughing below. Anything but the fact that Ryomen Sukuna was still there, barely a few feet away, resting like he owned the entire rooftop.

But no matter how much you tried to tune him out from the background as you ate, the weight of his presence lingered. It was like a storm cloud on the horizon, waiting to crack open.

The silence just continued to stretch through the blowing winds. Then, you felt a shift. A quiet, subtle rustling of fabric as the fuschia haired kid turned his head slightly, cracking one eye open in your direction.

“You always eat up here?”

You faltered mid-bite. “Huh?”

His tone wasn’t particularly interested in what you were doing or why you were here, but the fact that he was speaking to you at all was… unsettling. Everything about this moment just felt too tense, it was making your stomach spin. A moment passed before you swallowed and forced yourself to respond. 

“…Yeah.” You finally whispered back at him.

Sukuna made a low sound—half amusement, half acknowledgment. “Tch. Thought so. You don’t look like the type to sit with all the other idiots down there.”

You frowned, unsure whether that was supposed to be an insult or not. But he didn’t elaborate. Instead, he shifted onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow now, watching you with an unreadable expression. It made your skin prickle.

“…What?” you muttered, feeling the need to break the silence.

His smirk curled slow and lazy, like he was enjoying something only he understood. “Nothing.”

Liar. You think to yourself, gripping your chopsticks too hard. This kid…..

His scarlet gaze stayed on you for a second longer, then, without another word, he flopped back down, arms behind his head once more. A breeze passed between you, carrying the faint scent of metal and sweat. It was as though the remnants of whatever fight he had been in earlier bristles past you both.

You should have been relieved that he lost interest, that he wasn’t prying any further. But something about the way he had looked at you left an uneasy weight in your chest. As if, despite everything, despite the distance you had tried to keep.  He had just decided you were interesting.

You tried to keep eating, but your appetite had taken a hit. Something about the way Ryomen Sukuna had looked at you unnerved you. It was that look, that lazy, knowing, look. It was like he had already decided something about you. And that had more than ever made it hard to focus on anything else.

The rooftop had always been your place. 

It was your quiet retreat to begin with. 

But now, with him here, it felt different. 

Everything just felt like it was off-balance, occupied.

You stole a glance at him. He was still lying there, arms behind his head, eyes closed again like he hadn’t just made your skin crawl a moment ago. His breathing was steady, his expression unreadable, but you knew better than to think he wasn’t aware of everything around him.

He was too sharp for that. The last thing you wanted was to let him think he had you rattled, so you forced yourself to eat. One bite. Another. Just ignore him. You were going to finish with your meal soon enough.

You can go back and take a walk after this. You busied yourself with finishing the meal, letting the silence reign over. But the silence didn’t last long, as you would like to hope.

“So?”

You paused mid-chew, blinking. “What?”

Sukuna didn’t move. “How long are you gonna sit there pretending I don’t exist?”

You stiffened. His voice was laced with amusement, but there was something else underneath it. You couldn’t help but think that there was something unreadable in there. It was mysterious, it was a pandemonium you could never know escape from. It was like he remains that sphinx who wants your attention to solve his enigma.

“I’m not pretending about anything.” you muttered, keeping your gaze on your lunch.

“Yeah?” A soft chuckle, low and lazy. “Then why do you look so tense?”

Your chopsticks froze in place. You weren’t tense. Were you? That had made you sit still, even more frozen than before as you start to question yourself. Before you could answer, Ryomen Sukuna finally moved, rolling onto his side to look at you again. The way his sharp eyes dragged over you made your spine go rigid, and you hated that he noticed.

“Tch.” he scoffed. “You really don’t talk much, huh?”

You swallowed down your irritation. “I don’t see a reason to.”

That made him smirk. “Smart.”

You didn’t know why, but the word felt like a backhanded compliment. Then, as if he had already lost interest, he flopped back onto his back, exhaling like he had all the intention of that being his last breath to you. 

This whole interaction was nothing more than an afterthought to him. 

You should have been relieved all about it. 

But somehow, you just weren’t.

Because for some reason, Ryomen Sukuna’s presence lingered in your mind like a storm you couldn’t quite ignore. Even as you left that place, knowing he’d fallen back asleep, you found yourself in a quagmire of him. Your lips pressed into a line as you walked back into the hallways. You had a sinking feeling that this wasn’t the last time you’d find him up here.

And you were right to feel it. 

A few days passed.

And just as you feared, Ryomen Sukuna did in fact keep showing up.

The first time that happened, you thought it was a coincidence. Maybe he was just skipping class, maybe he liked the solitude too, though nothing about Ryomen Sukuna screamed quiet loner.

But by the fifth time, you knew better.

You pushed open the rooftop door one afternoon, lunch in hand, only to find him already there—again. This time, he was sitting up, arms resting on his knees, a cigarette dangling between his fingers, the smoke curling lazily in the breeze.

You hesitated in the doorway. “That’s illegal for a kid to do, you know?”

“Does it matter?” He glanced at you, expression unreadable. “You’re late.”

Your grip tightened on your lunchbox. “I didn’t know we had a schedule.”

A lazy smirk pulled at his lips. “We do now.”

You didn’t respond, just walked past him and sat in your usual spot, a careful distance away. Ryomen Sukuna didn’t say anything after that, just went back to watching the sky, flicking ash from his cigarette with a slow, practiced motion.

It was almost peaceful, you would say. Well, almost. But even in silence, he was there, taking up space, shifting the air around him like gravity itself bent to his will. And you hated that you were starting to get used to it. It was starting to get a little bit more comfortable to you, the concept of being together.

Halfway through your meal, he spoke again. “What’s your deal?”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned his head slightly, looking at you with a lazy sort of curiosity. “You. You always eat alone, you don’t talk much, and you look like you’d rather be anywhere else.”

You frowned, ignoring the prickle of irritation at how easily he had read you. “Maybe I just don’t like people.”

Sukuna chuckled, low and amused. “Yeah? Same.”

He flicked the cigarette away, watching the embers burn out as it hit the concrete. Then, before you could think of a response, he leaned back against the metal chain linked fence, stretching his arms out over the metal railing, and exhaled like he had just decided something.

“Guess I’ll keep you company, then.”

You nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

Sukuna grinned, sharp and cocky. “You don’t like people. I don’t like people. We can not like people together.”

You stared at him, searching for some kind of punchline, some hint that he was messing with you. But he just looked at you, completely at ease, like he had already made up his mind and your opinion didn’t matter. Something about that made your stomach twist.

You narrowed your eyes. “I didn’t ask for company.”

He shrugged. “Too bad. You’ve interested me.”

You frowned. Interested in him?

That wasn’t something you wanted. 

Not from Ryomen Sukuna.

Your chopsticks hovered over your lunch as you tried to pretend like his words didn’t bother you, but you could feel his scarlet gaze still on you—watching, studying. Like you were a puzzle he was in no rush to solve, content just to poke at the pieces and see what happened.

“That’s not my problem, Ryomen.” you muttered, stabbing a piece of food a little too aggressively.

Sukuna only chuckled, the sound low and amused. “You’re acting like you have a choice.”

That made your eye twitch. You set your chopsticks down with a quiet click, turning to finally face him. “I do have a choice.”

He smirked, head tilting slightly. “Do you?”

His confidence was infuriating. And you hated how smooth it was. You hated how he just knows he’s right.  He wasn’t asking you. You knew that. He was stating, dictating as if he had already decided the outcome, as if whatever you thought didn’t really matter. And that irritated you more than anything else.

“You can’t just show up here and declare that we’re friends or something.” you snapped.

Sukuna scoffed. “Who said anything about being friends?”

That threw you off. “…Then what the hell do you want?”

He grinned, sharp and wolfish, like he had been waiting for you to ask. “Dunno. You’re interesting. Thought I’d stick around and see what you do.”

Your stomach twisted at that.

Like you were some kind of entertainment.

God, how much you wanted to curse just now.

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “I’m not here to entertain you.”

Sukuna leaned back against the fence, completely unfazed. “Good. That’d be boring.”

You exhaled through your nose, trying to wick away the irritation bubbling under your skin. There was no point in arguing with him. The more you pushed, the more he seemed to enjoy it. So instead, you picked up your chopsticks and ignored him.

A breeze swept through the rooftop. Ryomen Sukuna didn’t speak again, but you could still feel his presence lingering beside you—heavy, unwavering, unmoving. It wasn’t a threat. Not exactly. But it wasn’t nothing, either.

And deep down, you had the unsettling feeling that no matter how much you resisted, no matter how much space you tried to put between yourself and him. Sukuna had already decided. And he wasn’t going anywhere. Just like that, that conversation was over.

You watched as Sukuna leaned back against the fence again, tilting his head up toward the sky, completely unbothered, like he hadn’t just decided to insert himself into your space without permission. Like it was inevitable. And deep down, no matter how much you wanted to deny it as you ate your lunch, you had a feeling he wasn’t wrong.

══════════════════

YOU REALLY SHOULD HAVE NOT LET HIM DECIDE THIS ‘FRIENDSHIP’ YOU BOTH HAVE. You really should have known when to put your foot down. But you just really were not that good at getting it across as he has. This is why you were stuck in this situation. You glared as you sat there and decided that Ryomen Sukuna was an absolute menace.

Your new friend was someone who was a feared name across campus. A natural-born fighter. A troublemaker with a cocky smirk and a sharp tongue that could tear people apart just as effectively as his fists.

And yet, here he was irritating you to death with that smirk on his lips as he quipped you a new joke you absolutely hated. Here he was, sitting on the rooftop like some stray cat, drinking a strawberry milk carton and eating anpan like a child at recess.

You like to think that if he was just not making those annoying jokes and just sat down and let you watch him eat in silence, mayhaps you would be more mildly amused as he took slow sips of the sweet drink.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard, hm?” Sukuna said, voice full of that lazy, smug amusement that made your eyes twitch.

You didn’t respond. Just glared. Ryomen Sukuna, looking unfazed as always, took another obnoxiously slow sip of his strawberry milk, the straw making an irritating slurping noise that set your teeth on edge.

“Let me guess…..” he continued, tapping his chin in mock thought. “You’re wondering how the hell you got stuck with me, aren’t you?”

You set your lunch down with a sharp click and gave him a look. “I wasn’t wondering. I know exactly how. You forced it.”

Sukuna grinned. “Damn right, I did.”

You wanted to throw his anpan off the roof.

It was insufferable, how much he enjoyed this, how much he enjoyed riling you up. Lately, it was like it was his new favorite pastime. And the worst part? You weren’t even sure if he was doing it on purpose or if he was just naturally this unbearable.

“You could, you know.” he mused, watching you with an almost amused curiosity.

You frowned. “Could what?”

He smirked. “Tell me to get lost. Put your foot down. Give me a real reason to leave.”

Your fingers clenched slightly, grip tightening around your chopsticks. He was daring you. Testing you. He wanted to see if you’d actually do it. And the problem was—you should. You really should. But the words wouldn’t come out.

Because despite how much he irritated you, despite how much you wanted to not be in this situation… there was a part of you that knew: Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just a delinquent. He wasn’t just a troublemaker or some violent, cocky bastard who liked to fight. 

You knew that he was a force of nature, one that has overwhelmed you more than anything else. And trying to push him away was like trying to tell a storm to stop blowing. So instead of answering, you just scowled and turned back to your food, hoping he’d drop it.

Sukuna chuckled, shaking his head as he took another sip of his drink. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

Menace. Absolute menace.

You were never getting rid of him.

And worst of all? You weren’t even sure if you wanted to anymore.

You could only sigh as the long reach of his fingers lazily crinkled the carton. The contrast between his usual rough demeanor and this absurdly peaceful moment never failed to amuse you. More often than not, after these little breaks, he would stretch his legs out, lean against the railing, and pass out. Like clockwork.

And somehow, without either of you ever talking about it, it became a routine. You would sit beside him, pretending to read or scroll through your phone, only to glance at him as he inevitably dozed off, arms crossed, head tilting slightly to the side.

There were times when he’d wake up with a soft mutter. "Well, well, well. You’re still here, aren’t you?"

And you would always reply the same way. "Well, yeah. Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t roll off the roof and die."

At first, he just scoffed at you. 

But over time, it changed.

The thanks he used to mutter under his breath became a little clearer. The hesitation in his voice lessened. And then there were the nights when he wasn’t just tired—he was beat. Bruised knuckles, scuffed knees, a split lip that he’d wipe with the back of his hand as if it was nothing.

You had quietly started bringing bandages for him from time to time. The first time you handed him some, he stared at them like you had just offered him a kidney. It was really a pitiful sight, that look in his eyes, both of you knew that.

And yet all at once, it was interesting. That warmth you never expected to see in his eyes. One that he had never expected to feel, one that you had never expected to know.

“Don’t need ‘em right now.” he muttered.

You just stared back. “Sure you don’t.”

He clicked his tongue, but after a moment, he snatched them from your hand anyway. “Tch. You’re so damn nosy.”

That continued for a while. And somehow, that too evolved. At some point, mealtime got involved. It started with him watching you eat one day, his gaze flicking between you and your food like he was debating whether or not to ask.

“You want some?” you finally said, raising an eyebrow.

He scoffed. “No.”

Not even five minutes later, his gaze still hadn’t left your food.

You sighed. “You’re a terrible liar, goddamn. All you eat is anpan. Of course you want this.”

“Shut up.”

You ended up splitting your lunch with him that day. At times, you realized he had a bigger appetite. So you pack more and more, so you both can share more food to last you the day for energy. 

You thought it would be a one off thing, but then you kept packing more and more every day. And then the next. And then the day after that. And somehow, before you even realized it, lunch breaks together on the school rooftop became another routine, like a picnic made for the two of you. Some days, you’d talk about random things between bites.

"Have you ever thought about how weird the school anthem is? Like, who wrote that?"

"Probably some dead guy, stop overthinking it." He snickers, eating the lunch you made for him. 

On the other mundane days, you’d find yourselves caught up in a very serious competition over stolen playing card games he brings to school. Well, card games he finds somewhere you didn’t even want to think about.

"You pocketed these off a junior?" you asked in disbelief, shuffling the deck.

Sukuna smirked, leaning back against the railing. "Dumbass lost a bet."

"You bullied a much younger kid for this?"

"Tch. He knew the stakes."

You shook your head but still dealt the cards. 

Because at this point, why not?

So, you just go with this flow, yeah.

The feared, notorious Ryomen Sukuna was a force to be reckoned with. But somehow, between all the rooftop naps, strawberry milk cartons, late afternoon bandages, and card games, you had carved out a space in his life. And whether he admitted it or not, he didn’t really mind.

And it’s even more weirdly freaky that you and Sukuna ended up sharing a habit of listening to music whenever you had free time. You had your own preferences, of course, but one day, when you passed him one of your earbuds, you were shocked to realize that he actually liked classical music.

"I figured you’d be into something more... aggressive music." you admitted, watching as he leaned back, arms crossed, listening intently.

He scoffed. "What, you think I only listen to music that makes me wanna fight people?"

"...Yes?"

"Tch. Idiot." He turned his attention back to the music, tapping his fingers idly against his knee. "This one’s alright. But Tchaikovsky’s better."

Your jaw dropped. "Wait, you like Tchaikovsky?"

"Yeah? And what?"

You shook your head in disbelief. "I just... I wouldn’t have guessed."

"What, you think I don't have taste?"

"I know you don’t have taste."

He flicked your forehead. That was the day you realized Ryomen Sukuna wasn’t just a brutish boy. If anything, he actually had opinions on things outside of fighting and being a bad boy. And, as it turned out, music wasn’t the only thing.

One afternoon, while you were sitting on the rooftop as usual, Ryomen Sukuna casually pulled out a book and flipped it open, acting like this was completely normal. Your whole mouth was agape to the floor, you were sure of that.  

You blinked. "You read?"

He shot you a deadpan look. "No, I just stare at pages for fun."

You rolled your eyes, watching as he turned the page with the ease of someone who had definitely done this more than once. "...What’re you reading?"

"Something you wouldn’t get."

You raised an eyebrow. "Try me."

Instead of answering, he tossed the book at you. 

You barely caught it before flipping to the cover.

"...I’ve never heard of this one."

"Figures." he smirked, leaning back against the railing. "You read the boring stuff."

You scoffed. "Excuse me, but I read classics."

"Exactly. Boring."

You gasped, clutching your chest in mock offense. "Oh how dare you?"

He snickers. “I’ll lend you my books, don’t worry. Now sit down and break my ear from your screaming.”

“Oh shut up!”

From then on, lending each other books became a thing. Sometimes, it was casual. Other times, it turned into heated debates over themes, characters, and why the hell Ryomen Sukuna thought the antagonist was right.

But the best part?

Every time he lent you a book, you always found little notes scribbled in the margins—much or less half of them insightful, half of them just him being an ass.

("This guy’s an idiot. Don’t be like him.")

("Bet you didn’t see that twist coming, nerd.")

("I already know you’re gonna argue with me about this part, so don’t even start.")

And you did argue.

But somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

What started as a random book exchange had slowly become something bigger. It wasn’t just about lending each other books or debating over plot twists anymore. It was the way you’d catch Ryomen Sukuna leaning back in his chair, flipping through a book you’d recommended, his brow furrowed in thought.

Or the way he’d glance at you while you read one of his books, waiting for your reaction whenever you hit a major plot point. It was subtle, but it was there. And the teasing, of course, never stopped. You caught him very obviously staring at you while you were finishing one of his books.

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Something on my face?”

He smirked. “Nah, just wondering if you finally get why I was right.”

You huffed, snapping the book shut. “You’re not right.”

“I am.”

“You aren’t!”

“Okay, okay.” he drawled, stretching his arms over his head. “Let’s hear it then, Professor. Enlighten me.”

You scooted closer, pointing aggressively at a passage in the book. “Alright, listen, in this part—”

And that was how you both spent an entire afternoon, passionately arguing over fictional characters like it was a life-or-death situation.

Then came the day you discovered something else. Something about yourself.

And all it took was another day, another afternoon spent on the rooftop.

The sun was warm but not unbearable, the breeze just strong enough to rustle your hair as you leaned against the railing. Beside you, Sukuna sat cross-legged, nursing his beloved cold and fresh strawberry milk carton like it was some kind of divine nectar.

He tilted his head back, taking a long sip before letting out a very satisfied sigh. “Damn, this never gets old.”

You side-eyed him. “You sound like an old man reminiscing about his youth.”

“Tch.” He shot you a lazy smirk. “Better an old man than a nerd who stays up all night studying.”

You gasped, dramatically clutching your chest. “How dare you insult my commitment to academia?”

Sukuna chuckled, reaching into his pocket before casually pulling out a deck of cards. “Alright, nerd. Put your commitment to good use and try to beat me today.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you cheat at this?”

He raised a brow, feigning innocence. “Would I ever?”

“Yes.”

Before he could retort, the rooftop door slammed open, and a very familiar, very exasperated voice rang out. “There you are!”

Both of you turned to see one of your classmates panting at the doorway, hands on their knees.

They pointed an accusatory finger at you. “You skipped the study group!”

Sukuna turned to you, eyes twinkling with amusement. “Oh? Nerd’s skipping study group? Scandalous.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “It’s one session.”

“You never skip.” Your classmate shot a pointed glance at Sukuna, then back at you, suspicion creeping into their features. “Wait. Are you guys dating?”

You froze. “H–huh? What the—”

Ryomen Sukuna—because he was Ryomen Sukuna—immediately grinned like the menace he was.

“Damn, caught in the act, babe.” he drawled, draping an arm over your shoulder. “Guess the secret’s out.”

You smacked his arm away, face heating up. “Oh my god, shut up!”

Your classmate screeched. “You didn’t deny it—”

“BECAUSE HE’S AN IDIOT!” you practically shouted, shoving Sukuna off as he cackled at your suffering.

“Uh-huh.” they said, clearly not convinced. “I’m telling everyone—”

Sukuna smirked. “Go ahead. Maybe then everyone will finally stop flirting with her and I won’t have to glare at every idiot who tries.”

Your classmate’s jaw dropped. “Oh we’re at that level now, huh?”

You, on the other hand, were about two seconds away from exploding. “SUKUNA—”

“Tch, what? I’m just saying what we both know.”

“WE BOTH KNOW NOTHING.”

But even as you yelled at him, he just leaned back, smug as ever, sipping the last of his strawberry milk like he hadn’t just casually dropped a bomb on you and everyone with his stupid conversations.

And somehow, despite the absolute chaos he always brought into your life, you wouldn’t have it any other way. You would choose to be by his side if you were given the choice. Both you knew it too.

══════════════════

HE NEVER REALLY THOUGHT IT WOULD GO THIS FAR. But he doesn’t think he can enjoy going to school without seeing you on the rooftop with him. This is what entices him to even want to go to school. Slowly but surely, Ryomen Sukuna began to enjoy himself in your presence like this. 

At first, it was subtle. So subtle that even he barely noticed it. The way his shoulders loosened when he was around you. The way his scowl softened when you teased him. The way he didn’t mind sharing his space, his food, his time with you.

Slowly but surely, he found himself eager for your attention more and more. It started with little things. Like how he’d glance at you first when he finally made a really good joke, just to see if you were laughing.

Or how, even in a crowded room, his eyes instinctively sought you out. How he’d nudge you with his knee when he was bored, just to get you to acknowledge him.

It was annoying. This thing he felt whenever you weren’t near. But you were the only true constant he had, you were the only one that he could find as permanence in the life lived with change. The only one who hadn’t turned away. The only one who didn’t look at him like he was some monster.

And one day, that thought made him stop in his tracks.

You weren’t looking at him badly at all.

You never had, even when you first met him.

Which made no damn sense.

One late afternoon, as you sat together on the rooftop, the sky a deep shade of blue hour in its peak indigo, Ryomen Sukuna found himself blurting out the question that had been gnawing at him for weeks.

“…Why do you stay by my side?”

You looked up from your book, blinking at him. “Huh?”

“I don’t get it.” He leaned back, arms crossed, frowning. “Why the hell do you hang around me? Everyone else either avoids me or wants something from me. But you just—”

"What?" You asked him.

He scowled, struggling to find the right words. “You just stay.”

You tilted your head, smiling slightly. “Because you’re interesting.”

He stared at you like you had grown a second head. “That’s your reason?”

“Yup.”

Sukuna scoffed. “You saw me beat a guy half to death on the first day.”

You laughed, shrugging. “But didn’t you do that because he was looking under a girl’s skirt?”

He paused at your words.

Suddenly, it was just a click.

Something in his chest clicked in place.

He hadn’t even thought about it back then. It wasn’t like he had done it to be some noble hero, he just didn’t like creeps. It was as simple as that. But the fact that you saw it that way? That you had been watching him just as closely as he had been watching you?

It made his ears burn hot red.

“Tch.” He looked away, clicking his tongue. “Still dumb of you to stick around for that.”

You grinned, nudging his arm. “Nah. I think I made a pretty good choice. I mean there were other things that came with that.”

And damn it, he hated how much he liked hearing that.

From that moment on, something shifted between you and Sukuna. Well, at least for him. He wouldn’t say it out loud—not yet, at least—but he had stopped questioning why you stayed. Maybe it was because you weren’t afraid of him. 

Maybe it was because you always had a way of looking at him that made him feel like he wasn’t just some guy people feared. Maybe it was because, for the first time in his life, he didn’t feel like he had to prove himself to someone. You were just there.

And somehow, that was enough for him.

But of course, he wasn’t about to get all sappy about it.

He doesn’t dare be that loud about it.

“Alright, genius.” He leaned back, arms crossed, watching you scribble some scientific formula on your massive notepad. “If I’m so interesting, what’s the most interesting thing about me?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “You pretend to be meaner than you are.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Tch. Pretend?”

“Mhm.” You smirked. “You act like you don’t care, but you do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“You literally gave that stray cat your milk carton last week, Sukuna.”

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re still on about that?”

“Because it was cute, wasn’t it?” you teased, grinning. “You wanted to take it home with you and nurse it back to health!”

“I will throw you off this rooftop.”

“No, you won’t.”

“Try me.”

And maybe it was the way you were always ready to challenge him, the way you never backed down. Maybe it was the way you could see through him like no one else ever had. Either way, Ryomen Sukuna was doomed.

He was already losing the battle.

Because as much as he’d never admit it, he liked that you stayed.

He liked that you were there with him.

It wasn’t often that Ryomen Sukuna hesitated, that in itself was a fact to everyone you dare ask. But in the moment after that as he watched you continue to scribble on your notepad, he found himself struggling even more. He couldn’t help it.

He wasn’t the type to second-guess himself, to stall, or to act shy about something he wanted. When he set his sights on something, he took it, it was as simple as that. But now, as he sat beside you as he watched you, hands shoved in his pockets, lips pressed together in an almost pout, he looked… hesitant. Which was weird.

You tilted your head. “What’s up with you, Sukuna? You were just fine earlier. I mean you were alright with the banter. Now you’re stunned to silence again.”

Sukuna clicked his tongue, eyes flickering away. “It’s nothing.”

“Liar.” You snickered, not looking up at him. “You don’t lose your words with it being nothing.”

His furrowed brows twitched, and you could see the gears turning in his head. He wanted to say something. You just had to be patient. “…I’m gonna try out for the volleyball team.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait, really?”

He gave a slow nod, avoiding your gaze. “Yeah. I just….thought I need a new leaf.”

“Well, that’s good on you, Sukuna! Less fights, more rights—but on court!”

“Hey, I’m left handed!”

You giggled. “Just kidding.”

And now that you really looked at him, you noticed the way his fingers fidgeted slightly at his sides, how his usual sharp expression was replaced by something almost… uncertain. You could see the red echo all over his face and neck and even his ears.

That was when it hit you.

He wanted to ask you to come.

He wanted you there.

You opened your mouth, but before he could get a single word out, you grinned and butted in. “I’ll be there.”

Sukuna blinked. “Huh?”

“You were gonna ask me to come, right?” You nudged him playfully. “So, yeah. I’ll be there. Front row seat.”

For a moment, he just stared at you, lips parting slightly like he was searching for some kind of response. Then, he scowled, clicking his tongue. “Annoying.”

You laughed. “You love it.”

“Debatable.” But despite his grumbling, you swore you saw the corners of his lips twitch into the smallest smile.

And just like that, Ryomen Sukuna, someone who never asked for anyone’s approval had finally found something he wanted even more than volleyball. He wanted you to see him win. He wanted to see you there when he got his uniform and his place on the team.

“You’re really cute right now, do you know that?”

“Huh? Who are you callin’ cute?”

“Sukuna, give me back my notepad, you tall jerk!”

“Reach for it, shorty!”

══════════════════

epilogue

It started as a normal post-practice dinner, like it always was. It was normal, meaning loud and chaotic thanks to Gojo and Geto and how they roped Yuuji into their antics. The seven of you were packed into your usual corner booth, plates stacked high, drinks half-empty, and conversation buzzing with easy banter.

Then Itadori Yuuji—bless his pure, curious heart—asked the question that sealed Sukuna’s fate. “So… how did you guys even meet?”

You paused, chopsticks mid-air. “Oh, uh…. What do you wanna know?”

The bright-eyed junior smiled at you. “As much as you wanna say, senpai!”

Captain Ryomen Sukuna, who had just taken a bite of pork cutlet, froze. He slowly chewed, scarlet eyes darting toward you like he was calculating whether he should trust you with the answer. Big mistake.

Gojo immediately leaned in. “Oh-ho-ho, now this I wanna hear.”

Geto grinned, leaning back at the white haired vice-captain. “Yeah, you guys never really told us the full story.”

Megumi groaned. “And you really don’t need to.”

Nanami merely sighed, but there was a tiny flicker of interest in his otherwise indifferent expression. You turned to your boyfriend, Ryomen Sukuna with the smuggest look ever. He turned to you, panicked and horrified.

You smirked. “Wanna tell them, my love?”

His eyes twitched. “I hate when you say it like that, so damn mischievous.”

Gojo gasped, delighted. “Wait. You call senpai babe, but she can’t call you babe? Oh my god. This is so good.”

Sukuna shot him a deadly glare. “Do you want me to stab you with my chopsticks? And again, we talked about this. I like being called my love by my girl or nothing.”

"Aw, I'm your girl?"

"I'm going to sleep on the couch later with your stuffed bunny."

"My love, that's just cruel!" You pouted.

His eyes falters as he lowers his head and blushes. "Goddamn it."

Megumi snickers, leaning back. "Are we just gonna skip over the captain liking bunny plushies?"

Sukuna looks up. "I'm going to throttle you."

Gojo shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone tried.”

Geto snorted, turning to you. “Anyway, go on and spill, senpai!”

You grinned at him, leaning into the table. “We met in middle school. Sukuna was a menace.”

Sukuna scoffed. “Was?”

“Fine, is.”

Megumi muttered, “Glad we’re acknowledging it, senpai.”

Ignoring them, you continued, “The first time I saw him, he was absolutely wrecking some guy in a fight.”

Yuuji choked on his drink. “HUH???”

Megumi sighed. “Of course senpai was a delinquent.”

“But, but—” You raised a finger. “The guy was really horrible. Sukuna saw that he was looking under another junior’s girl’s skirt and it was making the girl feel horrible, so he jumped in and he started a fight.”

Gojo cackled. “Oh my god, senpai! You saw him commit to beating a guy in a fight and thought, ‘wow, what a prince.’”

Sukuna groaned, dropping his forehead onto the table. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

You patted his back, grinning. “He didn’t get into fights without reason, don’t worry! Anyway, I stuck around. And before he knew it, he couldn’t get rid of me.”

Sukuna grumbled, “Yeah, you were annoying.”

“Were?”

He sighed, already regretting his entire existence. “Fine. Are.”

Yuuji grinned. “So basically… you made the first move?”

Sukuna sat up, looking deeply offended. “No.”

Nanami, who had been quietly sipping his tea, suddenly added, “You were the one who asked senpai to come to your volleyball tryouts.”

Sukuna turned to him, betrayed. “I thought you didn’t get involved in stupid conversations, Nanami.”

“I don’t.” Nanami set his cup down calmly. “But this is funny.”

Gojo howled. “Oh, this is fantastic. Loverboy Ryomem Sukuna actually invited senpai first! Was, he blushing, senpai?”

You grinned. “Hm, he was!”

Geto smirked. “You know what that means, right? That means you made the first move, cap!”

“I DID NOT.”

“You definitely did, captain.” Megumi muttered.

You grinned, resting your chin on your palm. “Face it, my love. Like it or not, you love me with everything you’ve got.”

Sukuna grumbled, looking away, ears red. “Tch. Tolerate is a better word.”

But the way he let you lean against him, the way his fingers brushed against yours under the table?

Yeah, you grinned.

You knew the truth.

And that’s why Sukuna was suffering.

Physically, emotionally, and spiritually.

All because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.

And he loved you for it, more than anything.

Gojo and Geto were thriving off his pain, Megumi looked like he wanted to die just by being associated with this conversation, and Nanami, the one person who usually had self-control, had actually joined in on roasting him.

Worst of all? You were sitting there, all smug and grinning, as if you weren’t the reason his dignity was being publicly executed.

"Okay, okay." Yuuji laughed, leaning forward eagerly. "So when did you two actually start dating? Who said I love you first?"

Sukuna groaned, rubbing his temples. "Why are we still talking about this?"

"Because it's hilarious, captain!" Gojo said, sipping his drink with a shit-eating grin.

"You guys are acting like this is some historical event!" Sukuna muttered.

"You being in a relationship is basically a historical event, you know that, right?" Megumi deadpanned.

Nanami somewhat agreed. “It’s hard to know how to keep you settled, captain.”

“That’s going to earn you both more burpees!”

You giggled, reaching over to flick Sukuna’s ear. “Come on, tell them how you said it first.”

Sukuna scowled at you. “I didn’t say it first.”

"You so did, huh?" Geto smirked, drumming his fingers on the table.

Sukuna shot him a murderous glare. "No, I didn't."

"You absolutely did." you chirped, grinning.

Gojo perked up like he lived for this drama. "Wait, wait, wait—so the captain said I love you first?! Oh, this is damn gold."

Nanami took a sip of his drink, looking mildly interested. "How did this happen?"

Sukuna crossed his arms, looking like he wanted to crawl out of his own skin. "It was not a confession. It was—"

"A moment of weakness?" Megumi guessed dryly.

"A lapse in judgment?" Geto suggested.

"A divine miracle?" Gojo threw in, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sukuna clicked his tongue, looking at you like you were his final lifeline. He then looked at the other boys. “Multiple running laps on Monday.”

You, of course, were having too much fun. "Oh, it was so cute."

Sukuna groaned. "I swear to god—"

"Okay, okay!" You laughed, waving your hand. "I'll tell the story."

Sukuna immediately collapsed onto the table in defeat. “Jesus Christ—”

"So, one night after one of his games, Sukuna was exhausted—”

"As one is after carrying an entire team, mind you." Sukuna muttered.

You ignored him. "And he was so tired, he wasn’t really thinking before he spoke."

Gojo gasped dramatically. "The captain? Not thinking before he speaks? Shocking!"

You continued, undeterred. "So we were just sitting there, and I handed him a drink, and he just sighs and goes, ‘Man, I love you.’"

An echo of sudden silence.

Then the entire table erupted into chaos.

"NO. WAY." Yuuji nearly choked on his drink.

"AND IT WAS CASUAL? JUST LIKE THAT?" Gojo cackled.

"Disgusting." Megumi muttered, sipping his drink like he wasn’t deeply entertained.

Geto wiped a fake tear from his eye. "Damn. Our boy is whipped."

Sukuna, face fully buried in his hands, groaned. "I was tired!"

Nanami, who was enjoying himself far too much, nodded. "Ah. So it was an accidental confession."

You giggled, patting Sukuna’s back. "And then when I stared at him, all shocked, he tried to walk it back and was like, ‘Wait, no, I didn’t mean—’"

Sukuna slammed his forehead on the table. "I HATE YOU."

"Love you too, my love." you cooed sweetly, kissing his cheek.

Gojo nearly fell out of his chair laughing. "OH MY GOD, CAPTAIN! YOU’RE A LOSER."

Yuuji wiped tears from his eyes. "Man, I love this."

Megumi sighed. "This has been the worst meal of my life."

"Best meal of my life." Geto grinned.

Nanami sighed. "This shit makes me want a girlfriend."

Sukuna looked up, glaring at everyone. "I regret ever meeting you all."

"You love us." Gojo said, waving him off.

"No. I love her. Even if she's a fucking menace." Sukuna jabbed a finger at you. "I tolerate the rest of you."

You beamed, leaning into his side. "See? That was an intentional confession."

Sukuna groaned as the table roared with laughter again. “Why are we going through life like this?”

You smiled at him, leaning in and kissing his cheek. "I love you!"

Okay, maybe tonight was worth it.

[beigebeignett]

I do love angst but I'm also a sucker for happy endings and re-incarnation, so here's my take on what happens (decades/centuries) after:

The sphinx and her lover: reimagined

Imagine that the sphinx ends up dying, as all living creatures do, and ends up reincarnated as a very smart yet terrifying young scientist. 

Her passion in her fields equals her distaste for other people; especially men who try to undermine her knowledge and talent at dates. So, she sets up a strategy to determine who is worthy of her time.

If you want to get a date with me, solve my riddles, wrong answers will get you blocked. 

There, done, she thinks. If that doesn't make men stop bombarding her with messages, she doesn't know what will (well, she can think of a few others, but she'd rather not spend more time and energy than she's already spending on such a silly matter). 

And so, she starts getting less messages, with only some men and women being brave (or foolish) enough to try and chat with her. 

The ones that try to answer her riddles don't usually last long; getting the second or third wrong. Some don't even last the first one; those are usually the most bothersome, acting as if she has no right to choose her partner, as if she's being too ruthless (when she'd been honest since the beginning). 

Weeks pass before she gets another message. And so, she does as she always does. This time though, something's different. He keeps getting her riddles right, over, and over, and over. 

How curious, she thinks. How curious indeed, when he asks her if he could try asking her a riddle. She scoffs at her phone, partially amused, and agrees. 

She gets the answer right, of course, so he keeps asking riddle after riddle and she does the same, as if they were playing a game of pass the ball. The riddles get increasingly difficult, and the time those three dots stay floating on the chat grows longer as well; but she doesn't mind. She can wait a bit more for this one. Plus, while she waits, she can get lab reports done instead of worrying about finding new questions to ask that man. 

Sometimes days go by without her seeing any new riddles for him; sometimes a week passes before he gets asked another one. 

She must be busy, he thinks. He must have other things to do, she assumes. 

Between riddles, they start to talk about more mundane things: his job, her career, his essay on ancient Greek marriage practices; her paper on nuclear magnetic resonance in chemical engineering… He sends her pictures of his cat napping on top of his dictionaries and encyclopaedias, basking in the sun; and in turn she sends him pictures of boards filled with equations and pictures of filled excel tables.

Soon, they start chatting more, asking riddles occasionally when they’re both tired of talking about themselves. 

She learns that he’s an Archaeology major, and he finds out that she’s already getting her doctorate; something about chemical engineering, she explains. He’s fascinated by the topic, asking her a million questions about what it’s like, her doctorate subject, how did she choose her career path… And in turn she asks him about archaeology; why did he choose to spend his life studying the past, what is it that he enjoys the most about his field of work… 

They agree to meet up at the local library two days later. 

Almost a foot taller than him; that’s how tall she is. She’s waiting for him sitting near the entrance, browsing through architecture magazines when he finds her. He smiles and warmly waves at her, formally introducing himself, and extends his hand for her to shake; so she stands up as well to take it and introduce herself as well. That’s when they notice.

Even though he’s not short himself (considering the standards) at 5'9", at almost 7 feet tall she towers over him. Their aesthetics seem to clash a bit as well: his outfit is quite simple: some basic jeans and a nice cream wool jumper paired up with some sneakers, and hers consists of a pleated red skirt and a shirt paired with black knee-high boots to combat the cold. Out of the chat, and now face to face, their conversation flows easily; they exchange book recommendations, and of course they ask each other some riddles to pass the time. 

Overall, their first date goes well. Better than she expected, honestly, which is why when he asks her for a second date, she agrees.

To be continued...?

[omniseurs-blog]

I am a stealth trans man, the privilege I have is being treated like a man as soon as they see me

If I'm applying for a job, I am treated like a woman trying to be perceived as a man, because they still see my legal name and gender marker on my ID.

If I'm trying to date, I'm perceived as a predator by straight women, a confused lesbian by bi/lesbian women (these demographics I rarely, if never go after), a tomboy by straight/bisexual men, and a gay fetishizer by gay men. At best with trans women, I become the therapist, and with trans men, it becomes an argument of passing better or worse and jealousy. That's not to say out of every demographic there are people who handle the relationship properly, but that the majority don't.

In friendships, things can go great for months and months, sometimes even years before they find out I'm trans and they start acting weird about it.

Suddenly they recommend more "feminine" music, hobbies, activities to do with me, they suddenly view me as their therapist to vent about difficulties with women, and that's all the BEST case scenario, that's the BEST thing that could happen from them finding out, this one's also the easiest to handle, "I thought you might like to see my grandmas garden.... My grandpa also likes it... Haha" - "no, nah, I wanna get back to playing eve online with you though, I mean, I do have some fake plants, heard they help with depression, think real ones would last a month at most".

An unfortunate amount of people react to things they don't understand with anger and attacks, whether that be verbal or physical.

I used to be nearly best friends with a girl named Kat. Unknown to me at the time, she had a crush on me. She invited me over, we got to her bedroom (in my mind, to hang out), she pushed me on the bed (I thought it was playful, like wrestling), and she pulled my shirt up and saw my binder, jumped away, and started apologizing. I went home straight after that. After that, she avoided me, and called me a faggot, rapist, molester, and creep after that. I wasn't interested in her at all before or after that, and I wasn't the one who initiated or caused that situation to happen.

Another incident was while I was at the mental ward, in which they usually refused to put my chosen name on the cards, and I would turn it around and write my chosen name every time I saw it. Unfortunately, I usually wasn't fast enough and someone saw my dead name on the card. He started asking me inappropriate questions, calling me a tranny, and eventually lead to him punching me in the face, the police being called, and the police did nothing besides give me a court date in an entire state over, which I had no way to get to, meaning nothing happened and the case was dropped.

A lot of people react to things they don't understand with suddenly disappearing from your life too.

You join a hobby discord server, talk, people think you're cool, they add and DM you, you get along fine talking to each other, you mention as relevant to the conversation that you're trans, the conversation magically fizzles out and becomes dry, and then they stop responding all together, usually intermitten with one or 2 inappropriate questions about your genitals or body or kids or hormones or surgery.

[sosasturns]

matt sturniolo WE’RE SO DONE

…IN WHICH READER IS FED UP W/ TOXIC!MATT, BLURB ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ just makin @throatgoat4u’s dreams come true (prompt)

your mother always told you don’t trust these men. that they’d smile in your face, make you feel like the only girl in the world, and still be entertaining somebody else behind your back. she told you to keep your heart guarded, to never be too available, to let a man prove himself before you gave too much.

and you should’ve listened.

now look at you. sitting on the edge of your bed, staring at your phone, at the text messages that keep rolling in. matt’s name lights up your screen like a ghost you can’t shake, the vibrations a constant reminder of everything you’re trying to walk away from.

Where U at? Delivered.

you don’t answer.

Why r U not picking up??? Delivered.

you let the text sit. just like you let everything else sit—the late replies, the half-assed explanations, the way he always left you guessing. left you feeling like you were standing on shaky ground, waiting for him to decide what the fuck this was between you two.

We need to talk Delivered.

you laugh under your breath. talk about what? about how he swore up and down that you were the only one he wanted, but couldn’t say what that meant? about how he had one foot in and one foot out, like he was scared to commit but even more scared to lose you?

you used to fall for this. the endless cycle. the fights, the distance, the making up. the way he’d pull you back in every single time, sweet talking his way back into your good graces, back into your bed, back into your life.

but not this time.

this time, you’re done.

you slide to his contact, hover over the block button. you hesitate for only a second—muscle memory, old habits—but then you do it.

you block him.

Unblock this caller.

a weight lifts from your chest. for the first time in a long time, you breathe. no more waiting for him to act right. no more settling for half of what you deserve.

matt realizes a little too late.

when the calls stop going through, when the messages don’t deliver, when he shows up at your place only to find the locks changed and your car gone. that’s when he starts spiraling, when he starts panicking. because this ain’t how it usually goes.

usually, after a fight, you come back. after a few days, after he texts the right things, after he shows up just enough to make you think maybe this time will be different. usually, you cave.

but you ain’t caving this time.

he calls from his friend’s phone. you hang up. he dms you. you delete it. he texts from a random number.

Baby just talk to me Seen

you don’t even flinch.

i’m cool on you. that’s what you send back, before blocking that number too.

Unblock This Caller.

he’s saying all the right things now.

I miss U

I wanna be with U

I ain’t think i was ready cause I was scared

I just want U in my life

i’m done w these other females Delivered

I’m Sorry Message Not Delivered. Try Again

but not once does he say i’m sorry. he never did.

and that’s how you know you made the right decision.

so you put your phone on do not disturb. close your eyes. and for the first time in a long time, you don’t lose sleep over him.

© SOSASTURNS

TAGLIST: @submattenthusiast @sophand4n4 @secretlocket @mrsdillonx @ch6rm @sweetrelieef @gabri3la-sturns @inspiredangel @sturn777 @et6rnalsun @faiyaz555 @whore4mattsturniolo @courta13 @katie-tibo @ifwdominicfike @raesturns @adoremattsturns @conspiracy-ash @cheriiboo @mattsleftball @applecidersturniolo @chrepsi @grace-sturnz @emely9274 @almloe @yourmother29

[korn-dawg]

I wanna be mean to loser ellie so bad mock her a bit make fun of her moans put a vib in her and ask her in a sickenly sweet tone what’s wrong in public could you write anything about this hc or anything

YESSSS OMFG THIS IS FIRE HOLY SHIT OFC I CAN 🤩🤩

✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯

loser!ellie who comes home one day with a remote controlled vibrator, giggling childishly when she shows it to you

loser!ellie who jokingly suggests going on a date to a fancy place to test it out

loser!ellie who doesn't expect the enthusiastic yes from you, thinking you were gonna shut her down

loser!ellie who thought you were going to be the one wearing it. dear, was she wrong

loser!ellie who walks into the restaurant, trying so hard to ignore the toy shoved in her cunt, pushing right up against her g-spot when she sits down

loser!ellie who gets through the first few minutes of conversation, slowly starting to relax. that is, until the waiter walks up to the table

loser!ellie who watches you slide your hand in the pocket of your bomber jacket, the same pocket you slipped the remote in when you two got out of the car earlier

loser!ellie who starts trying to place her order before the damned thing inside her buzzes to life at the highest setting possible, causing her to jerk forward with a half-smothered moan, almost slamming her face into the table

loser!ellie who gives you the dirtiest look when you order for her, pawning her behavior off as "she's getting over a cold"

loser!ellie who finally catches her breath when you turn it off, giving her the most nauseating sweet "are you sure you're okay, babe?" to which she responds to with a disgruntled "i'm fine."

loser!ellie who thought you were going to apologize with a kiss on the cheek, leaning into your lips until a imitation of her noise hit her ears

loser!ellie who gets so red as she pushes your face away while you giggle, the deep crimson almost masking her freckles

loser!ellie who panics when the waiter comes back, already seeing the sick little grin spreading across your face

loser!ellie who starts feeling the buzz again as he starts talking, asking if you two wanted the AC turned up cause he noticed how red she was

loser!ellie who looks at you to answer, only for you to gesture for her answer instead, turning the intensity of the vibrator up

loser!ellie who manages a little "yes, please." before gripping your leg under the table, fingernails digging into your thigh as she attempts to concentrate on not cumming in her pants that very second

loser!ellie who unfortunately didn't get the relief of an orgasm, as you turned it off completely right as she was about to tip over the edge

loser!ellie who was getting annoyed with you keeping up the concerned girlfriend façade as you dabbed her cheeks with your napkin, talking how the waiter was right about how red she was

loser!ellie who could barely eat when the food came, especially not when you turned the toy on every time she went to take a bite, acting as if nothing was happening at all

loser!ellie who excused herself from the table to go to the washroom, to which you didn't follow after, opting to just mess with the remote without seeing her reaction. not being able to see her reaction, though, meant you didn't know when to stop

loser!ellie who was thanking whoever was watching over her that the restrooms were private, because she was currently leaning against the sink with the small object vibrating inside her, unable to support her own weight

loser!ellie who reached for her phone when it started buzzing in her back pocket, watching as slews of dirty texts from you came through, one after the other

loser!ellie who came twice in the washroom, hand clasped tight over her mouth as her legs shook violently, almost falling over multiple times

loser!ellie who looked like a newborn giraffe walking back to the table, nearly tumbling over her own feet

loser!ellie who rushed you along while you ate, the feeling of her soaked boxers pressing her own sticky cum back up against her pussy being oh so unbearable

loser!ellie who jumps on you as soon as you two were back in the car, reaching a hand in her pants and pulling out cum-soaked fingers, shoving them in your mouth harshly

loser!ellie who watches as you sucked them clean before grabbing her by the face opening her mouth by squeezing her cheeks tightly, spitting her arousal back onto her tongue, telling her to never try that again

loser!ellie who lowkey got her shit rocked when you two got back to your place, twitching in overstimulation and fucked stupid by your strap by the end of the night

✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯

hey gyus i think i got carried away at that end part there

✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯✮✯

taglist !! :

@lolitalovess @saturnhas82moons @odettesoddities @mars4hellokitty @hihihhihahahha @peskylez @kylorey25 @lipglosskxsses @hwasddeongbyeoli @kaykeryyy @kissyslut @meow4510

(i hope i didn't fuck that up and tag a random ass blog 😭)

[theprplcooki]

Hey, the first rejection didn't sting so bad. I had only applied to the national academy as a joke. However there was one line that did seem rather odd: "I regret to inform you that in accordance with the new law: we can only admit human students to the academy"

I disregarded the statement because I was always told the nature of my magic had a more ancient flavour to it, so I assumed that I had somehow been misread by whatever magical instrument was used to verify my race. I simply wrote an appeal letter and sent it off before the deadline.

But then the second letter came, from the school that was actually my first option. Stating the same thing. Now, I might not be the brightest flame on the altar but I could tell something was up. Nevertheless, I sent the appeal letter and went on with my day helpig my father tend to the plants. But as the days pass, the amount of rejection letters on the kitchen table began to stack. All with the same damning line: "We can only admit human students".

This was getting riduculous and this whole time my father was rather ambivalent and just gave a soft "Hmmm" whenever I brought this up to him. And I used the one thing ot get my father to sit down and talk; food.

With a steaming bowl of his favourite stew, I had him at the kitchen table in no time. What he didn't know, was that I also managed to find a recipe that was mild truth-serum, and acted more like a relaxer and made people a bit more talkative. With how strong the stew's flavours were, the bitterness of the potion were hidden. I had my chance. 'So father, doesn't seem weird that all these magic schools are rejecting me on the basis that I'm not human?"

"No, not really. To be honest, I didn't think you would ever need to know. And then that royal prick had to go and declare new law" I paused. So there was something to hide from me. Choosing my next word s carefully as not to break whatever trance my father seemed to be in, I asked him "What, exactly, did I have no need to ever need?" "That you're not human"

"Yes, dad. I gathered as much. But what is "not human" about me."

"Well, I don't exactly know. Your mother was very pretty though"

Not this again I thought. My father was known to gush over my mother at great lengths whenever I prompted him to tell me about her. He always described her as elegant as ever, a goddes on earth, with the most beautiul eyes - the colour of the golden sun. My mother, according to him, was so beautiful that flowers bloomed at her feet, and the sun seemed to alwasy be glowing right behind her. But hearing my father talked about her under the effects of the potion hit me, hard. Was he not embelishing before this? Did literal flowers bloom at her feet?

Then a thought, a thought so absurd and improbable struck me.

"Dad, was mom a god?"

He looked at me with the face of pure absurdity, the face you give a person who doesn't know that fireballe needs sulphur. I sighed a breath " Oh thank the blessed mother. For a moment ther I thought"--

"Yes she was."

"WHAT"

As an aspiring student of magic, you are trying to get into a magic school, but so far every school has rejected you, claiming that they only accept human students. Time to finally ask your father who your mother really was.

[potatomountain]

C:IU Chapter 1

Act One: Chapter One

Masterlist | Next

Pairing: Poly 0t8 Ateez x fem reader AU: Mafia/detective Genre: 18+ poly romance, action Word Count: 3.5k Summary: "Not the same" Warnings: 18+, mentions of drunken sex, attempted kiss, triggers, panic attack, suggestive AN: Dividers and banner made by me @potatographics. Usual beta readers tagged in masterlist! No editing done!

There was a sense of nostalgia as your phone rang for the dozenth time in the last five minutes, knowing who it was before looking at the screen. With a smile you brought the screen to your ear, nearly avoiding one of the bystanders on the sidewalk. “Hi Ji.” “Finally you pick up! Where are you? You said you would be here ten minutes ago!”

You laughed at the frantic voice on the other side, having missed him. “The distance was a little more than I thought so I left later than I should. I’m walking up now, is he in?”

There was a moment of silence, some shuffling, and then a sigh. “He is and he’s more frantic than I am! He thinks you stood us up.” “Now why would I do that?” You mused, stepping up to the S.K Unit. “He knows I just love him.” The bitterness was still there, no matter what.

Even if you were the one who opted for this. Who asked for this meeting.

Well you did that out of bitterness too.

“I’m here and coming in.” You announced before hanging up and pushing into the familiar precinct.The familiar uniform at the desk, staring up at you in shock before they scrambled to greet you.

Now you didn’t think you looked that different. Was it the outfit?

You weren’t in your old fitted suits of black and white. Hair was colored and shorter, and you were wearing more makeup than you used to but that last bit was a habit by now. Was it the low cut top? The tight mini skirt or the lace stockings? 

You’ve been wearing such things for some time now you hadn’t realized that your old unit would gawk at your appearance. And boy did they gawk.

The second you stepped back in the familiar room with lined desks, heels clicking to a stop with finality, your old unit looked in your direction. Most of them at least.

It was your old Captain who you stared down, capturing his gaze with your own and tilting your head curiously as his eyes skimmed down your length. He swallowed hard.

Good, rub it in his face what he lost.

Smiling sweetly, you finally turned your attention to Jisung and Changbin that flanked you, the latter swooping you up into a hug. “God Damn you look amazing!”

Playfully you swatted at his arm, smile turning coy. “Yeah? I don’t have as many restrictions with my current work so I’ve really branched out. Believe it or not, I do have a gun on me, and not my purse.” You gave a little twirl just to show off the fit some more.

“It’s in the boots right? Otherwise-” Jisung made a face, shaking his head before he pulled you into a hug. You leaned into him happily, truly having missed him since you had barely talked to him since the night of the club.

It had been so long, and so much had happened, you felt a little bad for ignoring them but it hadn’t been safe. 

As if you had time anyways, even your sweet lovers complaining they didn't get to see you.

With a sigh you pulled away from them both, smiling and waving at the two youngest that were in the room, just to have one attached to your waist in the next second. “Hey there Innie. You doing well without me?”

“No.” He buried his face into the crook of your neck, showing his age as the youngest.

“It hasn’t been the same without you. Are you going to come back? It’s been months.” Seungmin chimes in from right behind Jeongin, an expression on his features you weren’t used to, like a kicked puppy.

“She’s not.” Chan finally barked out before you could answer, his tone enough to get the others to back away and clear the way for him to approach you. “You asked to meet. Business or pleasure?”

When he looked like he wanted to bend you over the nearest object and probably hate fuck you, you couldn’t help but play coy. “Business and personal. Can we talk in your office?”

With a sharp nod he turned on his heel and headed to his office, pushing the white sleeves up to his elbows, a sign he was agitated. Good.

Stepping into his familiar office he immediately shut the blinds, motioning for you to take a seat while he shut and locked the door. You opted to stand, a fact he didn’t mention as he moved over to his desk.

“Personal first, if you don’t mind.” You kept your tone cool and nonchalant, finding it funny how the tick in his jaw and flex of his muscles no longer excited you like they used to. How many times had you fucked yourself to the mental image of his fingers inside you, his arm flexing under your own hands as you held on?

Now you imagined another hand, another arm- many of those. Some that you could vividly remember how they felt on your skin, and others you could only think about. Perhaps you'd get the courage to make those fantasies a reality soon, not liking the anxiety that bubbled up in your chest when you often thought of physical contact in that way.

I'll get over it; you told yourself for the nth time in the last several months. The fact you were here now, facing down the man that broke your heart and had betrayed you to an extent you never thought you would recover from, was proof to you that you could get over that other thing.

“Personal as in about the last time I saw you?” Chan's tone was clipped and to the point, a sign he was struggling to keep his emotions in check. “What is there to say?”

You relaxed your expression to try and appear as bored as possible. “Oh I don't know. How my best friend and the man I loved and admired sabotaged my career so they didn't have to make any personal sacrifices to their morals?” Venom still dripped in your words as your stare turned cold. “We can start there.”

“That's not the case-”

“Oh? Then what was it? I know I confessed, Chan. And then the next time you talked to me you were transferring me out. Doesn't matter why, you handled that like a fucking child.” You cut him off, sneering at the tick in his jaw. 

He barked out your name, much like he used to when he felt like you were overstepping orders or infringing on his authority. You just rolled your eyes at him, locking your hips and placing a perfectly manicured hand on the curve. “I didn't have a choice in transferring you.”

“Funny, it sounded like you suggested the transfer. Or well, you listened to Minho about it.” You snapped out, the calm and collected air around you falling fast. “But by all means, tell me how you had no choice but to transfer me. No choice not to confess. No choice not to talk to me after I did. No choice but to break me into a million pieces by ignoring me and my feelings until it was convenient for you.”

Toe to toe with him now, he was no longer keeping a cool head either, anger twisting his handsome features into a sneer. “You don't know anything. I played by the rules as much as I could. But you never think about that do you? I didn't want to keep quiet! Fuck I couldn't keep my hands off of you when you were drunk and I hated myself for that!” 

While he pushed his hair out of his face, you were flabbergasted, staring up with wide eyes. “What… what do you mean? What did you do, Chan?”

He turned away, clenching his jaw hard enough the veins on his neck bulged out. “You kissed me. Left a hickey. Felt so fucking good grinding up on me. I didn't fuck you. But I-” Mr. Stickler for clear consent and rules couldn't meet your eyes as he admitted, to him, his greatest sin. “You tasted so good, Trouble. Fuck I can still picture you coming on my tongue- on my fingers. The sounds you made, the way you begged-” He lifted his gaze to yours, a heat there you were unfamiliar with.

One step closer, and you took one back. You would have found his admission hot before, the idea you had such an effect on him that he broke his own rule, but that was before.

Before that red wolf. 

You told yourself this was beforehand and it wasn't the first time you had done such things drunk, so why did it matter.

It mattered when your name fell from his lips like a heated plea. When he reached out and grabbed your hip, pulling you flush against him. It mattered when he leaned in as if to kiss you, his eyes on your lips. “Is it really impossible to go that route?”

Panic welled in your chest at how close he was. You didn't want him to touch you- you didn't want to be touched.

It was the sting of your palm that brought you back to your senses, a red mark clear on Chan's cheek as you were now several feet away from him, back against the door and breathing a bit erratic. 

He didn't move aside from glancing at you. You could see the pain in his gaze, the confusion. Perhaps now he would finally realize how much he had screwed up.

“This was a mistake.” The thought of sticking around, alone in this office, had your chest tightening more by the second. Fumbling with the door, you were tripping over your feet to get out faster.

A chorus of your name echoed around you, different levels of concern and panic. You would have run right out if not for Chan grabbing your wrist. You struggled, turning to smack him again.

Jisung swooped in for the figurative rescue, pulling Chan off you and stopping your hand from connecting again with his Captain's jaw. “Hey hey, let's talk about this.”

“I'm trying.” Chan hissed out, the tick in his jaw back. “Why did you-”

“You touched me.” You cut him off, short breaths had your chest heaving. “You don't have the right any more Chan. I told you, you lost me. I wanted to make it clear what you fucking did is unforgivable, but I wanted to work past it so that we can work together. Because despite you being an entitled, self-absorbed, goody-two-shoes asshole… you and this unit are good at your fucking jobs.” 

Shaking off Jisung's hold, you stepped back, surprised to see the two youngest flanking you and stare down Chan. Seungmin even put an arm in front of you almost protectively, another thing you did not expect. They were the last two to join and you had a friendly working relationship with them but you weren't as close as you were with Jisung or Hyunjin.

Where was the latter? And Minho? And Felix? Two of those you wanted to see more than anything.

“She has a point, Captain. about you being a self-absorbed asshole that is.” Seungmin drawled it out so easily, sparing you a concerned glance. “You don't talk to us. You make decisions without explanations, ones that affect us all. We lost the vote to keep her here, but you never told us she didn't know about it. You told us there wasn't much of a chance otherwise. It was her or us.”

“Even I regret my vote.” Changbin added on, stepping up to his Captain, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We've been a mess since she left. Hyunjin acted out until you had to suspend him. Felix has been like a shell of his former self. Minho is too busy talking to the higher ups and moving between other precincts. We haven't met our quota in months-”

“I get it.” Dejectedly, Chan's whole demeanor fell. “I fucked up.”

Some of the tension slipped out of the room then, but you were still far too tense, stepping back. “You clearly have shit to figure out. Ji, let me know when this unit is level headed for a job.” The shaking of your words gave way to your panic, but you didn't stick around to let them poke at it.

Jeongin walked you out however, silent as he fell into step next to you. You didn't protest, mostly because he didn't ask any questions. He was there as you signed yourself out and walked out the front door, only pausing when you did.

The last thing you expected stepping out of the S.K Precinct was the tall, lanky man holding a bundle of your favorite flowers in his hand, pacing as if he was nervous. “Mingi?”

His head shot up, those boba eyes you adored brimming with concern, brows pushed together even deeper at the sight of the man next to you. “Princess?”

Tears welled up behind your eyes as you stepped closer, but Jeongin was right there. “You know him?”

“He's my boyfriend.” You replied without a second thought, chest tight with emotion that was reflected on Mingi's features. The way his eyes widened a tad more, brows shooting up at your admission, and the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his full lips.

Recognition flashed across Jeongin’s own sharp fox-like features. “The one who hit Chan?” 

“Yep. What are you doing here baby?” You stepped up to him, glancing down at the flowers with a silent question.

He handed them over to you, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. The way you stiffened wasn't lost on him, but he didn't address it. “I heard you were coming to see that fuck face so I came to pick you up. I got her from here.” Mingi nodded over at Jeongin, effectively dismissing him.

He hesitated a moment before turning on his heel. “Alright just- don't be afraid to reach out. We don't stand with Chan on this.” He was back inside the next moment.

Alone with Mingi, the flowers now in your hand, he smiled down at you but it was still a little tense. “Boyfriend? Really?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you instead buried your nose in the flowers. “Do you really want to question that after you brought me flowers?”

“No… you're right. Let me take you home then?” He asked, moving his arm around you but not touching. He must be able to tell how on edge you were.

You were trying to forget.

“Who says I didn't drive?” You retorted, automatically defensive from his care. It made you feel weak, like you were fragile. You knew that wasn't their intent, what they thought; you knew they were just respecting your triggers. Yet it pissed you off anyways.

“The fact you lack a license, Princess. Now for my own piece of mind I'd like to take you home.” 

You hated how easily he calmed your thoughts, proving he didn't think you were fragile but he needed it. “Fine- lead the way.” With a resigned huff you let him lead. 

Moments later you were in the passenger seat of his car, much like Wooyoung's, it looked a bit rundown on the outside but had a slick, luxurious interior. “Are these your undercover cars or something?”

“Yeah. I'll have to show you my baby though. She purrs like a kitten, made the modifications myself.” He slipped into the driver seat with ease, chair pushed back and one hand on the wheel. “Buckle up Princess.” Was the only warning you had before he was slipping into traffic with a harsh swerve.

It didn't surprise you that he was a car guy, at times taking notes of black stains on his fingertips that would last a few days. You never asked, mostly because it was in passing. You also weren't surprised he was a reckless driver.

What did surprise you was when you realized he was not heading downtown to the Pink Boa apartments you had been staying in the last few months. “Mingi? I thought you were taking me home?”

“Yeah, back to Captain's place.”

“That's not home.” You protested, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

He glanced over at you incredulously. “Of course it is. It’s home for all Pirates.” 

The surety of his words had you stumped, so instead of answering you glanced down at the flowers again. 

Right after they officially accepted you into the Pirates, you demanded to go to work. You had reached out to Haru and she set you up with one of the apartments she kept her girls in. Your legal address was still next to Mingi, this was just considered a burner apartment, one that you didn't need to stay in but you did anyways. 

Haru had been right about a woman's touch after such incidents, burying yourself into work to also keep her from probing. Were you running from what happened? Ignoring It? Yes.

It wasn't because it happened, but you hated the way it changed you. Your desire for the others was still strong, but the moment you thought of them touching you, your mind would slip. The creepy drunk men hitting on you? Also making your skin crawl.

Your ability to do your job was affected. Your relationship was strained. You felt… less.

So you pushed through it, pretending you didn't break down alone in that apartment. Pretending Yeosang didn't see any of it. You pretended the others didn't have a reason to be worried. Pretended you couldn't see Wooyoung or San because of work, despite living in the same building as them. 

Mind racing with anxiety, wondering just how you were going to face them, you didn't realize the two of you were already pulling into a garage under the stone and metal building on the river that was home to your Captain and his lover's.

Your lovers.

It had been a little over three months since you had been here, avoiding meeting them in person as much as possible. And when you saw them, physicality was out of the question. Not that it wasn't comforting when San rubbed your back or Wooyoung held your hand, but you would always find yourself guilty that this was all you could handle.

Mingi getting out of the car and rushing around to open the door for you gave you little time to prepare. Would you ever be?

Hesitantly, you took his hand, trying to keep yours steady. Mingi once more didn't say anything, but there was pain in his eyes and his jaw clenched. 

It hurt that your pain hurt them, a concept you were so unfamiliar with. Your pain is something they didn't like to see. They feel hurt with you, they share your anger and sadness.

It made you want to run.

“Please don't ask Mingi.” You knew he wouldn't, but you still pleaded with him.

His gaze shot up to meet yours, not even hiding the depth of his pain. His full lips fell open repeatedly, gaping like a fish as he scrambled for words. “Before… before we go in…”

You tensed up unintentionally, which resulted in a choked groan falling from Mingi's lips.

“Fuck Princess- before we go in… can you please not look like I'm walking you to the guillotine or something? If it helps, this is about work okay?”

Averting your eyes, you moved past him with a heavy breath. “I'm sorry. I'm trying. I'm really trying Mingi.”

“Did he do something? That Chan fucker? If so I'll drive right back there and break his fucking neck you just say the word Princess.” He followed you, the door shutting behind him as you both made your way to the stairs.

“He… he tried to kiss me. And I just-”

“He what?” Mingi stepped in front of you with a stormy expression. “Fuck- Princess. Then we can take a minute. Let's sit on the steps. I can hold you if-”

“Please.” The word was out before you could stop yourself. Before the guilt could eat you up. “Just for a minute.” 

As he set the flowers aside he sat on the stairs and pulled you onto his lap sideways. Feeling his shaky breath on your neck oddly calmed your nerves. Even as you replayed the events of the precinct over and over until it no longer spiked your anxiety, he held you and kept you calm.

It brought you a twisted sense of pride to know that Chan was just as fucked up as you were right now. S.K was in tatters, but so were you. Maybe taking a page out of his book and being an entitled and self-absorbed asshole would help.

Then you could seek comfort in Mingi's embrace without the soul crushing guilt of the pain you caused him.

Taglist in the Reblogs! Masterlist | Next

[paxtito]

cough drop coloured tongue

pairings: tara x reader (no pronouns used)

word count: 3109

warnings: some swearing, nothing really

summary: you catch the flu and tara is gobsmacked (in a horny way) at how much your voice has changed

requested by: @burntoutghost

It started as a scratch in your throat—nothing major, just an annoying little itch that had you clearing your throat more than usual. You chalked it up to the cold weather, the dry air, or maybe even talking too much with Tara the night before.

By the next day, though, the scratch turned into something heavier. Your limbs ached, exhaustion creeping into your bones like an unwanted guest. You still went to class, still tried to act normal, but every blink lasted a second too long, and focusing felt like trying to see through fogged-up glass. Chad had side-eyed you in the hallway, wrinkling her nose.

“Dude, you look rough,” he had said, leaning away as if you might infect him with a single breath.

You had only groaned in response, leaning against your locker for support. Tara had texted you sometime around lunch—Meet me after your last class?—but your response had been delayed, fingers sluggish over your phone.

Feeling kinda shitty. Might just head back to my room.

Tara, being Tara, immediately responded.

Shitty how?

Idk, just tired. Think I’m getting sick.

Do you need anything?

You stared at your screen for a moment, lips twitching at the concern in her words.

Nah, I’m good. Just gonna sleep it off.

That was a mistake.

By the time the sun had set, the fatigue had turned into full-body exhaustion. Your head throbbed with every movement, and a tight congestion settled into your chest, making every breath feel like a chore. The tissues started piling up that night—just a few at first, crumpled on your nightstand. You slept in fits, waking up shivering one minute and burning up the next, twisting the blankets around you in a frustrated haze.

Tara called again in the morning. You ignored it. Not on purpose—you had barely registered the sound over the pounding in your skull.

By the second day, the fever had fully taken hold, and the sickness dragged you under like a riptide. Your phone was somewhere beside you, buzzing every so often, but lifting your arm to check it felt impossible. Tara’s name kept lighting up the screen.

And then, eventually, she called.

You groan, rolling over with a sluggish hand to grab it. She’s already called three times. Probably worried.

Pressing the phone to your ear, you croak out, “Hey.”

The other end of the line goes silent for a second. Then, a sharp inhale.

“Holy shit.”

You frown, rubbing your temple. “What?”

Tara clears her throat. “Uh, nothing. You just—you sound different.”

“Yeah, no shit. I feel like I got hit by a truck,” you mumble, voice thick with congestion, deeper, rougher than usual.

Tara definitely makes a noise at that. Something small. Sharp.

You barely register it, too focused on the pounding in your skull. “Sorry, I didn’t text back. I think my body’s literally shutting down.”

There’s another pause. Then, a suspiciously unsteady breath from Tara’s end.

“Babe,” she starts, voice an octave lower, almost sultry, but you’re too far gone to notice. “You—uh—you should really drink some tea. Might help… with your throat.”

“I tried,” you mumble, head sinking into the pillow. “Burned my tongue. Fuck tea.”

Tara lets out a strained laugh. “Right. Yeah. Uh—so, how sick are you exactly?”

“Very,” you groan. “I can barely move. Why?”

She’s quiet for a moment, and then, her voice is softer. “No reason.”

You sniffle, rolling onto your side. “I probably sound disgusting.”

Tara, who is gripping her phone a little too tightly, lets out a nervous chuckle. “No. Not at all.”

You hum in response, already halfway to passing out again. “Mmm. I miss you.”

Tara lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah,” she mutters. “Miss you too.”

You’re out before you hear the way her voice lingers.

You come back to yourself slowly, your eyes fluttering open as you hear knocking at the door. It takes a moment for your brain to register the sound, still fogged up with feverish haze. You groan, rolling onto your back and blinking against the sunlight filtering through your curtains.

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time. "Hey, you awake?" Tara calls out, voice muffled by the door between you.

You open your mouth to respond, but it comes out as a strangled croak. Your throat feels like it's on fire. "Yeah," you rasp out, voice barely above a whisper. "Just a sec."

You heave yourself up to sitting with great difficulty, bones creaking in protest. Your room spins a little as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. You sit there for a moment, head hanging between your shoulders, until the dizziness passes.

Shuffling to the door, you unlock it and crack it open. Tara stands on the other side, a look of concern etched on her face. She's holding a tray with a steaming mug and a plate of food.

"Hey," she says softly, brown eyes searching yours. "How are you feeling?"

You give a weak smile. "Awful. But better than yesterday, I think."

Tara frowns slightly, stepping into your room and shutting the door behind her. She sets the tray down on your desk and comes to stand in front of you, reaching out to feel your forehead.

"You're still so hot," she murmurs, frowning at the heat radiating off your skin. "I brought you some soup and tea. Figured you might need it."

You lean into her touch, nuzzling her palm. "Thanks," you mumble, voice rough and gravelly. "You didn't have to do that."

Tara shrugs, sliding her hand down to cup your cheek. "Of course I did. You're sick, dummy."

You huff out a weak laugh at that. Tara takes a step closer, until you're sharing the same air. You notice how her gaze lingers on your face for a long moment before flicking down to your lips.

"How about you sit down and eat something before the soup gets cold?" Tara suggests, voice a little strained. She clears her throat, pulling back and gesturing to the desk.

You sink back down onto the bed, moving slowly and deliberately to avoid jostling your aching body too much. Tara watches you with a mix of concern and... something else. Something you're too out of it to fully recognize just yet.

Settling yourself against the wall, you pull the tray onto your lap, eyeing the steaming mug of tea and bowl of soup. Tara sits down beside you, close enough that your legs are brushing against each other.

"Thanks for bringing this," you murmur, wrapping your hands around the mug. The heat seeps into your chill-prone fingers, and you sigh at the small comfort. You take a sip, wincing slightly at the heat, but welcoming the way it soothes your raw throat.

Tara watches you, lips pressed together. You glance at her and catch her gaze lingering on your mouth, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. She clears her throat and looks away.

"Feel free to stay as long as you want," you offer, voice a low, rough rasp. "I could use the company."

Tara swallows hard, nodding. "Yeah. I... I want to be here for you."

You frown slightly, noticing the way her voice dips, the blush deepening. She's acting strangely, but you're too focused on not falling back asleep to think much of it.

"How's your throat feeling?" she asks softly, inching a bit closer to you.

You shrug, taking another sip of tea before answering. "'S okay. Better than yesterday. Still hurts though."

Tara nods, eyes flicking down to your lips again. She's quiet for a long moment before speaking.

"You sound... different," she says, voice barely above a whisper. There's a hitch in her breath at the end of the sentence.

"Yeah, I know," you rasp out, voice low and gravelly. "Guess it's from the sickness."

Tara swallows hard, and you finally notice the way she's looking at you, really look at her. The flush on her cheeks, the dilation of her pupils, the quick pulse fluttering at the base of her throat.

"Guess so," she breathes out, eyes still locked on your face

You study Tara's face, noticing the way her chest is rising and falling a little faster than usual, the flush that seems to be spreading down her neck. Something about her demeanor is setting off alarm bells in your foggy mind.

"Because you're acting weird," you point out, voice a low, concerned rumble. "And you keep staring at my mouth."

Tara's eyes fly up to meet yours, widening in surprise. She swallows hard, a visible gulp in her throat. For a moment, she looks flustered, at a loss for words.

"I... I didn't realize I was..." she starts, before trailing off. She clears her throat, looking away. "I'm just worried about you. You're really sick, and I want to make sure you're okay."

You narrow your eyes, not entirely convinced. "Tara, what's going on? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Tara takes a deep breath, and when she turns back to you, there's a new intensity in her eyes. A heat that makes your stomach flip, even through the haze of sickness.

"It's just... your voice," she says softly, slowly. "It's... really sexy like this. All low and rough..." She blushes deeply, looking mortified as soon as the words leave her mouth.

Your eyes widen, finally understanding the undercurrent of her behavior. A slow smirk spreads across your face, even as your cheeks flush with warmth.

"Oh, I see," you murmur, voice a low, husky rasp. "Well, I am a little bit dying, after all. Guess that's making me extra irresistible, huh?"

Tara's eyes widen, and she lets out a shaky laugh. "I... I didn't mean to be so blunt. That was really inappropriate of me to say out loud."

You shrug, taking another sip of tea. "Hey, no worries. I'm just happy you find me attractive, even when I'm a gross, sick mess."

Tara bites her lip, glancing at you from under her lashes. "You could never be a mess to me. Sick, yes. But never a mess."

You both end up sprawled out on the bed together, the TV flickering in front of you. Tara keeps shifting, tossing a pillow behind her back, before leaning forward to grab the remote and flip through channels.

You're too tired and fuzzy-headed to really pay attention to the screen, but you can feel the restless energy rolling off Tara in waves. She's practically vibrating, and you glance over at her with a furrowed brow.

"Hey, you okay?" you ask, voice a low rasp. "You seem... tense."

Tara startles, glancing over at you. She forces a smile, but it's strained at the edges.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she assures you quickly. "Just... wanna find something good to watch."

You shrug, sinking back against the pillows. "Whatever you want. I'm too out of it to care much."

Tara nods, but she's still fidgeting. You notice her eyes flick down to your lips again before darting away. There's a heat in her gaze that wasn't there before, and you suddenly feel a little warm under your blanket.

You're about to comment on it when Tara suddenly sits up straight, pointing at the TV.

"Hey, they're playing one of your favorite movies!" she exclaims, grabbing the remote. "Want me to put it on?"

You squint at the screen, trying to make out the title. It's one of those cheesy horror flicks you love, the kind with a campy plot and over-the-top kills. You smirk slightly.

"Sure. Why not," you rasp out, shrugging. "Might as well enjoy it, since I'm stuck in bed anyway."

Tara nods and hits play, flopping back down on the bed beside you. She's a little too close, her shoulder brushing against yours. You glance over at her and notice her gaze is glued to the screen, but there's a faraway look in her eyes.

You're about to ask her if she's sure she's okay when she suddenly turns to you, chewing on her bottom lip. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide, and her cheeks are flushed.

"Hey..." she starts softly, voice barely above a whisper. "Can I... can I ask you something?"

You frown slightly, noticing the way her breathing has picked up. "Of course. What's up?"

You blink slowly as Tara turns to face you fully, her brown eyes searching yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. Even through the sickness fogging your mind, you can sense the shift in the air between you, the electricity crackling like a live wire.

"What's on your mind?" you ask softly, voice a low rasp. Your words come out slower, more deliberate than you intended. Maybe it's the fever, or maybe it's the way Tara's gaze is burning into you, but you feel suddenly self-conscious, hyper-aware of every movement.

Tara takes a deep breath, and you watch as she swallows hard, Adam's apple bobbing in her throat. She's looking at you like... like she wants to devour you whole. It's a look you've seen before, but never this intense, this hungry.

"I was just thinking about... well, your voice," she says quietly, almost hesitantly. "It's just... different. Really deep and rough and... sexy. Even more so than usual."

Your eyebrows shoot up, and you feel your cheeks heat under your sickly pallor. You're pretty sure you'm blushing, and the realization makes your head spin.

"Oh," you murmur, at a momentary loss for words. "I guess the sickness is doing weird things to me."

Tara nods, and you notice her tongue dart out to wet her lips. "Yeah. I guess it is."

There's a charged pause, and you're suddenly very aware of every inch of space between you. Tara's knee is brushing against yours, her shoulder pressed to your arm. The heat of her is seeping into you, and it's making your head swim in a way that has nothing to do with the fever.

"And I was thinking..." Tara starts again, a little breathlessly. "Maybe... maybe you could read to me? Like, from that comic you like so much? I want to hear more of your... voice."

Your heart stutters in your chest, and you blink slowly, trying to process her request. You're not sure if it's the sickness or the way Tara is looking at you, but you feel like you're drowning, pulled under by the intensity of her gaze.

"Okay," you breathe out, voice a low rasp. "If you want."

You start to read from the comic, your low, rough voice filling the room. But as you flip through the pages, you can't help but notice that Tara seems distracted. Her eyes are glazed over, not really focusing on the illustrations. Instead, she's staring at you, her gaze heavy and intense.

You pause, glancing up at her with a frown. "Everything okay? You seem... elsewhere."

Tara blinks, coming back to herself. She shakes her head, a little smile on her face. "Yeah, I'm fine. Your voice is just... really nice. It's hard to focus on anything else."

You feel a blush spreading across your cheeks, and you duck your head, focusing on the comic pages. "Sorry. I don't want to bore you."

"No, no, not at all," Tara assures you quickly. She's quiet for a moment before speaking again, her voice a little hesitant. "Can I... can I be honest with you?"

You glance up at her, eyebrows raised. "Of course. Always."

Tara takes a deep breath, and you watch as she seems to steel herself. "I just... I really want to kiss you right now. Like, really, really want to."

Your eyes widen, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. "Oh," you breathe out, at a momentary loss for words. "Tara, I... I'm really sick right now. I don't want to get you sick too."

"I know," Tara says softly, reaching out to touch your cheek. Her fingers are warm against your skin, and you lean into the touch instinctively. "I just... I can't help it. You're just so... you're irresistible like this."

You swallow hard, your mouth suddenly dry. "I appreciate it, but... I don't want to risk it. Especially with how bad this cold is."

Tara nods, a little sadly. "I understand. I do. I just... I wanted you to know how much I... I want you."

Your breath catches in your throat, and you feel a wave of emotion wash over you. Tara is looking at you with such raw, naked desire, it's overwhelming. You cover her hand with your own, squeezing it gently.

"Thank you," you whisper, your voice a low rasp. "That means a lot to me. More than you know."

You blink slowly, trying to process Tara's bold words. A small, surprised laugh escapes your lips, turning into a cough as it catches in your sore throat. Tara looks a little sheepish, but there's still a determined glint in her eye.

"A little peck can't hurt, right?" she asks hopefully, a small smile playing on her lips. "And then, once you're all better... I'm totally jumping your bones. Consider it a promise."

You gape at her for a moment before a slow, stunned grin spreads across your face. "Wow, you're... wow," you rasp out, shaking your head in disbelief. "Okay. One little peck. And then... I guess we'll see what happens when I'm feeling better."

Tara grins, her eyes sparkling with excitement and anticipation. She leans in slowly, and you feel your heart start to race as she gets closer. Your eyes flutter shut instinctively, and you hold your breath in anticipation.

Softly, gently, Tara's lips brush against yours in the lightest of kisses. It's over in an instant, but it sends a shiver down your spine nonetheless. Tara pulls back, a satisfied smile on her face.

"Mm. Can't wait for that promise," she murmurs, her voice a low, husky rumble.

You open your eyes, blinking up at her dazedly. "Wow," you breathe out again, still trying to process the moment. "That was... wow."

Tara chuckles, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. Her fingers linger on your cheek, and you lean into the touch.

"Get some rest," she whispers, her thumb brushing over your cheekbone. "You need it. And then... then we'll see about that other stuff."

She leans in to press another feather-light kiss to your forehead before settling back against the pillows, pulling you with her until your head is resting on her shoulder. You feel yourself starting to drift off, lulled by the warmth of her body and the promise of things to come.

[meadowfics]

a new game

hwang jun-ho x f!VIP!reader

'that is not a face that you should keep behind a mask'

warnings: MDNI!!! smut, 18+. p in v unprotected. vulgar dialogue. swearing. both r and junho fighting for dominance. reader is intended to be around the same age as junho. there is no gunplay in the actual smut, but he does pull it out on reader before and after. reader tells junho everything he wants to know in exchange for sex. sugarbaby!junho??? there is no SA!

a soft hum of strings plays in the background, filling the grand hall with an eerie calmness. warm, golden light reflects off your black silk robe as you lounge back in your seat, legs lazily crossed. 

your glass, filled with aged wine, dangles from your fingers as you watch the chaos below. bodies running, some falling… the familiar dance of life and death.  

you take another sip, letting the metallic taste settle on your tongue.  

“i’m betting on 420,” andrea, or the woman behind the golden horse mask, says, her voice light with amusement, eyes twinkling beneath her ornate gold mask.  

“of course you are, you fucking weedhead!” jane, the one behind a golden deer shaped mask, laughs, her own mask shimmering with emerald stones. 

“i’m going with 333. lucky numbers, right?”  

“nah,” josephina, the golden snake mask woman, cuts in, leaning forward as she places her bet. 

“069. gotta root for the underdog with the best number!”  

“joesphina be for fucking real!!! you’re all ridiculous,” ingrid, the cheetah golden mask, snickers. 

“444 is gonna win. trust me with this, i’ll take your bet money later.”  

you barely listen, your gaze drifting from the game view to the masked waiter silently gliding through the room. he’s dressed in the standard black uniform, mask covering his face, but his eyes, dark and sharp, catch your attention. 

they’re intense, holding something behind them. something dangerous. something… hot.  

he approaches your table, bowing slightly as he sets another drink in front of you. your eyes trail him shamelessly, taking in the way his broad shoulders fill out the jacket, how his movements are precise but fluid.  

“thank you,” you murmur, your voice smooth, nearly purring.  

he nods, silent as ever, before turning to serve the others.  

your eyes don’t leave him.  

you barely notice when andrea asks, “so? who’re you betting on, y/n?”  

“hmm?” you hum, dragging your gaze away from the waiter. 

“oh… doesn’t matter.”  

josephina laughs. 

“girl, you’re not even watching the games.”  

“i’ve got… other distractions,” you say, eyes flickering back to the waiter as he moves across the room.  

the women laugh knowingly.  

the waiter returns, filling up glasses again. you don’t let this chance pass.  

“i think you should sit down beside me,” you say, your tone low but commanding.  

he pauses, glancing at you, the mask hiding any expression. 

“i am flattered, but i have to serve the other guests.”  

you smirk, leaning back in your chair. 

“ladies, do you need him right now?”  

“oh no no, he’s all yours, girl!” jane giggles, sipping her drink.  

“yeah, take him,” andrea adds with a playful wink behind her mask.  

you turn back to him. 

“see? they don’t mind.”  

he hesitates, then slowly sits down next to you, hands resting on his lap, still professional.  

you run your finger along the rim of your glass, glancing at him from under your lashes.

"so, do you talk? or is the silent act part of the whole mysterious thing we all have to maintain?”  

“i’m not supposed to talk much,” he replies, voice deep but measured. its clear that his first language isn’t english due to the accent, but that makes it hotter.

“shame,” you say, tilting your head. 

“you’ve got sexy eyes. i bet you look even better without the mask.”  

he doesn’t respond, his gaze focused ahead, but you swear there’s a flicker of something behind those dark irises.  

“come on,” you coax, leaning in closer, the silk robe slipping off your shoulder slightly. 

“take it off. let me see you.”  

“i can’t,” he says firmly. “i need to stay private, we cannot show our faces here.”  

you pout, though you’re not really upset. this is just part of the game. 

“what if we go somewhere more private? maybe then you can show me.”  

he looks at you, silent again for a beat too long. then, his voice drops lower. 

“that… could be arranged.”  

your heart kicks up, excitement and danger blending deliciously. you smooth down your black silk robe, standing up gracefully.  

“follow me,” you whisper, your smirk growing as you lead him through the corridors, away from the others, away from the chaos of the games still playing out below, and towards your private room.

in the private room, the man immediately sits down on your bed as you shut the heavy and sleek door. again, you’re dressed in nothing besides a black pair of lace underwear underneath your black silk robe. you ignore how disassociated the man looks as you walk over towards the sitting man. 

you stand in front of him, your body all in his sight. 

“come on, let me see your face.” you smirk. 

your soft fingers go up and around to the back of his head where the mask is supported. clicking the straps off, the mask fell onto the bed behind the man, revealing one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. 

“wow.” you mumbled to yourself as the man looked up at you. 

“see sir, that is not a face that you should keep behind a mask.” you take your hands, and touch the man’s face as if he was made of clay or stone. 

the man closed his eyes at your touch, it is clear that he needed this more than he realized. however, his mission started to come up in his mind. 

so, you were caught off guard when you suddenly felt a medal barrel placed in-between the gap in your robe, the gap that showed your cleavage pretty well. your breath hitched, realizing what danger you might’ve put yourself in.

however, you remember that you’re a woman… a woman that has always been able to get what she desired. including him. 

so, you let him stand up in-front of you and take off your golden cat mask, the one that has concealed your face the entire time. your glassy eyes look up at his, his eyes that are filled with curiosity and a bit of anger.

“if you can satisfy me in five minutes, i might let you live.” the man speaks as you sit down on your knees, the gun now pressed against your left temple. 

“what do you need to know?” you ask, somewhat annoyed that this handsome man is possibly a cop. however, your hands shake, proving that the man has some power in this situation.

“tell me everything that happens here…” the man demands. 

so, you did. i mean, there is a gun at your head and a phone recording you. 

once you do tell him everything… you offer up something that the man cannot refuse. 

“you know, i can help you find your brother if you let me calm you down a little bit… i am not your enemy here. i have things you don’t have and i can change your life in so many ways..” you fondle with the zipper of his pants. 

he puts the gun away from your hand, looking at you with curiosity as he throws the pistol back onto the soft bed of yours. 

“what do you mean?” he mumbles. 

you stand up, gently taking your hands to his chest and pushing him onto the bed. when he is laid, you crawl on top of him, pushing the gun off of the bed and somewhere in the room, as you put your lips up to his ear, 

“i have all of the resources to help you find your brother, it's clear that you are on a solo mission away from your police station and they might lay you off for being gone for so long… i can financially, and sexually change your life.” you say, kissing the top part of his ear before going to look into his eyes.

the man looked up at you, angrily, as his hands tightened harshly to your waist. its clear that he was letting his sexuality speak for him instead of his mind. what is he thinking? however, your sweet lips found that spot just below junho’s ear, pressing soft, lingering kisses there. 

the sensation sent a shiver down his spine, but it wasn’t from the lingering fear of getting caught this time. he exposed himself here. you closed your eyes, leaning into his personal space as your  mouth moved lower, your lips trailing delicate kisses along his neck. 

the softness, the tenderness…it had been a while since the man has this type of intimacy. junho’s hands roamed, sliding over your waist, his fingers tracing the curves of your body through the black robe you are still wearing.  

your breath hitched, a soft whimper slipping out as his hands gripped a handful of your ass, pushing your robe up so he could feel your bareness. you felt your entire body responding, warmth pooling deep in your core, your hands reaching up to grasp his biceps as your lips brushed his sharp jawline. 

junho’s gaze was heavy with want, curiosity, and somewhat rage. your hands slid up his biceps, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath the thin fabric of his black shirt. you tilted your chin, your eyes flickering down to his lips before locking back onto his.  

you leaned in, pressing your mouth against his, the kiss soft at first but quickly deepening. junho slid his hands up, one sliding up your back while the other cradled the back of your neck, holding you there as if he couldn’t get close enough.  

the kiss became more urgent, more intense, as you let yourself get lost in the feeling of him. the scent of his natural body, the harshness of his touch, the gentle but possessive way his hands moved over your body. 

“my baby, what do you want from me?” you whispered in the cop’s ear, 

“i- i need you.” junho whimpered, looking at your bare core sitting on top of his bulge.

“how badly?” you smirked. 

“don’t try to fucking tease me?” junho sat up, keeping you on his lap as his large hands wrap around your throat. you could still breathe, but your underwear was ruined, completely soaked. junho could feel it through those pants, you get off on him being aggressive with you.

junho took his other hand and wrapped it around your waist, keeping a tight hold on your side. angrily, he took of your black silk robe and tossed it. you were completely naked.

“officer, you’re so big.” you mumbled to him, making eye contact when your bare center settled onto his clothed cock. junho makes eye contact back, his hand that was on your neck going down to your inner thigh. the man looked at your soaking at pussy sitting perfectly on top of his clothed cock.

your core clenched onto nothing as junho started kissing and biting along your neck. 

a bit of time goes by, and junho’s pants are pulled down as you’re riding his cock. 

“fuck fuck fuck fuck!” you curse, your babbles projecting around the room. 

junho has one hand on your ass, the other hold your neck so you do not stop riding his cock. 

“you’re such a psychopathic whore, getting entertainment and paying to watch watching people die... then you go and fuck yourself on my cock? what the fuck is wrong with you?” junho ranted. you felt yourself clench around his dick due to his words. you do not think that could never get enough. 

“its not my fault that you were walking around with that huge bulge of yours… and with the games, i p-pr-FUCK! promise you that itssss a–shit complicated story.” you moaned, moving your legs at an angle which helped junho’s tip kiss at your cervix.

“you better start explaining soon.” a loud slap is heard when junho smacks your ass after his words.

you continued to moan and whisper as your insides pulsed around his sick, “fuck, are you going to arrest me after i cum on your cock, officer? i’m gonna-“ you moaned, smirking devilishly as junho looked down at your core, wetting his entire dick. 

junho didn’t answer, so you finally released all over him, getting your juices all over his cock and the bedsheets, as his hand loosened his grip on your ass.

“i.can’t.arrest.you.since.you.need.to.help.me.” junho slams you on top of his cock after each word, angrly. he moves you up, so his tip is only inside, before he slams your pussy down on his entire length. 

“fuck my legs hurt.” you feel the ache all in your lower body, the good ache. 

“good.” junho fucked into you much harder, knowing how sensitive your pussy is now. as he felt himself coming inside of your walls, you nearly squealed at his dick abusing that good spot inside of you.

after he cums, you sit down holding onto the man for a couple of minutes. the silence was described by a bit of cheering from outside of your room and down the hallway… you forgot the games were still happening. 

“so, are you going to help me?” junho smirks. 

you look down at his right hand to see that he has gotten the gun back, somehow, while you were still on top of him. the gun is not aimed at you, he just wants you to be aware incaser you tried to alert someone. 

“i am, you can put the gun away.” you roll your eyes. 

junho does.

one thing you noticed is how despite being naked, with his cum down your leg, he is still looking up at your eyes as he tosses the gun back where he found it. 

“so, how can you help me?” 

junho asks, his english breaking a little.

“well first… i can tell you where you’ll find your brother..”

you smirk. 

masterlist

[somnus-lucis-caelum]

Loukas.

Somnus felt his own guts wrench together a little when he recognized the young soldier standing in the doorframe. In that very moment this all could pan out in two very different ways… and the Prince was already preparing himself for having to step in between them. To soothe over too fresh wounds.

But… none of that happened. Aerith acted with utter grace, making the silence in the barracks weigh even heavier. And Loukas proved his own pride.

It was a bittersweet moment, more than most of these present probably realized. Somnus knew how much this all meant. And so it was not even a question, whether he would make space for the young soldier. A simple nod and Somnus even pulled the chair back for Loukas to sit down in his stead.

Somnus himself sought out his place beside Leander, watching the game now from Aerith’s perspective. She truly was… so elegant in how she handled this. How she had acted, how she behaved.

It caused Somnus to seek out his friend while the game was going on and most started joining in on gentler banter again.

He nudged Leander’s side, nodding towards Aerith. There was excitement in his tone. The complete opposite to how their last talk had gone, right before ethe farmland’s royals visiting.

“She is more than I could have hoped for…”, he admitted quietly, “I don’t know how she does it, Leander. I first thought I would have to toss her off the cliffs into the sea. And I thinks he thought the same about me. But… she is so kind and gentle. She… does not care about my shortcomings. It is as if I have known her for far longer than I actually do. If this is what all arranged marriages are like, we have to force you into one, too.”

The grin on his face spoke volumes, though it softened again, as Somnus lowered his head.

“And you? How are you doing?”

Aerith almost cast a wide-eyed look to Somnus as he was egged on to join her. This was all new to her — she understood he had a less than shining reputation among Lucian circles. Something that made no sense to her whatsoever. Though it wasn't a sentiment that his troops shared, right...?

The cheers and clapping all seemed to be in good fun. And Somnus himself didn't seem bothered being made into a spectacle, so she relaxed more into the moment.

There was a smile playing on her lips as she regarded her husband across from her. His head was bowed, his voice quietened. Though the light-hearted expression on his face was all the reassurance she needed. "At least you know better than to ask for mercy where you will not find it." she playfully commented, earning loud crows of support from the Lucian men and women gathered. Meek smiles had turned to grins.

She was gracious, she answered each of his questions fairly, even offered hints of advice without prompting. And yet she did not hold back. Their decks were equally matched. Neither one of them had a chance at holding cards that the other would not have, this wasn't an official competition, it was a playful game with mere starter decks.

Somehow she made it feel like she had the upper-hand at every turn. There were no draws. She baited him into a lane with an easy to turn card, and devastated him at his flank, stealing it all from him. The final tally was brutal. All three coins were placed with her. In the aftermath, she even caught that mention of Somnus being treated like a dirty dog and had the good grace to cover her mouth laughing. There was a pink tinge in her cheeks. She was only a little embarrassed being called out herself.

"I'm nice, I swear." Aerith insisted with her hands raised in defence. Though she was met with an encouraging pat on her back from none other than Leander, who grinned at her so warmly.

"You're also an inspiration to the troops!" Leander encouraged, making a gesture to their dear Prince. "For too long we have been demolished on a chess board. This is a new beginning, where we have equal footing to challenge Prince Somnus to a game of Queen's Blood."

Leander offered a wink to Somnus. It was all in good fun, and the Princess seemed to be at ease among them.

That was until she stood so suddenly the chair clattered and would have tipped had it not been for Leander's quick reflex. His head whipped to her and she looked... well, like she had seen a ghost. Something that half made sense when his gaze shifted to the face that pulled that reaction from her.

Loukas stood there. Dark circles stained under his eyes and he looked a little thinner in his face — he was already scrawny enough, yet in his teenage years. Whatever words he had meant to say to the Princess were swallowed into the moment of quiet that fell around them.

Though Aerith didn't need rescuing. After all, it had been her own sudden reaction that made a normal moment feel awkward. Softening, she stepped closer to the familiar soldier, and pulled him into a sudden embrace.

He immediately bowed his head, and a moment later his arms lifted to return the hug. She remembered him. And he would always remember what she had done for his family... when he pulled back, he managed a half-smile. "You are nice." that his quietened voice could be heard was a testament to how still the Lucian side of the barracks had fallen. Though small murmurs began to stir again. Then his eyes fell to Prince Somnus. "May I have the next turn?" At that, the murmurs picked up to encouraging words, egging the Prince of Lucis yet again to agree. As if he could have denied Nikolaos' little brother.

[dinoandguitar]

"..Coffee?"

Idol!KwonSoonyoung x Staff!Reader

The first time Hoshi saw her, he nearly ran into a wall. It wasn’t dramatic like a slow-motion movie moment, but it sure felt like one.

She was standing near the practice room, listening intently to one of the senior staff members. Her clipboard was tucked under one arm, her head tilted slightly as she nodded along. Then she smiled, small but bright, like it came naturally to her.

Hoshi, mid-step, completely lost focus. One second, he was walking out of the practice room, and the next... BAM!

He smacked right into the doorframe.

"Hyung!" Dino yelped, catching his arm before he could stumble too hard. "Are you okay?" Hoshi barely heard him. His ears were ringing, and not just from the impact. He glanced up quickly, praying that she hadn’t seen..

She had.

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, her lips parting like she was about to ask if he was alright. Hoshi panicked. He spun on his heel and speed-walked back inside, slamming the door behind him.

Dino blinked at the now-closed door before turning to the staff members. "Uh… he's fine... I think.."

♡

Over the next few days, Hoshi became painfully aware of her presence. She wasn’t around all the time, but when she was, he turned into a full-on puppy-eager, flustered, and ridiculously obvious about his crush.

"Hyung, you're staring again," Joshua said, nudging him as they sat on the practice room floor.

"I'm not!" Hoshi hissed, even though he absolutely was.

She was across the room, checking something on her clipboard while chatting with another staff member. She looked so calm and professional, and here he was, sweating over her mere existence.

Jeonghan smirked. "You're wagging your tail."

Hoshi shot him a glare. "I do not have a tail."

"You might as well with how excited you get whenever she's near."

Hoshi groaned, dropping his head onto his knees. This was ridiculous. He was Kwon Soonyoung, SEVENTEEN’s performance leader, the energetic one, the confident one. Why was he turning into a shy mess every time she was in the same room?

♡

His crush only got worse when he actually interacted with her. One day, she was passing out water bottles after a long practice session. Hoshi was mid-conversation with Mingyu when she walked up, holding one out to him with a soft smile.

"Here, you looked like you needed this," she said.

Hoshi forgot how to speak.

He stared at the bottle. Then at her. Then back at the bottle.

"Hyung, take it," Mingyu muttered.

Hoshi finally snapped out of it, grabbing the bottle way too quickly. "Thank you!" he blurted out, his voice a little too enthusiastic. She laughed—a soft, amused sound that made his heart go haywire. "No problem," she said before moving on.

Hoshi turned to Mingyu, gripping his arm. "Mingyu-yah. Did you hear that? She laughed at something I said!"

Mingyu looked unimpressed. "She laughed because you were weird."

"Doesn't matter," Hoshi whispered, clutching the water bottle to his chest. "She laughed."

Mingyu sighed. "You're hopeless."

♡

The teasing only got worse when the other members caught on. One evening, Hoshi was lingering near the break room, psyching himself up to talk to her. "Be cool," he told himself under his breath. "Just go in, say hi, and act normal—"

The moment he stepped inside, she turned and smiled. "Oh, hey Hoshi!"

He froze.

His brain blanked.

"Uh-hi! Coffee!" he blurted out. "I mean...you’re drinking coffee. Nice. That’s… great."

She blinked. Then, to his horror, she giggled."Yeah," she said, looking amused. "Do you want some?"

"No!" Hoshi yelped, then immediately regretted it. "I mean, no, I just-I was gonna- um…"

She tilted her head, waiting. Hoshi took a deep breath. Okay, just say it.

"I was wondering if...maybe...you’d like to get coffee with me? Not like this coffee but like outside coffee. With me. Together. If you want."

A long pause.

Then, she smiled. "Are you asking me out?"

Hoshi swallowed. "Yes?"

She laughed, soft and genuine. "I’d love to."

Hoshi blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Really."

He barely managed to hold back a victorious cheer. Instead, he gave a very enthusiastic nod, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "Cool! Great! Uh, I’ll text you!" he said, practically vibrating with excitement.

As she walked away, Hoshi turned the corner and immediately collapsed against the wall. His heart was racing. His hands were shaking. His entire body felt like it was on fire.

And as he entered the practice room, he knew he was in for some good teasing by his members. And as embarrassing it will be, Hoshi didn’t even care. Because he had a date with her.

And that was all that mattered.

[sonicssweetheart]

do u do x reader fics / reqs ?

if so,,,, can u do prime characters x reader headcanons (none in specific js curious on your ideas!!)

sonic prime characters x gn!reader || platonic / romantic headcanons

ᝰ.ᐟ disclaimer: i’m simply sticking to the new yoke city + green hill universes since that would take a lot of time to write!

⊱ ─── [ 💌 ] ─── ⊰

— sonic ;

there’s no doubt that sonic needs you around at all times throughout the plot. any universe he goes, he wants you to go with, no excuses. however, this backfires because he never stops to think how something may be affecting you negatively and only thinks the opposite.

“i..i assumed you would want this too after seeing things the way i do.” (ref to THAT scene…)

that being said, sonic can be selfish at times, but of course he always has the best interest at heart. he simply needs to learn how to think before he acts.

he’s very playful and finds it hard to be serious when you need him to be so the most, all because he’s afraid of confrontation and constructive criticism. he can be a little stubborn when it comes to you trying to ease him out of denial, but when he finally lets go, you can tell how anxious he is.

is always reminding you how much you mean to him at random moments. it could be completely out of the blue, when you’re reading a book or doing laundry, he doesn’t see a restriction to remind you of your worth. you will never have to worry about not being enough for him.

— shadow ;

it takes ALOT for shadow to be direct about how he feels about you; it’s all about subtle things for him.

he will show up to your door with a gift and brush it off like it’s a daily thing and has no impact on your relationship, or completes a task for you that he deems as “not worthy enough for you to stress about.”

his compliments come off more as rude rather than genuine and polite. again, he can’t be too direct out of fear of embarrassment — so sugarcoating it with annoyance works for him.

“don’t wear that, what are you, ancient? that piece doesn’t give you any credit.”

“you’re undeniably fatuous. however, you’re not dull, i guess i’ll give you that.

secretly protective as well. he will sneakily follow you around or just keep an eye on you by a nearby tree whenever he has an instinct that something may go wrong. he unquestionably abuses the chaos emerald to get to wherever you are as fast as possible. if he were ever caught, a scoff and a “i’m ensuring you will not cause havoc by acting foolish.” is the most of an explanation you will get.

if you’re travelling the shatterverse, he is very precise in the rules you follow so you don’t get hurt or lost. he would blame it all on himself if that were the case.

— amy ;

in the green hill universe, she adores you like a bee loves a flower. she takes pride in being close with you, and i like to think she always her arm linked with yours. she’s comfortable enough to talk to animals around you, as it comforts her immensely. she loves when you do little things for her like tending to gardens around the terrain, making her little crafts and standing up for her over little disputes between her and whoever.

“you do so much for me, y/n, you are so… ugh, i don’t know! thank you, for everything.”

in the new yolk universe, rusty rose is indifferent about you depending on how you treat her. if you act as if you’re sorry for her and see her mechanical front as a disability, she will refrain from speaking to you. your best bet is to treat her as you would anyone else but still admire the small things about her that makes her her. she doesn’t want anything huge, like big favours or even small things that don’t matter to her, however she LOVES flowers, just like canon verse amy. when you finally confess how you feel about her and offer a rose, the poor girl is so confused, yet secretly beaming inside.

“…i do not comprehend what you are telling me. you… really? i do not believe i was programmed to reciprocate, but… i feel warmth. is that good?”

— rouge ;

in the green hill universe, she is infatuated by you, however she still makes you work for her friendship/love. she likes the reassurance that someone will fight for her, as for i believe she was wronged in her past. help her fight in battle, participate in her favourite activities, compliment her style; you will gain her trust and devotion quickly. rouge likes to tease, knowing that you feel something for her, whether it be just wanting her friendship or more.

“dear, you know if you want something, you can come get it, right? it’s upsetting seeing you so defeated. oh, what’s wrong? did i touch a nerve?~”

in the new yoke universe, she rests similar, however she is very devoted to the friends and acquaintances she already has. she isn’t looking to complicate her life anymore, and would rather look ahead then stay in place and relish in the moment. but, you can twist that fact by helping her out without getting in her way. she will begin to see your respect and appreciation, and might even reward it with a token of gratitude.

“i saw what you did back there. i gotta say, you’re.. something else. don’t, uh, be a stranger.”

— knuckles ; (new yoke —> no place. dread knuckles>>)

in the green hill universe, he’s pretty stern towards you at first, but grows protective fast. as much as he wouldn’t admit it, he shows off in front of you in hopes that you’re impressed by his manly attitude and confident demeanour, and holds pride for weeks on end when you acknowledge it. he’s the type to challenge you to different activities that test strength and skill, and whether you’re successful or not, all he admires is your willingness to try. he loves those who don’t care if they’re good or bad at something and does it anyway because they want to, not because they have to, which sort of makes him think of his younger self and soothes his self destructive behaviour over it.

“not bad, little one. best of five next time? …you’re tired? oh, don’t be indolent. we’re almost done.” (he wants to see you thrive sooo bad)

in the no place universe, he is very upfront. if he wants to hang around you, take you on a date, have a deep talk, or anything along those lines — he’ll let you know. this man knows he’s everyone’s dream to befriend and follow like a God, and he takes pride in that. he’s also very persuasive by convincing you to do things you would never do, whether it be something as simple as trying a new food or swan diving off of mount everest. you give him that rush he craves in life, especially since life can be plain out on the water, but you give him that spark whenever you comply to his challenges. sometimes late at night while you’re both coaxed in the mood on the dock, he’s sloshing whiskey in his tainted cup and muttering to himself you.

“err… without you, this ship’d be soulless for sure. ya’ bring a fire, a flame to this old lassie, and i’d be sure not even hell could melt the ice frozen upon its ol’ heart.

— tails ; [FAMILIAL/PLATONIC ONLY]

in the green hill universe, tails admires you. he looks up to you as his mentor similar to sonic and is always happy to help when you’re in need. since tails didn’t grow up with a parental figure, sometimes he catches himself imagining such with you, and he feels embarrassed. he isn’t used to relying on someone else to fix his problems, and usually he just plain doesn’t like it. but with you — you follow his boundaries perfectly which makes him feel immensely appreciated and seen, something he looks for in a friend. he’ll let you know once in awhile how he appreciates your kindness, but his insecurities slip through every time.

“you know you don’t have to do this, right? i know im a kid, but you don’t have to take care of me… you want to?” (he looks down at whatever he’s doing, where you can see the small smile creep on the corner of his mouth)

in the new yoke universe, he is very apathetic towards you at first. he sees you just as another sonic, trying to change him to be his opposite reality self, but when he’s met with acceptance and loyalty — he begins to change his mind. he would never say it out loud, but he has a small spark of hope that you could be a forever companion he wouldn’t have to worry about betraying it. his ways of showing how he cares differs from letting you watch/help him work, crafting you things you mentioned you needed, letting you ask questions about his past (which takes some time). however, the smallest inconvenience relating to your friendship towards him can trigger him such as mentioning going somewhere without him, wanting to hang out with someone else, or just seeming off throughout the day.

“did you just lie the whole time? is that was this is? a game? original, y/n. i can’t even look at you right now.”

but, of course, when the reassurance and gentle conversation follows quickly afterwards, he reverts to an embarrassed but now angry at himself front.

“… okay. just… you would tell me if you were a traitor, right? sometimes i’m stupid and can’t tell. sorry.”

[zepskies]

Lol YESSS I know you love a bit of angsty heartbreak. 😜 Thank you so much, friend! Can't wait to see what you thought of the penultimate chapter. 💖

Oh, Micheal is just such a lovely, lovely person, isn't he? 😒 In the words of Taylor Swift: Michael doesn't measure up in any measure of a man...

oh God yeah, perfect quote for this pos, honestly. 😣

Hahaha omfg I loved Sam so much during this chapter! He was awesome!!! Go Lawyer!Sam 😎🤎 (And I have no idea if you intended for my mind to jump to Changing Channels and French Mistake Sam with these lines, but it did, so THANK you 🤣🫶)

LMAO I'm deaddd - Sam in Changing Channels is exactly the cadence of all his lawyering/"agreeing" with Michael to keep him talking. It's very "play your role" for sure! And French Mistake Sam is the icing on the cake. 🤣🤣🤣

I do understand his struggle after the war, but it's literally NO excuse to treat his wife like shit, cheat on her, lie to her, spend her money for his trashy sidepiece, and God knows what else. You don't want an anchor? Fine. Get divorced. The fact he keeps her around and won't let her find her own happiness after she literally saved his life is so mind-boggingly selfish smh The least he could to show his gratitude is not be a gigantic cuntface 🤬

First of all, LOVE that you dug up that Freddie gif. Leave it to you to find the perfect one there. 🤣🤣

And yes ALLLL of this! Louder for the people in the back!!!

That's exactly how I hoped readers would react to Michael's scene. Is he pitiable in a sense? Sure. Does he inspire sympathy? Maybe. But it doesn't excuse his selfishness, especially when you contrast him with Dean and his experiences vs. his actions.

Ugh, God, poor thing! 😭💔 With all the romanticism of that period sadly also comes the shame of taboo topics (not to mention feminism in general taking a backseat lol) Really feel for her here! Wish she wouldn't blame herself as much. Her husband is a dirtbag 😔

Ooof yep, that's something I hoped would come across as well. I wanted the reader to be strong but realistic to the time period in that sense. But it shows how her moral character differs from her husband. 🙄 Even now, she feels guilty for betraying him, even if she also doesn't. It's more the principle of it that she feels shame for, if not the actual emotional act.

SCREAMING 😳😳😳 The whole flower shop scene was like watching a train wreck. Poor Dean! So many stingers in those few sentences!! 😩 (And man, I wanna choke Michael!!! Buying flowers? Dinner? Are you fucking kidding me??? WHAT THE F–???)

Ughhhh God ikr? Poor Dean, indeed!! 😭😭 What's ironic is Michael doesn't know that that's almost exactly what Dean did to cheer her up the night before. So now, even Dean might be looking at his own actions as "not enough." But Michael has every shade of audacity, doesn't he? 😤

But did you stop the angst there? Nope! The reader part of me hated you, while the writer part highly commended you 😂💜

*snorts* honestly thank you - this compliment feeds me so much. 😂💕💕

I already knew it wouldn't be fast, but I knew this was going to be a problem. Where would she stay during this? Michael certainly won't have it, and I really fear for her safety here 🥺 (Reading the teaser for the last part, I think I have good reason to, even though I know you said once earlier I didn't need to. Still, you got me shaking here, girl 😅) Surprised Sam wouldn't think about that, considering everything he found out about the guy so far 👀

Ooh yes, these are all good questions! Her safety and where she'll stay is definitely a factor coming into play in Part 5. After what Sam has found out, he's going to make sure she's looked out for, for sure! 💜💜

This was such a dreamy, swoon-worthy movie scene *sighs* 😍🫠 And then they had to start talking, didn't they? Specifically Dean. The infamous DW self-loathing enters the AU 😆 I really just wanted to cover his piehole and tell him to stop talking, kiss her for real, and take her with you. Hide out in Kansas till everything blows over 😭

Ugh right?? Things started out so nice, why tf did Dean have to open his mouth? lmaoo

"I'm no good for you"!Dean has entered the chat. 😒 But no DW love story would be complete without a little self-loathing, right? 🙃

LOL love that image of literally covering his piehole.~

But I know it hurts, my lovely. I'm so sorry to do this to you. 🥲🤭

And I'm so glad the brothers had a long overdue chat as well! I still feel so incredibly heartbroken for Dean 😭

Oh yeah, Sam and Dean needed to have that moment - for Sam to see how much he was hurting big bro, and for Dean to get that off his chest. Ultimately though, if these guys can survive three years of the war apart, they can survive learning how to be brothers again too. 💜

I can't wait for the last part of this & how it all will tie together in the end! Eeeek! This is so, so, so incredibly good, friend!!! 😍😍😍 (And I get to read it on Patreon tonight too hehe 🩵)

Aww I love you so much for wanting to join my Patreon, friend!! I can't wait to see what you think of how it all shakes out--with much drama of course. you know me lmao 😘💖💖

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 4

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Now we get into the aftermath of the night before, with all the insecurity and heartbreak to go along with it. 💙

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “Danke Shoen” by Wayne Newton

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of cheating, angsty angst, trauma/PTSD, and a cliffhanger…

✨ Series Masterlist

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

Part 4: Complicit

Sam would give Michael one thing. The guy damn well knew how to drink.

He didn’t stop all night, throwing back whiskey like it was cheap beer. His words began to slur, his movements sloppy, but he was still coherent. When he got up to visit the men’s restroom, Sam got up as well. Maybe he could get Michael talking.

Sam stopped the other man from tripping into the urinal. The two laughed it off, with Michael thanking him before he unzipped to finish his business. Sam did the same.

After washing their hands, Sam looked over and noticed Michael’s gaze lingering on his own reflection in the mirror. It was becoming a rough sight—his blonde hair no longer neatly coiffed, purplish rings under his eyes, the stench of alcohol clinging to his skin and clothing.

“You all right there, Milligan?” Sam asked.

Michael ran a hand over his face, sighing when it didn’t get any better.

“Fine,” he replied. “So, Winchester. What did you say you do for work again? Something about your own business?”

Sam nodded. “I started up a law firm.”

That much, he had to be honest about. It was all too easy for someone to look up his name in the directory.

“Sounds like a good outfit,” Michael said, with an incline of his head. “Every lawyer I know wears a Rolex.”

Sam chuckled, glancing down at his father’s watch. “Well, I’m not quite there yet.”

“Someday soon, I’m sure,” said Michael. He bumped Sam conspiringly on the shoulder.

“And you?” Sam asked. “What’s keeping the lights on at your place?”

Michael raised a hand to sort through his unruly hair, a dirtier blonde in this unflattering light.

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing during the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly smiled and nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

Michael made a low sound of approval. He became more contemplative, crossing his arms as he once again glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Sam’s gaze on the other man was perceptive, gaining ever closer to what seemed to be eating at the very core of him. Whether Sam actually believed what he was saying or not, each of his words was a test, a subtle nudge.

“You know,” Michael said. “I was shot down in France.”

Sam sobered further. Leaning against the counter, he retrieved two cigarettes and a lighter. He didn’t often smoke, but he thought it might keep the other man talking. He handed one over to Michael, and he took it gratefully. They lit up together and coiled musky tobacco smoke into the air.

“Where?” Sam asked.

Michael snorted, huffing a bit of smoke. “Lord knows. But when I woke up, I had stitches from here to here.”

He gestured to the back of his head, all the way to above his brow. It explained a small, but noticeable scar near his temple.

“And I had an angel standing over me,” he added, his eyes growing heavy. Guilty. “A bona fide angel. She’d stitched me up, she told me. She also told me I was lucky to be alive. The doc wanted to toe tag me and be done with it, but she thought I still had some fight left in me.”

Michael shook his head. “The next chance I got, I married her.”

Sam’s brows rose. He knew you had been a nurse, but he hadn’t known this part of your story.

“A wartime romance, huh?” he said. Michael quirked a smile.

“She was my anchor,” he said. “After it was all said and done, she followed me here, held my feet down to the ground. Sometimes she had to hammer me down, ya know.”

He hesitated, his eyes somewhat glazing over. He stared over Sam’s shoulder at something only he could see.

“But sometimes…sometimes an anchor just feels suffocating,” he said. “Sometimes, you need to forget your own damn name. Forget that your entire life and mortgage is in a warehouse that might as well be a freezer full a’ dead cow meat. And still, it smells a hell of a lot better than lying on a dirty cot—where the last guy who had your spot probably got his leg sawed off.” 

Michael considers the cigarette in his hand for a long while before he takes another puff.

Sam exhales smoke as well. He spent the last three years behind a desk, but he sees the same shaken core in Michael Milligan that he too often sees in his older brother.

“You know, Winchester, there’s two kinds of men,” Michael said, just a hint of a slur in his voice. “The ones who pray to live…and the ones who beg for it to be over.”

“And what kind of man are you now?” Sam asked. His tone was loose, but his gaze was sharp.

Michael snorted. He dabbed the butt of his cigarette on the inside of the sink before he threw it away.

“I’m the guy who can’t die,” he muttered.

He rolled his shoulders, as if to let the weight of his words and everything that came along with them to roll off his back. Then he pushed his way out of the bathroom, leaving Sam considering more than just half a cigarette.

That night after Dean left, you slept in the guest room instead of your bed. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sleep next to Michael when he stumbled in at four in the morning, especially now that you had seen his game with your own eyes. 

However, you also felt complicit yourself the next morning. You felt…ashamed. You took your vows seriously. You had never in your life thought you would be someone so brazen. You never thought you would dishonor your husband as well as yourself.

And yet. All while you got ready for work, hearing Michael’s snores from the other room, your mind was filled with warmth and memory—of Dean. His smile, his voice, his eyes, his lips, and of course, his hands. You couldn’t decide which of them was your favorite, but his hands were high on the list. 

You shouldn’t have let him in, you reminded yourself. You nibbled on your lower lip while you prepped the coffee maker. You should have told him goodnight at the door and saw him off. You should very well not have invited him up to the apartment, let alone drank with him, or let him touch you…

You paused while the sound of percolation and the smell of fresh coffee filled the kitchen. You looked up at yourself in the small mirror that hung on the wall. The woman looking back at you was conflicted at best.

Yes, you felt guilty. But at the same time, you didn’t. Was it really betraying your marriage if your husband had been doing far worse, and for God knew how long?

No. This wasn’t a marriage. This was a sham. A mockery of the very thing.

You frowned angrily and almost slammed the carafe on the counter when the coffee was done. Forcing yourself to take a few steadying breaths, you allowed that hate and anger to slowly drain out of you, and you smiled.

You marveled that you could smile at all, but it was only thanks to Dean Winchester.

What the hell am I doing?

Dean stared at the two bouquets of flowers. One was a bound bunch of red roses, the other was wildflowers and other colorful ones he didn’t know the names of. He was having a hard time deciding, namely because he didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked.

Because after all, he barely knew you.

He sighed down at the roses. They were pretty, but expensive. He could imagine your surprise, followed by your smile—the one that actually lit up your eyes and changed your whole face, made you sweeter, almost shy.

I’m buying flowers for a married woman.

The thought managed to make him pause, with a rough exhale of breath. The truth was, he’d crossed the line with you. More than once.

The hard part about it was, he didn’t really care. He did wonder if you cared.

He wondered if you’d be embarrassed to see him again. He wondered if you wanted to keep last night a memory, and nothing more. He wondered if he was better off booking his train home now, and leaving some kind of note for you with Sam. Dean didn’t think he wanted to see that look of mortification on your face, the whiskey finally cleared from your mind to see what he really was: a man with no job, no commitments, and very little prospects on the horizon.

“Ah, ‘scuse me,” a young man said from Dean’s left side.

“Oh, sorry,” Dean said, making way for the guy. He wasn’t quite as tall as Dean, lithe, blonde, and blue-eyed. He grabbed an arrangement of blue and yellow iris flowers from the case and took it up to the front. The florist seemed to recognize him.

“Oh, Michael! Been a while since I’ve seen you,” he said.

When the florist asked about you as well, the mention of your name rang between Dean’s ears. A feeling like inky claws raked through his chest; he raised his head from the roses and finally recognized Michael Milligan. He was the same man Dean had spotted in your wedding pictures hanging on the wall last night, right in the foyer.

“She’s all right,” Michael chuckled. “Truth be told, I’ve been working late this week. Hoping to surprise her tonight, take her out to dinner. Somewhere nice, you know.” 

“Oh, really? Why don’t you take her to that nice steakhouse off of Broadway…” the florist twittered on as he continued to ring up Michael’s order.

Anger and disgust prickled under Dean’s skin, his fists clenched at his sides. More than anything, he wanted to turn around and lay your husband out flat. If he thought one little bouquet and a Salisbury steak was going to wash him clean, then he was an idiot as well as a selfish bastard.

But Dean knew, deep down, that Michael would be just as justified to throw a swing right back at him.

So Dean left the flowers, the flower shop, and the entire busy street and all its blaring sounds behind.

During your lunch break, you quickly made the trek over to Sam’s office. He’d called you this morning with a story that only confirmed everything you’d inherently felt, and yet, some of it still managed to shock you. 

You didn’t even have the patience to wait until after work, but when you got there, he reassured you. It had taken him a few rounds of poker and discreetly following Michael and Dolores after they exited through the back of the club…but Sam had gotten the evidence not long after. They weren’t exactly discreet in the alley. Or in the nearby motel.

You had the envelope in hand filled with the pictures he’d developed from his camera.  

“You don’t have to look,” he advised. “I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“No, I want to see it,” you said. You took the pictures out, and your expression didn’t change as you look through them all. Each position captured was more compromising than the next between Michael and Dolores Daye. Apparently, he was paying most of her bills as well with your combined household funds. So part of your own money was financing his exploits.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. He was sincere, with those hazel eyes of his.

You nodded and gave him back the envelope. “What’s next?”

“I went ahead and filed the petition. I’ll take this right to the clerk’s office myself.”

“How long will it take to be over?”

“As long as Michael plays along, should be quick. A few months at most, after he’s served the divorce papers and signs them,” Sam assured.

A few months? That wasn’t quick enough in your book, but you agreed with a nod. You got up from the chair opposite his desk. You hesitated there.

“Oh, I meant to ask…how’s your brother?” you said.

Sam began to smile, but he tempered it. “He just called before you came in. He let me know he was stepping out for a walk.”

“Oh, really? Did he happen to say where?”

You not only found Dean in Central Park, but close to the very same bench you two had sat on yesterday and talked the night away. He was surprised, but he smiled when he saw you. Your pace quickened, until you were hastening over to him. He welcomed you into his arms. He bent his head towards yours, stopping just shy of kissing you. Instead, he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment.

“Well, look who’s here?” he teased. “How’d you find me?”

“I stopped by Sam’s office,” you said, holding onto the lapels of his coat. A cold November wind pushed at you both, ruffling your clothes. “The paperwork is on its way. Soon enough, I won’t be a married woman anymore.”

He tucked a wild strand of hair behind your ear and smiled, but it didn’t altogether reach his eyes.

“How soon is soon?” he asked.

“A few months, according to your brother.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath. “That’s good…but, I need to head home for a little while.”

That made you pause, tilting your head in confusion. Though you supposed it made sense. He was only here visiting his brother. He was planning on going home eventually.

But surely, that was before we… You lowered your gaze.

“Back to Lawrence?” you asked. Again, he nodded.

“I need to take care of some things, figure out my next move,” he said.

You pulled away from him to brace yourself, and not just against the cold. “Well, when will you be back?” 

He stayed quiet, worrying you even more. There was a deep pit forming in your stomach, churning with unease.  

“Dean?” you prodded.

He stepped back in to grasp your arms gently.

“Sweetheart…the truth is, I don’t have much to offer you,” he said. “I don’t have a business to inherit from my folks. I don’t even have a job. I’m a man who was about as useful as a jackhammer, until the war ended.”

You frowned, resting a hand against his chest. “Dean Winchester, that’s not all there is to you.”

“Really. When did you figure that one out, in the whole week you’ve known me?” he asked. It was harsher than he meant to be, but he couldn’t help the words that were spilling out of his mouth. “Didn’t that get you in trouble the first time? I’d a thought you would’ve learned your lesson by now.”

You snatched your hand back, hurt filling your eyes. You turned to walk away before he saw your tears. You should have known. You should have known a man like him would never be serious. Not about you. 

As soon as he let the words go, Dean realized what he was doing. Yeah, he was frustrated, but it wasn’t aimed at you. It couldn’t be aimed at you.

God knew he didn’t want to hurt you, or for you to hate him. He really couldn’t stomach either thought, so he relented and reached out to grab at your hand, before you could get too far. 

“Wait,” he said, managing to pull you back to him. “I’m sorry.”

You tugged your hand to try and free yourself from his grasp. 

“You know what, maybe you’re right,” you said, your voice wobbling with anger, dismay, and tears. “Maybe I ought to stop letting a man get even an inch into my heart. At this point, it’s my own fault.”

“Stop,” Dean demanded. “No, it’s not.” 

He pulled you back into him, but you looked away from his imploring gaze. Your breaths grew shallow while you tried in vain to stop yourself from crying. It damn well broke his heart.

“It’s not your fault. I’m just an idiot,” He cupped your cheeks and wiped your tears as they fell. “But you…you deserve to be happy. With a man that can take care of you, protect you. A man who has a little more of his life figured out.”

“You’re just saying that so you have an excuse for toying with me. So you can keep chasing skirts,” you said, pushing at his chest. “Yes, your brother told me about all your little exploits.”

Dean took the blow, both proverbial and physical, with a raise of his brows. He guessed he couldn’t blame you for that one. Still, the disdain behind your words stung. He allowed you to break free of him.

You stepped back and straightened your clothes. You took in a deep breath that did nothing to calm you, and you uttered a humorless laugh.

“I suppose it makes sense. Why would you want anything to do with me?” You gestured down at yourself with a dismissive hand. “A-a walking mess. Even when I am divorced, that’s how people will see me. Damaged goods. I don’t even know how I’m gonna tell my parents.”

You covered your face against Dean and the rest of the world, and after weeks and months, you finally allowed yourself the one thing you hadn’t since your first inkling that your husband was being unfaithful. You finally allowed yourself to break.

The first sob shuddered through your body, followed by hot tears. You squeezed your eyes against them and wiped at your face in vain.

Dean broke too, in his own way. He gathered you into his arms, where he shushed you gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I wasn’t giving you an excuse,” he said.

Despite how much you wanted to push him away, the deep, steady timbre of his voice pierced you and soothed you at the same time.

“I meant every word I said. I may not be the right guy for you, but don’t you dare take a scrap of what anyone else might say, you hear me?” he said firmly. “You’re beautiful. You don’t suffer fools like me, and you’re better than that sad sack excuse of a man deserves.”

You looked up at him with watery eyes.

“You’re a lot of things, Dean Winchester, but you’re not a fool.”

He shook his head, not wanting to argue with you anymore. He just kissed you, deeply, thoroughly, the way you always imagined a kiss should be.

Except that you realized…this was goodbye. So you took advantage of every second of it.

You met him with as much as he gave and reached up to touch his cheek. It felt a little rough under your fingers, just like you remembered. You would probably always remember that feeling, long after you left the park.

That evening, you packed as many bags as you could. You put together the savings you’d been collecting for a few months. It had been at your coworker Jess’s advice, ever since you started feeling the inkling that something wasn’t right in your marriage.

After you were all packed, you took one last, long look at the space you had tried to make your home. With one last tear trailing your cheek, you stepped out of the apartment. You took the bus uptown, where you later checked into a hotel. 

When your husband finally got home from work, he would find a one-page letter written in your own hand. 

For once, Sam was actually home in his apartment. He was helping Dean take his suitcase to the front door after calling a taxi to come shortly. Sam wasn’t happy about it though.

“You don’t have to go so soon, Dean,” said Sam.

Dean gave a humorless laugh. He grabbed his coat from the rack and threw it on.

“I’ve gotta get back to the house. It’s already been empty too long,” he said. Three years too long. “Fact is, I’m just getting in your way here.”

He couldn’t quite meet Sam’s eyes as he went to the door, but Sam stopped him with a pressing hand on his arm, tugging him back.

“Hey,” Sam said, his brows furrowed. “That’s not true. Where’d you get that idea?”

Dean raised his brows. “You mean the way you’ve haven’t been home more than a few hours a night? The way the only time I see you is if I go find you at that office. You should open up a Bed n’ Breakfast there. You’d make a double killing in this town.”

Sam wilted. “Dean, we opened the firm barely a month ago. I’m just trying to—”

Dean laid a hand on his shoulder, relenting.

“Hey, look. I’m not judging you, Sammy. I’m not,” he said. “You’re building something. I know that. I just need to go figure out how to do the same, whatever that means for me.”

Sam stared back at him, still with that frown. His guilt and reluctance to see Dean go was reflected in his eyes; those sad puppy dog eyes that used to get him out of almost any punishment with their parents when the boys were young. Before.

The corner of Dean’s mouth kicked up into a smirk.

“Don’t worry. I’ll see you again soon,” he said.

“How soon is soon?” Sam asked. It was something their mother used to say to John whenever he called late, promising he’d come home after long days in town buying supplies for the farm.

“The divorce papers will be served to Michael Milligan,” Sam added, pointedly raising his brows. “She…could use your support.”

Dean’s smile faded at the mention of you. His hand slipped from Sam’s shoulder.

“She’s got a strong head on her shoulders. She’ll be all right,” he said. He heard the honk of the taxi outside. He grabbed up his hat, set it on his head, and took up his bags. He turned back to Sam at the last moment. “I’m sure you’ll look out for her.”

It was somehow both a question, and an imploring charge. Sam sighed, but he nodded in agreement. His brother could be so very stubborn. Once he got an idea of what he thought he needed to do, there was almost no talking him out of it.

Sam opened the door for him and walked him out to the car, helping him with his bags. Before Dean could get into the cab, Sam stopped him. Their gazes met, but in that moment, no words were needed.

They pulled one another into a firm hug.

I’m sorry. I should’ve been there more for you.

Don’t worry about it. It’s already forgotten.

Dean released him first with a smile, and a heavy pat of Sam’s shoulder. He turned and climbed into the cab’s backseat. Afterwards, Sam watched the yellow cab take his brother away to the train station, feeling a weight in his heart that wouldn’t subside.

He would never know that Dean felt exactly the same way. Except that impossible weight felt a lot like your hand, gently laid over his heart.

Dean took up his suitcase as the train pulled into the station. He stepped up onto the platform and retrieved the ticket from his pocket, but he paused, hearing a familiar voice shouting his name.

He turned his head and saw Sam rushing to meet him at the platform.

“What’s the matter? What’re you doing here?” Dean asked in surprise. He didn’t like the wary apprehension written across Sam’s face.

“I just took a closer look at Milligan’s finances,” he said. “Before you go, there’s something you might want to know.”

AN: Come on, we needed at least one cliffhanger in this series! 😘 What do you think Sam rushed over to tell Dean? What did you think about their "goodbye," as well as her and Dean's goodbye? ...And are you ready for all the drama that's about to go down? lol 

Next Time:

Except the loud, insistent knock on the door broke you out of your thoughts. Straightening up with a frown, you set down your glass and went over to the door. Maybe it was Housekeeping coming up to bring you the fresh towels you asked for. The ones that had been laid out in the bathroom smelled musty.

You opened the door to a tall frame taking up room in the doorway. It was Michael, standing there both disheveled and steaming mad. He held your letter crumpled in his left hand. 

“Michael, what—what’re you doing here?” you gasped and stepped back. He followed you inside the room and slammed it shut. He looked around at your open suitcases in disbelief, then finally at you.

“What’s this supposed to mean, huh?” he demanded to know. He shook the flimsy piece of paper at you.

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