#so they can reconcile and we can get more fluff

[fushitoru]

chapter 4: the game a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary: satoru has some revelations about you. both you and satoru share some quite...happening days at the manor, including an eventful game of pall mall. (4.9k)

prev. the manor | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n WARNING this chapter is suggestive. like always minors dni. not edited at all bc im sick of this chapter lol (like always i fear). see u at the bottom ;)

Dearest reader, 

It has come to the attention of This Author that Miss Itadori, the undeniable diamond of the season, has made her appearance at Gojo Manor a full week ahead of the rest of the ton. Such early arrival can only provoke speculation: might the tender buds of affection be blossoming in the Kentish countryside? Shall we soon witness Miss Itadori departing with more than just fond memories, perhaps even a ring upon her finger? These are the very questions now fluttering through the minds of young ladies and their ever-watchful mamas, who may find their carefully laid plans to ensnare Lord Gojo dashed before the house party has even begun.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Gojo leaned back in his chair, fingers absentmindedly drumming on the armrest as he watched you fumble with the library door. The soft fabric of your nightgown slipped off your shoulder, a glimpse of bare skin catching in the dim light⸺something not lost to Gojo’s eyes as he watched your figure disappear angrily. Your face was flushed, eyes wide and uncertain. Despite the flurry of emotions playing across your features, what struck him most was the way your hands trembled as you fought to maintain composure.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. You had come here⸺of all places⸺into his sanctuary, and for what? A part of him couldn’t reconcile the image of you sneaking into the library in the dead of night with the proper, composed lady you portrayed during the day. The whole encounter felt surreal, leaving a knot of confusion coiled tightly in his chest.

His gaze lingered on the empty doorway after you vanished, a strange hollowness settling in his chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the feeling, but it clung to him like the shadows of the room. His fingers tightened around the armrest, knuckles whitening as if he could grasp onto something concrete⸺something that made sense. But all he was left with was the lingering echo of your footsteps in the hallway and the ghost of your flushed face in his mind.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. His mind kept returning to the way your nightgown had slipped from your shoulder as you fumbled with the door. The pale fabric had slid down so effortlessly, exposing the curve of your bare skin. It wasn’t scandalous, not really⸺not enough to warrant the way his thoughts kept circling back to it. And yet, he couldn’t shake the image, the unexpected flash of vulnerability. The sight of it stirred something in him, a quiet confusion that unsettled his usual composure.

What was it that made him notice? Gojo’s brow furrowed as he considered it, his fingers absently drumming on the armrest of his chair. He had witnessed plenty of women in far less modest circumstances (most of them courtesy of his friends, who forced him to go to ridiculous events), and yet, this felt different. There was something about the way you had tried to maintain your dignity, the way you had fought to compose yourself even as your face flushed and your nightgown betrayed you. It was... distracting.

The memory of your fearful expression gnawed at him. He had expected haughty arrogance or calculated charm, not genuine fear. You weren’t like the people who usually surrounded him, playing their part in society's grand performance, all vying for his attention. There was an intelligence in your eyes, a spark that made him feel something unsettlingly close to admiration.

He couldn’t make sense of it. Why did it matter that you were different? Why did he find himself enjoying your company, despite the fact that you seemed entirely uninterested in his? He drummed his fingers against the armrest, contemplating the possibility of pursuing you for the rest of the season⸺though he quickly dismissed the thought. You were uncooperative, difficult. A chase after you would be nothing short of exhausting. 

And yet...

His attention shifted back to the desk, to the scattered papers you had left behind. Gojo reached for them, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the parchment as though handling something fragile. The numbers and diagrams were a mess of scribbled notes, and yet, they held a strange familiarity. His brow furrowed as he traced the lines with his eyes, piecing together the fragmented calculations. Then, like a puzzle falling into place, it clicked.

Venus. Of all things, you had been calculating the size of Venus.

Gojo’s hand froze midair, hovering over the papers. He blinked, his breath catching in his throat. He had assumed⸺no, expected⸺you to be reading some frivolous romance, a book about love and passion, something fitting for a young lady sneaking into a library. But instead, you were working on complex celestial calculations.

He had pegged you for a typical young lady of the ton⸺someone more interested in the latest gossip or the affections of suitors than in the stars. It annoyed him, more than he cared to admit, that he had been wrong.

Gojo set the paper down, his hand resting on the edge of the desk as he leaned back in his chair. The flicker of irritation that sparked in his chest was unfamiliar, unsettling even. It wasn’t just that you had surprised him⸺plenty of people had done that before. No, it was the fact that he had misjudged you so completely. He prided himself on being perceptive, on seeing through people’s masks with ease. Yet here you were, slipping past his assumptions with nothing more than a few scribbled notes and a fleeting presence.

His gaze dropped to the floor, and for the first time in a long while, he felt uncertain. Gojo wasn’t used to feeling this way⸺unsettled, annoyed, and a little too curious for his own good. He tapped the papers lightly, lost in thought. What did it mean that you had gotten under his skin like this? That he found himself wanting to unravel the mystery of you, to see what lay beneath the surface of your carefully constructed facade?

A sigh escaped his lips, low and quiet. His hand finally left the papers, and he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers he couldn’t quite grasp. The world around him was filled with people who either fawned over his charms or remained blissfully unaware of his true nature. But you? You saw right through him. You challenged him, unsettled him, made him question things he had never thought to question before.

With a final glance at the empty doorway, Satoru leaned forward again, ready to dive back into his work. But this time, his thoughts weren’t solely on his family’s ledgers. They were on you⸺and the undeniable pull that had started to form between you.

And inevitably, because Satoru is distracted, he lets the lull of sleep sneak up on him, swathing him in its deep, heavy blanket.

No, Satoru hears himself think. You’re not supposed to be here.

You’re sitting on his bed, somehow made it up to his chambers. A part of Satoru comprehends⸺in all his sleep-deprived glory⸺that he is definitely dreaming, but there’s an overwhelmingly stubborn part of him that dominates his entire consciousness, refusing to accept the fact. 

You’re leaning on your elbow, resting on your side on the foot of his bed. Part of him wants to believe that you are really here, sheer nightgown that seems to get shorter and shorter⸺slipping up your thighs⸺every time his consciousness paints an image of you. The sheer material drapes over your figure, accentuating the gentle curve of your waist and the fullness of your hips, painting a picture that torments him.

“My lord,” you whisper. 

It’s just his title, but your voice carries a sweetness it never holds in reality, dripping with an unfamiliar softness that makes Satoru’s heart lurch. Panic takes root, and he scrambles back, trying to distance himself from the fantasy in front of him. His back slams against the headboard as he fights to resist⸺not just you, but the part of himself that aches to abandon all notions of honor. That part of him that craves to do things to you that are anything but honorable.

Then, he notices your smile. It’s not the polite, practiced smile you show at balls or to suitors vying for your attention. This one is sincere, warm⸺a smile that speaks of affection, the kind you’ve never shown him before.

Like you are in love. 

And you are not helping Satoru in his restraint because you position yourself, crawling like a predator, straddling his lap. Satoru is suddenly breathing too fast, his chest tightening with the weight of desire and disbelief.

Your lips are at his ear. Your lips are so soft. “Touch me,” you say, trailing your lips down feather light across his jaw. 

Right now, you are in love. With him. You are his, and Satoru desperately does not want to fight it. 

He does not want to. 

Your hands start trailing down his torso, and now he registers that he is simply wearing a linen shirt and underwear because you are tracing the edge of his underwear, touching his inner thighs, getting so, so impossibly close to⸺

“No,” he rasps, squeezing his eyes shut. “I am a man of honor.”

But that’s a lie. One that Satoru clings to, because admitting the truth would shatter everything he’s built. His identity, his values⸺they all rest on the lie he’s desperately trying to hold onto.

What he really wants is nothing between you and him.

He wants that flimsy nightgown gone, the one that barely covers your thighs and what lies between them. He wants to keep the candlelight burning so he can see every inch of you, learn every detail of your body. He wants to slip off your chemise and explore the softness of your skin, trace the swell of your breasts, the dip of your hips, and taste the sweetness of your lips.

Satoru can’t focus on anything except the fact you are utterly, scandalously close to him, sitting on his lap and staring at him as if you love him. 

And his treacherous heart wants to abandon duty, honor, the dukedom, the royal family⸺everything⸺and simply take you. To feel the weight of you pressed against him, wrapped around him.

But just as his hands move to cup your face, you start giggling. “No, you are not.”

Satoru blinks, confused.

You laugh again, light and teasing. “You are no man of honor.”

And suddenly, your laughter echoes in his mind, filling the room with its taunting melody. It etches itself into his thoughts, leaving an indelible mark.

“You are a coward.”

You entered the drawing room to break your fast, Choso by your side, and immediately locked eyes with Gojo, who was already seated at the table with his mother. He quickly looked away, focusing on the toast he was slathering with an ungodly amount of jam.

As you moved to sit at the table with Choso, you couldn't help but study him. Gojo appeared more disheveled than usual, perhaps a bit fatigued, though any sign of vulnerability quickly vanished when your mother spoke.

“Lord Gojo, it is a fine morning, is it not?” she inquired with her usual warmth.

Gojo smiled, leaning back in his chair with his characteristic nonchalance. “Indeed, Lady Itadori, especially as I am blessed with such lovely company as yourself and your daughter.” His eyes flickered toward you, an arrogant glint in them before they shifted back to your mother.

You and Choso exchanged exasperated glances. 

Your mother chuckled, clearly charmed. “Oh, my lord, you flatter me. Tell me, what do you favor for breakfast? I am always curious to hear of others' preferences.”

“Clearly, it is toast drowned in enough jam to satisfy an army,” you muttered under your breath, delicately spreading butter onto your own toast.

Gojo’s eyes flashed, and he couldn’t resist a retort. “At least I do not indulge in something as dull as butter.”

You stiffened. “Butter is far superior to such overwhelming sweetness. Jam annihilates the taste of the toast itself, rendering it pointless.”

“And butter,” he shot back, “adds nothing but blandness. It is unremarkable, simple, and tasteless.”

A surge of heat rose to your face, ready to deliver another sharp remark, but before you could respond, Duchess Gojo’s lilting laughter filled the room. “Oh, my dears, what a lively couple you make!” Her tone was teasing, her eyes alight with amusement. “Such spirited conversation at breakfast⸺how delightful!”

Both you and Gojo stiffened, your faces flushing, though whether it was from irritation or something else entirely, you couldn’t say. You hastily turned your attention back to your toast, while Gojo busied himself with his tea.

Duchess Gojo clapped her hands together lightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Since we are all in such a lively mood this morning, I do believe a game of pall-mall is in order once breakfast is through. The garden is in full bloom, and the weather is perfect for it.”

Your mother smiled graciously. “A wonderful idea, Duchess. It has been some time since we last enjoyed a game.”

“Indeed,” the Duchess agreed. “And I daresay a little friendly competition will do us all good. What do you say, Lord Gojo?” She turned to her son with a knowing look. “I trust you are up for the challenge?”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “I never shy away from a challenge, Mother. But do be warned, I have no intention of losing.”

“Confidence is a virtue,” you remarked dryly, reaching for your teacup, “but do not let it cloud your judgment. Pall-mall requires more than mere bravado.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Ah, a challenge from you as well. This shall be an interesting morning indeed.”

“Let us hope your skills in the garden match your flair for words, my lord,” you retorted, your tone light (for the sake of preventing your mother a heart attack) but your gaze to Gojo sharp. 

Duchess Gojo’s laughter rang out once more, her eyes gleaming with delight. “Oh, this will be most entertaining! Come now, let us finish our breakfast, and then we shall see who emerges victorious on the field.”

You took a sip of your tea, pointedly ignoring the way Gojo’s gaze lingered on you as you did so. The day had barely begun, and already, you felt the familiar tension of being in his presence. But if there was one thing you knew, it was that you wouldn’t back down from a challenge⸺whether at the breakfast table or in the garden.

Duchess Gojo clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Now, we must let our diamond choose first. After all, she is the only lady participating today.”

You smiled warmly at her, a polite nod of appreciation. Gojo, however, frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced between you and the bag of mallets. “Are we not simply setting her up for victory?”

Turning to him with an innocent smile, you crossed your arms. “What’s that, my lord? Are you unable, as a man, to deal with the loss of your chosen mallet? I know some men depend heavily on certain familiars to win.”

Gojo held your gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a dismissive shrug, he looked away. “Choose whatever you want. I will be sure to defeat you regardless.”

Duchess Gojo placed a warm hand on your back, encouraging you forward. “That’s the spirit, my son. Now, Miss Itadori, do choose which one you fancy.”

You approached the bag of mallets, your eyes scanning over the selection. They varied in subtle shapes and sizes, each one seemingly tailored for a different style of play. Your gaze settled on a mallet slightly larger than the others, painted a light blue shade. Its weight and shape seemed particularly advantageous for aim and control—perfect for directing the ball with precision.

As you picked it up, Gojo’s expression darkened, a hint of irritation flickering in his eyes. “Of course, she chooses the best one,” he muttered under his breath.

“Well,” Duchess Gojo crossed her arms. “I suppose it’s only fair that you all let the lady go first.” She turned to you, nodding. “I will go join your mother for tea inside, my dear.” Winking, she adds, “Show these boys how real ladies do it.”

As the duchess took her leave, Choso, always the supportive brother, leaned over to you with a small smile. “Excellent choice, sister. Show them how it’s done.”

You gave him a grateful nod and positioned yourself for your turn. With a graceful swing, you sent the ball rolling smoothly across the lawn. Choso clapped in approval, but when you looked up, Gojo and Yuji were both glowering at you from the sidelines.

Gojo’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly not amused by your success. “Beginner’s luck,” he commented dryly. Yuji could only nod in mindless agreement to Gojo, and you graced him with a glower. Traitor.

Now it was Gojo’s turn. He stepped forward with confident ease, positioning himself with the mallet as though he had been doing this his entire life. With a swift, practiced swing, his ball shot forward and struck a target dead center. Yuji’s eyes sparkled with admiration, practically beaming at Gojo’s skill.

Choso and you exchanged petulant glances, unimpressed by Gojo’s display. But Yuji’s excitement only grew, and he couldn’t resist praising his mentor. “Incredible, my lord! You never miss!”

Choso’s turn came next. With a focused look, he lined up his shot and knocked Gojo’s ball right out of position, sending it tumbling off course into a forested area. Gojo let out a forced laugh, masking his irritation as best as he could, and you clapped and let out a small, petty giggle. “Good shot, brother! I fear Lord Gojo will have to travel much distance to retrieve and get it on course.”

You would come to bite your words.

When it was Yuji’s turn, he aimed with all his might and sent your ball flying out of position. You gasped in outrage, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Oh, you will pay for this.”. 

Gojo, on the other hand, gave Yuji a hearty pat on the back, beaming with pride. “Well done, Yuji. Well done.”

It was now your turn, and you stomped your way towards the forested area where you and Gojo’s balls had traveled towards. Soon enough, Gojo was following after you.

The path was shaded by trees, and the coolness of the forest was a welcome relief from the heat of the sun. You could help but give each other glares until you finally broke the silence.

 “How dare you bewitch my brother into turning against me?” you accused him, stepping over a stray root.

Gojo rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips. “It appears that Yuji’s blood is indeed not thicker than water,” 

 “Or maybe⸺just maybe⸺your charm isn’t as infallible as you think.”

Keeping pace beside you, Gojo scoffed. “And yet, here you are, still engaged in conversation with me. I must be doing something right.”

You shoot him an angry sideways glance. “I’m only here because my ball is, unfortunately, in the same direction as yours. Nothing more.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so it’s mere coincidence that fate keeps pulling us together.”

“More like unfortunate circumstance.”

The two of you continued bickering as you searched for your wayward balls. The back-and-forth banter echoed through the forest, neither of you willing to back down.

Finally, you spotted them⸺your ball and Gojo’s⸺resting precariously on top of a narrow stream of water. You both halted, glancing at each other, and then, without a word, you raced forward.

Gojo reached the water’s edge first, but you weren’t far behind. Neither of you hesitated as you waded into the shallow stream, your focus entirely on retrieving your respective balls. The bottoms of your clothes became soaked in the cool water, but neither of you paid it any mind, too busy grappling to reach your goals first.

Just as you managed to scoop up your ball, your dress snagged on something in the water. You stumbled forward, colliding directly into Gojo, who had just retrieved his own. The sudden impact sent both of you toppling into the water.

You landed squarely on top of him, the shock of the fall leaving you momentarily dazed. Gojo blinked up at you, his breath catching as his gaze dropped to your now-dampened bodice, honing in on your bosom. For a moment, his usually sharp and calculating eyes softened, confusion flickering across his face as if he didn’t quite understand the effect you were having on him.

You scrambled to find your words, unsure of what to say. “I didn’t mean to⸺”

Before you could finish, Gojo gently grasped your shoulders and helped you off of him. He stood up first, his expression uncharacteristically serious as he brushed off his wet clothing and offered you a hand. You took it, steadying yourself as you rose to your feet.

Gojo swallowed hard, clearly at a loss for words. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then quickly closed it, shaking his head. “I must go,” he muttered,.

Without another word, he turned and left, leaving you standing there in the stream, confused and flustered as you watched him disappear into the trees.

“I am not impressed.” Nobara impassively stares you down with a glower.

You fluttered your fan, maintaining a delicate air of mock innocence. “Whatever do you mean, my dear friend?”

The two of you sat at a small table on the terrace, its stone surface warm from the midday sun. Before you, the expansive field served as Gojo’s personal training ground, scattered with targets and archery equipment. Gojo and his protégé, Yuji, had clearly been at it for hours, their bare skin glistening with sweat under the relentless sun. They moved with a practiced ease, their focus entirely on the task at hand.

Gojo was currently demonstrating a particular stance to Yuji, his voice carrying faintly over the terrace as he corrected the younger man’s posture and grip. Yuji, ever the diligent student, watched him with an intensity that bordered on awe. You couldn’t help but reflect that his expression now⸺determined and assured⸺contrasted much with his encounter with you at the game. 

Nobara’s eyes narrowed as she regarded the scene. “Why are we here?” she asked flatly, her gaze lingering on the two men.

You turned to her with a smile, fluttering your fan with exaggerated elegance. “Why, to record in my journal, of course. One must capture the beauty of Mother Nature when it presents itself so generously from this terrace.”

Her expression remained unimpressed. “Is it truly Mother Nature that has captivated you, or Lord Gojo’s bare skin?” She glanced down at your unopened journal, its quill resting untouched beside it. “And how much progress have you made in this recording of yours?”

You couldn’t suppress a laugh, caught in your own half-hearted excuse. “Well, even you cannot deny that he presents a rather fine figure, can you? And I will get to my writing in due time. Inspiration must first strike, after all.”

Nobara sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “I cannot fathom how you find pleasure in looking upon a man who has caused you so much distress. Many times, in fact.”

You glanced back toward the field, watching as Gojo effortlessly pulled back his bowstring, the muscles in his back rippling with the movement. His form was impeccable, each action a demonstration of his skill and strength. Yuji, in contrast, struggled to replicate the motion with as much ease and accuracy, though his determination was evident.

"He’s clearly enjoying himself," you commented dryly, turning your attention back to Nobara. "Torturing me, that is. I might as well make due of my harrowing and demeaning stay here and enjoy some aspects of Gojo. I swear, he delights in the fact that I’m stuck here."

Nobara’s eyes narrowed, and she snorted. "Oh, absolutely. Men like him don’t get much amusement in life unless it involves making someone else miserable."

You shook your head, remembering the library encounter all too vividly. Gojo had seemed genuinely surprised to find you there, and yet he had taken to taunting you with his usual smugness. That infernal smirk of his had been etched into your memory.

"I almost wonder," you mused, "if he was actually shocked to find me in the library. Perhaps I caught him off guard for once."

Nobara raised an eyebrow. "What were you doing? Looking for a book on how to survive insufferable dukes?"

You chuckled softly. "No, I was reading about Venus, actually. But Gojo⸺he assumed I was indulging in some silly romance. Imagine his surprise when he realized I was working on calculations instead."

Nobara’s lips twitched upward in amusement, but before she could respond, a loud thud! echoed across the terrace. Both of you looked down just in time to see Gojo's arrow hit the target dead center.

You rolled your eyes. Of course, he would show off. That insufferable man never missed an opportunity to flaunt his skills. Yuji, predictably, looked like he was about to faint from admiration.

Gojo notched another arrow, his back muscles rippling as he drew it back with practiced ease. His abs tightened with the effort, and though you told yourself you were merely observing his technique, your gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary. The tautness of his form was, undeniably, impressive.

“It is a shame,” Nobara remarked, her voice breaking through your thoughts. “He does present a rather fine figure. If only his character matched his appearance.”

You blinked, realizing that your gaze had lingered on him for far too long. “What?”

Nobara glanced at you, her expression half-amused, half-pitying. “I merely observe that if his manners were as well-formed as his physique, he might be a most agreeable companion.”

You opened your fan again, waving it lightly in front of your face. “Perhaps. But we both know that appearances can be deceiving.”

Nobara’s expression turned serious as she looked at you. “You must find yourself a husband who is both well-formed and well-mannered, my dear. Else I shall be forced to gouge out my eyes every time I am called to attend on you.”

You sighed dramatically, closing your fan with a soft snap. “Whatever you say, Nobara.”

Yet, even as you dismissed her words, your gaze drifted back to the field. Gojo was a puzzle, indeed. And whether you liked it or not, he had captured more of your attention than you were willing to admit.

Satoru is sweaty and hot, and therefore he must rush back to take a cold bath. 

The weather is quite warm, he must admit to himself. Teaching Yuji had been nothing sort of pleasurable; the boy’s physical prowess was quite impressive, and he learned things very, very fast. If Yuji were to keep learning and working on his skill, he would easily be up to Gojo’s level or even surpass him. 

As he climbs up the stairs to the terrace, he wipes his brow, which has budded with sweat. When he crosses a table that overlooks the field, he notices a book. His mother and him wouldn’t expose any books like this⸺a fine and intricate design covering the top⸺to the harsh, humid weather, so he picks up the book, frowning.

Frowning, he picked it up, curiosity getting the better of him. The book felt unfamiliar in his hands, and as he opened it, the words within seemed to swim before his eyes. Annoyed, he rubbed the sweat from his forehead and squinted, finally making out the fine, neat handwriting on the page.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

Satoru's eyes widened, and a flicker of intrigue sparked within him. He flipped to the next page, where the writing grew messier, more hurried.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

His eyes widened. If he had been intrigued before, now he was thoroughly captivated. This had to be you. His heart began to beat faster as he quickly turned to another page, where the ink was still fresh, and a pressed leaf lay nestled between the pages.

If I were to base my choice of husband solely on physical appearance, I must confess that Lord Gojo would be a most compelling candidate. However, to consider him without regard to his character would be a grave disservice to myself and to dear Nobara, who would bear the consequences of such a choice daily.

I hold out hope for a suitor with a similar strength of physique, one whose form displays power and grace, much like Gojo. His muscles, so clearly defined, speak of formidable strength and control—his back rippling with every pull of the bowstring, his breath labored as he steadies himself.

Alas, such attributes, though appealing, are not enough…

His fingers hovered over the delicate page, the words sinking in. A part of him wanted to laugh at your sharpness, your refusal to fall prey to his charms, but another part⸺one that kept resurfacing and resurfacing against his will, showing up even in his slumber⸺felt something else entirely.

…What a pity, indeed.

prev. the manor | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n i feel like the only important plot point in this chapter is that gojo is a boobs guy

sorry if this chapter was a little icky :( i prefered publishing this than having to subject my dear beta reader to having to edit this mess or even me having to think about it further. i will rest so that the next chapter is better <3 (lots of fluffy moments to come in the next one)

gojo when you spawned in his bedroom

will finally treat myself to answering asks after I wake up since i'm done with this dreadfull chapter <333 jesus it's 3am

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

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[arabellasleopardcoat]

Two ships (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Two people who do not understand each other, but keep coming back together. Familiar much? It’s the tale you share with your brother, Daemon.

Warnings: Crybaby! Reader. Medieval punishment for children. Canon character death (Alyssa and Baelor) Sexual thoughts. Prostitution. Mature language. Incest. Fluff.

A/N: In which we explore the complicated dynamics of the sister wife. Requested. We also suscribe to @just-some-random-blogger doctrine about Daemon being a scary unhinged man but soft for the reader.

THE FIRST TIME your brother makes you cry is when you are eight years old. It is, of course, not the first time you tear up because of him. But there is a difference between tearing up because he tugged too hard on your braid, or because he cut your favorite doll’s hair and what he did to you that day.

You shall never forget the reason for your mother’s death, not for the rest of your life. It’s one of those core memories, a truth of the universe. You cannot forget fire burns, you cannot forget water is wet, and you cannot forget your mother is dead because of you. Even if you do not know when you learned those facts, they are still there. Tucked into your mind.

As a child, you used to be quiet. You barely cried, or demanded things of anyone. As the youngest and only girl of the household, you often felt like there was an unbreachable gap between you and your family. And so, you filled your days with your lessons, and behaved well, eager for praise and attention.

Your relationship with your brothers was complicated. Your father was often far away, busy with his important position, so Viserys felt more like a parent than a sibling. The age difference didn’t help things along. While you were still learning how to walk, his betrothal was already negotiated.

Daemon, while much closer in age, is much more distant too. He is mercurial, playing the cruelest tricks on you, but also defending you from other children. Just last week, he had dyed your beloved white dog green, but he had also punched a steward’s son for mocking your braids.

He can never decide if he hates you or loves you. And today, it’s one of the days he hates you. You can’t do anything right, it seems. As you break your fast, with Viserys cutting up your food for you, he calls you a baby. When the Septa comes to get you for your lessons, you are a suck-up. His bad mood escalates during the day, and when your father arrives for lunch and dares ruffle your hair, Daemon doesn't hesitate to call you a cocksucker whore.

For his offense, his mouth is washed with soap. It is not a punishment you have ever endured, because everyone knows ladies don’t get physical punishments, but it looks unpleasant. Whatever cocksucker whore means mustn't be very nice.

By the time his punishment is over, your father is long gone again. He has disappeared into his chambers, and Viserys has been left with the bitter task of reconciling you.

“You will apologize to our sister.” He orders Daemon. “Now.”

“NO!” Daemon shrieks, face blotchy from the humiliation of his mouth being washed with soap. He has not shed a single tear, which you find admirable despite yourself. The taste alone would make you gag, and that is without including the humiliation of a servant holding you while Viserys does the deed.

You feel awkward at the thought. Something doesn’t sit right with the thought of such a thing being a punishment, but you do not dare voice it. You simply sit in the chair Viserys has pulled for you and kick your feet. It soothes you slightly.

“Take it back, Daemon or so help me the Seven…”

“I will not take it back!” Daemon screams, pushing at Viserys. “She is a little whore! She has you all wrapped around her little finger, and now you will send me away…”

“Daemon.” Viserys grabs his wrists, in warning. With several years and a growth spurt on his side, he manages to subdue him easily. You worry that will not be the case for much longer. Daemon looks very different from your peaceful Viserys, shoulders broader, hands a bit bigger. In a few years, he will become a fearsome warrior, and Viserys will still be your bookish older brother.

“Why do I have to go squire for some stupid lord, anyway? We are the blood of the dragon! We do not need those fools.” At this new information, you frown. You clutch your doll more tightly. No one had informed you Daemon had to go squire away from Viserys and you.

“Fostering is important. It helps us form bonds with other houses.” Viserys explains, with the patience of someone who has had this argument already. You tug on your doll, feeling sadder by the minute. Everyone knew but you?

“Why don’t we send her away?” Daemon points at you, and a sudden wave of fear hits you. Viserys can’t agree with him. You cannot leave. Your panic almost makes you miss his next words. “She is the reason mother is dead. I hate her.”

And the world stops for a second. The argument goes on, Viserys screaming at Daemon, but you are still stuck there. Your ears begin to ring, so you press your hands tightly to them and shake your head.

By the Seven, Daemon is right, you realize with growing horror. Your father and Septa always told you your mother had died the way you were born, from the difficult birth. Tears begin to fall down your face, but you barely notice them. It feels like you are choking.

In your childish mind, the death of your mother in childbirth, and your birth had never been connected. You never thought it had been your fault. But Daemon was right. She was dead because she had birthed you. It was your birth that killed her.

Her death was your fault. You killed her.

No. No. It can’t be right.

“That is not true.” You turn to Viserys, uncaring they have long since moved on with the argument. He has always protected you and reassured you. Even takes care to get rid of the monsters beneath your bed every night. He will fix it. “Brother, he is lying again!”

Viserys makes a strange face. A cross between a grimace and a frown. He doesn’t refute it, nor tries to comfort you.

“It’s the truth.” Daemon smiles, with the smugness of someone who has delivered a killing blow. He advances, his eleven-year-old body seeming larger than life to you, and pokes a finger in your sternum. “You killed her.”

It feels like a rug has been pulled from under your feet. You stumble back. It’s all your fault. Your mother is dead, and your father is never home, haunted by the memory of his wife, because of you. Daemon and Viserys lost their mother, because of you.

You killed her. You killed her. You killed her. The world looks the same around you, despite the revelation, and you wonder if it is so because everyone knew but you. Is it why Daemon doesn’t love you? Why father is never around?

A sob makes its way out of your throat, and then another. And another. Soon, you are bawling like a dying animal, and feel like it too. You cry so much, your little heart feels like it will jump out of your chest and you will die. You cannot breathe, choking in your own snot and tears, and panic makes you nauseous.

Never in your life had you ever cried so. A nervous fit, the Maester will call it later, after you puke your lunch and stop making heaving noises like you are lacking air. One caused by extreme distress. Daemon will be standing guard at the foot of your bed when you come to be again. They had ended up having to give you three drops of Milk of the Poppy to calm you down.

It doesn’t happen again, and you barely remember it when you grow up. But Daemon never forgets it.

CRYING IS A weakness that cannot be tolerated. The three of you had been born dragons, but sometimes Daemon doubted Viserys and you had as much fire in your veins as he did.

Said doubt intensifies when he finds you crying in the gardens. Daemon has never been fond of crying women. He is not an empathetic man, and has a tendency to think he is surrounded by fools. Such a character trait doesn’t lend itself to soothing crying maidens. At least, not sincerely.

If he wants to bed the chit, Daemon can pretend like the best mummer. It’s not hard at all to fool highborn maidens into thinking he shares something special with them, convincing them that the pain won’t last, that it will start to feel good soon. When it comes to you, though, the problems start.

You are not a common whore, like most women at court. As a daughter of House Targaryen, you are closer to a goddess than a woman. Fooling a goddess is no easy task, much less when the goddess knows you so well.

His usual tricks do not work. When Daemon tries to apply faux pity, and forced pleasantries, you see right through him. It’s not because you are particularly cunning, but rather the fact that you have a long memory.

Long enough to remember all the pranks and fun he had had at your expense when the two of you were children. With how much Daemon tortured you, it’s no wonder you prefer Viserys.

Daemon never meant to be as nasty to you as he had been. He coveted the attention Viserys paid you, as the youngest in the family. He disliked how everyone fawned over you, how his mother had died, and his father had left, and all they had gotten in exchange was you.

Another part of Daemon simply enjoyed mischief. Causing chaos for chaos’s sake. Like any young boy, he had fun playing tricks on others. The disdain he felt for you had made you into the ideal target.

When the years began to pass, Daemon had noticed you were flourishing into a beautiful maiden. Targaryen custom dictated you were meant to be his, since you were too young to be Viserys’. There was no point in fixing your relationship, or trying to win you over like he did with the other maidens. You were a given thing. No matter your shared past, you would have to marry him.

It’s only the fact that you are embarrassing the family name that prompts him to approach you in the gardens. He has no intention of comforting you. It’s not like he cares that you are crying. Really. How ridiculous.

“What happened to you?” Daemon asks, sitting next to you. “Princess shouldn’t cry.”

It is quite recent, of course. Viserys' ascension to the throne has not actually yet occurred, but the succession issue has been settled in their favor. Daemon had gathered a small force of loyal men that hadn’t been necessary in the end, but Viserys said his first act as King would be rewarding him from his loyalty.

He knows what he will ask for already. Marriage. His grandmother had tried to marry him to a Vale woman, but the idea had ended up being discarded because Viserys’ own match ensured the allegiance of that kingdom. Daemon wanted to have his Valyrian bride before anyone, especially the Hightower cunt, got any ideas.

“Nothing.” You wipe your tears away, angrily. You scoot your cute little rear towards the edge of the tree you are sitting under. As far as you can go without losing the spot of shade.

Daemon sighs. He is used to you being difficult, but it would soon change. You would be informed of your duty and behave in a manner befitting your position in life soon enough.

“Do I need to protect your honor?” The very thought unsettles him. Three years his younger, you are still barely a maiden in his eyes. A pure, unspoiled being. The idea of someone else corrupting your innocence, something that is meant to be his, is infuriating. Daemon hates when other people touch what is his.

If anyone will corrupt you, it’s him.

You laugh, bitterly.

“If only!”

“What do you mean?” Your statement has clarified nothing. He feels more confused than before. Perhaps, you have a secret lover who refuses to take your maidenhead? Or are you suffering from unrequited love? But when? With whom? You spend nearly all your time in the library, pouring over dusty books, or on dragonback. Not much time for entertaining suitors.

You stay quiet. There is a strange expression on your face, a mix of embarrassment and sadness.

“Hāedus.” Daemon prompts, gently tugging on your braid.

“Some ladies Aemma brought were talking about knights, and kissing…” You get a fit of hiccups and nearly choke, so Daemon is forced to wipe the snot from your nose so you don’t suffocate to death. Let it not be said he is a bad brother. “They laughed at me!”

“They laughed at you?” How dare them. Only Daemon was allowed the honor of your tears. You were too important.

“No one asked to dance with me at the feast! And no knight has ever kissed me.” You pout, about to go into hysterics again. “Ever.”

“Doña hāedus…” Daemon wipes your tears, fighting his smile. He has an inkling you wouldn’t think it funny. “You shouldn’t listen to them. You are a Princess, the blood of the dragon. They are just sheep.”

You pout more. Daemon hurries to comfort you. Oddly, he dislikes seeing tears on your face. It must be because you are in public. As a Princess and his future wife, your actions reflect on House Targaryen.

“Ugly sheep. In fact, the actual sheep in the Vale are prettier.”

“But knights have kissed them! And they get asked to dance, and to walk in the gardens, and…”

Daemon raises his hand.

“Knights would kiss you too if they could. But you are too superior to them. They wouldn’t dare.” Or they would meet Dark Sister. All your first should be his. “It’s excellent that you have not sullied yourself with just any knight who looks at you.”

“But I am getting old.”

You are about to cry again. Your female vanity must be hurt, thinking yourself unwanted. Daemon will never understand caring about what others think of him. Dragons shouldn’t concern themselves with the opinion of the sheep.

But there is something about you, the soft little Princess who crumbles up completely when someone is mean to her, that tugs at his heartstrings.

It is why he leans in and captures your mouth with his. You taste like innocence and salt, melting on his tongue. It’s not Daemon’s first kiss, but it feels like it. There is a tug deep inside of him, a strange yearning on his chest, that has not been present when he has kissed other women. Not even maidens.

Cloyingly sweet, dripping on his tongue like the most enticing potion. His. Never has he experienced this before. Daemon wants to drown on it, drown in you. But before he has a chance, you give him a shove and run as fast as you can.

And he stands there, as if struck by lighting, pinned down by the unmeasurable realization that this is love. Love, in its purest form, for his soon-to-be sister wife. It leaves him dazed, confused, rooted to the spot. Utterly out of control.

“DID YOU HEAR?” The serving girl whispers loudly, her voice carrying through the corridor. Night has fallen already, and you pour over a heavy tome on constellations while sitting in one of the windowsills of the Red Keep. It is the best time to put your new knowledge into practice, but the constant chattering of the maids interrupts you.

You close your book, hesitating between scolding them and sending them away, or waiting for them to leave on their own. Scolding them feels unkind. It’s late enough for them to no longer be on duty, and there is no harm in what they are doing. This corridor is a heavily transited one.

Perhaps you should move to your rooms. But you do not have a balcony, and the view from your windowsill it’s quite limited. As you ponder on it, something they say catches your attention.

“And they say the Prince asked for a blonde girl. A maiden.” The Prince. Daemon! You have not seen hide nor hair of your older brother since he stole your first kiss. In fact, you have been avoiding him.

As children, he had played plenty of nasty tricks on you. Once, in a fit of temper, he had beheaded all your dolls and hanged their little heads from a window. But adulthood had mellowed him out. Or so you thought.

The worst thing wasn’t that Daemon stole your first kiss. It was that you enjoyed it.

“No!” The other girl sounds scandalized.

“Yes. And that is not all. He took her roughly, and was kicked out before even…”

Took a whore roughly? You knew he whored around, but hurting whores was a new low. You weren’t too approving of his behavior, but whoring was normal for young lords. Everyone knew they did it, even the most pious ones. Hurting them, though? It was no better than being a rapist.

The other girl lets out a gasp, but she sounds more delighted by the gossip than anything else.

“Imagine how rough it had to be for them to kick him out.”

“I would say plenty. Poor girl.”

“He is out again, is he not?”

“Every night, like clockwork. Something has roused his appetite, it seems. He used to whore, but not…”

Their scandalized voices drift down the corridor, and you think the rumor must be wrong. Daemon wouldn’t hurt anyone. Sure, he whored around, and took plenty of maidenheads, but your brother wasn’t cruel.

Was he?

He had stolen your first kiss. Beyond the softness and the sweetness of the kiss, Daemon had ruined a moment that was meant to be special. Now, it was forever tainted with the memory of being made a mockery of. Not only by those girls, but him too.

There was a difference between stealing a kiss and hurting whores, though. Much more, when it came to hurting them seriously enough to be kicked out of the pleasure house.

Was it your fault? Had he discovered with you he enjoyed taking from women by force? Was he taking out his anger with you on them? The maid had said the girl was blonde. Perhaps Valyrian blonde.

You needed to know. You ran to your rooms and got your black cloak, set on finding him.

Finding Daemon was no easy task. You made it to the city on foot, but once there, you had trouble locating the pleasure houses. There was no sign outwardly pointing to them, but you managed to get to Flea Bottom without getting mugged. Or at least, this looked like what you thought Flea Bottom looked like.

The streets were dirtier, the crowd rougher and drunker. There were people sleeping on the floor, no Sept in sight. This was a place far away from the Gods. The few Goldcloaks patrolling seemed uninterested in actually preventing crime.

You made sure to walk with purpose, afraid of being stopped if you looked like you were out of place. The streets were badly lit, and you could barely tell apart one alley from another.

A sudden tune caught your attention. A woman was singing in a tongue you didn’t recognize. You decided to follow her voice, but before you could do so, someone blocked your path.

“… A dragon for half an hour.” It was a woman. Her hair was dark and hanging limp around her face. She swayed as she walked. “My prince, I will let you choke me.”

You made a face, realizing a strand of your silver hair was peeking on the edge of your hood. She thought you were Daemon, you realized. Both your brother and you kept your hair long, and in the darkness of the alley, with your hood up, you may have looked alike. Was she a whore?

“I’ll let you. A dragon, please, I need to feed my children.”

Children. She had babes. You imagined them, tucked in their beds, wondering where their mother had gone. What if something happened to her? If the children had a present father, he would provide for them, and she wouldn’t be here. It was how the world worked. She must be alone with the babes.

You reached inside your cloak, and pulled out a gold dragon. There was an odd sort of pity building inside you. You imagined yourself, offering up your body to strangers to feed your children, and your heart shattered into little pieces.

You had never questioned the role of whores. They were sullied women, but they served a purpose. Entertain the men so they didn’t hurt others. Tend to their baser needs. It didn’t feel so clear-cut as you avoided the woman, in fear she might attempt to service you.

The voice sounded louder, so you ducked into the next alleyway. It was then you saw them.

The woman singing was sitting at the entrance of a small house. She was scantily clad, as were the surrounding women. But there was only one of them who caught your attention.

She was tall and willowy, with long limbs. There was a haunting elegance to her that looked out of place in the Street of Silk. Her blonde hair was long, and in the right light, could be mistaken for silver. It cascaded down her shoulders. Her face was eerily similar to your own. She was tragically beautiful, stricken by some unseen grief.

Sitting down and clapping along to the song, she looked as if she was praying. There was a dark stain on her neck, cleverly hidden by her hair. The closer you looked, the more it seemed like a bite mark. Not just any bite. A vicious one.

You gasped, hands coming to your mouth to muffle the sound. Whores had never been of concern to you, but now you were seeing their reality, and it was heartbreaking. The thought of women in brothels, in cages, as pleasure slaves, made you want to weep.

Women like you. That she wore your face was even more jarring.

WHEN CARAXES HAD been born, he had not done so alone. Out of the ether, his sister had come, hands linked with his. Meraxes, goddess of the sky, an eternity doomed to hold to her sibling. Caraxes only reflected his twin’s colors, gazing up at her as the flowers did the sun.

It was said that they met only once a day, thanks to the mercy of Gaelithox, who allowed the twins to embrace every sunset. It was the reason Meraxes hated him. He held on to her too strong, and prevented her from embracing the one who she truly loved. He invaded even her reflection, seeking to make himself a part of her, even invading her sacred reflection in the waters of her twin.

The story was always one of your favorites. You begged Viserys every night to tell it to you, sickening Daemon with your romantic tales. He isn’t sure why he is reminded of it today, of all days.

Foreboding, he will think later, when the storm has passed. But now, he chooses to focus on the coronation taking place in front of him, and bask in their triumph.

“Kings reward loyalty.” Viserys says, after the crown is placed on his head by a proud Aemma. “And my first act will be rewarding those that stood by my side.”

Daemon and you are kneeling, the first among the crowd. The first to take a knee to their King. There is a strange feeling in his throat, and he fights the urge to cry. Daemon has always considered tears a weakness, but the moment is so perfect, so magical, he feels the urge to do so.

Men don’t cry. Instead, they take big breaths, and savor their victory. Viserys on the Iron Throne, and Daemon about to be given your hand. All they have ever wanted, now ripe for the taking.

“Brother, please rise.” Viserys' voice is clear and loud. Daemon does so, pleased by the honor of being the first to rise in front of the masses. They had talked about it, of putting up a show for their political enemies, but Daemon had never expected Viserys to grant him honors before any other of his advisors. “Your diplomatic and martial skills were essential to securing my claim. As a reward, I give to you our sister’s hand, and name you my heir. May the two of you have a fruitful union and make House Targaryen proud.”

And when he turns to you, with a smile on his face, he realizes why he remembered the story of Caraxes and Meraxes.

Your beautiful, purple eyes, are wet with tears. You remain on bent knee, frozen.

Daemon pulls you up with the utmost tenderness, one reserved for family alone. The hand on your elbow seems to shake you out of your stupor.

“Thank you, my King.” Your voice trembles, but you speak the words dutifully. You know as well as him that this is Viserys’ day. Everything has to go perfectly. There can’t be any hint of division between the three of you, not when the rallying cry for Viserys had been that he was bringing back the three heads of the dragon.

Three siblings. Three dragonriders. Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys.

“It is a great honor.” Daemon adds, tightening his grip on your arm. You look ready to bolt, and he is tasked with reminding you that you can’t.

A silent tear travels down your cheek. With your back to the crowd, no one but Viserys and Daemon can see it. Viserys gives him a long look, pleading him to do something. Neither of them had been expecting your reaction.

They had thought you would settle well into your duty. That marriage would give you a stable tether, a shield for your fragile soul. Viserys had chosen Daemon for the honor, had given you to him to care and protect.

But you seem even more scared that you were before. How wrong had they been.

“We are very excited.” Daemon hugs you to him, fighting to keep his composure. Your rejection stings, and he wants to rage, but he can’t. Because you are in public, and House Targaryen doesn’t air their dirty laundry in front of witnesses, but more importantly because your dam is breaking. You let out a little sob, and Daemon has to embrace you fully to prevent you from falling apart.

Fools that they are, the rest of the courtiers mistake it for a sound of joy. What else could you want? To marry the King’s heir, a Valyrian husband who can give you pure Valyrian babes.

“Good.” Viserys smiles, a bit strained. You take a shuddery breath, and straighten up under his arm. Daemon can practically feel the change, from scared girl, to experienced courtier. You know as well as he does the importance of presenting a united front.

You smile. It’s as fake as the silks whores wear, when pretending to be a Targaryen Princess. To the inexperienced masses, it tears all the same.

“How joyful days come ahead. Long live the King!”

You open your arms, the picture of the hopeful bride. The smile threatens to crack your face in two. The crowd cheers. A royal wedding is always something to admire, and there is no better way of celebrating a coronation than with one.

The hour is late when Daemon finally manages to catch Viserys alone. You have gone straight to your rooms after the feast, sulking. Aemma has been sat outside your door for hours by now, trying to coax you out like one would do to a skittish cat. Her talks of duty and royal wombs only got her a pillow to the face for her efforts.

Daemon and Viserys, much more used to your moods, hadn’t bothered. You were angry, but not hysterical. Both often manifested in tears in your case. Only one could prove lethal.

“I do not understand.” Viserys frowns. “What more can she want? The two of you will get Dragonstone, for a few years at least, and when I have an heir, you will not be kicked out. You are family.”

“I do not understand it either.” Underneath the simmering rage Daemon feels, there is only confusion. He is a knight, and has proven his skills sufficiently enough to be awarded Dark Sister. He is of an equal standing to you, a Prince to a Princess. He loves you so deeply it scares him.

The Seven know he has tried to get you out of his head through every means possible. He has deflowered more maidens that he can count this week alone, his cock is chafed raw, and yet, no matter how beautiful they are, your face still haunts him. It’s your name on his lips when he comes, and your body he pictures under him. The whores are never right. Their hair is the wrong shade, they are too thin or too fat, their tears taste of iron instead of your sweet salt.

You should not think it is a bad thing. Women love that sort of thing, leading men by their cocks, getting them so cuntstruck they cannot see straight. You should love it too because it is a weakness to him, but a power you can wield. And yet, you hate it. You had run.

“I cannot go back on my word now.” Viserys reaches for his cup of wine. He knows that his reign is still fragile, and if his lords see his sister defying him, they might get ideas. “She has to marry someone, and with her delicate constitution, I cannot in good conscience…”

“Handing her to a stranger is a bad idea.” Daemon agrees, not out of some selfish motivation, but because he knows it’s the truth. You have always been far more delicate than most ladies, with your books and silly ideas about the role women should play. Had you not been so closely tied to Viserys, you may have even supported Rhaenys.

If Viserys was Aegon, you were Rhaenys. The sensitive little sister, loved because of her innocence and kindness. You never tried to push your strange ideas, after all. You just looked like a kicked puppy when contradicted.

Any other man would crush you at the first hint of defiance. Daemon, used to you as he was, knew rage was futile. If you wouldn’t settle in your duties easily, he had to take action and ensure you did through other means.

Gentler means. Daemon still remembered the fits you used to have when little. Viserys did too. Neither wanted a repetition.

“I have thought about it, and you should forgo the bedding.”

“I agree. It might make her sick.” Sick is the euphemism they use for your fits when there are prying ears. Daemon gives a pointed glance at the guards. Viserys drops the topic after that.

Almost against his will, when the embers of the fire they sit in front of die, Daemon goes to your rooms. He isn’t really thinking, when he walks down the hallways that lead to your chambers instead of his. Nor is he thinking when he dismisses your guards, and opens your door.

You are laying on your side, a pillow held to your thighs. Your hands are made into fists over them, as if you had fallen asleep in your rage still. Despite it, your face is peaceful, with only dried tear tracks to disturb your childish expression.

Your body is curled into itself, tightly. You must be cold, Daemon thinks, and takes of his cloak to lay it over your form.

In dreams, you smile. And Daemon understands that he is no Gaelithox. There was a reason Caraxes and Meraxes were only allowed to embrace once a day, after all.

HORROR AND RAGE are not emotions that lend itself to permanence. At least, not in you. Not when it comes to him.

Not when he plays such strange game, and gets you strange prizes. Daemon has not asked for his cloak back. You have taken to sleeping wrapped up underneath it.

How can a man capable of such cruelty be capable of such tenderness? Confusion means ignorance, and ignorance breeds fear. You have known Daemon all your life, but you are still unable to understand him.

The only certainty you have is that when he is near, your rationality flies out of the window. It’s all instinctual. To fight, to fuck, to fucking fight.

The sleep of reason produces monsters. Monsters that take hold of your heart and squeeze it, until it is no more than liquid and pulp. Did he hurt that woman? Will he hurt you? Love you?

Daemon had stolen your first kiss. Daemon had gotten kicked out of a brothel. There was a girl in the Street of Silk with a bite mark on her neck. He had visited you the night of your betrothal and tucked you in.

It might mean nothing. It might mean everything. Whichever it is, you have no time to come to terms with it. Viserys wishes for the two of you to be married by the end of this moon. It makes you feel even more blindsided and betrayed.

None of them had thought to ask you before deciding. They had just done so.

The idea of marrying your brother wasn’t what came as a great shock. As a child, you had often daydreamed of honoring your ancestors and becoming your brother’s wife. It was the way things should be. But you had always thought you would marry Viserys.

When Viserys married Aemma, you thought you would marry someone outside your household. Daemon and you were clearly ill-suited, even before everything that had happened between the two of you.

Betrothing the two of you would be madness. You had never understood each other in the manner Viserys and him did. You were an outsider to their relationship, the other head of the dragon. Rhaenys to her conquerors.

But inexplicably, Viserys had done so. Being betrothed to him without even being asked about it stung. No one had thought to warn you, or ask for your opinion. They had simply announced it to court and hoped you would comply.

The feeling of betrayal had only mellowed out after asking Viserys his reasoning. He hadn’t been trying to blindside you, he had explained. He had thought you would be happy. Both Daemon and you yearned for Valyrian partners. It made sense to betroth the two of you, especially because Daemon had asked to marry soon.

Your brothers were just dumb. But their foolishness was a dangerous one, since they rode the two biggest dragons of your generation and sat on the Iron Throne. Common fools could undo the damage they caused.

But in your case, there was no way out but through. Viserys had begged you to give Daemon a chance, and so, you found yourself preparing for meeting him.

Viserys had chosen the place the two of you would meet. The Godswood was neutral territory, and far away from the castle that if you started shouting insults at each other, only the Kingsguard shadowing you would hear.

It only made you dread the encounter further. You had taken a liking to the Godswood, and were contemplating using it as a hideaway for when things at court got to be too much. If this went wrong, it would forever taint the place for you.

You decide to arrive early, to allow yourself some time to compose yourself. Daemon beats you to it, already waiting near a tree when you get there.

“Hāedus,” Daemon says, when he sees you. In a show of rebellion, you have decided to wear your more modest gown, with a neckline that nearly reaches your ears. Aemma had encouraged you to wear something more revealing, but you wanted to strangle the cow. “You look lovely.”

“Lēkia.” You press a kiss to his cheek, unsure if you should greet him like you always do, or the betrothal has changed the protocol. Kissing his cheek as you always do seems safer, but you regret it when his eyes flutter closed at your touch.

He is acting odder than usual. In an increasingly out-of-character charm offensive, he takes off his cloak and places it on the grass.

“So you may sit.” His tone is too formal. It makes you even more wary, but you sit. Daemon does the same, by your side. So close, you end up frowning more.

He leans in. His lips brush the shell of your ear.

“Despite my struggles, I have come to admire you.” Daemon noses along the hair right above your ear. “Rationality has left me, and no matter how hard I try, you haunt me at every corner, every hallway, every street of this damned city.”

“What am I supposed to say?” You complain, with a frown. You push him a little, to be able to meet his eyes.“I am well aware of your attempts at forgetting. Valyrian whores, Daemon? Really?”

“It was all in vain.” He pulls you back in, embracing you. His hands are warm around your stomach, his lips chafed against the skin of your neck. “Let me take down your hair.”

Your eyebrows raise. Out of all things he can ask for, this is the weirdest one. His petition is so simple and innocent, you almost think he is not Daemon.

“Let me take down your hair.” Daemon begs. The ardent tone in his voices surprises you. He sounds like a man possessed. As if he cannot survive if you deny him. “Hāedus...”

This devotion, this unexpected fit of love, surprises you. So much, you find yourself nodding.

You feel his chest contract with his sudden inhale. His hands are careful as they unmake your braid. His touch so tender, even the most delicate hairdresser would envy it. But when your hair falls down your back, in mussed tendrils, he shows himself to be Daemon.

His nose presses to your temple, breathing you in. His fingers run through your hair, and he presses feverish kisses to your scalp, your jaw, your ear. Licks the sweat behind it, samples your earlobe with his teeth.

Teeth. It makes you tense. You think of the girl in Flea Bottom, of the bite over her throat.

“I can’t stop thinking of you. You appear before me in the darkest corners, and in the brightest meadows.” Daemon inhales, hands grasping your waist tightly. “When I squired, away from home, I couldn’t get you out of my head. I didn’t know it was love then, but I have loved you since before I knew what the word meant. I fucked the tightest cunts of Westeros, sampled the prettiest maidens, and yet it is your face that I imagine when tugging at my cock.”

Something inside you snaps. Among the righteous indignation, a strange satisfaction takes place. You shove him off you.

“Don’t be crass!”

Daemon doesn’t attempt to embrace you again, but remains unbearably close. Your eyes drift to his lips. You would love him even if he were the one who mauled the whore. You would love him even if he did it to you. Because of it, perhaps.

“I want you to be mine. Put me out of my misery.” Daemon begs, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Marry me, and end my suffering.”

“You frighten me.” You whisper, without quite meaning to.

“Do you fear I will hurt you?” Daemon asks you, voice very gentle.

You avert your eyes. It’s not that what you fear. It’s how out of control you are when it comes to him.

“I would never.” He vows, leaning in. His lips brush against yours, before Daemon presses his forehead to yours. He looks into your eyes, and smiles. “Do you remember the last time we kissed?”

“Of course I do, you idiot.” You scowl at the memory. “You stole…”

“No. You were crying because no knight…” He gets up, and begins to tug you to your feet. You remain sitting. “Oh, get up, you stubborn thing.”

“Daemon!” You complain, but get up. He stands a few feet away from you. Curious about the point he intends to make, you cross your arms over your chest and glare.

He offers you his hand, as if to dance. You take it, eyes full of distrust.

“I have been a cunt. But you have to stop running.” Daemon circles you, pulling on your hand slightly. Is he…? Your confusion must show on your face because he gives you a mocking glance. “To dance from afar is not to dance.”

“What do you mean?”

“You might as well be in Essos.” Daemon keeps circling you. “Let us dance properly, for once.”

“Here? Dance?” There is no music. And your brother has never been one for bursting into spontaneous song and dance. At least, you don’t think so.

“Together. You wanted knights to ask you to.” Daemon pulls you close, into a hug, and the puzzle pieces finally fit. The day he had kissed you, you had been crying because no one had asked you to dance. That Daemon remembers the reason when you had nearly forgotten it yourself astonishes you. “Now a Prince asks you. Do not make me ask twice, please.”

“Let us try. To dance as if glued by fire. Let me prove I can be good to you. That I listen to you. ”

And it’s stupid. It’s silly, there is not even music. But you let him pull you in, this time, and realize Daemon has always been capable of tenderness. At least, when it comes to you.

[netegf]

So We Won't Forget

pairing: f!reader x rafe cameron

plot: you meet rafe cameron at a grief support group while he struggles with the loss of his father. he's trying to be a better man, and you can't help but love him for it.

warnings: 18+, sensitive topics such as death and mourning, use of Y/N, fluff and flirting, challenging sibling dynamics, smut (P in V, size kink, lots of praise, some teasing), mentions of past drug use, rafe is reforming (?) lol

word count: 7.7 k

Rafe didn’t know what he was thinking.

He knew Barry had given him the bright pink flier as a joke more than anything else. And he’d taken it as a joke, at least after the initial roll of his eyes, too. Ended up crumpling the sheet of paper and chucking it into the garbage can near his bedside, muttering some iteration of ‘yeah man, that’s real funny’.

His dad was dead. For real, this time. He didn’t need some corny grief support group where people sat in a circle and sang their sorrows.

He needed a fucking time machine.

Still, he had done it.

Sleep was getting harder and harder to find these nights. The temperature never felt right.

Too hot when he pulled white sheets up and over his bare hips and too cold when he let them slip down to his feet.

He rolled his body over to his side with the intention of scrolling through his phone which had become increasingly dry since his return from Guadeloupe.

But then his hand was reaching down into the garbage can and he was squinting in the dark to make out an address he’d never seen before.

It was no wonder why. The Church was so far in the outskirts of Figure 8, it might as well have been on the Cut. But it wasn't, and that was one of the only reasons why he'd reconciled with making the drive.

It was a shoddy building with peeling paint and a slanted roof, and it took him a whole twenty minutes to step outside of his truck and through the front doors.

The place gave him the chills. He felt better thinking it was because it was so run-down and he was a Kook through and through, but a part of him knew it was for a different reason entirely. He wasn’t completely sure he wouldn’t burst into flames upon entry. It wasn't long ago that he’d melted a fucking cross for Christ’s sake.

Like the man standing at the entry-way can read his mind, he claps a hand on Rafe’s shoulder and flashes him a reassuring smile. He must've been staring guardedly at the blocked off pew.  

“We just use the space on this side of the building.” The man says, gesturing to the large room with groups of scattered chairs and a long table at the back with pastries and refreshments. “There’s no, uh,” he clears his throat, then continues with a knowing glance, “religious affiliation.”

Rafe manages a nod, his fingers feeling numb and jittery all at once. His eyes rake over the room once more. More specifically, the people in it.

Some of them look like they’re itching to talk, while others look so boxed up it makes the silence in the room more chilling. Rafe decides he connects more with the latter, but there’s a spot he can’t quite reach at the swell of his shoulder blade that suddenly feels like it could use a good scratch.

“I’m Leon, by the way. The program manager.” The man, Leon, introduces himself. “Help yourself to some snacks, then grab a seat. We’ll start shortly.”

Leon shoots Rafe another smile, then saunters over to the front of the room where he sits down by a dingy whiteboard. 

Briefly, he wrestles the impulse to sprint out through the double-doors and scrub the very essence of the place off his body in a scalding shower. Sterile and dizzying, just how he likes them. 

But then his feet are trudging clumsily toward the snack table, and he downs a hot cup of coffee that splashes uncomfortably against the acid in his stomach before filling an empty chair at the back. 

"Let's see. As you take your seats and feel out the room, some of you might be asking yourselves why you even bothered to show up. Why don't we take a moment to remind ourselves why?"

To you, the introduction by the man you now know as Leon leaves something to be desired. A reminder wouldn't be necessary because forgetting wasn't the problem. 

The problem was your best friend was gone, and nothing in the world could get your mind off it. It was a strange kind of irony, really, talking about her so you could end up talking about her less. 

What better place and time was there to mourn than the beautiful Outer Banks in the summer?

At least, that's what your mother had said in a chipper tone as you rode the ferry off the mainland together.

Taking in the ambience of your surroundings, you seriously doubt she's right. The AC is blasting and you still feel sweat beading on your forehead. The place had the humidity of a greenhouse and none of the natural light. 

"We'll start our conversation small. With a partner." Leon says, breaking you out of your trance. "I'll walk around the room and pair you up."

The friendly man that Leon is, it takes him a while to get to the back of the room where he pauses in front of you.

"Alright, so that leaves... you two!"

Leon points vaguely to a figure sitting at the far corner, who lifts his head for a second to meet your eyes. A flash of blue before he looks back down again. You notice that he's not moving a muscle and probably doesn't intend to. 

"Guess I'll come to you." You mutter shortly under your breath, dragging your chair behind you as you move closer. 

Taking a seat in front of the quiet stranger, the first thing you notice is that the top of his head is pretty. Then he lifts his chin and you come to realize that the rest of him is even prettier. 

Dirty blonde hair that seems to be growing out after a cut sticks to his forehead, slightly damp with sweat. Angular jaw, beautiful blue eyes, soft pink lips pressed into a frown. He gazes at you suspiciously. 

"Rafe." 

Your eyebrows furrow, temporarily stalling your ogling. "What?"

"My name." He squints at you, pointing a slender finger to the whiteboard on which Leon has messily scrawled the words: 'introduce yourselves and explain why you're here'. 

"Rafe." You repeat, trying the name out in your mouth. It feels harsh but satisfying. Like a swear word. "I'm Y/N." 

He nods, but doesn't say anything else, his eyes flickering between the floor and a black truck you can make out through the window - like he's worried it might disappear. 

You steal a glance at the pairs around you who seem to be getting far deeper into conversation than the two of you. 

"I think we're supposed to talk." You mumble.

Rafe nods again, and his lips part for a moment, but then they close again. You fight the urge to glare at Leon for dooming your progress before it could even begin.

"I can go first." You offer with a shaky breath. "I'm here because my best friend, Stacy... died. It was, um, a car crash." 

Hating the way the silence intensifies between you, you continue. 

"I don't really know what to say. Just that she was kind of my favourite person. And she, uh... always made me feel like I was the only one in the room, you know? She just wanted to make you laugh and it was like nothing else mattered. Just us, living in our own little world."

Rafe feels a certain tightness in his chest, pressing down on his sternum.

"You're lucky." He scoffs.

It makes your face fall.

He'd tried to make it sound like a good thing, but it came out ugly, like it always seemed to. 

"I'm... lucky that my friend died in a violent car crash? Gee, Rafe. Your empathy has no bounds.” 

The turn of your voice makes Rafe's spine stiffen, his brows stiffly pinched together as he attempts to soothe over his words.

"No, I didn't mean it like that, okay?" 

You narrow your eyes at him, crossing your arms over your chest.

Suddenly, the lips that you once thought were pretty look more like what they really are. Annoying, when they move. His crisp blue polo and stupidly expensive watch are starting to get on your nerves.

"I just meant that you - look, at least you had her. That's more than a lot of people can say."

That was rich coming from a guy that looked like he had everything in the world at his disposal.

"Who'd you lose? Your gardener?" You quip. 

Rafe stares bitterly then looks down at his lap where his fingers are fidgeting.  

"My dad."

You feel your stomach churn with guilt, face getting hot.

It's the way he says it that pains you. Like it hurts him physically to get the words out. You know that feeling like the back of your hand. You wish you didn't, but you do.

Suddenly, Rafe's rigidity feels less abrasive and more heartbreaking. You wonder how long it's been, hesitant to ask because it might make you feel worse. Maybe you deserved it for leading with pettiness instead of compassion. You remind yourself that you're grieving and messy, too. 

"Oh." You choke out when an apology feels tight on your tongue.

He lifts his head up to meet your eyes, chewing on his bottom lip. "Yeah. Oh."

"I shouldn't have said that, Rafe. I'm sorry." 

"No, I get it. I shouldn't have said that either. That way, at least. I'm trying to be better at... not saying the wrong thing." He breathes, shoulders falling. "I fuck it up constantly."

"You're not, you didn't." You shake your head. "I'm just on edge. Plus, I get really cranky when I'm hot, and it's boiling in here. Promise." 

You feel a sense of relief when he cracks a smile at that, wanting to savour it. 

"And...," you trail off, catching his attention. 

"And?"

Your gaze runs over him, from the top of his handsome face, down to his shiny designer boots. 

"You're textbook Kook. I guess my whole 'eat the rich' thing got the best of me." 

Rafe laughs softly, feeling a rush in his chest. For a second, he's not thinking about a certain series of events that looms over him everywhere he goes like some sort of 'never off the clock' paralysis demon. Nor any of the bad decisions he made that led him up to that point and drove him deeper into the ground after the fact. He remembers back when he was just a regular asshole. An arrogant rich kid with poor impulse control and penchant for adrenaline. 

He's debated if he would choose to go back thousands of times. 

Part of him wants to.

He had a lot less to worry about. More parties to throw, more girls to take up to his bedroom after very little flirting on his part, more blow to keep him heady and distracted.

Help keep his mind off of the arguments with his dad.

His dad, who blew a hole in his life, and now, was gone... forever. It's something he'd imagined more times than he could count, but he would have never guessed this feeling. 

Nothing felt good anymore. Like he didn't deserve any release because his dad wasn't here to give him shit, so he'd endured nothing to warrant it. He'd started feeling guilty, more than usual, and in a more physical sense. He could feel it when he woke up. Maybe it was the guilt that woke him up every day, gasping for air and clutching his chest. It was starting to sink in and sometimes he spent the whole of the night crying. It was like his soul was being reformed. He drove to a Church, instead of calling Barry, to feel something again. 

He secretly hoped for a big, ambiguous power that would slap him awake and help him trek forward like a strong wind behind his back. But believing took a certain lack of resistance and if his father's eyes were anything to go by, Rafe was stubborn like a grease stain.

Then there was the risk of believing and still watching everything spin into chaos around you. Feeling stupid that you hoped for something different.

But things are different now. 

He's still an asshole, sure. But he's trying to work on that. 

"You're not wrong." He admits, grinning slightly. "You been to the island before?"

"Couple times. I know how you guys talk." You shrug, amused at how the jargon piqued his interest. "It's been a pretty long time, though. Don't think we've ever met."

He nods, like that makes sense to him. You shiver when his blue eyes run you up and down. 

"I would've remembered you."

Before you can respond, Leon makes his way over to the two of you, smiling to himself, mostly, because the conversation he'd manufactured appeared to be a success.

"You two look chatty." He says brightly, eyes flickering over Rafe's posture, far more laid-back than when he first walked in. 

"Just doing what you asked." Rafe replies shortly.  

"Yeah, 'course. Just that you two seemed quiet, but turns out, you're chatty. It's nice, that's all. Keep up the good work, folks!" Leon says the last part loud enough for the room to hear, enthusiastically clapping his hands together while he does it. 

"Dude's weird." 

You chuckle at Rafe's comment, watching as Leon eagerly prods at another pair. You turn back to him and shrug. 

"Definitely weird. Kinda sweet, though?"

The rest of the session continues with Leon speaking to the group, promising that next time, sharing would take place in a larger circle for deeper community. You don't miss the way Rafe's knee bounces up and down next to you. At one point, you gently put one of your palms on his knee to keep it still. You feel his stare burning a hole in the side of your face, but you don't look at him. Just a hint of a smile on your lips. 

It makes Rafe nervous. He feels something different, and he likes it, but it makes him nervous. 

"Hey... you gonna come next week?" You ask him as you sling your bag over your shoulder, trying to make sure your voice doesn't sound so hopeful. 

He pauses for a second. 

"Uh, maybe. Maybe, I'm going to have to check on a few things first." By a few things, he meant Barry. Though they'd unloaded most of the cross gold, they still worked together sometimes. Mostly because they wanted to.

He was an unlikely friend. Gruff and hard to control, but in his corner.

If Rafe was going to show up again, he didn't want Barry finding out. He'd never hear the end of it - 'you're getting soft on me, Country Club!'.

"Okay." You chirp, turning to leave and taking all of three steps before stopping again with your bottom lip wedged under your teeth.

Fuck it. 

"Hey Rafe?" You spin back, sounding hopeful and a little desperate, but honest, at least, because you are those things. 

"Yeah?" He breathes, eyes falling all around you. 

"I really hope you come."

Quickly, you turn back around and make your way to the door, hand barely gripping the knob when you finally hear his voice.

"Y/N."

You look over your shoulder to meet tender blue eyes. 

"I'll be there."

Turns out, sharing circles are harder than they look. For Rafe, at least. 

You spoke about Stacy so easily. You spoke well of her so easily.

When Rafe heard your shaky exhales next to him, he clamped his warm, calloused hand over yours on instinct, listening thoughtfully to the way you described her favourite hobbies. The ones you loved along with her, and the ones you loved to make fun of her for. It was a good reminder for him, that the fruits of his instincts could be tender. An animal with at least some softness. He wasn't always so sure.

He spent a fair amount of time comforting Sarah and Wheezie when they cried as kids, but he was also usually the reason they started crying in the first place. 

After that first meeting, you awkwardly made your way out of the Church and Rafe followed behind you shortly after. When he watched you undo your bike lock, he puffed his red cheeks out and approached you with a slight shake in his knees. He wasn't nervous, it was just hot out - is what he tried to convince himself. 

He offered you a ride back to the house you were staying at with your mom in exchange for your number. You strapped yourself in his passenger seat with a smile on your lips and a special kind of spark flared up in your chest, the kind that makes you acutely aware of the sweat coating the back of your neck, sticking the hair to the skin, when your eyes met his in the rearview mirror. 

Rafe didn't look like the kind of guy that seemed well-intentioned when he asked for a girl's number. But he surprised you when he texted you once he got home. Then again all through the evening. And, in the days that followed. 

Between the texts and the phone calls, you covered a lot of ground. Now, Rafe knew about the time you peed yourself at an elementary school book fair, and you knew that he slept with his first dog's collar months after she died. You gushed about your favourite kinds of junk food while he raved about the hand-spun milkshakes at the club. 

Rafe's turn to speak in the circle was a mess, to say the least. He could hardly spit a few words about Ward, too busy navigating pregnant pauses and his newfound habit of stuttering. He thinks he might've called Ward 'nice', then very quickly grimaced after. When he heard his own voice through the rush in his ears, he thought it sounded nothing like him. He could barely even feel your gentle hand rubbing at his back when his words broke and cracked, leaving his throat with a nasty burn. 

Though Rafe knew his relationship with his dad was strained, he loved him.

It wasn't a comforting feeling, but it was the truth, and all he had. They both could have done better, he reminds himself. God knew that was true.

But at one point, he'd just been a kid. He needed help. He needed his father who always seemed to find business elsewhere. It made sense that talking about Ward was hard.

It made mourning him harder.

A perpetual flurry of emotions that kept his mind up at night and his hands restless. Anger and sadness always dominating the rest, but fighting their own fight with each other.

Anger when he thought about the ways his dad favoured Sarah.

Sadness when he remembered those rare early mornings Ward woke Rafe up for a surprise boat trip, just the two of them.

Back then, Rafe used to stay up entire nights in excitement at the prospect of spending some time alone with his father. Eventually, he had to force himself to accept that their last trip together had long passed, and right under his nose.

"Was it bad?" He groans, eyes screwed shut as he rubs a hand over his taut jaw, working lazily on a piece of gum.

He's still sitting when the room clears out. You stand to haul your bag over your shoulder, giving him a reassuring smile that he absorbs fully. Bright blue eyes drinking you in. 

"No, Rafe. It was fine. Everyone's too busy focusing on their own shit. You got through it just fine."

He gives you an unconvinced look, quirking a brow. Then he tugs at your bag, holding it instead. 

"You're lying." He frowns. With a hint of amusement in his voice, "God, and you're a bad liar, too."

Biting your lip, you take Rafe's hand in yours and drag him towards the exit, giggling quietly to yourself. He trails behind you, slowly shaking his head. He grins when you skip past the metal rack at the front of the building and pull him into the parking lot. You didn't bring your bike today. 

"C'mon, big guy. Let's get you a milkshake." You tease. "I know a place."

He rolls his eyes and laughs, letting you lead him in the opposite direction of his truck.

"You're going the wrong way, dumbass."

"I don't know, Rafe. It tastes kinda funny."

"That's because you mixed chocolate, vanilla, and peach. Who the fuck does that?"

Rafe sips on his chocolate milkshake as he sits across from you in the booth, an amused smirk tugging at his pink lips. The Island Club is somehow nicer inside than it is outside. The cherry-wood of the tables shines under the mood lighting and even near capacity, there's enough room for decent conversation. 

You pout, stirring your paper straw around in the metal cup. You perk up with an idea. 

"Let me try yours."

Rafe starts to laugh, eyes widening in protest. You're sweet, he thinks. He'd probably give you anything if you asked.

But that didn't mean he'd do it. He liked to think he was a little more challenging than that. 

"No, you made your bed." He shakes his head, gulping down another sip. It makes his Adam's apple bob. You stare mostly unashamed and lick your lips without thinking. "Now lie in it."

He watches your eyes get big for all of three seconds before realizing he'd lie right beside you.  

"Fuck, fine." He relents, taking his lip under his teeth, pang in his chest. "Don't look at me like that."

With two fingers, he pushes his cup in your direction and you hum happily as you sip from it. A sort of warm feeling in your stomach as you realize Rafe's mouth was on the same straw you're sucking on just moments before. 

"Do you know that guy? He's staring at you really hard." You mumble through the milkshake, but Rafe's eyes are fixated on your saliva-coated lips. 

"Huh?"

You turn your gaze to a guy at the bar. He's been staring at the back of Rafe's head for the better part of five minutes, squinting his eyes every so often as if to confirm it's really Rafe he's looking at. As he starts to come closer, you begin to understand why - his button-up shirt is half undone, his tawny brown hair disheveled, a far-away look in his blue eyes - he's drunk off his ass. 

Rafe turns to look. 

"Shit. Yeah, he's my sister's... long story." He sighs, forcing a smile as the guy approaches your table. "Hey, Top. What's going on, man?"

"Rafe!" The guy, Top, slurs excitedly. "I never see you around anymore, man. Where you been?" 

Then his eyes run over you and he chuckles. "Maybe I should be asking who you been with." 

It was true, Rafe had been sort of MIA since Sarah had returned with the news about his dad.

Well, except for that one incident. He hoped Topper was too drunk to remember that. In any case, he hadn't felt that guilty about their fading friendship - Topper had been MIA, too, ever since he went 'Rafe-crazy' and lit up the Chateau. He supposes that was his fault, too. 

Maybe he was avoiding him on purpose.

Topper reminded him of all the skeletons in his closet. It was hard enough living with the shame without a walking, talking reminder of his past. A lot of bravado and hair gel, is what it was. He regretted nearly everything now but sometimes he worried that if he spent enough time in the same places he used to, with the same people he used to, he'd somehow switch back. 

Rafe stiffens a little, but he gazes at you warmly. "This is Y/N. We met at, uh... she's..." 

"New." You finish for him. "Rafe's been showing me around."

At that, Rafe gives you a look. It made it sound like...

"Ah, that famous Cameron hospitality." The guy snorts. "I'm Topper."

The words 'Nice to meet you, Topper' die on your lips when he rams a hand aggressively on Rafe's shoulder and starts to laugh to himself, as if recalling memories. "Me and this guy? We go way back, Y/N. Best of friends, really."

You nod half-heartedly, shifting awkwardly in your seat. The leather of the chair underneath your bare thighs is starting to stick to the skin uncomfortably. 

"Alright, man, well it was good seeing you-," Rafe attempts to wave him off, but Topper doesn't let up.

"Look, dude." He whispers, lowering his head to Rafe's ear. He's not being as quiet as he thinks he is, and the next part of what he says makes you shudder. "I heard about your dad."

Rafe feels a wave of defeat wash over him. So, Topper wasn't too drunk to remember. 

It was one of the first nights after he'd heard about his dad. He'd spent as long as he could in the Island Club, ordering drink after drink, until he stumbled outside and spent a good chunk of the night puking his guts out. Unfortunately, that wasn't before letting his tongue fall a little too loose, and explaining to Topper how his dad hadn't really died on My Druthers because he was in Guadeloupe swimming in gold. But now, now he was really dead. And he wasn't coming back. And he'd barely said goodbye. 

"I'm really sorry, man. I know things have been really fucking weird, to say the least. But I'm sorry you're going through that. Again." Topper spills, feeling completely uninhibited. "Well, I guess it's only real this time around. But... you wouldn't have known that at the time." 

Topper winces at himself. He rubs a hand down his red face and stumbles away from the table. "Shit. Sorry. I'm just gonna-,"

"See ya, Top." Rafe cuts him off dryly. 

You look at Rafe cautiously as Topper makes his way, albeit clumsily, back to the bar. He lets out a deep breath and then slowly starts to shake his head, lifting his chin to meet your eyes with a look that seems to say - 'are you seeing this shit?'. 

"That guy used to be your best friend?" You ask with a hint of a smile, trying to diffuse the tension. You spare a glance at Topper who's slurring through his order of another drink. 

Rafe shrugs, letting out a wispy laugh. "We had our moments."

Moments he wasn't particularly eager to tell you about, but moments, nonetheless. 

"Do you wanna talk about it?"  

"What, Topper? Fuck no." He laughs harder. 

"No, not Topper. The meeting." You say sincerely. "Why you feel like you can't talk about your dad."

You feel your heart race a little at the question, wondering if Rafe is going to use it to be vulnerable. His face falls for a moment, but then it recovers. For a second, he considered it. But there's something bigger that's been weighing on his mind. 

"I was kinda hoping we could do something else." He says softly and moves in closer, cupping your cheek.

"Yeah?" You whisper, meeting his intense gaze. Hot breath fanning over his face. "And what's that?"

He tenderly moves a strand of hair out of your eyes, trying so hard to be soft that his hand is shaking. His blue eyes have specks of something else at this distance. It's the best colour you've ever seen. 

"I really need to kiss you."

He nods while he says it, like he's giving himself an affirmation. Then he's closing the space between you and pressing his lips over yours with a controlled kind of pressure you're really tempted to see snap one day. The way your mouth opens for his tongue nearly immediately almost makes it happen right now. And that'd really be a shame, he thinks, because he wants to ruin you when he has time and space to play with. 

"Stay with me tonight?" He mumbles breathily as you pull apart, and you nod as his thumb cradles your cheek.

You think you can maybe make out Topper whistling, but it's hard with all the blood rushing to your ears.

Rafe kisses like affection has been missing from his life for a long time. 

His hands are almost frustratingly gentle as they caress your jaw, but his lips, which haven't detached from yours since you entered his bedroom, more than make up for it.

They're hungry and wet with spit, entirely unsatisfied until your panting underneath him and have to bury your face in his neck to take deep, deep breaths of oxygen and his fading cologne.

He bites at your mouth and neck in the meantime, then soothes over the tender spots with his tongue while you whine and claw at the silky material on his still-clothed back.  

"This. Off." You murmur throatily, parting from his lips to tug up on the hem of his shirt. You stare unabashedly at the defined v-line that peaks out from underneath, tongue darting out to wet your lips in anticipation.

Rafe laughs, but humours you, throwing the garment off over the side of the bed so that it hits the floor somewhere. 

Still hovering over you, he leans down to press several kisses to your lips, and you take the opportunity to run the flat of your hand down his warm and muscular chest, the other hand curling around the sweaty strands of his dirty blonde hair. 

Rafe actually moans out when you tug on his hair, and the pretty sound brings a rush of heat to your core.

You squeeze your thighs together and plant open-mouthed kisses along Rafe's jaw, when his phone starts to vibrate on his bedside table. 

You turn your head to glance at the bright screen and Rafe scrunches his eyebrows together, fingers pinching at your chin to turn your focus back on him.

"I don't give a fuck who it is." He laughs breathily. "I'm not picking up. I'll break the stupid thing if I have to." 

You playfully roll your eyes before Rafe's lips attach to yours again, and you hum happily against his lips as he works them raw. Then his phone starts buzzing again.

"You wanna reconsider?" You giggle. Rafe slumps his face into your chest and groans loudly, arm extending to the table to pick up the device. He lifts his head up and glances at the notification, face twisting in what looks like shock.

"It's my sister." He says, confusion evident in his tone. "My sister never calls me."

He moves to stand up and passes you an apologetic glance.

"Sorry, I gotta take this." He mumbles in a stray kiss to the crown of your head. "Gimme a sec." 

A few seconds turns into something much longer. 

It turned out that Rafe's sister, Sarah, was calling him because of some kind of commotion that was happening at a bonfire she and her friends were at.

Apparently, the person causing the commotion was someone Rafe knew.

Based on Rafe's initial surprise and the way he's been chewing through his bottom lip the whole way to the beach, you assumed Sarah calling was a last resort for her. You got the sense she and her brother didn't talk often.

"I'm gonna handle this, alright? I need you to stay right here." Rafe says sternly, nervously running a hand through his hair.

You sit in the passenger seat of his truck, which has quickly become one of your new favourite spots, with a frown on your pretty lips that makes Rafe's chest hurt. He reaches up to cup your cheek. 

He'd tried to convince you to stay in his room while he dealt with the situation, but you were adamant about coming with. You needed to make sure he was safe. It didn't feel like there were many people that had his best interests at heart. 

"If you think I'm going to let you go out there by yourself, you really don't know me, Rafe." 

His lips twitch at that, his thumb caressing the skin under your eye.

"You're infuriating, you know that?" He murmurs softly. "Fine. C'mon."

The beach is pretty at this hour, too. The sky is dark, but not completely so - an expansive dark blue that blankets the moon. In the distance, you can see the reddish-golden flames of a bonfire that illuminate a group of people. 

"You had the cross!" An exasperated voice yells. "How was that not enough for you?!"

"Yeah, I'm afraid that's old news." Another man with long dark hair retorts humourlessly. "I'mma need my fucking money. The money your punk asses stole from me, or did you forget that shit?!"

Getting closer, you can see that this group is separated from the much larger crowd behind them. Four guys, and two girls. One of the girls has shiny blond hair that glows under the light of the bonfire flames. Sarah, you guess. 

Three of the guys stand beside the girls. The other one stands opposite the rest of them, hands smoothing over something his pocket.

A soft gasp leaves your lips when you realize it's a gun.

Rafe stops suddenly. He turns to gaze at you with an intense look in his eyes, pupils hard as one of his hands grips your shoulder. The other reaches for your face, thumb brushing over your lip tenderly. 

"Don't move." He whispers. "Promise me." 

You feel your stomach churn at the request, wanting nothing more than to tug him by the hand all the way back to his truck. But you nod, hoping it helps alleviate the tension in his forehead. 

"Barry!" Rafe calls out as he turns around and approaches them. 

The man with the gun tucked in his jeans, Barry, looks over his shoulder and huffs. Rafe roughly pushes him away from the rest of the group and they divulge into a heated conversation. Rafe's jaw ticks as he listens to Barry and receives a firm shove to the chest. But he manages to placate the other man by whispering something into his ear. Barry ends up nodding, and he casts one more angry glance at the rest of the group then begins to retreat. 

"Y'all have a good night, now." He chuckles grudgingly before leaving. 

Rafe makes his way back to the rest of them, nodding at his sister. You slowly come up behind him. 

"Thanks." Sarah seems to hesitate to say. Her arms are crossed over her chest, and there are frustrated tears in her eyes.

The relationship between Rafe and Sarah has been strained for a long time. They seemed to fundamentally disagree with each other.

It wasn't always that way. Or at least, Rafe thinks, it wasn't always that way. One day, his sister upped and left it all - the big house, the fancy clothes, the nice cars - for 'Pogue life'. It still made his nose crinkle in disgust when he thought about it. But the truth was, he hadn't thought about it in a while... their dad dying worked to break them out of that feud. There were bigger things to worry about, and despite everything that went down in the last few years, they'd lived a whole life together before that.

That still meant something to Rafe. 

It meant something to Sarah, too, he thinks, because she'd been less appalled by him lately. She checked in every once in a while. A few months back, he'd formally apologized to her, and of course, it would never be enough, but he felt a weight off his shoulder when she accepted it. When he realized she wasn't scared of him anymore. 

Maybe they could move passed everything. It would take a long time, sure. But he could wait for family. The only family he has. 

One of the guys next to Sarah, wearing a backwards baseball cap, stiffens.

"Don't thank him. He's Barry's bitch." He bites like Sarah's words are absurd, then stares hard at Rafe. "In fact, he's probably just here to score some more coke."

Rafe's grits his teeth, eyes fluttering shut for a second. He opens them and shakily exhales. 

"I'm clean, now." 

Your heart clenches at how raw his voice sounds. You watch with wide eyes as the same guy scoffs at him.

"Yeah, like anybody believes that." He mumbles under his breath. Before you can try and defend him, Sarah steps in. 

"Guys, I called him." She admits, fatigue evident in her voice. It makes you wonder how long the confrontation between them had gone on before you and Rafe showed up. Another guy, one wearing a bandana across his forehead, casts Sarah a sour glance and she sighs. "You know I had to, John B. Did you want Barry to leave, or not?"

He didn't have anything to say to that. 

Sarah steps away from her friends in an attempt at some privacy. She approaches Rafe, and by extension, you, while the rest of the gang diffuses around the bonfire. Whatever had gone down in the past between these people, it was clear they wanted nothing to do with Rafe moving forward, and it was perhaps only because Sarah was family that she even entertained speaking to him. You appreciated her for that. 

"It's been a while." Sarah comments. "You've been... doing okay?"

Rafe shuffles nervously in front of her, nodding without meeting her eyes. 

"Yeah, I've been good. You?" 

Sarah nods and a silence falls between them. 

"You're still hanging around Barry?" She asks, raising an eyebrow in disapproval. 

"He's not that bad."

"Yeah, I'll try to remember that when he's not threatening me and my friends for 25 thousand dollars."

Rafe shakes his head with a new-found confidence, raising his chin to meet her stormy and inquisitive eyes. "Nah, I talked to him. He won't bother you guys anymore."

Sarah nods again, and another silence falls between them. 

"You're really doing good?" She asks again, bottom lip wedged beneath her teeth.

"Yeah, I am. I'm, uh, getting help. Got this... group thing."

At the mention of a 'group', Sarah's eyes sweep over to you, drinking in your slightly turned face and averted gaze as you try to give the siblings some space for their conversation. She feels her lips twitch a little. So much had happened. A lot she didn't think she would ever forgive, maybe should never forgive. But she couldn't deny that it was more complex than that, nor could she deny that she missed her older brother. The one from before. Who she'd make eye contact across the dinner table with when Rose waxed poetic about their new marble counters. If they could find their way back there, she'd be lying if she said the idea didn't make her happy. 

"I'm really happy to hear that, Rafe. Honestly." 

Rafe smiles weakly. They say their goodbyes and manage an awkward side-hug with each other. When he turns around, you silently take his hand in yours, and you walk along the roaring beach back to his truck. 

Back at the truck, you lay your head on Rafe's shoulder as he sits in the driver's seat, still parked at the side of the road. Rafe keeps his eyes closed, taking a deep breath before he starts to speak. 

"My dad scared me." 

Instinctively, you reach your hand over the console and tangle your fingers together. You give his hand a gentle squeeze. 

"I fucked up a lot, embarrassed him. And I, uh, I don't blame him for that. I was high all the time. Angry. Violent." He continues, sniffling slightly. "He wasn't scared of me, though. Never was."

"I guess I just wanted him to look at me and not be ashamed, you know?"

Rafe gulps, trying to let the sound of your soft hums and the warmth of your body keep him steady. 

"I did some really bad things to people. Things I'm not proud of." He whispers with his head hanging. "They didn't deserve it... and now, I have to live with that."

He shuts his eyes and exhales. 

"It's, uh... it's really hard living with that."

Lifting your head from his shoulder, you bite your lip as you take in Rafe's words, fingers reaching forward to brush away the spare tears that collect on his cheeks. He leans into your touch, finding comfort in it. 

"Hey." You say softly. "Look at you, talking about your dad. You're doing a really good job, Rafe."

He smiles weakly, his eyes trained on his lap. "Sorry tonight was a bust."

"It wasn't." You protest. "Plus, it's not over yet."

Rafe lifts his chin to look at you, his curiosity piqued.

You lick your lips and trace your fingers along his jaw, maneuvering yourself over the console to firmly grip the sides of his face and pull his lips to yours in a long and messy kiss. It's clumsy, with your noses bumping, and teeth scraping - but it's hot and it makes you feel tingly.

Rafe nips at your bottom lip shamelessly, kisses trailing down the column of your throat. "In the truck?" He asks, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice.

"In the truck." You breathe, holding back a moan when Rafe sucks on your skin. 

One way or another, the two of you find your way into Rafe's backseat. He's sitting with his legs wedged apart while you grind on top of him, muttering obscenities under your breath and weaving your fingers through his hair.

The sounds of your pleasure do more for him than he'd care to admit. When you unzip his slacks and stick your hand into his briefs to pull out his leaky cock, he throws his head back against the headrest and hisses at the contact. He is so fucking sensitive already.

"No, don't." Rafe protests breathlessly when you stroke his hard cock a few times, his hand slipping from your hip to wrap around your wrist and pull it away. Your eyes widen and you unfurl your hand immediately, only to smile when you realize why he wants you to stop. He tries to calm himself down, but can feel it building. 

"It's been a while." Rafe defends, and you giggle on top of him, pressing a sloppy kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

"Honestly, Rafe. That's really fucking hot." 

You pull your top over your head and toss it to the floor, then quickly unclasp your bra. Rafe groans immediately, half-lidded eyes so pretty and pitiful as one of his hands reaches up to grope you, while his mouth latches on to one of the hardening buds. You raise your hips to pull down your shorts, but it's not quick enough for Rafe. He tugs impatiently at the lace of your panties. 

Rafe sits you down on him, letting you control the speed as he enters you. Your mouth falls open as you attempt to take him fully, eyes screwed shut, gasp after gasp leaving your lips. 

"Fuck." You pant as he bottoms out, unable to move for a second as your head slumps in his chest. Rafe chuckles underneath you, large hands squeezing your hips. 

"You okay, baby?" 

"It's just big." You murmur, taking your bottom lip under your teeth. "It's really big, Rafe."

"I know," he coos softly as you begin to rock your hips on top of him, his own face twisting in pleasure as your pelvises kiss. "But you're doing so good, huh?"

You can barely respond, too taken by the feeling of your tight walls squeezing around him. By the sound of Rafe's deep thrusts, pistoling up into you as your hips knock into each other sloppily. Your slick dripping from where you're connected down to your thighs, squelching obscenely inside Rafe's truck, definitely staining the seats. 

"Taking my cock so well." He praises. "Splitting you in half, and you're taking it like a champ." 

You moan brokenly as Rafe hits your spot, his hand trailing down at the same time to rub circles on your aching clit with his thumb. 

"My good girl, huh? Always will be?"

You reach your climax as he presses searing kisses on your shoulder, shuddering with the kind of white hot pleasure that has your toes curling and a high-pitched whine vibrating from your throat that Rafe is sure he'll never forget. 

He comes shortly after, the way you clench around him through your orgasm enough to send him reeling. He groans, pumping his hips a few more times before he stills completely and fills the condom with his spend. He holds you tightly as you both come down, the sounds of your heavy breathing overlapping with each other.

Before his cock softens, he pulls out slowly and disposes of the latex. He presses a soft kiss to your cheekbone when you frown at the loss of contact, whimpering sweetly.

"Don't pout, princess. You need to get filled up? Right here?" A slender finger trails down to your slit, bumping your sensitive clit in the process, and it prods at your wet hole. 

He chuckles, brushing the sweaty hair from your face with his other hand. "I got that. Just gotta be patient and wait 'til I get you home. You can do that for me, right, pretty girl?"

The next morning, you strap yourself into the passenger seat of Rafe's truck as he drives to a busted Church at the outer edge of Figure 8. He takes his seat amongst a circle of foldable chairs and you take your seat next to him. His hand reaches out to grip yours not different from how it did last night, through fucking and sleeping alike.

When it's his turn to speak, you squeeze his hand encouragingly and he takes a deep breath.

"My dad, Ward Cameron, passed away about a year ago. He was a lot of things..."

a/n: thank you for reading! comments/reblogs appreciated!!

[soft4gguk]

to build a home | chapter twelve

Pairing: Jungkook x reader. ceo!jk + dilf!jk x nanny!oc

Genre: strangers to lovers. angst. fluff. smut.

Word count: 18k (hehe)

Warnings: this is so long i don’t know that i remember every single thing i must’ve included here but i’ll try my best lol. angst!! this is a very angsty chappie but it’s needed ok? so sad so sexy oc. jungkook is a dick twice!! for like a second but its bc he’s scared :( & stressed. Unprotected sex (don't!!! xo). they dirty talk a lot acc. i think thats it? i hope thats it lol. 

Author’s note: it’s a sunday and we have a new tbah chapter!! thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart for waiting. and for giving me such a warm welcome and giving my writing so much love, even amidst my absence. i really hope you guys enjoy this installment of to build a home! i poured my heart on this and i enjoyed it so, so much. it felt like the good old days!! do let me know what you thought - i feel like there’s so much to UNPACK for this one. i love you guys x a million. thank u for reading <3 

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

Chapter Twelve

The sun stirs you awake this morning, its rays sneaking their way inside your room with every gust of wind that makes the curtains dance and the moment you regain the smallest bit of consciousness, you know it’s too early. You’re not meant to be awake for another hour or so but after a minute of tossing and turning, you begin to feel the sleep drift out of you. Your mind fills with thoughts and things to do, feelings and their unresolved natures. It’s Monday, after all, lots to do, lots to feel and certainly lots to confront. 

You slip out of the comfort of your blankets and pillows, putting your headphones over your head and pressing shuffle on the first playlist you find, cranking the volume a little too high in hopes that it will quieten the sea of thoughts that begin to whirlwind inside your mind. You make your way to the kitchen and almost miss the peace and quiet of six a.m., specially here. When the world is still asleep and it’s just you and you can let yourself fall into the long process of making yourself a cup of coffee. More than a process, you’d call it a ritual. You find it good to just stare at your hands at work, resilient in providing sweet satisfaction in a matter of minutes. And so, despite the lack of peace and quiet this morning provides, you get to work. Grinding the coffee beans until they’re silky smooth, pouring the water into the bottom of your italian press and putting it all back together to rest at the stove top. Until all there’s left to do is wait. Wait, wait, wait… 

“I love you.”

You wish it was those mere words that were pressing on you. But it was more. It was the way you felt his body weight on top of yours grow tense. The way the seconds felt like minutes, and then hours, until not even in proximity could you feel him close. How the air felt dense around you and your nerves got the best of you. 

“You don’t have to say it back. I’d say it was a heat of the moment thing but… I don’t think that makes any difference.” 

It all echoes inside of your head. Inside of your chest. Your words, the stutter, the awkward laughter that followed as you tried to brace yourself for whatever came next. Only nothing did. 

He didn’t say it back. 

He didn’t say it back when the high came down and you both wrapped your bodies around each other. He didn’t say it back as he kissed you, slowly and with that lazy characteristic that takes on when he’s sleepy, but not less filled with intention. He fell asleep first, his body impossibly flushed to yours, your fingers carded in his hair for hours as you laid awake, unable to reconcile sleep. 

He didn’t say it back when his lips on your cheeks woke you up the next morning. It was sweet, your mind blank with the exception of the bliss his touch basked you in. He kissed and touched, he pleased. But he didn’t say it back. 

He didn’t say it back throughout the day but by then your mind had fallen at ease, taking you by surprise, even. It was a lazy Sunday morning that turned into a lazy Sunday afternoon, nothing but peace and leisure as the three of you spent the day by the pool. Snacking on whatever the season had turned ripe and sweet. It was a perfect summer day and as Soori splashed about and you looked into each other’s eyes in pride and joy, you thought that maybe, just maybe, he was trying to tell you.

But he didn’t say it back. Not when you said goodbye after putting Soori to sleep, not when he kissed you and said he’d see you tomorrow. Not when you turned around, stealing one last glance at him, lingering for a second too long in awe of his beauty as he smiled and leaned by his doorframe, taking you in. Not even when he called you to make sure you’d gotten home safe and his silence and yours filled the line right as you were about to hang up. And then you didn’t, and you waited, until the line disconnected. 

Your coffee overheats as you go back and forth, one cruel thought after the other, and it’s the lid jumping and splashing the liquid everywhere that brings you back to your small kitchen. 

“Shit.” You remove the pot from the stove and let it rest for a minute as you clean up the mess. Getting lost in your thoughts again because, hey, at least you woke up early, so as to give you enough time to let the overthinking make you clumsy. 

Ten different things go wrong before you’re finally able to sit down on your couch, freshly brewed iced americano in one hand, your journal and pen in another. All you need to do is let your thoughts leave you. Yes, that’s exactly what you need to do. You need to come back to yourself as you sip your coffee slowly and fill an entire page worth of your feelings. It’s catharsis in it’s purest form. A foul-proof method, at that. 

Only it isn’t. You fill the pages with sentences like,

Why didn’t he say it?

I should’ve not acted like it meant nothing to me. It meant the world to me. 

He means the world to me.

I love him. 

Does he not love me back?

And the one that filled the pages the most,

Why doesn’t he love me back?

And by the time you’re ready to leave the house, you’re still a ball of unresolved emotions and a chaotic neutral feeling taking over your every being because all you want to do is scream but you’re running late to see the root of all your problems. 

~

Thankfully, the root of all your problems walks inside his kitchen that morning holding what you believe is the cure of all that is wrong in the world: his daughter. 

“Oh my God, you look so cute,” and she does. A smile that makes you melt, two pigtails held by tiny pink bows and an oversized Winnie The Pooh t-shirt that brings her whole look together. “Good morning, baby.”

The moment she falls into your arms you feel an ease run through you that makes you submit to the harsh edges of the world, waving white flag. She’s foul-proof magic and method. 

“Good morning,” he says, giving you a smile that almost washes away your uncertainties. 

“Good morning.” You take Soori from his arms and return the smile, but he can tell it’s not quite there yet. Not that he thinks much of it – your morning meet ups in the kitchen are always cordial but not overly so, you wouldn’t want Mrs. Chae to suspect anything. – 

“I have a busy week coming up.”

“You do?” It’s a question that translates to, you didn’t mention that and Jungkook doesn’t miss it in your tone. 

 “Yeah. So I’ll probably be home a bit late. No more than an hour, though, is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“Great. Thanks!” He’s nonchalant as he walks up to the kitchen island, greeting Mrs. Chae and moving quickly through his iced americano. 

He leans against the counter, scrolling down his phone, not a care in the world. A particular sip has him choking on his coffee and he coughs a little. Inside, you smile. And yes, that’s not the proudest you’ve been of a feeling but can you be blamed? He doesn’t look like his coffee splashed all over his kitchen counter this morning because he couldn’t stop thinking about how he confessed his love to you and you didn’t say it back. Matter of fact, not saying it back is the least of your concerns. He didn’t say anything! No reaction, nothing. You hope he chokes on his coffee again. It’s harmless, in your defense, most women would be hoping for bloodier, more treacherous things. He’s lucky you don’t- 

“‘Kay. Gotta go. Have a nice day, Mrs. Chae!” He walks over to you, taking Soori from your arms and showering her cheeks with kisses as he makes his way to the doorway. She’s getting better at the goodbye part of the mornings but Mondays are always tricky. 

“Have a nice day.” You smile, a bit forcibly. 

“Aw,” he frowns, pouting, and you think he almost gets it, but no. “You tired, baby? Mondays can be hard.”

You want to gasp. No, really, it takes all the strength in you not to gasp. “Yeah, slept horribly, actually.”

“Take it easy today. You two should take a nap in my bed.” You nod and agree and he hugs you after he passes Soori to you, pulling her in as well. It’s a little three-way-hug and it makes your heart feel a little comfort, even amidst the chaos. 

“You take it easy, too.” Your hand finds his and you squeeze, even if for a second. 

“Bye, baby.” He kisses you. “Bye, baby!” He kisses Soori. And off he goes. 

This is pretty much what your entire week looks like. Going to bed late, head swimming in thoughts. Waking up an hour before your alarm rings, head swimming in the said thoughts. Breakfast before Lucy is up, so you can leave right as she wakes up, because a part of you knows she’d know, and that you couldn’t handle it. Lucy cares. Lucy would ask you a thousand questions, or encourage you to talk about it, or she would simply wrap you up in a hug that would send tears to your eyes that would turn into full on sobs by the time she was done putting her loving on you. So you lie to her; tell her Jungkook needs to be at the office earlier this week, and she buys it, no questions asked. 

 You walk half of your commute, and then take the bus, mainly to kill time. On Wednesday you think you could probably just take the bus right away, be early, make up some excuse to Mrs. Chae and go up the stairs, to his bedroom. You could watch Soori for him as he gets ready, you could take him in as he prepares for the day, you could ask him to be five minutes late so he can kiss you silly and extinguish the fire of doubt that keeps growing thicker, taller flames inside your heart. But, could you? Could you do all that? Have you fallen into enough familiarity as to do that? You thought you had, now you’re not so sure. 

Spiraling. That’s what your week looks like. You meet him in the kitchen, bask in the peace Soori brings you the moment she wraps her arms around you (she’s a hugger now) and try to suppress the witty remarks that threaten to leave your mouth, fueled by sarcasm and anger, every time you speak to him. But most days, you’re just sad. So sad you have to fake a smile, or make a grand effort to hold a conversation. Not that you have many. Jungkook is busy, morning and night. Something about a new property they’re getting ready to acquire - a future addition to The West End Collection. Each day the stress and tiredness reflects on him more, his energy plummeting. He says something about timezones and having to reply to emails at three a.m. so you assume it’s an international transaction. Nonetheless, it’s all assumption, you guys barely talk. And you get it. Jungkook is a busy man – he owns hotels, for Christ’s Sake! – And under any other circumstance, his distance and your lack of communication combined wouldn’t worry you, it’d simply be that, circumstantial. But right now, all it does is fuel the overthinking and self-doubt.

But then it’s midday and you remember how he kissed you in the morning before he left, and your thoughts quieten. Instead, they’re replaced by that pink, fuzzy feeling that your body recognizes as him. The feeling that belongs to him and him only. And on the bus ride home you replay the way he kissed you goodbye, no one around you, and able to take his time. His hand resting on your cheek, his lips parting your mouth, the small sigh of relief that never fails to leave him whenever he deepens the kiss. This cloud of comfort the memories put you in inevitably land you back to square one, simply for the fact that they remind you of the one thing that presses on to your heart the most: you love him. 

~

By the time Friday rolls around, you’re so exhausted from the marathon taking place inside your head that the moment you make it home, aided by the quiet and solitude that falls into your apartment – courtesy of date night for Lucy and Jimin – your body starts to ache from exhaustion. 

You change into an old t-shirt and shorts, put your hair up in a bun and decide you will be treating yourself to take out. You get cozy, blanket tucked under you as Gilmore Girls – your comfort show – plays on the TV. Scrolling lazily through the food delivery apps, you ponder on what to eat. You want something that screams sad girl stays home because non-reciprocated love is too heavy of a burden to bear. Pizza, pasta, a burger. Maybe some ramen! Or a burrito, that never fails. Or perhaps just dessert. Perhaps that’s what you need. A shock to the body in the form of sugar. But amidst your indecision your lids fall heavy and you’re out cold before the clock can mark eight p.m. 

And you sleep. You sleep through the night, a deep, dreamless slumber that makes you pay for all the sleepless nights you put your body through. You barely move an inch throughout the night, Gilmore Girls serving as a soft lullaby in the background until Netflix gathers that you are not, as a matter of fact, still watching. You could probably sleep through the morning, and if you really tried, you could probably sleep through the afternoon if you cozied yourself up just right, but the universe has other plans. More like, Lucy and Jimin have other plans. In their defense, you are running late for book club. 

Their hushed little giggles as they enter the house is the first thing you hear in the depths of your subconscious as the noise attempts to stir you awake. But it’s to no avail. Your mind ignores it eventually after it goes on for a minute too long. The second attempt is their hushed chit chat that takes one too many pauses as it gets lost in the giggles and pecks they share in between. 

“Shhh. You’re gonna wake __ up!” It’s Jimin, your subconscious recognizes that much. 

“Hmm,” more giggles. “She should be in the shower right about now. She has book club, remember?”

“Shit, that’s true! Hey, we can fuck in the kitchen again?” 

“Jimin, oh my god. Shhh!”

You frown, but your mind refuses to fully wake up. 

It’s the wet noise from their kisses that finally do it, at a third triumphant attempt. You jolt awake, turning to the direction of the kitchen where you see the image that matches the dirty little noises they make. Lucy opens her eyes for a split second as Jimin presses her against the counter and she all but screams when she sees your head peeking from the sofa, hair a mess and a scowl painting your features. Jimin shrieks follow a second later. 

“Shh. Shhhh!” you say. “What time is it?”

“It’s 9:15!” Lucy yells, still startled. “What are you doing here? Are you feeling okay? You look… under the weather.”

“Yeah __ you look rough,” Jimin says. 

“Aren’t you two just sweet? I fell asleep on the couch,” you stumble as you make your way to your bedroom, still groggy from sleep. “Shit. I’m gonna be so late.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make you some coffee and a sandwich to-go,” Lucy says, peeking inside your bedroom. 

“Thank you, Lu. You’re the best.” You brush through your hair, incredulous as to how it got so messy through the night. 

“Of course,” she says, lingering in your doorframe. “But seriously __, are you doing alright? I’ve barely seen you this week.”

“Yeah. Yes. I’m fine. Long hours at work, that’s all.”

She smiles. “I’m gonna tell Jungkook not to work you too hard when I see him today.” You look at her, confusion lacing your features. “Dae’s birthday party, remember?”

“Oh, shit. That’s today. I totally forgot.” 

Now it’s Lucy’s turn to look confused. And rightfully so. I mean, what would warrant a reaction like the one you just had? You love Dae. And she knows that any excuse to see Jungkook puts a giddy, little smile on your face, like a teenage girl. She calls it the puppy love stage, and is convinced you’re deep into it. You can’t blame her. A week ago you would have agreed. But today you were hoping you could avoid all thoughts of him. Come up with some excuse, tell him you’re feeling a bit under the weather and that you’d take the weekend to recover. But your plans of drowning your feelings in pizza, ice cream and Gilmore Girls (not necessarily in that order) just tumbled to the ground. You do, in fact, love Dae and wouldn’t miss his birthday party for the world. 

“I’ll just be a little late,” you smile, disguising your thoughts. “So, you know, I can come back and shower, seeing as I won’t have time to do that.”

You’re not entirely sure she buys it, but she offers you a smile and heads to the kitchen to make you breakfast. That act alone makes you want to cry. 

It’s gonna be a long day. 

~

It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Perfect for a pool party. Mai had hired a very capable catering company that was in charge of feeding both the adults and the kids at Dae’s birthday party, but Taehyung had gotten a new grill and he could find no better day to break it in than today. And even though she insisted, it was to no avail. They were grilling – the finest cuts of steak, at that – and opening the nicest bottles of wine. His first born was turning five and they had a second one on the way! He takes a minute to take it all in, sighing in pure, blissful satisfaction. There was only one person whose grilling skills could come close to his, and he knows that much because he taught him. 

“What a good day, isn’t it, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook nods, taking a sip of his red wine as his eyes scan the scene before him. Kids running around everywhere, scattered all over Mai and Taehyung’s garden. A huge bouncy castle with a water slide happened to be the main entertainment of the day, making him question how he was going to top it up with his Iron Man act. His friends all gathered to celebrate Dae, whom he loved and couldn’t believe was turning five. He also couldn’t believe he was still a bachelor when he was born, not envious of his friend’s new lifestyle, and now… well, look at him now! His eyes scan the place for Soori, who’s in Kenny’s lap as her cousins play around her. She smiles and claps, eyes wide as she kicks and screams in joy and he can’t believe she’ll be able to keep up with them soon. 

“Can you believe we’re dads?”

“In awe of it every day, actually. Can you believe we’re actually good at it?” Taehyung looks at Jungkook, who’s deep in thought. 

“No. Takes me by surprise every day,” he says, and Taehyung likes the way Jungkook gives himself credit, despite it all. 

“Can you believe Jimin is well on his way to settle down?” Taehyung says, gaze diverting forward. Jungkook follows his line of vision and understands exactly what he’s talking about. There they are, Jimin and Lucy. 

“About time.” And he’s only half joking, but the truth is, Jungkook hadn’t seen his friend this happy in years, and he’s got Lucy to thank for that. They all do. 

“Aw, imagine how cute their babies will look like,” Taehyung says, earning himself a frown from Jungkook.

“Keep your baby fever in your pants, please.”

“Oh, if only you knew.”

Jungkook looks at him and it takes him all but a second to know what he’s talking about. 

“Really?” Taehyung just shrugs, but he smiles bright and big, and his happiness is contagious. “Bro, seriously. You have to learn to shut your mouth. Mai is gonna kill you! Again!” and of course, Jungkook is alluding to the very first secret Taehyung couldn’t keep from his best friend. That first secret is turning five today. 

“Don’t tell her I told you, bro.” He sounds like a child, and Jungkook can’t believe he’s officially a dad of two. 

“Oh, I so will.”

“Fucking traitor.” He says. 

“Hey, congratulations. I’m so happy for you guys.” 

Taehyung brings him in for a hug and it ends as quickly as it begins. “Shh, sh. She’s looking this way, act cool.”

“A fucking child.” 

“You’re the child! I’m older than you by almost two-”

Jimin walks behind them, taking them by surprise when he throws his arms around their shoulders. “Children, please. Settle down.” 

Lucy giggles, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend’s goofy nature. She loves that about him. Matter of fact, she’d just told him, for the very first time, that she loved everything about him. That she loved him. This came after Jimin had blurted it out, in the middle of a very mild argument over the best Shrek movie. She loved him so much she’d decided to overlook the fact he said it was the fourth. Everyone knows it’s the second. 

“Funny. We were just talking about you.” Taehyung says. 

“Nothing but compliments and praises, I’d imagine!” He says. His friends both shrug at the same time, earning themselves a scowl from him. 

Jungkook turns to Lucy, smiling at her before asking, “Hey, have you heard from __? She told me she’d be here.”

“Oh, she overslept this morning, didn’t even have time to shower. So she just went home to freshen up before the party.” Lucy replies, finding it a bit odd that he isn’t aware of your whereabouts. 

“Ah,” he ponders on this for a minute. “I see.”

“I’m sure she’ll be here soon.” Her smile is kind, almost like she knows. And oh, she knows. Only she can’t put her finger on it entirely. She knows something’s mildly off, but everything seemed fine at surface level. Ultimately, she didn’t want to pry – knew that often her overthinking led her to worry for no reason – but also, her gut was almost never wrong. 

Jimin’s voice brings her back from her mental gymnastics. 

“Babe, let’s go get our bathing suits on! I’m so going on that bouncy castle.” 

“Please don’t do anything stupid. And don’t break the bouncy castle, the deposit on it alone was more than your Saint Laurent boots.” Taehyung tells him, nonchalantly, back at work on the grill. 

“Bro, it’s like, 30 degrees outside. Take those off.” Jungkook adds. 

“Do not address me, flip flop man.” 

Taehyung’s head snaps. “Hey, what’s wrong with flip flops?”

Jimin scans him from head to toe, stopping at his feet. “Everything.” And like that, he’s gone. 

Taehyung and Jungkook return to grilling duties, diligently at work and in total silence for a couple of minutes, so as to recover from Jimin’s brutal abuse towards their choice of shoewear. 

It’s Taehyung that breaks the silence first. 

“So… you and __, seems like it’s getting pretty serious, huh? Plus, you’re happy. I can tell. We all can, to be fair.”

He laughs, and when he does, it has a bite to it Taehyung wasn’t expecting. “So, I get laid and it shows?”

Jungkook doesn’t mean it. Not the words he uttered, or the edge that laces his voice. Not even the breath he took right before he spewed their venom. He regrets it the moment they leave him. 

Taehyung winces. “What the hell was that, man?”

“What exactly?”

“I’d like to believe you’ve passed the point of just fucking ___.” Taehyung can’t even call you the nanny anymore, his words faltering for a second before saying your name. 

Jungkook chuckles, and again, he doesn’t mean it. His friend can tell, which concerns him more. He wouldn’t press if he didn’t know he was lying through his teeth, lacing it with fire just to reinforce a point he didn’t believe himself. 

“So, when she stays the night, what exactly do you think we do?”

Taehyung shakes his head and it’s him who’s chuckling this time. “You’re such a pussy.”

Jungkook’s head snaps fast, an immediate frown taking over his features. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it fucking means. You’re a pussy. Love looks you right in the eyes and you fall into the most cliché tale of fearing it so much it makes you, quite frankly, an asshole.” Jungkook winces at the word love, though Taehyung doesn’t notice – heavily invested in shaking some sense into him. 

“I’m not going to sit here and pretend what it feels like,” he continues, voice taking on a softer tone. “To lose something so abruptly that it makes you feel like everything that follows will hold the same fate. You didn’t have a choice – when you gathered all that strength and courage for Soori, you didn’t have a choice. You gave her love when life was throwing the opposite your way, that was brave. Do the same for yourself. That same courage, choose it.” He throws a punch at his chest, right where his heart is – it’s not forceful but it makes the youngest tumble backwards slightly.

Jungkook stares at his friend, his heart taking on a wave of feelings that pass him by too quickly for him to grasp, let alone process. It’s anger first, sadness following, and when it crashes, they land in fear. Square one, too weak to say much, he just stares at Taehyung – his expression dumbfounded but above all, pained. 

For a second, as Taehyung stares into his eyes, he sees a wide-eyed twenty-year-old Jungkook. Puffy cheeks and cherry hair, a heartthrob to everyone’s knowledge but his own, making him all that more charming. Jungkook tries to find words – anything to form a shield, to dismiss his friend’s words and take the easy route out of this conversation, this feeling, you. But in an instant, he’s reminded of how hard “easy” can be. How much pain comes with the strain of fighting and how the other side of that pain can be almost sweet – vulnerability. 

The words that follow make Taehyung feel nostalgic. 

“I talked to my dad – well, more like- he talked to me.” Taehyung nods, already knowing where this is going. “He knows. About __.”

“Okay… and what seems to be the problem?”

“In his eyes, everything. It almost felt like he was putting some sort of blame on me, for everything that happened with Ira. How it affected our family,” Jungkook pauses, the word family leaving his lips in a tremble. “They think she’s going to cause the same societal hysteria – if not worse. The CEO dating the nanny.” He huffs, shaking his head in disbelief and even though he laughs, it lacks humor. 

Taehyung’s one for big words but quite frankly, what he says next is the most accurate answer he can find, looking at his friend in the eyes as he says, “So?”

Jungkook looks at him, hesitating for a moment. “What do you mean so?”

“I don’t believe for a second that you just took his opinion and went with it. I don’t believe for a second you just agreed with him. Not even to get him to stop talking. I know you better than that.”

“I didn’t.”

“Exactly. So, what seems so be the problem, because your parents trying to discipline the twenty-eight-year-old? I’m not buying it.” Jungkook holds his gaze for a second before it drops to the floor, shoulders dropping in defeat as a sigh follows. “Life gets hard and the way things come to be, the circumstances we face, yeah – those are hard. But never loving. Loving is easy. That’s why it’s worth it.” 

Jungkook’s about to tell him that a week ago, you told him you loved him, and that he didn’t quite know if you meant it. He’s about to tell him that he didn’t say it back – that fear got the best of him. That all the possibilities of everything that could go wrong presented themselves to him like a movie. Frame by frame, so vividly that it physically pained him, making his body grow rigid and cold. He’s about to tell him that the biggest fear of it all was the possibility of you leaving, just like Ira did. But it’s right in that moment that he hears Soori’s shriek. It startles him at first, he thinks something must’ve happened to her, that she’s hurt, or perhaps just fuzzy and needs him. He drops the tongs he’s holding and is ready to run over to her. And then he sees you, fully stopping in his tracks when he realizes she’s perfectly fine – she was just excited to see you. 

Kenny hands her over and you take her into your arms, rocking her from side to side as you hug her to you. You feather kisses all over her face but she barely lets you, too excited and jumpy in your hold. She points at the red balloons that adorn the garden and you go wide eyed in excitement. Dae runs over to you and you kneel down, Soori still in your arms, and bring him in for a hug. He tells you things that Jungkook can’t make out from a distance but he, too, is going wide eyed in excitement. You motion to a box that sits by the sofa, neatly gift wrapped in Iron Man print. He claps and jumps and takes you by the hand, walking you to the table that holds all his birthday gifts. It’s only after you’ve helped him place your gift at the very top – as per his request – that your gaze finally meets Jungkook’s. 

You look beautiful, and when you smile at him he can feel his heart physically stop for a beat too long. Your long hair dances in the wind, and some gets tangled in Soori’s fingers. Even she looks at you in awe. You’re wearing a sage green summer dress that hugs your body in all the right places and then just flares out, accentuating that contrast you naturally hold. Very sweet but so very woman. 

He could stare at you for hours. 

And for his despair, for the most time, he does. 

~

You do a great job at seamlessly avoiding Jungkook. 

Now, it’s not that you want to avoid him. It’s more so that you don’t know how to face him. You’re afraid that anything he says or does could trigger a response inside of you that you won’t be able to control. Perhaps you’ll cry, or snap at him. Perhaps you’ll go completely mute. At this point, you don’t know. You tell yourself this is the price you pay for leaving a feeling untreated. But what could you do if the treatment to your feelings is standing at 5 foot 10 in total oblivion?

That much you know. Jungkook is oblivious as to how you really feel. And you can’t fully blame him for this because a. You’re the one that said he didn’t have to say anything in return and, b. Oblivion makes him look so small in your eyes. I mean, you’re out here sitting with your female rage, plotting his revenge, laughing a little too hard when he steps on a lego – in full Iron Man costume, may you add – and he just doesn’t get it. He doesn’t know. Because if he knew, he wouldn’t be stealing glances your way. Or letting his hand linger a little too close to yours when you stand next to him as Dae and his friends tell you what they’re reading in school. Or when you pass Soori to him, your arms getting tangled together. Or when you both reach for the same cupcake, the same glass of wine, the same deviled egg! He lingers like you often do when you’re in public and have to be kept a secret. When touch and proximity are scarce and you have to milk every touch, every word, every glance. 

In Jungkook’s eyes, your distance is simply discretion, because for Jungkook, your words were a heat of the moment thing. A testimony of how good you two had made each other feel. I mean, despite the way your words affected him and welcomed a new set of fears he wasn’t quite planning on having with you, he let you get away with it. He felt, in a way, that he was doing you a favor. I mean, you did sound embarrassed and almost avoidant when you said it. So why press on it? Why put the two of you through the stress of having to navigate your feelings? All of this made total sense to him when he woke up Sunday morning and decided to not give his mental chaos another thought. Why would he, when he could just enjoy you instead? 

Despite said female rage, the day turns out to be magical. Dae’s charmed by all the love he receives and even takes a power nap halfway through it all because he’s so exhausted from fun and play. But once he’s up, he’s unstoppable again. Running, swimming, singing and dancing, his fifth birthday party is a success. And now, with sun kissed noses and sugar rushes, his friends begin to say goodbye one by one. This is your queue, you think, and you walk over to Mai to thank her for having you. 

“What? No! Don’t leave now. The party’s just getting started. For us, at least,” she winks at you, motioning to the glass of wine she holds. It’s apple juice, only you don’t know this. 

“Uh,” you can’t come up with any excuses. 

“Plus! Don’t you wanna stay to see Dae opening his presents? It’s my favorite part of the day.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to intrude-” you know that for Soori’s birthday at least, that moment happened after all the guests had left, and it was just their close group of friends. You feel out of place.

“Nonsense. He wants you here. We all do. I do,” she grabs your hand in hers and you give her a little nod before she’s dragging you back to the party. 

You enjoy yourself more than you’d expected. In between conversations, left over finger food and really good wine, the evening passed you by. You enjoyed getting to know everyone better and found particular joy in seeing them in this dynamic they seemed to be very familiar with. Of course, this was all accredited to the years they’d spent together. You couldn’t help but find it quite amazing; the fact that the majority of them had known each other since high school, all through college and adulthood. Parenthood, too, for some of them. Every act of service, word spoken and inside joke was laced with something that words couldn’t quite describe, but if you were to try, you’d label it as family. Simple as that. They were family. Seeing how quickly Lucy was weaving her way into their friendship group made you feel so happy for her. And it was in that instant that something told you that she’d stay forever. Not a doubt of it. She belonged – here, with Jimin, surrounded by love and family. She just belonged. 

Dae opened his presents and each reaction was better than the last. He was in a total high and the only thing that made winding him down for bed easier was Mai telling him that the faster he went to bed, the quicker he’d wake up to a room full of brand new presents he could play with all day long, if he so pleased. That and the fact that his cousins were staying the night and by the time Taehyung was done scattering his room with sleeping bags for the kids, the place looked like a campsite. 

And so the night was drawing to an end as you all sat by the lounge area in Mai and Taehyung’s backyard. Music playing softly from the speakers, the half eaten Iron Man cake on the table and a string of memories recalled by each of them as they reminisced. 

“Time flies,” Namjoon says. 

“I can’t believe you were the first one to have a kid.” Yoongi tells him. 

Hobi wraps his arm around Kenny, bringing her closer before he says, “how could you not? He’s always been very daddy.” They all laugh at his choice of words. “I didn’t mean it like that. Filthy minded, the lot of you.”

“I thought it’d be Jin,” Yoongi defends. 

“Nah. I always knew it was gonna be Namjoon. You left us too soon, bro.” Jungkook says, wrapping an arm around him and pouting. 

“Excuse me?” Iseul gasps, scowling at him from the warmth of Namjoon’s embrace, at the other side of him. 

Jungkook smiles at her cheekily, pout growing even more. “I love you. You know that. Matter of fact, you left us too son, bro.” He says this to Iseul. 

“Exactly. I was fun,” she says, crossing her arms as she falls back into the couch. 

“You still are! We all still are!” Seulgi says, raising her glass. They all join, and you laugh as you hear them add commentary like, “yeah, but at what cost?”, “I have chronic back pain.” and, “I fell asleep five minutes into a movie last night.” 

“God, I haven’t even been inside a club in years. What’s good nowadays? __? Lucy?” Jin asks. 

You both look at each other, not very familiar with the clubbing scene anymore. 

“Candied Star,” says Jimin, voice going low. 

“Shame on you, bro.” Yoongi tells him. 

“What the fuck is Candied Star?” Asks Hobi. 

“It’s a club!”

“It sounds like the name of a very blonde, very busty 90s pornstar.” Says Mai and they all laugh. 

“I actually used to love that place. It’s pink and excessive. And the DJ’s solid.” You say. 

Jimin claps once, body jolting, having a full eureka moment. “We’re totally going tonight. Saturday’s are the best nights!” 

“I’m so in. Taehyung’s fancy wine made me drunk, it’d be a waste to just go home.” Lucy adds. 

“You’re welcome, kid.” Taehyung raises his glass in her direction. 

“You coming, __?” Jimin asks you. 

You can’t fight it when your eyes land on Jungkook. His are on you already and again, you both linger in held glances for a second too long. You know he can’t go as he has Soori tonight. And you know your female rage wants to keep at a distance from him, so this is the perfect escape plan. But your heart takes one look at him and you want no more than to go back home with him. Have him all to yourself, crawl under a blanket with him and just hug him to you in a way that says, “I’ve been wanting to do this all week.”

“I’m in!”

And that’s the thing about untreated feelings: they rebel against you, even if the heart is waving white flags. 

~

See, you might not be one for crowded spaces and shitty music. You might be an Elton John fanatic, technology denier, gardening grandma attire wearer old soul. This might all be true, yes. But right next to that truth coexists a side of you that simply can’t help but love the fact that you’re twenty three. You’re twenty three and that means that on a saturday night, your responsibilities are at the bottom of the pyramid. You’re twenty three and there’s something about tonight that exacerbates the fact that you’re young and can allow yourself to be a little stupid. 

Candied Star is exactly what you described it as: pink and excessive. You hadn’t been here in months and perhaps that’s what makes it all the more alluring. You swiftly make it inside, courtesy of Jimin, who has a certain power over every bouncer and PR in the city. You could get used to the VIP treatment, if you were to confess. The line was going down a mile and you could see it from the taxi as you made your way to the club. The music is good from the get go and nothing about the atmosphere feels menacing or intimidating. Candied Star is for the cool kids. And what you mean by that is, Candied Star is for the girls, the gays and the allies. Nothing about this place caters to the male gaze and in a way, it’s so freeing. 

The moment you step foot inside you begin to let loose, and it’s not too long after that you’re being found by a troop of beautifying fairy godmothers that circle around the three of you, bedazzling your faces until the strobes inside the club hit you and you’re drenched in glitter and sparkling. The music aids the cinematic feeling of the night and when Jimin hands you a drink, it’s pink and shiny and you don’t know why but it just makes sense that it is. “It’s strawberry gin,” he says and you all bring your glasses together and cheer for a cause you’re not aware of but that demands celebration as you scream and sing and dance. 

By your third sparkly, strawberry gin, you’re the life of the party. 

No, really. You are. 

“I didn’t know __ had that in her!” Jimin says to Lucy, who admires you in awe. 

“Oh, but she does,” she yells over the loud music. 

The same people that put beads and glitter on your face are the ones that encourage you to get on top of one of the tables and give it your all. You’re not much of a dancer but in that moment, something in you releases in screaming color. Maybe it’s the song that plays that you vow to never forget. Maybe it’s the smiling faces that surround you and cheer you on. Perhaps it’s finding Jimin and Lucy in the crowd, smiling at you. You beckon them over and it takes them a while to get the hint but when they do, the crowd is parting for them and they’re being cheered on. You help them get on the stage – yes, a table, but it’s your stage – and you dance. You dance and sing and yell words to songs you didn’t even know you knew, or that maybe you thought you’d forgotten. 

But how could you forget? How could you forget how young you once were? How could you forget how young you are now?

~

Jungkook rocks Soori from side to side, bottle in hand as she begins to drift off in between suckles. The way she fights sleep to keep eating makes him giggle and when he does, her eyes snap open once again, seemingly more alert than the last time. 

“Shh, shh… sorry, baby. Sleep,” he whispers and his voice soothes her as he feels her little body relax in his arms. 

Night feeds are a rare occurrence nowadays but today was an exception. She’d had a fun day outside of her routine and the moment Jungkook had parked the car on his driveway, she’d woken up, more alert than ever. So here they were, in the middle of her nursery as Jungkook added a little bounce to his step the closer she got to finishing her bottle; the rhythm he’d mastered and could confirm worked like a magic trick to put her out cold and fast. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying this moment. She was growing way too fast before his eyes and these moments reminded him of when she was a little baby. When she depended on him way more than she does now. When she couldn’t crawl, let alone be so close to walking as she was now. Her eyes open yet again and he looks at her, smiling. She smiles back and he starts humming a soft melody in hopes of putting her to sleep. It has no rhyme or direction and he tries to think of something. He sings to her, and it’s a song he’s heard you sing to her, too. 

Jesus freaks out in the street

Handing tickets out for God

Turning back, she just laughs

The boulevard is not that bad

Piano man, he makes his stand

In the auditorium

Looking on, she sings the songs

The words she knows, the tune she hums

She finishes her bottle, eyes blinking once, twice, before her long eyelashes meet her cheeks. She nuzzles her face closer to Jungkook’s chest and his heart breaks and mends all in the span of a second. He sings softer this time.

But, oh, how it feels so real

Lying here with no one near

Only you, and you can hear me

When I say softly, slowly

Hold me closer, tiny dancer

Count the headlights on the highway

Lay me down in sheets of linen

You had a busy day today

Hold me closer, tiny dancer

Count the headlights on the highway

Lay me down in sheets of linen

You had a busy day today

Soori falls into deep sleep and Jungkook holds her. He lets himself have her in his arms for a little longer. He thinks of all the parenting books he’s read in the past year or so, making himself chuckle as they would absolutely not approve of this. But he doesn’t care. He knows he’s doing the right thing. And perhaps he didn’t know this a couple of months back – a couple of months back he felt like he couldn’t get anything right – but now, looking down at her, he feels confident. He knows he’s doing the right thing because Soori? Soori is perfect. Soori is the best thing he’s ever been good at. Soori is his biggest and most exciting project. And as she sleeps soundly in his arms, it hits him. He’s doing a good job. 

He sings the same song to her two, three… four times. On and on. And at some point, the words start catching up to him in memories of you. He doesn’t want to sulk. He knows you should, as a matter of fact, be out there, having fun with your friends and dancing the night away at some club with a questionable name. But he can’t help but miss you. He thinks of you, because lately, every corner of his house reminds him of you. And yes, it aids his sulking but it’s also nice to just picture you everywhere. He thinks of you rocking on Soori’s chair, watching them, you’d probably be singing along with him. Or perhaps you’d be in his room, waiting for him on his bed, a book in hand, because you always carry one in your bag. 

He laughs as he remembers a conversation you’d had with Lucy right before you left for the club. 

“Wait, I’m not very dressed for the club…,” you say. 

Lucy looks at you, huffing. “You’re never dressed for the club.”

“No, Lu, seriously. I have a copy of Sense and Sensibility in my bag right now.”

“I guess Jane Austen is coming to Candied Star, then!”

And it was so you. Jungkook had never read Jane Austen, but the title alone was so very you. 

Finally, he’s putting Soori in her crib, making sure she has all her friends around in case she wakes up through the night and double checking the baby monitor before he’s gently closing the door of her nursery after he takes one last glance at her. He can’t see much, just one of her cheeks pressed against the mattress from between the wooden bars of her crib. He laughs softly, nose scrunching in endearment. 

He walks inside his room, retrieving his phone from his back pocket and throwing it on his bed. He’s about to turn around but he deflects, reaching back for his phone. He’s got a couple of notifications adorning his home screen – Mai had sent pictures from today to their group chat, his mom had texted him saying they needed to talk and he had a couple of work emails he did not want to get into right now – but none from you. Jungkook sighs, throwing his phone on his bed once again and making his way to the bathroom. 

He showers, taking his time to take the day off. Standing in front of the massage jets for a long time and in days like these, time felt like a luxury. He washes his hair, his body, lets the water run down on him. He takes his time and once he’s done, he walks over to his bed, tapping on his phone in quiet hopes that he’ll see your name on his screen. Nothing. He grabs the device to put it to charge but he changes his mind halfway through, bringing it with him to the bathroom. 

He brushes his teeth, washes his face, does his skincare. A notification pops up. It’s from The New York Times. He rolls his eyes, staring at the screen until it goes blank. He tells himself not to act so childish. He brushes his hair, applies three different products he doesn’t quite know the purpose of. He taps on his phone again, even though he knows he’s not going to find anything new. And he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t and he shouldn’t. 

Jungkook doesn’t want to pry you away from the fact that you’re twenty three years old, and that you should be doing exactly what a twenty three year old should be doing on a saturday night. God knows nobody stopped him, so he doesn’t want to stop you. But he’d be lying if he said that when Jimin invited you to the club, his blood went a little warm. Not fully hot, no. But a little warm. He wanted the night to wrap up so he could approach you and ask to give you a ride. No one would suspect, I mean, he was just doing you a favor, as your boss. But the moment he got you alone in his car he planned to kiss you until you had no choice but to follow him home. And he’d hold you and stare at you and kiss you until it paid for how little he got to do it this past week. He missed you. And he can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you looked today. At how beautiful you probably look right now, dancing and smiling. Probably a bit tipsy by now because he knows how much of a lightweight you were.

He gets in bed, attempting to get comfortable under the covers. He turns the TV on, plays the cooking channel, dims the lights, then turns them off. He puts his phone on Do Not Disturb but then chooses against it, just in case. Just in case you called him, giddy and with slow, slightly slurred sentences like you had that one time. And if that were to be the case, he’d ask you to come over. He’d feed you carbs, get you in the shower, in his bed. And then tomorrow he’d wake up next to you and- he stops himself. Because if he lets his mind go any further, he’s gonna be the one calling you. And asking you to come over – begging for it if need be. 

But even in his rationality, he hopes. Fighting sleep, just in case. 

You never call. 

~

“Pretty,” you say. Because it is. The city, the lights, even as they pass you by faster than you’d like. Your head is out the window, merciless wind hitting your face as the car picked up speed, making your hair dance behind you and your eyes water, smudging the glitter that adorned your cheeks. 

“It certainly is, but hey, __, maybe get back in here?” Lucy tries to reason with you, but it’s to no avail because your arm joins your head and the way the air feels like a heavy mass attempting to go through you is almost hypnotizing. 

Jimin peeks from his seat next to the other window. He giggles when he sees you mid trance. “Is her seatbelt on?”

“Yeah,” Lucy says as she tries to pull you back in. 

“Leave her be, babe. She’s having a cinematic moment.” 

“I’m scared she’s gonna want to jump out or something.”

Jimin laughs at this. “She won’t. Come here.” 

And so Lucy does, stealing glances your way from time to time to make sure you’re doing okay and won’t do anything crazy like fly out the window. 

That’s not what you want, though. You’re simply admiring the view. It feels so good. It feels so good to forget about what pains you for a night. It feels so good to not think about him, even though this thought alone requires you to think about him. You chuckle. Who cares? You’re not thinking about him, even if you are. Your drunken state tells your brain that you’re free of the Jungkook chaos you’ve been in for what feels like way too long. And when your heart tries to meddle, telling you not to be such a fool and reminding you that a week ago you poured your heart out to him, told him the biggest, most important words – the ones you searched for the most in your love stories – right around this time. Who cares? Who cares, you keep reminding your heart, demanding it to let it go, even if just for tonight. 

“We can cry tomorrow,” your voice is but a whisper that gets muffled by the wind, one that only you can hear. “Who cares tonight? Who cares, who cares, who cares…”

You can hear the beginning chords of a melody that you think you recognize coming from inside the car, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. It comes to you slowly though, and when you almost have it, you look behind you and see Jimin and Lucy singing along to the beat of the song. And then it hits you. Your body is inside of the car and you lean forward, hand on the driver’s shoulder.

“Oh my God,” you say to him, “you’re speaking to my soul! And I don’t know if I like it. Turn it up.” He smiles, chuckling at your words before his hand reaches for the console, the song resounding all through the car. 

You lean back on the seat, looking at Lucy before linking your arm with hers. The three of you sing, loud and drunk and happy. 

You can kiss a hundred boys in bars

Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling

You can say it's just the way you are

Make a new excuse, another stupid reason

Good luck, babe (well, good luck), well, good luck, babe (well, good luck)

You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

Good luck, babe (well, good luck), well, good luck, babe (well, good luck)

You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling

~

Your head pounds and at first, you don’t understand why. But it pounds so hard it snaps you back into consciousness. Once you are relatively awake you understand why. Not only are you deadly hungover but you’re also in the middle of what you can only describe as chaos. Your window is wide open and there must be a traffic jam going on outside because cars are honking left and right. Elton’s halfway through Tiny Dancer because clearly the first minute of that didn’t do its job at waking you up, and there’s a knock at your door. 

“Come in,” you say, as you switch off your alarm and try to drown out the outside noises by putting a pillow over your head. 

“Good morning, lover.” Lucy enters your room, and when you glance at her from an inch left uncovered by your pillow, you see she’s holding a tray. Iced americano, avocado toast and a sunny side up egg that smells delectable are just a couple of things that make her the best friend in the whole world this morning. The second one is the fact that she’s closing your window and suddenly, it’s peace, quiet and a feast in your room. 

“I’ve done nothing to deserve you.”

“You’ve done plenty.” She smiles and it’s sweet, just like every inch of her. 

“Good morning, dancing queen.” Jimin waltz inside your room, shirtless and with Lucy’s cow print fuzzy headband on his head. 

“I shouldn’t have to see this first thing in the morning, but it’s the price I pay for dancing on top of tables like God did not intend.” 

“Oh, no. I think God was in that room last night.”

“Babe,” Lucy whines. “Leave her alone!”

“Why? It was fun! You’re fun, __. You should come out with us more often, they gave us a bunch of free drinks just because we knew you!” 

You throw your pillow at him and he shrieks and runs away. Both you and Lucy laugh at his theatrics. 

“1 to 10 how much did I embarrass myself last night?” You ask as she hands you your pillow back and you return it to its rightful place over your head. 

“Like, minus 0. You genuinely were the life of the party. All you did was dance and drag everyone along!” 

“I’ll believe you. Thank you for breakfast, Lu.”

“Of course,” she smiles. “Hey, Jimin and I are going to his parent’s beach house for the week. We leave today.” She almost looks apologetic when she says it.

“That sounds so nice, Lu.”

“Yeah,” she says, and her voice takes on the tone she uses when something floats above her head in worry. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I am. But,” she pauses for a second, looking into your eyes. “Are you?”

“Me?” You ask, incredulous and you can see it in her face – how little she buys your act. “I’m fine, Lu. Just tired. It’s been a long week and honestly I probably just need some rest. I’ll try and take loads of naps today.”

She just stares at you for a couple of seconds, deciding your fate. Will she let it slide? Will she press? Will she give you the words of comfort you’re so very sure could make you cry right now and dismantle your lies? 

“You should try and get as much rest as you can.” And the only reason she says that is because they’re running late. 

“And you have fun,” you hug her. “Don’t worry about me, seriously. I’ll rest loads and probably clean around, do some laundry, maybe get some writing done. Ooh, I could meal prep for the week!”

~

You lose a sock on your way to the living room from the kitchen. It makes you stop in your tracks as you glance back and try to see where you’d left it. But it’s nowhere to be found. Oh, well. You shake the can of whipped cream you’d retrieved from the fridge, the cherry on top the most perfect Ben & Jerry’s flavor that has ever existed – chocolate fudge brownie, of course. Your mouth waters at the mere thought and you can’t resist the temptation of having whipped cream at such close proximity and so you swirl a hefty amount inside of your mouth. In perfect cinematic nature, the song that you’ve had on repeat for the past forty five minutes breaks into the chorus (yet again) and now the whipped cream can is your microphone and this living room is your stage. 

You said, "Baby, no attachment"

Your voice is hoarse, the remnants of yesterday’s fun and today’s chaos. 

But we're

You trip on an iPhone charger and it almost sends you flying. But it doesn’t, so you take the opportunity of being jolted forward to add flair to your performance. 

Knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out

Is it casual now?

Two weeks and your mom invites me to her house on Long Beach

Is it casual now?

I know what you tell your friends

It's casual, if it's casual now

Then baby, get me off again

If it's casual, it's casual now

You don’t realize you’re crying until the tears touch your lips, warm and salty and it only makes you sing louder because at this point, you’re just letting yourself go a little insane in the privacy of your own home and the solitude that has been granted to you this sunday morning. So you eat ice cream at 11 a.m. and listen to feminine rage songs. More like, one single feminine rage song. And the more you sing it, the sadder it gets. The girls aren’t enraged. The girls are just sad. 

I fucked you in the bathroom when we went to dinner

Your parents at the table, you wonder why I'm bitter

Your hands come up and you spin as you sing and cry. 

Bragging to your friends I get off when you hit it

I hate to tell the truth, but I'm sorry dude you didn't

I hate that I let this drag on so long, now I hate myself

I hate that I let this drag on so long, you can go to hell

The song ends and a second later, it starts again. You let it. Most of the lyrics don’t even apply fully to your situation and you can begin to recognize this as your steam is blown and you tire yourself out. And yeah, the lyrics may not all apply to you but some do and it feels good to scream them out loud and to get mad. 

You send a flying kiss to Chappell Roan and thank her for her services. 

~

“God, you’re such an asshole.” Your words are directed at Mr. Darcy, who’s been getting on your nerves for the past hour or so. “But you’re so beautiful. And I know deep down you’re a good man.” And it’s then that your eyes begin to well up yet again. Pride and Prejudice always gets to you. 

Your eyes leave the TV screen for a split second so you can draw your head back and take a bite out of your pizza. It’s delicious – cheesy and delicious, and just what you need. Dancing, singing and crying must burn more calories than you think because that was a workout and now you were exhausted and famished, even though you were halfway through your pizza already. 

“I mean, there you are! With your stupidly good looking face and your bad manners,” you point at Mr. Darcy on the screen. “And all because you can’t tell the girl you love her! Elizabeth, you deserve be-”

Halfway through your speech, you get interrupted by the insistent buzzing that comes from your phone. Your eyes scan the couch on the search for it but it’s nowhere to be found. You shove blankets and pillows aside and the more it buzzes, the more frantically you search. You find it under your pizza box right before it’s about to disconnect, quickly sliding your finger across the screen so you can answer the call, not having time to second glance at the contact. 

“Hello?!” You yell into the receiver. 

You hear Jungkook chuckle from the other end of the line and you quite literally choke on your spit, making you cough wide eyed and surprised. “Woah, woah. You okay?”

You hate that he cares. And you hate his little chuckles and how quickly he can disarm you because you feel the way your voice is about to go soft on him. You make sure to clear your throat (and shake the softness off) before replying.

“Yeah, yeah. I just have a bit of a sore throat.”

“So it was a good night, I presume.”

“Yeah, actually. The best.”

Your words are fast and sharp and Jungkook feels the sting. But nonetheless, he’s still oblivious. He blames the sting on his own childish ways of missing you too much even though he’d seen you every day this week. He blames it on the part of him that went to bed last night stubbornly wishing you’d be next to him. And so he opts to be bigger and better than his feelings, collecting himself before he responds.

“I’m glad, baby.” You’re quiet on the other end of the line. “Hey, so… we were just at brunch with my parents.”

“How’d it go?”

“Same old,” and it was true. It’d been awkward at first but then simply filled with small talk and the three of them swooning over Soori, to Jungkook’s fortune. “But I was thinking maybe I could pick you up and you could come over? We could lay by the pool, I could make us some dinner later…”

Your eyes scan the room. They land on the pizza box and then on Mr. Darcy on the TV, mid-sentence in what is probably useless words because none of them are what he actually feels. 

“I have a terrible hangover, being out by the sun would probably make it worse.”

“That’s ‘kay. We could watch movies instead.”

You sigh, your heart breaking at your coldness when you say, “I’ve had a long week, I think it’d be better if I just took it easy today and got some rest. I’m sorry.”

And as oblivious as Jungkook could be in the moment, no oblivion could stand between him and the way your words break something inside his heart in more ways than just disappointment. 

“Oh,” is all he can say. 

“But you guys have fun, okay? Give Soori kisses from me and enjoy the water. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Y-yeah. Yes. I’ll see you tomorrow, baby.” Jungkook wonders why the pet name he’s grown so familiar to calling you feels so foreign as they pass his lips now. “Bye.”

You linger. You wait, in silence, the soft static and words left unsaid. 

“Bye.”

I love you, I love you, I love you. I love you and I hate that you don’t love me back and I can’t do with hating that I love you and I could never do with hating you because I love you. 

When you fall asleep around thirty minutes later, it’s with heavy eyes and tears you’d been collecting ever since. You fall asleep before Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth can get their happy ending. 

~

Monday morning feels like hell. Getting out of bed feels nearly impossible and when you finally muster the strength to do so, you feel a headache coming up that threatens to linger for the whole day. You take some Tylenol, caffeinate yourself and eat whatever you can stomach. And since you hadn’t taken the time to make yourself an elaborate breakfast, you get fifteen extra minutes that you use to make yourself look better, in hopes that it helps you feel better. You take your time as you brush through your hair and get really close to the mirror as you apply your makeup, blending and dusting products on with more care than you have in years. You can feel the heat that takes on the day, despite it only being 7 a.m. and so when you stand in front of your closet you try to keep it light. You settle on a pink linen dress that’s a bit too short but still acceptable to go serve your duties as a nanny. And perhaps vanity could cure a broken heart because by the time you leave the house, your strut has a bit more of confidence to it and your mentality consists of more who cares rather than why me?

You settle on the bus seat, reaching for your book but there’s something about Sense and Sensibility you’re simply not in the mood for today. And so you put your headphones on and scroll through your playlists. You’re just a girl, so of course there’s a perfectly curated selection of songs for any occasion and so today’s choice is one titled so sad, so sexy. It’s feminine rage meets bad bitch anthems and your subconscious decides it’s this episode’s soundtrack. 

Mrs. Chae greets you at the door, like every morning, only today she smiles a little wider. 

“You look very pretty today, ___.”

You smile at her, asking her about her weekend as you make your way to the kitchen. You offer to make her some coffee as she gets Jungkook’s ready and it takes a little bit of insisting but she finally lets you treat her. As the minutes pass, though, you start feeling nervous. You hadn’t quite planned how you’d manage your feelings when you saw Jungkook this morning and every little noise has you jumpy and alert. You get Soori’s breakfast ready, cursing how quickly porridge cooks and your immaculate fruit chopping skills, because you’re done faster than you’d think and now you’re hands free and anxious again. 

“Mrs. Chae, let me help you fold laundry.”

“Fold laundry?!”

“Yes! I’m quite good at it. I worked at a little boutique all through my teenage years.”

“No.”

“Please. Just Soori’s at least.”

She looks at you intently for about five seconds, narrowing her eyes. “Her clothes are in the pink basket.”

You do a little cheer and thank her and she shakes her head at you but you can see the way she smiles. You get to folding her tiny clothes, cooing at how cute and tiny they are. You laugh at how her funny t-shirts that have kermit the Frog, Bluey and Wonder Pets prints get mixed with her nicer pieces that are full of tulle and fancy fabrics or are full on designer. But your favorites are the mini versions of Jungkook’s clothes that he always pairs with pink bows or colorful socks. It makes your heart melt. 

“Good morning,” Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of your trance. “Why are you folding laundry?”

“Don’t look at me, Mr. Jungkook,” Mrs. Chae defends, placing the tray that holds his iced americano on the kitchen island. 

“It relaxes me,” you say, arms reaching for Soori who falls straight into them. “Good morning, munchkin. You hungry?”

“I have to leave now. Emergency meeting at the office.”

“But your coffee,” you hate that you care, but you do. Not to mention that it already worries you that it’s all he has for breakfast. 

He doesn’t look up from his phone when he says, “At the office. Have a nice day, Mrs. Chae.”

You follow him as he makes his way to the door. You can tell he’s stressed just by being in his proximity and it almost reminds you of when you first started working for him, those very first cold and distant weeks. But when he turns around and takes Soori into his arms, he softens and grows mushy again. 

“I’ll see you tonight, baby. Be good for daddy, okay?” He kisses her cheeks. “You’ve recovered, I hope.” He says this to you. 

“Good as new.” You force a smile.

“I’m glad. I’m gonna be late again today, we’re hoping to close this deal this week and we’re in a time crunch. I’ve told Suelgi to pick Soori up in the afternoon-”

“What? Why?”

“Well, you stayed with her last week and-”

“Yeah, that’s my job. That’s what you pay me to do, remember? Also, it messes up with her routine so I’ll keep her and we’ll wait for you right here.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“___-” you don’t let him finish, fearing to fall into a conversation you can’t have right now. You grab the back of his head and bring him close to you until your lips are on his. You feel him relax against your touch and he deepens the kiss, even if for a brief second before you’re pulling away. 

“Have a good day. We’ll see you tonight.”

~

On Tuesday you keep your anxiety at bay by making Soori a really elaborate breakfast. And you’re speaking the whole ordeal. Eggs, cherry tomatoes that you cut up really small, all her favorite assortment of fruits (blueberries, strawberries and pears), avocado that you mash and season with salt, pepper and lemon juice. You even cut her toast in tiny hearts that adorn the corners of her plate. When Jungkook walks inside the kitchen that morning, you’re getting started on her meal prep for lunch. Cooking for Soori wasn’t really on your job description but you liked to be as involved as you could in her feeding and so you’d silently taken on the responsibility. She liked to watch you cook, clapped along as you played music and danced around the kitchen, giving her a show. 

You don’t hear him come in and Jungkook takes the time to let himself stare at you. Amidst the stress and exhaustion, you’re pure sunshine that creeps into his home each morning and for that he’s grateful. If yesterday you threatened to make him late for work, which he really couldn’t afford this week, today you’re making him wish he could throw all the contracts out the window and live in a world that rotated around your axis. He doesn’t know if it’s the way your lips are a tone redder today, or if it’s the way you have your hair up in a bun that somehow looks both disheveled and put together, thin strands of hair framing your face as you concentrate on the way your hands carefully peel the pear. You’re pouting, the way you often do when you’re focused on something and he thinks about how quickly he can get out of this kitchen so he can kiss you. You’re also wearing red, which is a color he doesn’t often see you sport but he makes a mental note to store it under favorites. Your dress is tight around your waist and then flairs out and he knows it’s short because the weather is hot and you know how to dress for it. Jungkook begins to feel hot, too. The straps are held by a bow that rests on top of your shoulders and one of them falls down your arm and he swears to himself this all just happened in slow motion. 

“Mr. Jungkook, good morning.” Mrs. Chae places the tray on the kitchen island with a little more force than she’d originally intended. This makes you jump and it takes Jungkook about a beat too long to come back to his senses. 

“Good morning,” he clears his throat when his voice falters. 

Oh, damn you, Jeon Jungkook in dress pants and a white shirt that hugs your body a little too nicely to be true. 

“Nana,” Soori shrieks, excited to see you as you walk over to them. 

“Hi baby, I missed you.” The moment your arms outstretch towards her, she’s falling into them. You look at Jungkook. “Hey.”

“Hey- how are you?”

“I’m good. Did you sleep well?”

“I did, thank you.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Both Mrs. Chae and Soori stare at the two of you in confusion. 

“Nana,” this time she tries to get your attention, hitting you with her plush toy. You notice it’s shaped like a mille-feuille, courtesy of Lucy. 

“Is she- is that what she calls you?” Jungkook asks.

“I don’t know… it’s the first time she does it more than once in a row.”

“Cute,” he says, smiling. His face grows serious again when he sees Mrs. Chae smirking from the corner of her eye. 

“She’s cute. Want breakfast, baby?” And Jungkook is so entranced by you this morning he almost says yes. “We’ve got blueberries and strawberries and pears. Can you say pears?”

“Nana,” she smiles and is immediately forgiven. 

When you’re by the door saying goodbye, Jungkook’s about to kiss you, and there’s nothing in the world he wants more right this second. And as he leans in and mentally chants victory, his phone starts ringing. It’s Jin, and he knows it’s important. He should’ve taken his call ten minutes ago. His eyes close for a second, sighing in frustration before he picks up the phone. 

“Yeah, talk to me.”

You don’t mean to be so cruel, but alas, you smile. 

~

On Wednesday, it’s Jungkook who opens the door for you and by the looks of it, he’s on his way out, phone pressed to his ear as he steps aside to let you in. 

“Yeah, if you could please have those papers on my desk when I get there- yeah. Thank you, Kay. You’re the best.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s mentally. Inside your head so he can’t see. If you had a dollar for every time you’ve heard Jungkook say she’s the best you’d have two dollars, which is two dollars too many.

“Hey,” he says, eyes still on his phone as he reads what you can see is a really long email. 

“Good morning. What’s going on?”

“I have to run. Soori’s in the kitchen, she’s had a bit of a rough morning. She’s having a bottle right now.” He types as he tells you this. You want to shake him and tell him to look at you. 

“Is everything okay?”

His eyes meet yours. “Yeah, just- closing deals is hectic. That’s all. Everything okay with you?”

No.

“Yes.”

“Great.”

Great.

“Great!” 

“I’ll see you tonight?” 

“Sure.”

He presses his phone to his ear once again and turns around, walking towards his car, the loud beep startling you a bit as he unlocks it. You yell at him, mentally. Inside your head, so he can’t see. 

~

Soori was in fact having a rough morning, and her mood lingers throughout the day. She was a really good, happy baby so on bad days like these you knew something had to be bothering her. You’d found the root of the problem in the middle of a very dramatic cry, as her head swung backwards and her mouth opened to let out a loud wail. Her first back tooth was coming in. She was in pain, rightfully so, and nothing quite pleased her but you tried to do your best. She got extra cuddles and an extra morning nap. You’d made her strawberry juice lollipops so she could chew on for relief and mostly let her play throughout the day. She wanted to be held for the most part, though, and you had to admit you weren’t about to complain. You loved when she let you hold her and hug her and squeeze her. 

You’re halfway through a very softly sung version of Hey Jude when Jungkook calls you. It’s quarter past seven and you were winding down Soori for the night.

“Hi,” you say, voice a whisper so as to not wind her up. 

“Hey. How are you guys doing?”

“Good. She’s getting sleepy, she’ll be out in the next twenty or so. Her first molar is coming in, that’s why she’s fuzzy.”

“Oh, shit. Should’ve thought of that.”

“She’s doing okay now. She just needed extra cuddles.”

“I wish I could’ve been there today. Thank you, ___.”

“My pleasure. How’s your day? It’s late… are you coming home soon?”

And Jungkook knows you’re not asking for any other reason other than the fact you care about him. About his wellbeing and peace of mind. You took care of him in more ways than you probably realized because it just came as second nature to you, to be so caring. You, on the other hand, can’t help the way your heart plays onto the little fantasy. The one in which you wait for him to come home – a home of your own. He comes home to you after a long day and you sit on the couch and order take out and you make sure he has dinner because, to be fair, you’re not sure he does when you leave at night and the worry follows you until you get home even though you know that he can’t go hungry for more than twenty minutes. But you care, so you worry. 

Ugh!

“Yeah. I just have to go through,” he pauses, taking a look around him, “two more contracts. I’ll be there in about an hour or so.”

“I’ll give her a good night kiss from you.”

“Thank you, baby. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you,” and you hang up because if you don’t, you’ll fucking blurt those three words at him again, because in your little fantasy, it’s only natural. It’s only natural that you tell him you love him before you hang up the phone. 

God, life was playing tricky, tricky games on your heart. Ones that you were out of ideas on how to defeat. 

~

Soori had knocked out not too long after that. She’d been visibly exhausted from the discomfort and pain she’d carried all day and you could only hope tomorrow was better. You make a mental note to search up some toothing relief methods on your way home. You give her two forehead kisses before laying her down on her crib, placing her little mille-feuille plushie under her arm. 

You make your way to the kitchen, turning on every light that you pass because if you were to be honest, Jungkook’s house intimidated you a little bit during the night. It was just so big and spacious, wide hallways that felt never ending. You liked how quiet it was, though. A sense of peace filling you as you put the kettle on to make yourself a cup of tea. His selection was impressive and you wondered why. You don’t think you’d ever seen him drink tea… you wonder if this was one of the remaining bits of Ira that still lingered around the house. There weren’t many, but it was impossible to fully erase her. There was a mug in the cupboards with the letter I and right next to it, one with the letter J. Her white Mercedes Benz that still sat on the driveway, too. And even though she’d cleared her clothes from the closet, you’d once seen a pretty black dress that you could only assume had once belonged to her. 

You opt for a fancy looking ginger and lemon tea, taking your time to let the leafs brew in the hot water. Thinking of him, of her, of Soori. Of how much you’d weaved your way inside his home, his family, without the details of what landed you here in the first place. I mean, you know some of it, but not the whole story. And then again, how much of a story was there? Her departure had seemed final and abrupt and in your anger, you doubted her words and explanations truly mattered. 

You move through the kitchen, down the dining hall and into the living room at a slow pace, taking it all in. You try to remember if you’ve ever been here alone, when it’s so empty and quiet but you can’t place any memory of the sort. You walk over to the big, tall bookshelf that stood against the wall. It was mostly for decoration, you’d assumed – a bunch of color coordinated books that matched the aesthetic of the living space perfectly. You recognize some titles and some others seem old. Pages on art, architecture, travel and fashion. Your eyes land on one that doesn’t seem to have a name, the spine empty in smooth leather. You reach for it, its weight sitting heavy on your hands. It was big, too and it looked like it held something important. Something that you couldn’t find in a bookshop or library. You know you probably shouldn’t, but your curiosity gets the best of you. You sit on the sofa, tea cup long forgotten on the table, lifting the heavy cover to reveal a white page that held a handwritten note. 

To our Soori Blue,

Our darling girl, you are so very loved, and this is your story so far. This is where you come from and this is how you were loved from the very beginning, even before you were here. When you were but a little star waiting in the sky for your mommy and daddy to multiply the love they have for each other to make you. You’re born from love, Soori, and your parents are proof of that, because they love each other so very much. Waiting for you was hard because we couldn’t wait to hold you and getting to be your Godparents is one of our biggest blessings. You are so loved, you are so special and you will always have us. 

Love,

Auntie Mai and Uncle Taehyung

 You turn the page, a picture of Jungkook and Ira taking most of the frame. They’re pulling faces as they pose for the camera and behind them is the city skyline and a sunset that paints the sky pink and orange. She blows a kiss and Jungkook throws a peace sign as he winks. Under the picture, a caption in neat black font that reads, “this is from the day your mommy and daddy first met. Everyone says it was instant: how they fell in love. I bet they would’ve not believed it if they knew that only a couple of years later, you’d be here!” 

The next picture is a magazine cover, Ira gracing the page, her long, blonde hair dancing in the wind, eyes not fully meeting the camera as she smiles. She looks carefree and young, a beautiful blue dress adorning her body, making her blue eyes shine even from a distance. “This is your mommy. Isn’t she so beautiful? She’s smart, funny, kind and loved by many people around the world. But no one loves her the way we do!”

You turn the page, a picture of Jungkook standing in front of The West End, bright smile on his face. “This is your daddy. He’s really good at his job! He’s funny, cool and generous. He can’t stay still and he’s good at everything he does, first try! We love him a lot.”

Their relationship pans over the years as you leaf through the pages. Ira and Jungkook at the beach, in very many destinations around the world, on Christmas and holidays, with their families and friends, in the comfort of their home and in events and galas. The day they made their relationship official, accompanied by, “it was out of a fairytale!” and birthday celebrations that said, “your daddy spoils your mommy so very much, we’re kinda scared he’ll do the same with you!” as Ira poses in rooms filled with roses and balloons and boxes full of presents. 

You pay particular attention at a picture of Jungkook and Ira, a selfie that seems to have been taken on film. They’re in the kitchen, bright smiles and red, puffy eyes, like they’d been crying. “On this morning, your mommy and daddy found out about you! They were a little scared, but so very happy. You filled them with light, Soori. Just look at those smiles! They couldn’t wait to hold you – it was going to be nine long months!”

Then it’s all of them, out in the garden, Ira in the middle as they point to her stomach. “And on this day we found out about you! We were so happy!! We’d never seen your mommy and daddy so excited, you had a closet full of clothes already and they didn’t even know if you were a girl or a boy yet!”

Ira in an ultrasound, “your mommy and daddy were so happy to hear your heartbeat for the first time.”

Jungkook kissing her stomach, “deep down, your daddy always knew you were a girl. Your mommy was convinced you were a boy, though!”

Jungkook and Ira standing in the garden, pink confetti flying over them. “You’re a girl, Soori Blue!!!!”

The pictures progress with the passing of time, each one with a caption full of hope and love. A picture of Soori as a newborn representing her birth, a carbon copy of Jungkook that makes your heart seize inside your chest. Then pictures of her with her uncles and aunties, their families, Jungkook and Ira, who kiss her each on one cheek in the majority of them. You miss the way Ira smile changes, the way her gaze looks empty after a while. All you see is love, what Soori is truly made of. 

You blame your next thought on how overly emotional this past week has been, how tumultuously you’ve experienced every feeling. 

“There’s all types of love, but never the same love twice.”

You wonder if that had been it for Jungkook. If he would ever be able to experience the love he had for Ira again. You wonder if perhaps he’d ran out of love to give and if that was the case, you couldn’t blame him. You reach the final page; a picture of the three of them, Jungkook holds Soori in his arms and Ira wraps hers around them. She’s looking at him, a smile on her face as they stand in front of the sea. The water is blue and the day looks bright and they’re perfect. They’re love. The real kind, your brain argues. The kind that takes years to nurture, the kind that faces adversities and triumphs. The one that reproduces itself into the most perfect combination of every good thing about both ends. Soori is only a couple of months old but she smiles into the camera and for the first time, you see both Ira and Jungkook in her. 

~

You’d placed the photobook right where you’d found it and for the past thirty minutes, you’d been staring at the glass doors that led to the garden, in complete silence, though your thoughts are loud. You don’t hear Jungkook come in and it’s only when he sits on the couch next to you that you fully notice his presence. 

“What a fucking day,” he sighs, leaning back into the cushions and closing his eyes. 

You look at him for a long time, and he doesn’t acknowledge your silence. 

“You’re home now,” you say, even though it’s not the home you’d want it to be. 

“Yeah,” he looks at you. “How’s Soo?”

“Good. Sleeping.”

“Thank you for staying with her.”

“Of course.”

“I’m fucking starving,” he says, sinking further into the couch, his head turning to face you. “You hungry? Want some ramen?”

You simply nod and that has him getting up from the couch, hand reaching for yours. You walk into the kitchen together, your fingers entwined in his and the simple act sends electric currents down your body. It’s funny how unaware you can be about touch until it’s the right person’s skin against your very own, because what you feel right now, you hadn’t felt in days. 

You miss his touch instantly as he moves on to making dinner. 

“How was your day,” you ask, because you’re tired of the silence, and you’re tired of putting in an effort at keeping your heart quiet. 

“Long. And exhausting. Never ending, even.” And Jungkook doesn’t mean to whine and complain but then again, it’s not like he was lying. His day had been hell and just when he thought it was over, another problem presented itself right before his eyes. 

“What exactly are you working on right now?”

He looks up at you before he says, “I’m buying land to build a hotel in the Alps.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Funny, huh?”

“Your live is unreal to me sometimes.”

He pours water into a pot, placing it over the stove to bring to a boil. He stalls for a minute, remembering where they kept the ramen packets. “Yeah, to me too.”

You point to the cabinets behind him, and he gives you a quick smile in acknowledgement. 

“So, is that what’s taking up all of your time?”

“Yeah, sort of. It’s just a lot of politics and strategy. Meeting in the middle and settling and whatnot. Some of these people are so hard to negotiate with, though. They know real estate, but not hotels.”

“Well, I’d assume not many people do. And I’d assume what you know, you learned at a very young age.”

“Well, not quite. I wasn’t always interested in my field of work, believe it or not.”

“Nonetheless, you grew up around it.”

“So?”

“So, it’s a privilege that you have access to all of this knowledge. What you know- the way you know it, that can’t be taught in a classroom.”

“Well, no. It requires experience.”

Jungkook catches the way you roll your eyes, a huff leaving your mouth as you smile. 

“What?” He says.

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay, you can say it.”

You raise an eyebrow in defense. “Say what?”

“You know, give me the whole nepotism talk.”

“I wasn’t going to do that.”

“Yeah, sure.” He smiles but there’s nothing soft about the action. “Dinner’s ready.”

You stand in deafening silence for a minute, eyes on his, like this is the beginning of something you won’t be able to stop without someone getting hurt. 

“I think I’m gonna go home. I’m tired,” you say, turning around and getting ready to leave. 

“Oh, come on.” 

And that makes you stop in your tracks, turning so you can face him again, eyes narrowed and lips ready to spit venom if you so pleased. 

“I don’t feel like fighting with you right now, Jungkook.” And you could’ve left it at that, and perhaps it would’ve been better, but you don’t. “Oh, wait. I don’t have to do that. Because you seem to know what I want to say.”

He walks closer to you and nothing in his face tells you he’s about to extinguish the flames that seem to grow taller between you. 

“Your poker face isn’t all that good, baby.”

“I’m glad my intentions came across clear as day.”

He smiles, eyes diverting from you for a second before his gaze pierces yours once again. You inch closer to him and it’s barely noticeable, scowling back at him. Your blood feels hot and the flame grows bigger, more violent, only the fire gets lost in something else. Something that is only understood the moment Jungkook is pulling you closer and his lips are crashing onto yours in a kiss that makes the warmth travel throughout your body until the whole room is scolding hot. 

Your lips part but a second as you catch your breaths, chests heaving in sync, impossibly close. You try to find words, form a thought, anything that could leave your lips in a coherent sentence but you’re left with nothing. Blank, red, heat. It’s all you can think about. Him and his proximity. When Jungkook diverts his gaze from your eyes to your lips, it’s you that crashes your lips to his once again, deepening the kiss as your fingers tangle in his hair. Both his hands wrap around your waist, squeezing at the flesh and he curses the fabric that comes between his fingertips and your skin. He longs to touch you, he longs to have you and his life was starting to feel like a waiting game when it came to you. He didn’t think he could go a second longer entertaining it.

He walks you backwards until your back hits the kitchen island, flushing himself to you until he’s pressing you against it. Your hands roam down his body, starting down his arms and up his torso, until they’re on his neck again and you wrap your arms around it, hugging him to you. His hands travel to your ass, squeezing before he’s picking you up and sitting you on the counter, taking one step closer so he stands snuggly between your legs as they close around him. And you kiss. You kiss with intention but no direction, his tongue parting your lips and meeting yours halfway – sloppy, messy, needy. His hands travel under your dress until he’s squeezing the flesh on your thighs, drawing you closer to him. You loose track of time, not a care in the world but his lips on yours and so does Jungkook, who doesn’t realize how much he’s aching for you until your hips are involuntarily grinding against his. His cock jumps and he’s more alert of you than ever, a throaty moan escaping his lips as you repeat the motion. 

You feel it, too. And some part of your brain tries to tell you that your body’s betraying you. That you’re kissing him with the same mouth that holds secrets from him, anger even. But you don’t care. Your heart leaps the closer he pulls you in and your skin feels wired with electricity the more the sensation of wanting him begins to take over your body. You want him, you need him, and when he’s so supple for you the way he is now there’s no way you could deny yourself the pleasure of having him. 

Your hand begins its descend, squeezing at the nape of his neck, down his chest and toned abdomen, taking a detour to untuck his shirt from under his pants, letting your hands roam inside, feeling his warm skin against them. You feel the way he sucks in a sharp breath, tummy caving in at your touch in anticipation. You smile against his lips and he kisses you harder, palms squeezing your flesh. You finally give him what he wants when your hand closes around his cock, making it pulse against the fabric of his pants. The moan that escapes his mouth borders on a whine and it’s so delicious it has you throwing your head back, eyes rolling to the back of your skull. His lips find your neck, kissing and sucking on the sensitive skin, rejoicing in the little whines that you let out at the feeling. 

He breaks the kiss, reluctantly removing his hands from your body so he can unbutton his shirt, unable to handle the heavy nature the air has taken around him. You lean back, palms resting against the cool marble of the counter, cocking your head to the side and taking him in. You notice him noticing you, and you don’t miss the way he slows down his movements, taking his time all of a sudden, giving you a show. You smile, lip caught between your teeth and you feel the need to close your legs, an impulse reaction at the need of friction. Jungkook notices this, your body jerking slightly, face delirious, eyes desperate and he chuckles. It has bite and attitude, and you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Don’t get cocky now,” you say, brain short-circuiting when he finally removes his shirt.

“I won’t. Need you too badly to play games right now.”

His words barely register because as soon as they leave him, his lips are back on yours, twice as fervently as before, his purpose clear. You give into him, not wanting to play games either. 

“I need you to touch me, Jungkook.”

His hand comes down to your breast, squeezing and pulling sweet little noises from you. 

“Yeah, baby?”

Your hands find his waistband, undoing the button of his pants, his zipper following, until your hand is traveling down his boxers and gripping around his cock, making him hiss at the contact. 

“Oh, fuck.” His voice is hoarse, deep. Your hand begins to move, thumb collecting the pre cum before you’re circling it around his tip. He bites your bottom lip as you begin to stroke languidly, applying pressure here and there, teasing him. 

“Are you gonna fuck me in the kitchen, Jungkookie?”

“Yeah. It’ll ruin my mornings forever, though.”

You pout, mocking innocence. “Why’s that?”

“Every morning, when I walk in here,” his hands travel under your dress again, fingers toying with the waistband of your underwear. “I’m gonna see you behind this counter,” he kisses you, a gasp leaving your lips as he hooks his index finger down the side of your panties, a soft touch to your skin. “Making coffee, cooking breakfast.” His middle finger spreads your folds, a soft hum passing his lips when he notices how wet you are. “In your short little dresses, acting like you don’t know what you do to me.”

“I-I don’t,” and he doesn’t let you finish your sentence. Middle and index finger entering you slowly, eyes on yours as his face grows confused. 

“You don’t?”

“N-no, mm, Jungkook,” you plead.

“Say please.”

“Please.”

“You’re so good, baby.” He kisses you, fingers picking up pace inside of you, finding that spot that has you arching your back for him in no time. “But you know what?”

“W-what?” Your eyes snap open, silently pleading that he doesn’t stop. 

“I think you do know.” His fingers stop and he smirks when your face falls. Your eyes travel down, following the way his hand wraps around his cock, spreading your wetness all over it. “I think you know exactly what you’re doing.” He pushes your panties to the side before his tip teases your entrance, a moan escaping both your lips in unison. “And I think you like it.” He pushes inside of you and you sigh. He thinks it’s sweet, the way you react to him. You feel so good around him. He cups your cheek, pressing his forehead to yours before stealing a kiss from your lips. “Don’t you like it, baby?”

“Yes. I like it, fuck.” You don’t even knowing what you’re agreeing on at this point and you don’t care, too entranced by the way his cock stretches your walls so perfectly, hitting it so fucking good it’s almost like he was made for your pussy. And in this moment, Jungkook is sure of it. 

“Shit, baby. You feel so good.”

And sure, Jungkook could fuck you at this leisurely pace for the rest of his life, getting to feel every inch of you until it drove him fucking insane. But he wanted more – he needed more – and the way you were digging your nails in his biceps told him that you did, too. When he pulls away, you whine, narrowing your eyes at him and then rolling them when he simply responds with a, “patience.” He wastes no time removing your panties, throwing them behind him before he hooks his hand under your knee, bringing your leg up until your foot is resting against the kitchen counter. He starts fucking you again, but harder this time and the angle is so fucking perfect you swear you begin to see stars in your eyes, feeling a bit lightheaded at the feeling. He kisses down your neck again, letting himself enjoy how good you sound, and how good you feel. How good your skin tastes on his tongue. 

“Don’t stop, baby, oh my God.”

And so he locks in the pace, middle finger finding your clit and circling around it until he feels the way your body begins to shake in his hold, pussy clenching around him. 

“Fuck, yeah, baby. Cum for me,  ___.”

Your body shakes, moans getting louder as he kisses you and you can feel the way he smiles against your lips. He fucks you slow, letting you come down from your high, kissing you passionately and making your mind go hazy with every touch. Every little thing he does sends your mind into a frenzy and you fucking love the feeling. Your body is completely submitted to him, and you let him do whatever he wants to you. You let him kiss you, you let him hold you when he brings you down from the counter and your legs fail you. He laughs and you shush him and then you let him kiss you again. You let him turn you around, gently push you down until the upper half of your body rests against the cold marble. His legs part yours, hands uncovering you as he pushes your dress up and out of the way. He runs his hands down your body gently and you close your eyes, enjoying the moment, content little sighs leaving your mouth. He plays with your pussy, as he kisses down your back and when you begin to clench around his fingers, he fucks you like this. He goes hard, but he goes slow and he grunts when you throw your ass back, meeting him halfway. He spanks you once, twice, making you gasp and wish you had the strength to go for hours. 

“I’m gonna cum, baby. God, you’re so fucking hot.”

“Please, Jungkook- I need it, please.”

And you’re so pliant, so willing to give him anything he wants. So willing to give yourself to him his cock and heart are basically battling for blood at this point. 

“Nngh- I’m gonna cum.”

You feel his warmth hit your ass, some landing on your back, and it makes you giggle, feeling a tad bit delirious at how ridiculously good that can feel. 

“Truce?” You look back at him, but he’s too enthralled by the way his cum paints your ass. 

“Mhm,” he musters after a second too long. 

“You’re such a boy.”

“And you have such a nice ass.”

He cleans you up with his shirt, helping you step inside your panties and even pulls them up himself. When he comes back up, standing in front of you, he kisses you. Not lustfully, not for the heat of the moment, but for something more. Something that says I’ve missed you. Your heart begins to transform into the odd shape it’d been in the past couple of days because all you can think of is how much you loved him right now. How much you’ve loved him, even amidst your anger and disappointment. You knew it, your body knew it, and now your heart was angry again. 

“Stay the night,” he says. “We’ll tell Mrs. Chae that you got here earlier. Or we’ll sneak you out through a window, I don’t know. But stay.”

Jungkook is just trying to be funny, but his words hurt. And you know they shouldn’t. You know you’d agreed to take things slow, to let him heal and test the waters but your decisions had made you selfish and right now, you had no way of controlling how much you wanted what you wanted. 

“I,” you pause, looking into his eyes. “I better go.”

“Why?”

“I should get home and shower and try to rest before tomorrow. Plus, I don’t have clothes or anything here and- I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Jungkook scans your eyes, trying to find the reason as to why your perfectly logical answer makes him feel so uneasy. But he can’t. He can’t find it, but he also can’t shake the feeling. 

“Okay.” He kisses you again. “I’m sorry for being a dick earlier. I let my exhaustion get the best of me.”

You smile at him. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too. I don’t think you’re a nepo baby.”

“Mmm,” he plays, making you laugh.

“Only a little. But I would never say it to your face.”

“Oh, you’re so sweet.”

“I am, aren’t I?”

He nods, kissing you again. And in that moment, you wonder if you’d ever felt your heart break and fall at the same time. 

~

★taglist★

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[daniswoso]

Short sight. (part 2)

Summary: Leah and r reconcile, but can they repair what’s broken?

Warnings: Use of Y/N, angst and fluff, happy ending, overthinking and hate on social media.

*******

Leah’s thumb hovered over the call button, tears welling in her eyes as she pressed it. She could’ve sobbed when she heard your voice, meek and tired on the other end.

“Hello?” You croak, phone shaking in your hand as you saw Leah’s name pop up on the screen.

“Y/N! Fuck, I- Can we talk? I know now. I know why you broke up with me. You’re so much more than good enough for me, please please don’t overthink that baby-“

“Lee-“

“Y/N I love you for fucks sakes nothing will ever change that and-“

“Lee!” You shout at her, trying to get her to listen. “We can talk. Tomorrow at our- your place?”

“Uh, yeah. For sure, absolutely.” She breathes. And without another word you hang up.

And sure enough, the next afternoon, you were at the front door of your shared- her apartment. Though you did not have the flowers you’d picked up on the way, as you had tossed those into a park bin on your journey there, realising it was silly and neither of you were, in fact, in secondary school.

She answered within a matter of mere milliseconds. She was breathless and the wispy bits of hair around her hairline were stuck to her face with a light sheen of sweat dusting her sunkissed skin. God, she was gorgeous. Presumably, she’d been working out, evidence supported by the numerous weights and freshly used treadmill in the corner of the living room.

“Shit, uh, that time already? Damn, sorry, Y/N, I- I totally forgot,” she sighs, sweeping a hand over her face and gesturing for you to come in.

“I’m gonna cut to the chase, ‘s that alright?” you swallow, guilt and a few emotions you shouldn’t be feeling for an ex swilling around bitterly in your chest.

“Uhm, oh, right, yeah,” she hums, seemingly somewhat… dejected? You’d have thought she’d have been thrilled not to have to deal with floods of ‘Y/N’s not good enough!’ in her comments now.

“I- I ended things, obviously, to uhm… to make it easier on you-“ you attempt to explain further but upon hearing the words ‘for you’, Leah’s temper seems to flare and her eyes narrow.

“And was I ever going to get a say in that?” she snaps, almost bitter at the revelation you weren’t even planning on letting her be even a minor part of the conversation.

“I figured that-” and she cuts you off again.

“No. No, dammit, Y/N! You don’t get to decide things for me! Because if it had of been up to me? I would’ve told you I think you are the most beautiful, incredibly talented person to have ever graced the fucking Earth!” she rants, her hands moving theatrically; a habit you had noticed previously and had always found ridiculously cute, though now the movement left a bitter stinging behind your eyes.

You force your eyes away from her form sheepishly, unable to look your former lover in the eye. Maybe you had been too hasty in your attempts to rid her of the plague you labelled as yourself. In your mind, you were just that: a plague… A burden. A pest that was to never leave someone alone. It was what you had been told, so by proxy, it was what you believed.

“I’m not good enough for you,”

“Yes, you fucking are.”

“No, Lee. I’m not. I’m not as pretty as your exes, nowhere near as good at footy as you… You’re- You’re perfection incarnate, and I’m… Me.” you spit, your words coming out in a flurry of apprehension and hate.

Leah’s heart broke as she realised you did well and truly believe that.

“Ask me,” she inhales sharply, cupping your face. “ask me what I think you are.”

You roll your eyes, a warmth in the form of red, scalding hot tears bubbling behind your eyes, “What do you think I am, Leah?” you whisper, as if afraid.

“Perfect. Talented. The axis my world spins on, my world in general, actually. My moon, my stars… I would sooner swallow lava than let you believe otherwise,” she chuckles, tears streaming down her rosy cheeks as she rubs a calloused, yet somehow still oh so soft, thumb over your cheekbone.

“Please don’t swallow lava,” you chuckle, your voice breaking slightly as you attempt a joke.

She chuckles briefly before letting the joke go, “Do you get what I’m sayin’? Because I’m saying that you are everything I’ve dreamed for and more.” she whispers, pressing her forehead to yours, enjoying the intimacy she had longed for since you departed.

The house hadn’t been the same since you left. Everything bright was drained of its colour and everything that was the same shade of your favourite colour you loved was so painfully you it made her break down.

“I think so,” you sniffle, flinging your arms around her desperately, seeking solace in her. Her scent, warmth, toned arms around you. Anything her, really. You had just missed her.

You had missed her so much.

“God, I’m an idiot, I’m so sorry,” you choke out, your voice lodged in your throat uncomfortably, as if you’d accidentally swallowed a tennis ball. Your tongue felt dry, your eyes, however, did not as they allowed hot tears to be streamed down your face, mascara streaking like fresh chalk being washed away on a rainy day.

“Don’t you dare apologise. You let your anxiety get the better of you, I get it. But next time… just… just talk, okay? Talk to me, to anyone, as long as it means you don’t pull this bullshit again.” she chuckles, kissing the top of your head, burying her nose in the crook on your neck, craving your scent.

“Okay, I promise I will,” you sighs, wiping at your eyes and kissing her softly, your hands cupping the defined contours of her sharp - yet somehow simultaneously soft - jaw.

“Okay. Thank you,” she sighs shakily, wiping her own tears away.

“No problem, Red.” you smile weakly, the emotions you faced today proving to be quite taxing.

“I love you, Blue.”

“I love you more, Arsenal.”

“Fuck off, Chelsea.”

“You first.”

“Never.”

**********

A/N: figured that i need to write and use that as a coping mechanism before i just spend the rest of my life curled up in a ball sobbing my heart out! 👍🏼👍🏼

[tenjikufag]

Can I ask for a Soul Eater Evans x smr enemies to lovers, lil bit of angst, angry rough smut with sappy stuff at the end?

Body and Soul

Soul Eater Evans x Male Reader

-enemies to lovers, misunderstandings, arguments, taunting, smut, fluff,

-aged!up Soul/Post Graduation/not all too cohesive to canon

-thank you for the request, I haven’t thought about soul eater in forever. I loveeed it.(far longer than anticipated)(also ended up as not hate fucking sorry!)

“Hey! No way we are teaming up with them!”

A girls voice piped up, you and your meister had barely walked into Deaths office- hands in your pockets while you scanned the room, you saw them.

Maka Albarn and Soul Evans stood infront of you.

The two of them looked at you with disdain, not even unamused but genuinely angry with your entrance.

“What gives?! You know we don’t work with them.”

Soul spat, looking back at the large character that loomed over the group.

“You guys are the only ones available! Actually.. only ones in the city can ya believe that?!”

Death laughed, bobbling around before moving to greet your meister.

“Like we wanna work with you guys! Especially a snotty Albarn like her, just send us. We won’t make mess like these two.”

(Meister Name) sneered, her hand pointing at Maka who was turning red in anger..

“I’ve got the last death scythe! We are way more capable than some mace head!”

You scrunched your nose, bragging about a weapons form was a societal ick but here Maka was bragging about the white haired boy just to piss off your partner.

“Last one because they don’t want any more fuck ups like yourselves!”

Putting a hand on the girls shoulder, you pulled her back as Maka swung her gloved hand at her.

“See?! She won’t be any help in a real dangerous situation- just send us!”

Your meister hissed, looking up at Death who only watched on with amusement.

“Nope! It’s already been decided, I did the paperwork for ya! You got a whole week before dispatch!”

With that, you felt Souls eyes burrowing into you. It’s been a long while since you’d actually come in contact with the infamous duo but seeing them in general would have been too soon.

It’s been a long standing ‘rivalry’ as most would view it but to be honest.. your meisters hated eachother and would put the other into the ground at the first sight of an opening. You disliked Soul not only as an extension but because of how he was when the two of you went through school together- going as far as to when the two of you successfully manifested as weapons.

Something about your resonance just.. didn’t mix so you never really gave him any thought.

It drove him crazy.

Everyone paid attention to him, but you being an outlier pissed him off- it came off as snotty instead of dismissive, and while his hate also came from an extension of his meister, as you did, he shared the petty grievances from the past.

You and Soul mixed as well as water and oil.

Sighing, you started to leave the office and tuned out the two girls arguing- also ignoring Souls attempts to argue with you as-well.

—

The new founded group walked throughout the city, supplies and packs needing to get gathered. The ache in your head was already settling with all the arguing. You were all too old for this, right? Finding it extremely immature you left the trio to argue back and forth despite both Soul and your own Meister trying to get you to pipe in.

“We are all out of highschool, can you all shut up for just a second!”

Gritting your teeth, hand lurching over and grabbing a fistful of shirt from the closest person.

It was Soul.

Glaring into his eyes, you pushed his chest away and snatched your own partner and walked ahead of the others.

“We are on a serious assignment, we aren’t gonna be friends but I’d like to live and not die because all of you are idiots!”

The snarl in your voice made them quiet down, not without quiet grumbling but that was far better than the loud arguing.

“Why do ya even hate her? Maybe you two could reconcile something because I really don’t want to deal with this for a week…”

Bumping into your meisters side, she sighed and peeked behind her.

“Cant tell ya, my one secret. Why do you hate Soul? You’re the one that wants this to stop so why don’t you make the first move?”

She drawled out, looking you up and down.

“I’m not the one arguin’ though!”

“Whatever, we still have to train with them to go over strategies. This is just day one, we got 6 days to cozy up…”

Grimacing at her words, you didn’t realize Soul and Maka were having almost the same exact conversation.

“-and then! When we were 12 she knocked me over and I lost all my homework over the hallways, she didn’t even help pick it up! I had to rewrite every note!”

Maka passionately relayed every bad memory to her partner, he only nodded along while he thought of what actually happened between the two of you. His stomach ached, thinking about being forced into such close quarters with you.

—

“Alright, let’s see how you’ve regressed after leaving school.”

(Meister Name) chuckled at Maka, it was time to strategize and for that you needed to be familiar with your partners style. Maka hissed in a breathe before giving Soul a nod- the two melded and out came a scythe. You whistled in false admiration, feeling the resonance from him pick up from your teasing.

Maka worked to take out the dummies, every quick slash and move she made was tactful and fluid- impressive if you really paid attention. Breathlessly, she stopped and slung the scythe over her shoulder- looking to the two of you with a smirk.

“Alright, let’s see you do any better.”

Checking your watch, you stopped the timer.

“5 minutes and 32 seconds. We can beat that.”

Soul came back to his human form, switching places with you on the chair and passing him the stop watch.

You and your meister stretched out, limbering your joints before you took form. A chained mace, covered in large spikes and a barbed base. With your partner slinging you over her shoulder she smiled back at the others before going absolutely ballistic on the dummies.

The energy you felt from her almost made you want to stop her but you also knew she was blowing off steam with every swing and pull back- her wrapping the your chain around a dummy and ripping it in half from the force or squeezing tension to make them snap. Once you felt the final dummy deflate, you let yourself relax and drop gently to your feet behind her.

“3 minutes and 25 seconds…”

The girl beside you howled out cheering, jumping on you in excitement that she beat the other two. Soul bit his lip slightly, Maka turning pale at the long stretch of defeat.

“So much for having a scythe, huh Albarn?”

Before you knew it, the two girls were arguing again. Sighing, you went to sit beside Soul while the other two fought.

“Soul?”

“Y/n.”

Rolling your eyes, you turned to look at him.

“We’re not gonna be friends or even acquaintances after this, but keep your meister in check and I’ll try my best to keep mine. I really don’t wanna fuck this up because you guys are stupid.”

His eyes pointed a glare, sucking in a breathe he shoved a finger into your chest

“Us stupid?! You’re the one letting her walk all over Maka and not doing a damn thing!”

Slapping away his hand, you stood up with your own glare

“Grow up Soul! Take her away so she doesn’t get walked on! I take mine away but you don’t even have half the mind to shut up and not intervene! Just yap, yap, YAP! You’re so childish! Agh!”

You threw up your hands, going to walk away only to be grabbed by the collar and yanked back

“Childish?! You’re the one who can’t address the fuckin’ problem!”

“Oh, and you are?! What exactly does screaming your lungs out accomplish? As far as I know you don’t matter enough for me to have a problem with!”

Shoving him away, a faint flicker of rage gleamed over his eyes before he lunged for you- knocking you to the ground.

“You ass! Why don’t I matter enough to have a problem with?! You think you’re sooo much better than me dont you?!”

“When did I ever say that?! We have never been friends, and we never will! Is that so hard for the almighty Soul Eater Evans to comprehend?”

He opened his mouth to scream down at you but you kicked him off, hopping up to your feet and shoving him back for good measure

“I don’t like you Soul! I don’t have to like you! Just because you think you’re entitled to all praise and shit doesn’t make it true- I hate you!”

Heaving in heavy breathes, you gritted your teeth- looking down at him he almost looked sad or upset. It was only then that you realized the two girls had stopped arguing to watch your outburst.

Shit.. whatever. You’d do something to ease tension for the assignment.. strutting over to the girls you yanked your partner away, not getting one word of fight from her but you knew she was looking at you in concern.. as was Maka who moved to tend to her weapon.

—

The next few days felt like radio silence between everyone, only moving through the motions to get to the day of the assignment.

Soul didn’t even look your way through most of it, it was incredibly tense and while it was warranted you’d expected at least a sound from him. Hell, even your meisters spoke to eachother in a kinder manner but if this what it had to be like, so be it. There wasn’t any fighting.

There wasn’t anything at all.

“Are you gonna apologize?”

Turning your head, the two girls stood behind you with their arms crossed over their chests.

“For what?”

“To Soul! He hasn’t even been speaking to me!”

Maka growled, the other girl nodding in agreement.

“Why should I apologize? He started it.”

“Yeah but you are the one who made him act like this.”

“I’m not making him act like anything!”

Chewing on your lip, your eyes trailed to the washed out looking boy. He really had no readable expression nor did he even exude any notable energy or aura. He was just there. You sighed deeply, looking back to the girls in front of you

“You know what? Fine. Whatever.”

With that you stuffed your hands into your coat pockets and walked over, ignoring the snickering coming from the girls behind you.

“Soul?”

His red eyes met yours, a blank stare as he waited for you to continue. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you took a deep breathe before continuing.

“I wanted to say sorry. I mean, sorry for what I said the other day.”

“But you meant it, didn’t you?”

“Huh?”

He took a step back, distancing himself from you and glancing behind you.

“You meant it. Don’t apologize if you don’t mean it.. if they made you do it I don’t want it..”

“They didn’t make me do anything.. and why does it matter to you if I meant it or not?”

Soul gulped, unsure of why he actually cared so much. Did he really need everyone to like him? Why did he feel the need for you, specifically, to like him?

“But did you mean it?”

The way his eyes shook with every breathe made you feel heavy, was it guilt? Did you actually feel bad for what you said and what you’ve done leading up to this? You weren’t all too sure if you were honest..

“I don’t hate you.. I don’t think I ever actually hated you but I don’t know if I like you..”

Rubbing your neck, a faint heat on your cheeks stung in embarrassment. It was weird, this whole conversation and situation was weird and it was too heart felt to think about properly.

—

Soul and you had ended up taking off with each other, just to talk. It seemed your partners were kind of getting along so they pushed you two to go off and spend some time together to really work out whatever.. was going on.

The two of you talked, for hours. You’d gotten lunch, walked around, ended up in your own apartment, had dinner and still you sat next to eachother on the couch talking away. It felt natural.

The ache of guilt in you still lingered but it was much less.

“I’m.. I just wanted to say I’m actually sorry. I mean it, I don’t know what happened or really what drove me to say that.”

Soul smiled softly, nodding. He didn’t hold it against you, he understood and he didn’t say the nicest things to you either.

“After this is all done, we don’t gotta see each other other anymore- exciting right?”

Nervously laughing to yourself, Soul stiffened beside you..

“I guess not liking each other can work. At least we learned to be civil huh?”

Soul only nodded, looking down at the wooden floors.

“You don’t like me?”

“I mean, not really but you don’t like me so it’s even. We agreed we didn’t need to see each other after this so it really doesn’t matter.”

You again laughed, but he really thought you’d made some progress. He even thought the two of you would be friends.. he was confused but he didn’t want to push it.

The assignment was tomorrow.. he needed to get back to Maka.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I’ll uh, I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“Oh! About that, (Meister Name) is actually staying with Maka tonight and they said it’d be best if you stayed here since it’s already late.. I have a guest room so no worries you won’t sleep on the couch.”

He wanted to wipe that stupid smile off your face, you just said you didn’t like him and now he had to stay here?! All these mixed signals made his head spin.

“What?”

—

He laid in the bed, well it was a futon. It’s a guest room so he expected it but sleeping in an unfamiliar space always made it harder to sleep.. along with the thoughts he had of you that ran freely. Counting sheep, imagining he was already asleep, thinking of new dreams didn’t help at all. They all traced back to you.

The fact you still said you didn’t like him hurt, he had to be honest with himself on this one. It hurt, and it sucked.

With a heavy sigh, he decided to get up to drink some water. Quietly walking through the apartment felt like he was sneaking around, like he wasn’t supposed to be here..

“Oh, you’re still awake?”

His spine curled and a flash of horror overcame his body- you only gazed at him in his stiff and frightened state.

You watched him with owl-like eyes, wide and unthinking but observant. He blinked a couple times, letting himself come down from the jump scare.

“Why are you still awake?”

He grumbled, chugging his water and wiping his mouth with his sleeve before going over to sit on the couch beside you. The television playing some random 3am program about some cast iron skillet..

“Uh.. no reason. Just couldn’t sleep. You?”

“Ugh.. same reason..”

An ambient silence fell between you, pairs of tired eyes watching the bright screen

He couldn’t take it. He needed to ask.

“Why don’t you like me yet?”

Looking over at him, you sunk deeper into the couch

“Why do you want me to like you?”

With your arms stretched behind your head, a soft smile filled your lips..

“It would be.. nice? I don’t like feeling like you don’t like me, I know it’s not true.”

You only hummed, not the response he had wanted clearly.

Biting his lip, he made his move.

Maybe it was the tiredness of his mind, maybe it was his emotions boiling over, or perhaps he just wanted to start something that wasn’t so passive..

He got up and placed himself in your lap. You sank even deeper into the plush cushion beneath you, eyes wide looking up at Soul who was already covered in a growing blush.

“I don’t get it! How can you spend all this time with me and not like me yet?!”

You blinked. Once. Twice. With the third strum of silence, his hands balled up your shirt tightly and he leaned down; feeling his breathe on your face but he kept silent, his eyes shaking seemingly trying to find some kind of word to finish his thoughts.

You gave him an almost innocent grin, putting your hands on his wrist to ease his tight grip

“Do ya like me? Is that why you care so much?”

His breathe hitched, the blush seemingly as dark as it could be along his cheeks. Again, with the silence. Was he always this quiet, you always remembered him to be a blabber mouth..

“What? No words anymore? I’d say you like me a bit more-“

Souls lips met yours, cutting off whatever snarky remark you had. As quickly as he caught your lips he pulled away in a panic.

“Shit! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

You put a hand over his mouth, feeling heat on your own face and desperately trying to recover. The teasing, the snarky remarks, any snide comments you could make were somehow nowhere to be found in your train of thoughts.

He really kissed you.

Soul Eater Evans kissed you.

Your rival, your enemy, the person you’d fairly recently claimed you hated- to his face nonetheless.

Had just kissed you.

Honestly, you didn’t know what to do with this.. but an ounce of courage bubbled up and without thought, really none at all,

You pulled him back in for a quick peck.

“So I guess you really like me.. huh?”

With a hand covering the lower part of your face, you looked away.. only looking over to see how Soul reacted.

In such a tense moment I guess it would be.. predicated that you’d either kiss or beat the shit out of each other.. the latter being the more likely one but this outcome was far more enjoyable.

“I.. I don’t know..”

Soul seemed dazed, his body slumped down into yours with his recently fisted hands now lax and loose on your shirt.

“You don’t know? You kissed me first, do ya need another one to see?”

Ah yes, the false confidence was bubbling up again but you couldn’t help it. Soul gulped, slowly nodding his head. He leaned down and kissed the hand that covered your mouth.

The heat in your cheeks burned all the way to your ears, moving your hand so quickly that you almost slapped the boy.

He pulled away, furrowed brows as he thought about what he was doing.. thought about why you were letting him do this.

Leaning down again, he caught your lips but stayed there and waited for your next move.

You kissed back, licking along his lower lip while your hands found their place on his hips. The kiss deepened, you could feel every single one of his sharp, pointed teeth- running your tongue across them and exploring while he breathlessly moaned.

Soul pulled away; a faint sheen of saliva on his lips.. he blushed and gave a dopey smile.

“I think.. I think I like it. I think I like you..”

He huffed, moving to kiss you again. He wasn’t the greatest kisser, clearly inexperienced as his teeth clacked against your own when he took control of the kiss- smirking, you pinched his sides softly to make him yelp; taking over to show him how to kiss properly.

Before long, Soul had started to grind himself against you. Whether he intended it or not, the friction made you hard, and it made you panic inside. Was he really this inexperienced that kissing got him this excited.

“Alright Soul.. I think we should stop.. you’re getting a bit.. rowdy..”

Pushing his hips away, he immediately slid them back to meet your pelvis.

“I don’t think you like me that much.. you’re tired, I’m tired.. I don’t think you actually want to go that far..”

Giving him a soft smile, he grimaced.

“What, don’t wanna do it with me? Too good for me?”

“Not what I meant. I just don’t think-“

“I want it. Do you want it?”

Biting your lip.. you knew you shouldn’t. But when he’s moaning into your mouth and grinding against you.. you’re both young adults it’s bound to cause something! Sighing, you leaned back and hung your head on the back of the couch.

“Yeah, I want it.”

“Good.”

“Just take it easy alright, there are condoms.. somewhere..”

Soul jumped off your lap, but went into the guest room before coming out and unrolling a full sleeve of condoms with a wide smirk.

“Woah, you’re oddly prepared.”

He didn’t say anything before he knelt down infront of you- quick to pull down your pyjama pants.

“Soul? Slow down!”

A moan caught itself in your throat, he already held half of you in his mouth. His hands gripped on your thighs, his short fingernails leaving crescent shapes on your skin as he attempted to milk you.

His inexperience caused his sharp teeth to graze your member more than once, making your body jump and spine tingle.

It’s not that you didn’t enjoy it it’s just that… it wasn’t the greatest!

Swiftly you ripped his head off your dick, pulling his hair lightly.

“We gotta work on that..”

Breathing out, you told him to undress and watched him quickly throw his clothes off to the side- moving to sit in your lap and tease you while he offered a packet to you.

Ripping the condom open, you slid it over your dick.

“Just put it in already!”

How impatient.. you were going to prep him but with the way his dick was already leaking of precum made you snarl; he was gonna learn that taking it slow and easy is the best way.

“Whatever you say, just don’t scream too loud now, the neighbours are asleep.”

He went to protest, the slap of your dick against his entrance made him quiver and shut up.

“Take a deep breathe for me..”

Inhaling through his nose, you pushed your head into his ass; his face becoming shoved into the crook of your neck as he bit down, breaking the skin.

He was tight, painfully tight. Sliding in centimetre by centimetre, it took everything in him not to sob out or kick and scream.

Fully inside, his haggard breathe rocked on your skin while he attempted to adjust.

“Relax. God.. you’re so tight- don’t clench!”

He whined in pain, moving sent a shocking sting up his back but he didn’t dare let you pull out.

“I’ll be fine! Just gimme a second!”

So he sat there, on your dick and waited to adjust.

He writhed in discomfort, breathing heavily into your neck and squeezing his hands onto your arms.

It took a few minutes, the sigh of relief rumbled in his chest and out through his nose. Lightly, and slowly, he lifted himself up and down on your dick.

“Fuck..”

He cursed under his breathe, trying to pick up the pace but his ass tightly clenched on you.

“Need help?”

“No! I got it! Just let me..”

Lifting himself almost all the way off your dick, he left just the head in; he quickly slammed himself down and his eyes rolled back, body trembling and legs shaking before he fell onto you.

“Yeah.. I want help..”

What a brat. Smirking, you nipped at his neck and grabbed onto the soft skin that laid on his hips; slowly setting a pace. His ass bounced on your dick, the penetration making him drool. This felt way better than he expected, felt way better than him trying to ride you on his own.

Soul panted, tongue lazily hanging out his mouth as his huffing moans slipped past.

One thrust hit him a little too deep, hitting his prostate dead on at full force making him yelp and claw at your skin.

“Sorry!”

He couldn’t help the chuckled moan that came out, almost surprising himself with the sound and quickly covered his mouth.

The steady pace had him coming undone quicker than he expected- a guttural moan before he shot his load between your stomachs.

“Woah, good job Soul.”

His face flushed, pushing away to grimace at you. When you started again, his body burned in a new feeling- overstimulation. With a quick yelp he moved to sit up on his knees, making you pull out.

“It’s.. too much.”

You cringed in the realization, at least he said something! Nodding, you pushed him off to the side of you but he moved to his knees again- sitting infront of you.

“I wanna finish you off.”

“You don’t have to! It’s fine.”

“I know that, dipshit. I want to.”

He scrunched his nose at you, annoyed at how nice you were about it before sliding the condom off.

You bit your finger watching him lick up your shaft before taking you inside his mouth. It was warm, and wet, his soft tongue prodding at the underside of your dick before teasing the head. Seemed he was a quick learner.

Soul could taste himself on you, making him more eager to taste your load.

Your moans were soft, just barely audible to him over the television in the background. His hand made work to jerk what he couldn’t reach or fit in his mouth. Coughing when it hit the back of his throat, he looked up at you with teary eyes as he tried to stuff as much as he could into his mouth- watching it hit his cheeks and poke out, his cheeks sucking in hollow to place it back in his throat.

He let out a loud gag with the sudden buck of your hips- forcing it down past his tonsils.

With a final swallow, you came in his mouth. Way too much for him to handle as he coughed and choked on the load, spitting most of it out.

“So you’re a quitter huh?”

“Shut up! I’ve never done this before!”

“Huh?”

“…you’re my first.”

He glared at you, not happy with the shock in your eyes.

“No way.. you gave it to your enemy?! I don’t believe you.”

“Enemy?! You just had your dick inside me and I’m still an enemy?!”

His hands made their way to your collar bone to teasingly choke you.

“Point taken… so.. friends?”

He deadpanned you, his lip dropping to an annoyed frown.

“Friends my ass! You gotta take me out on a date now!”

“So… what?”

“We are not friends! I don’t fuck just friends!”

Wow, a confession? That was quick.

“We’ll see about that. Don’t think you wanna spend your life with me that quickly.”

“Don’t tell me what I want!”

“Yeah yeah, okay. I don’t wanna fight with you over this.”

“Damn right you don’t.”

He got off of you and walked to the bathroom, you could hear him gargling mouth wash.. smiling to yourself you couldn’t help your heart swelling at the sound of domesticity.. maybe this would be fun.

Soul was stubborn and hard headed, everyone knew that. He does always get what he wants, it seemed.

[eliciria]

Ahmmm..

Headcanons for Leona Kingscholar while being friends with benefits with Reader/yuu

Angst and fluff??

a/n : thanks so much for requesting! My first post that actually shows my writing! wow! Sorry if it's a bit more angsty than fluff, i naturally go there hehe. Hope you enjoy!

whisper to the trees... (ask box) : open

check my about me/request rules here

wc : 0.8k words

cws : suggestive but still fluff, miscommunication phase for like 2 seconds, swearing, kind of ooc leona, potentially happy ending? gn reader

song playing : this is how it feels by laufey ft. d4vd

Leona Kingscholar with a friends to benefit! Relationship

I'll be so real right now, he actually wouldn't do any type of PDA with you. Even if you lean to more of the affectionate and almost lover-type phase of your 'friendship', he won't even attempt to try and hold your hand out in the open.

That doesn't mean he doesn't want to, though.

It's just that his pride kind of gets in the way when he attempts to brush his fingers against yours a little longer.

Pride is also probably the main reason why both of you remain friends. You think he wants to remain friends, while he struggles to pour his true emotions to you.

It leads into a cycle of ghosting then love bombing. The lack of responsibility within the interactions of both of you, before finally missing you becomes toxic.

He misses your supposed first dates, before apologizing later in the night. After reconciling, you'd attempt to meet up with him again past your `nightly activities` , but he misses it again. The cycle repeats.

Frankly, you were a bit sick of it. But you gave him one last chance to talk it out with you after class. To figure it out together.

So when he notices you right after he flirts with a random student(for them to carry one of the group projects, that is). He can't help but regret to have confessed earlier.

You walk hastily, trying to avoid the awkward situation you just witnessed. You finally got your answer, but you wished it wasn't in this way.

You pretended that you weren't in denial, and your actions showed the opposite. You really were. Tears were fighting to come out, and your lips trembled in both sadness and anger.

You only snapped out of it when Leona grabbed your hand a bit too tightly, breaking you out of your train of thought.

"Are you seriously walking away?" He asked you. How funny. You scoff.

"After witnessing that? Any person would."

"You don't understand." Really? Is this how he is going to act? You roll your eyes, tears sliding.

"Just what do I not understand? That you pulled that shit on me? Just how long do you think I can handle this bullshit?" Your voice attempts to remain stable, but the broken sobs break your attempt to look like you didn't care. You were just friends, yes. But the nights where he had "loved" you felt too much now.

" Yuu--"

"What, huh? I'm tired, so tired of you treating me like a whore. Like someone with no dignity. You treat me like a friend, and I'm happy you do. But when we try to step forward, you act like I'm just a fucking bed warmer! Just what do you want from me Leona?! I can't keep up with this. I love you, but I'm tired. Please, just stop-"

You get interrupted with your face being buried in his chest. He was embracing you, with a bit too much gentleness. He was stroking your hair, muttering a "shhh...". You hit his chest again and again, your broken sobs muffled. It would happen all over again. You'd fall again, and he'd do nothing but let you.

He watched as you screamed at him. It was understandable, he had refused to show any sign that he had truly loved you. But when he picked up the noise of students' footsteps, he can't help but want this to be cut short.

Nobody can hear your cries, unless it was him.

He immediately embraced you, both in comfort, and to blur your cries.

As you hit him as he hugs you, he gripped you a bit tighter. The punches were weak, and he was too focused on stopping you from crying.

Students passed by the both of you, glaring at the scene. A couple hugging in a hallway? Out of all the places?

But they rushed on as they noticed his death stare. The second they had tried to look at your face, he was tempted to pounce at them right then or there. He fought the urge to actually commit the act; he simply moved himself so all they would see was his back, and not you.

After a few more minutes of silence, he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry. I really am. I do love you. I really fucking do. The only person I want to see is you. The only person I want to be with is you. I just...don't know how to tell you that. I acted incredibly douchey, so i apologize. For everything. For all the dates I missed. For the missed opportunities to say I love you. For not being able to give you what you deserve. I'll change. Fuck, I'll do anything. I need you, so please. Don't leave."

You remain still, before letting out a jagged breath. You held onto the side of his jacket, and he rests his hand on your neck, the other on your waist. You look at him.

"I won't."

a/n : the cycle continues! if you liked this, please like or repost it! again, my asks are open, and thanks for reading!

[reallyromealone]

can you do sanzu angst to fluff with a pregnant omega (third trimester) and his omega is annoyed / sad at the fact sanzu won’t do the “devils tango” with him anymore so his omega doubts his beauty and relationship with sanzu and gets really insecure but really sanzu is just scared about hurting his pup(s) now that they’re in the 3rd trimester ╥﹏╥

(you don’t have to write anything hardcore explicit at all, maybe just a reconcile with some flirtatious words at most if you want :D)

Warning: explicit conversation, male reader, mentions of sex, omegaverse, mpreg

Sanzu x male reader

🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑🌒🌓🌔🌕🌖🌗🌘🌑

Every time like clockwork.

The two would be getting frisky and suddenly Sanzu would stop and looked uncomfortable whenever (name)s shirt would come off...then drown himself in work.

(Name) sat on their bed as he looked in the mirror, his large belly on full display with their twins, (name) in the starting stages of his third trimester and gently touched the stretch marks across his lower belly as if they would burn him if he put any pressure.

He could barely look at himself anymore, he felt gross... Even his alpha didn't want him.

Haru barely touched him, he must have been hideous to the pink haired man.

Why else would be look so freaked out when they would get intimate?

(Name) started wearing clothes that covered his belly, not hiding it as that was a challenge but concealing it more and didn't bother trying to get intimate with Haru as the Alpha worked later and later.

Haru came home exhausted as he saw his beloved in the kitchen, making a snack it seemed though the snack didn't look like what the Omega would typically have but he didn't question pregnancy.

Haru walked behind his mate, pumping out pharamones as he hugged (name) from behind, rumbling a bit as he kissed (name)s scent gland, the Omega letting out a distressed whine and Sanzu immediately looked worried, turning his mate to check him "who hurt you" he said seriously and (name) wanted to cry "alpha doesn't want me" he choked out, the mixed signals making the Omega stressed.

"What do you mean?" When it came to (name) Sanzu would immediately go from big scary vice president of Japan's most fearsome crime organization to doting worried alpha in seconds as he led (name) to the livingroom, the Omega sitting on the couch as Sanzu crouched before him and held his hands gently, looking at his beloved with worry "tell me what's going on" he said softly, thankful he went to those god forsaken classes to learn better communication skills for his mate and pups "whenever we do stuff you look horrified and pull away... I know I don't look how I looked before and I got stretch marks and I'm huge and--"" you think I'm not attracted to you?"

"You push me away the second I show my belly! Then you drown yourself in work! Why don't you want me?!" (Name) sobbed as he pulled away and hugged himself and Sanzu felt his heart break at this "you know how hard it is to hold back?"

"W-what?"

"You know how hard it is for me to not pin you down and fuck you stupid? To bend you and manhandle you till you're crying on my cock? How often I jerk off to the fact you're swollen with my kids? The cute tits you have?"

(Name) was beet red at this point "then why do you pull away?"

"I don't wanna hurt the pups, you're close to giving birth, I don't wanna fuck you injured" Sanzu said kissing his belly.

(Name) giggled at this and let Sanzu wipe away any tears "you're gonna be a good dad" (name) said sweetly and Sanzu kissed him gently "now I think it's time I remind my omega how sexy he is"

[damiansgoodgirll]

Can you do a angst to fluff with kylian, maybe about y/n meets a old friend and talks to him and kylian get angry and they fight then they reconcile with each other

kylian mbappe x reader

tw : angst, kylian being a little toxic (sorry) fluff at the end tho

jealousy jealousy

“kylian can you talk to me please?” you asked him once again but he wouldn’t reply. instead he gripped the wheel hardest as he was driving back home.

you and kylian went to this cute bar that just opened in paris and it was supposed to be just the two of you, but after an hour that you were there, you met an old high school friend that you haven’t seen since you graduated and of course curiosity, got the best of you, and you wanted to know everything about him.

kylian wasn’t amused by the fact that you were giving all your attention to your friend. no he was jealous but he wouldn’t admit it.

you were really close to this guy when you were in high school and you were not going to lie, he once had a crush on you, but when you rejected him he remained and wanted to be friend with you anyway.  he was being polite and ask kylian question too but he would simply reply with “yes” “no” “okay” and that was stressing you out.

“okay fine you wanna be like that, fine with me…” you said losing all hope.

“so you’re not saying anything about your friend who clearly had other intentions than being more than friend?” he asked you sarcastically and you couldn’t believe your ears.

“kylian, if you heard the conversation for at least just a minute, you would know he is married and has a kid…can’t believe you’re being like this over nothing…”

“that man was all on you for the whole night, of course i’m being like this!” kylian almost shouted.

“i can’t with you…you’re being irrational! he is just a friend, i haven’t seen him for years and you’re acting all pick me and jealous because i wanted to catch up a little with him!” you shouted back.

“so you had to catch up with him on our night out? you couldn’t find any other moment right?” he asked you scoffing a little.

“he was there! kylian, how was i supposed to know he would be there! oh my - i can’t, i truly can’t right now…”

“no we’re talking about it because you are the one who wanted to talk about it! it was supposed to be our night y/n and you let your friend sit with us for the whole night!” he said keeping the eyes on the road.

“he stayed only for fifteen minutes kylian! why are you being so dramatic?” you were losing all your patience to the moment you were about to jump off the car a walk back home by yourself.

“still…it was our night and you let him y/n…”

“okay and what about our second anniversary? because i remember how we were dining together, and girls kept glaring at you and asking you for pictures while we were having our special moment. or how about…how about my birthday last year?  you wanted to try this new club and i agreed with you, but you spent the whole night with influencers and models and you ignored me…” you said remembering one of the worst nights of your life.

“oh that was different y/n, don’t bring those days back!”

“why? why is it different? because you’re kylian mbappè so you’re allowed to have fans who kept bothering us during our anniversary? because you’re this famous football player who’s allowed to spend my birthday night with other girls? and i’m not even allowed to say hello to an old friend of mine?” you said, not even screaming anymore. you were just sad and upset with kylian and because he was being a little shit.

you remembered how you two argued on your anniversary, but you decided to drop it because those girls were just probably friends and wanted to have a picture with kylian.

you also remembered how disappointed you were on your birthday night  because the girls were all over kylian and he wasn’t even bothered about it. you talked to him about what happened that night and he simply dismissed it by saying that those girls were influencers and models that he was working with, so you had nothing to be jealous about, but it was still your birthday and instead of spending it with the man of your life you spent it sitting on a black leather catch over yourself with a beer in your hand.

you were hurt. more than hurt because apparently kylian didn’t value like you valued him.

kylian didn’t say anything while he kept driving. he heard the changing of your voice, and he knew he fucked up pretty bad. he knew it was serious when you turned from angry to being sad.

his mind was working a way to make up to you. he knew you weren’t the type of person that would accept flowers or jewellery,  you were the type of person to talk about the problems that you both had because he knew how communication was important to you.

when you got back home, you went immediately into your shared bedroom and change into a comfy pyjamas, not even waiting for kylian to join you in bed.

you heard him laying on the bed next to you but you were facing the opposite side.

“baby…can we talk?” he asked softly.

“why? so you could tell me once again how you are more important than me?” you sarcastically said.

“what? gosh, no baby, never…i know i fucked up, i’m just… i was just so jealous when i saw you being all happy around your friend…i shouldn’t have acted the way i did, and i’m so sorry for that” he apologised.

you turned to face him and saw the honesty in his face.

“i never wanted to make you feel like you are not important for me, you are the most important person in my life and i love you so much…i was just jealous and i acted like shit, i’m sorry mon ange” he said.

“it’s okay…” you smiled at him and you saw him relax a bit “i want to you talk to me the next time so we can pass over us fighting…i love you kylian” you snuggled closer to him and he happily engulfed you in his large arms.

“i know, communication is key it’s just i’m not so used to it…”

“i know it’s okay… but next time please talk to me, doesn’t matter what the problem is,  if you’re feeling down or bad, i rather you talk to me instead of causing a tantrum” you slightly joked and he laughed too.

“i promise mon amour…i promise” he kissed your cheek.

you stayed like that for almost an hour, just falling asleep next to each other and each other’s embrace.

[shunsuiken]

A LITTLE SECRET | SAGAU

synopsis. you, the divine creator of teyvat, discover one day that your blood can heal. 

tags. gn!reader + hurt/comfort + fluff + you bring childe and kazuha into a domain (xiangling and bennett are honorary mentions) + reader wants ragbros to reconcile + zhongli and ayato are sparring partners + itto gets hurt but don’t worry we heal him + gorou is still traumatised after the war between the shogunate army & the sangonomiya resistance so pls understand his reaction here + reader thinks everyones gonna be mad at them but thats not true + they tease you in the end and its all adorable <3 hehe

warnings. mentions of blood (obviously), self-harm (??? because reader cuts their wrist to obtain the blood), if i missed anything pls lmk !!

wc. 2.6k

an. incredible how brainrot makes you write things so quickly. i only just indulged myself into sagau’s literally a week ago and now this is here 😀

“now wasn’t that quite the fight!” childe wipes sweat off his forehead with his sleeve, letting his bow dematerialise in the air as he strides into the estate in your abode.

“you were rather ruthless out there, i must say.” kazuha removes his bandages and replaces them with a clean roll in a cupboard. “their grace looked concerned when that cryo abyss mage shot a cryo thorn at you.”

“true but these scars will heal like they were never even there!” sometimes kazuha wonders if the fatui harbinger feels any pain, he must, he thinks, but is most likely good at hiding it.

“would you like to bandage that at least?”

“hm, i could but-”

“kazuha! ajax!” you call with your sweet voice from the kitchen and all the men’s heads in the living room whip around in the direction of your voice. speaking of you… they haven’t seen you since you and your party left the domain.

“yes, your grace?” childe replies, a light blush appearing on his face upon the use of his real name.

kazuha smiles lightly behind him, greeting you as you enter the living room. “your grace.”

“here are your vitamins, you two!” you bring two cups of a mysteriously transparent liquid to them. “i’ve already given these to xiangling and bennett and now it's your turns!”

“oh, it’s this drink again.” childe raises his brows. “you gave it to us last time as well, your grace.”

you hum in agreement, “i did.”

kazuha inspects the liquid after taking it from your precious hands. “the ingredients for this healing mixture must be incredibly difficult to find since it heals wounds so quickly.” he then drinks it up with childe, both men handing the cups back to you in a respectable fashion.

kazuha is right about that. the ingredients for this drink are definitely difficult to find.

but that is because the drink was your blood. your golden blood to be precise. when you descended as the creator of teyvat, you were naturally bestowed with this condition to discern your immortal body from others.

funnily enough, it was all due to you scraping your palm against a rough rock that you discovered the hidden properties of your blood (and its rich golden colour). it was weird in the beginning, and you made sure to guarantee how highly your blood’s healing properties were before offering it to the men who joined you in domains and open-world fights. so you only declared its potential after flinging yourself through multiple enemies.

so far you’ve managed to hide this fact from the men since you found out. after learning some illusory spells that can’t be detected by the naked eye, you were able to successfully heal your men after feeding them your blood—referring to it as “vitamins”. 

“your grace, what’s the secret recipe behind this amazing drink? maybe i could learn it to help you if any more of us get hurt.” you feel bad, thoma looks like he has stars in his eyes but you obviously can’t tell him how the drink is made. you can already imagine it. he’d panic and go all red in the face. although a cute sight, you don’t want him to worry about you since he and the rest have done so much to smoothen your descent into teyvat.

you also notice the expectant eyes of the other men who are behind him, either idly standing by or are on the couch relaxing.

“oh thoma, there is a reason why it’s a secret.” you wink at him, extending your index finger to your lips. you end up laughing at the housekeeper when the red on his face makes it up to his ears, a sheepish look on his face for asking such a question with an obvious answer.

“my apologies, your grace. i didn’t mean to pry.” the pyro user scratches the back of his head while ayato, who sips on his boba milk tea, pats his back sympathetically.

“don’t apologise, dearest, it is natural you all are curious.” you meet eyes with everyone in the room, hoping your words can convince them. “but don’t fret, this is just a way of me giving my thanks to all your preparations when i arrived here.”

“your grace is too kind.” kazuha smiles. “therefore we shall accept your offerings wholeheartedly.”

you’re praying (to who knows what, you’re literally the most powerful being on teyvat) that the boys can forgive you if they ever found out. but you have a sinking feeling that they’ll all feel betrayed instead because they wouldn’t ever want you to hurt yourself to heal them. just thinking about it makes your heart break. so you quickly shove those worries away, as long as the boys stay safe then it is worth the minuscule second of pain.

-

you’re reading a book next to kaeya while he completes paperwork. he decided to do his work outside the confines of the wooden walls so he could get some fresh air instead (news flash: he actually just wants to be in your presence). after a while, diluc comes along with a glass of grape juice in his hands. he greets you and stares at his brother. “kaeya,” he greets before sitting down opposite of him.

kaeya raises his head, giving him a nod of acknowledgement. “diluc.”

you twitch your eye at the dry interaction in front of you. perhaps you should add this to your list of things to accomplish, to help these two estranged brothers and connect them once again. no doubt would the two be happier. obviously they will need as much time as possible to settle things. and you are willing to give them exactly that. time. you sigh underneath your breath, listening to the distant cling and clangs of a polearm and a sword.

hm, perhaps they’re sparring? you remove your gaze from your book to the two figures in the distance. ah, it seems to be zhongli and ayato. now that is an interesting pairing. however, your moment of peace is interrupted by panicked shouts for help at the front door. you exchange alarmed looks with the two brothers in front of you, getting up quickly from your seats to attend to the shouts that are coming from… you believe, gorou.

your face pales at the sight in front of you, there is a large gash right across itto’s stomach, blood pooling out of him like a flowing river. immediately you kneel down to his figure supported by gorou, who is startled by the entire situation as he relays what happened.

“we were looking for onikabuto but itto’s wind glider broke and he fell through the trees in chinju forest!” gorou’s tail is raised high up in alarm, ears stiff and skin running cold at the sight of his comrade in this state. it brings him too many memories. too many unfortunate ones that make his hands shake.

you hold onto his hand tightly, returning him to the present so he doesn’t focus on what he saw behind the look in his eyes anymore. he raises his head to meet your gaze. your gaze that does not falter, your gaze that urges him: trust me.

gorou does, giving you some space to heal itto with your abilities. it then dawns on gorou that he’s never seen you heal anybody with your abilities. and when you did heal people, it was with that liquid you would bring to them.

the men who are on site look at you with anticipation because they’ll finally get to see how you prepare that healing concoction. but they’re also exchanging gazes at each other in concern for itto. the oni groans in pain, clutching onto the gushing wound. you have no time to waste. materialising his claymore, you quickly slash your skin against the sharp edge as your blood spills onto itto’s wound.

you hear various reactions. cries of shock, quiet gasps, and protests that plead you to stop your actions.

“y- your grace?!” gorou gasps, brows creasing in bewilderment while his hands hover awkwardly in front of him, unsure of what to do next.

“so that’s why they never told us how the ‘vitamins’ were made,” the wanderer mutters but everybody hears him clearly.

the men are smart enough to put two and two together. seeing your divine blood trickle down your arm onto itto’s wound that healed the second it made contact with your blood threw them all into a speechless stupor. they weren’t even expecting the liquid to be such a dazzling colour that would reflect the light of the afternoon sun.

when the wound heals completely, you wipe the remaining streaks of itto’s blood off using your sleeves. and magically, your slashed skin is healed too. you reach for itto’s cheek, caressing him. “you are alright, my dear. you can open your eyes now.”

itto responds with a tired whine.

zhongli takes a step forward, kneeling down to meet your height to gently hold your forearm, his thumb running over the skin that was ripped open just a second ago. “so i’m assuming this is the secret recipe to the vitamins?”

you can’t lie to the boys anymore now that they’ve seen it all so you nod your head, admitting the truth. “yes, it is.” you don’t dare meet zhongli’s amber gaze, which is why you don’t notice the glint of worry he looks at you with. instead, you jump to conclusions and think that he’s disappointed in you. they probably all are, you convince yourself.

“gorou, let’s carry him inside.”

the men collectively jolt in alarm, they can’t possibly let you carry the oni into the estate. even if they saw your arm heal itself, you’re still their creator! they can’t just let you perform physical tasks like that when they’re available. so heizou and tighnari take it upon themselves to help the general carry him inside and onto the couches.

while the others are distracted you quietly retreat to the kitchen to make an escape through the back door but the second you turn on your heel, your face is met by somebody’s chest.

“you didn’t think what we saw would go unspoken, did you?” just your luck, it’s alhaitham. you’re definitely not getting out of this one.

you avert your gaze to the very interesting stove behind him, grimacing. “i was just about to grab some food for itto,” you lie through your teeth.

cyno suddenly appears beside alhaitham, crossing his arms. “we know you’re concerned for itto but the oni has a strong spirit. he’ll be fine.” he tilts his head. “however, i believe we deserve an explanation.”

the grip you have on your cloak tightens, staring at cyno as your heart thumps like its right beside your ears. “uh,” you begin, turning around to see that all their attention has fallen onto you, including itto who peeks over the spine of the couch.

“o- okay, well, initially i wanted to say something about it however, i’m also aware of how protective you all can be towards me and i realised if i did tell you all, then i wouldn’t be able to heal all of you quick enough after battling domains and open-world fights,” you trail off, continuing in softer voice, “i’m not doubting any of your abilities—i’m just concerned and mean well because majority of you are mortals. and mortals get hurt more easily than those of the adepti and other immortal beings—even when you wield a vision.” you sigh, shamefaced. “it appears my plan has turned on me, very well, if any of you believe i’m deserving of a punishment then i shall gladly-”

“woah woah woah, who said anything about a punishment, your grace?” although heizou would have preferred you to finish your sentence, he can barely get through the first few words. you clearly made your statement and proved your points. there is no need for punishment when you have already proven yourself.

“your grace, you are too kind for your own good!” venti shakes his head fondly. “you were only looking out for us in the first place, what position are we in to complain? you’ve also revealed your condition so i think we’re all even.”

you nod your head hesitantly, a tense atmosphere radiating off of you. “i just don’t like seeing any of you injured so terribly. it’s too much for me to bear.” 

it’s silent for a while. everyone’s thinking of words to say. their creator doesn’t normally express their emotions so when they do, it renders even the best of linguists in the room silent.

itto groans, turning his head animatedly towards everyone. “jeez! you guys are acting like somebody just died!” the oni cannot stand the intense silence, it makes his body jittery and he has to say something to break it. he taps his finger on his temple, shaking his head dramatically. “your grace is the only one who can get these serious people quiet like this!”

aether raises a brow at the oni, folding his arms. “looks like you’re all better, aren’t you?”

itto’s eyes return to your figure. you feel like a spotlight is shining on you from the bright expression on his face as he rambles, “and that’s because their grace is super amazing, super cool, super smart and super-”

“i think their grace understands.” the wanderer interrupts him before looking at you. “you should tell us how you discovered your condition, we’ll be all ears.”

you’re caught off guard, lowering your gaze to the floor again as your face heats up. “u- uh.”

“you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.” xiao reminds you.

however, the men in the room have keen eyes and notice the change in your expression. how is it that the memory of discovering your condition made you react like this? now that makes them all wonder…

“ooh your expression changed your grace, was it perhaps an embarrassing memory?” kaeya teases, squinting his eye.

you fold your arms, feigning ignorance but your shaky gaze does nothing to defend you. “it was nothing of the sort.”

“oh really?” tighnari presses on. you’re sweating now.

“their grace must have been experimenting.” ayato defends you suavely but a glint of mischief shines in his lavender stare. “a little slip and slide of a few sharp objects is inevitable, no?”

“correct.” albedo nods his head, holding his chin with his thumb and a curled index finger. “however, since their grace can heal themself now, the discovery must have been… an accident?” he tilts his head, eyelids falling lower as he gives you the look you’ve seen on his face countless of times when he teases you.

your face boils like a kettle, you swear there’s steam coming out of your ears too. you snap your head away from their cheeky expressions. “you all are too much.” you huff, turning on your heel, because you somehow believe you can successfully leave the room when they all are eager to tease you like this.

“uh-uh, your grace!” venti blocks you from leaving through the back door. “after such a long day, don’t you think we’re worthy of your affection?”

you blink owlishly at the bard. “you all always are.”

venti coos at your words and the others can’t help but react similarly.

you sigh like an exhausted parent before pulling on a smile always reserved for them. “then how about you all join me on the couch while i tell you about my life in the other world?”

the men are quick to guide you to your seat in the middle of the couch. aether shushes itto because he started yelling in excitement, the wanderer and xiao have a glaring contest in order to sit beside you (somehow alhaitham and cyno are doing the exact same thing on the other side), kaeya and thoma prepare drinks and snacks for everyone and the rest make peace with the seats they’re sat at. as long as you are in their view, not a single complaint leaves their lips.

[fushitoru]

chapter 3: the manor a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary ⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, heir to a dukedom mr. satoru gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary ⸺ you and gojo have just uncovered your mothers' matchmaking scheme: a plan that sends you both to his extravagant countryside manor in kent, arriving a week earlier than the rest of the ton. the question remains—can you endure gojo's insufferable nature during this secluded stay? (8.3k)

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n krnfeknfkejrn i was so tired writing this chapter but used it to procrastinate on the reports and papers i have to write for internship/reports (wtf is quantum physics anyways). ty as always to @/sinn-clair for being the best beta reader <33333

Dear readers, 

Apparently, last week, there was an altercation in Lady Itadori’s drawing room involving Lord Gojo, Miss Itadori, and a dog. The dog was the victor. 

Furthermore, If one is to trust the betting books, then Lord Gojo shall be witness to wedding bells before the year is through.

As much as it pains This Author to agree with the betting books (they are written by men, and thus inherently flawed), This Author must concur in the prediction.

Duchess Gojo will soon have her daughter-in-law. But who she will be⸺ah, Gentle Reader, that is still anyone’s guess. 

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Mary Wollstonecraft’s A Vindication of the Rights of Woman⸺a work I have long heard whispers about but never fully encountered until now. Her words, as bold as they are revolutionary, have struck a chord deep within me. She speaks of the education and independence of women, of our capacity for reason and our right to be regarded as more than mere adornments to the lives of men. Her arguments are so meticulously crafted, so unwavering in their conviction, that they have compelled me to reflect on my own circumstances.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

I cannot help but wonder if there will ever come a time when these two worlds might reconcile⸺the status quo and that of what the book articulates. When women might be both respected and fre

Before you could finish writing in your diary, you suddenly heard frantic footsteps down the hallway, leading closer and closer to your door. Nobara bursts into the room, and you look up at her in confusion and, partially, dread. Nobara wouldn’t be bursting into your room unless there was someone who absolutely couldn’t see what you were doing in your past time.

Before she could catch her breath, she wheezed out, “Your mother.”

You quickly hopped into action with practiced and routine movements. Lunging for the floorboard that had hollow space beneath it, you moved it so you could place the book and your diary underneath and quickly hide evidence of you reading scandalous and radical works.

Just in time, it seemed, as your mother walked into your room to see you on your bed.

She squinted her eyes in suspicion. “What were you doing?”

You averted her gaze. “Nothing, just daydreaming, Mama.”

Usually, she would prod further into the matter, but it seemed as if she was too excited for that. Clapping her hands, she exclaimed, “I have just got an exclusive invitation for you! One that could secure you a very good match.”

You gave her a quizzical look as she walked closer, sitting at the foot of your bed with an expression of barely contained glee. “We shall be visiting the Gojo estate in Kent!”

At the mention of his name, your left eye twitched, though your mother remained oblivious. “Indeed, Mama? As is every other lady in London, I presume.”

“No, no,” she replied, waving your quip away with a dismissive hand. “We are to arrive at the Gojo estate before the house party.”

Your heart sank, dread pooling in your stomach. Oh, no, no, no, no. A sudden pressure gripped your chest, and you found yourself clutching at the bodice of your dress as if to steady your racing heart. “Before the house party, Mama?” Your voice, despite your best efforts, came out higher-pitched than usual, though you tried to maintain a semblance of composure. “Whatever for?”

“To secure an advantage, of course!” she replied with a bright smile, as though the matter were the simplest thing in the world. “The Gojo family has extended a personal invitation for us to stay with them for a few days prior to the event. It is plain to see⸺he is quite taken with you. Even that dreadful Lady Whistledown has noted as much.” She smiled indulgently, reaching out to gently smooth a stray lock of your hair. “It is your natural grace and charm, my dear, that has made you the season’s diamond.”

As your mother continued to speak, the twisting in your stomach began to intensify, morphing from nausea into something sharper, something more akin to anger. You kept nodding, trying to maintain a slightly pained smile, but the thought of spending time at the Gojo manor, in such close quarters with him, became increasingly unbearable. The memories of your recent encounters⸺his biting remarks, his mocking gaze⸺were still fresh in your mind, and the idea that you were being pushed toward an engagement with him made your skin crawl. But you knew better than to express your true feelings to your mother.

“That is… unexpected,” you managed to say, choosing your words carefully. “Are you certain this is a good idea, Mama? Perhaps we might appear too eager and ward off other potential suitors, lest they mistake me as claimed by Gojo?”

“Nonsense!” she replied with a dismissive laugh. “If all goes well, you’ll be announcing your engagement at the house party itself!”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hardly breathe as the full weight of what she was saying sank in. An engagement. To Gojo.

You almost felt faint, but as the initial shock wore off, it was replaced by a simmering anger. How dare he? How dare Gojo make a game of this, toying with you as if your future was nothing more than a sport to him? And how could your mother not see that she was playing right into his hands?

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the anger was bubbling up, threatening to spill over. “But, Mama, what if he does not wish to marry? What if he simply enjoys… toying with people?”

Your mother’s expression softened as she reached out to pat your hand, oblivious to the storm brewing inside you. “My dear, you are overthinking this. Men like Lord Gojo may seem playful and insouciant, but they are ultimately driven by duty. A man in his position knows the importance of finding a suitable wife, and you⸺my darling⸺are just the woman for the role. You are intelligent, accomplished, and beautiful. He would be a fool not to see that.”

Each word only fueled the fire of your anger. Duty? Suitable wife? You bit your lip, feeling the weight of her expectations press down on you like a suffocating blanket. But beneath that weight was a growing resolve, a refusal to be treated like a pawn in some grand game of power and prestige. Gojo might enjoy playing with others' lives, but you would not be his plaything.

You gave her a pained smile. “If you say so, Mama…” you replied, the anger now evident in the tightness of your voice.

“Of course, I do!” she declared, rising from the bed with a self-satisfied smile. “Now, we must begin preparations immediately. There is much to be done before we depart.”

As your mother closed the door, you stormed over to the floorboard, whipped open your diary and prepped your quill to furiously write: 

Lord Gojo is a most intolerable wretch. Though his outward appearance might deceive many, there is an endless well of impurities within his character.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

Were Sukuna here, I daresay he would assist me in disposing of the body with great enthusiasm.

While the Gojo dinner table was stocked with the finest of meals⸺that deserving of a wealthy dukedom, of course⸺Satoru found himself eyeing one dish of all⸺the scones.

Observing his mother and father, who were engrossed in deep conversation, he realized he could make the move. As discreetly as he could, he stocked his plate with many of the treats. The cook, bless his soul, knew how to make scones exactly right: soft, yet hard around the edges that have Satoru drooling when he takes a bite in to get a burst of flavor. He discreetly tucked a few sweets into his pocket for tonight’s work session on some Gojo business, thinking himself subtle.

Satoru could continue writing endless love poems in his head towards his chef’s scones, But Lady Gojo, ever watchful, noticed his little scheme. She arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing as she remarked, "Satoru, darling, it astonishes me that you remain so fit with such a fondness for sweets."

Without missing a beat, Gojo flashed his usual charming smile and responded, “Perhaps it is because I am kept on my toes constantly by you, Mother.” His parents shared a laugh at this, clearly amused by his playful banter.

The Gojo dining fell into a comfortable lull once again, sounds of forks and knives scratching against porcelain plates. The silence was better, Satoru believed. Because he knew he was not going to be pleased at what his father had to say to him next, judged based on the thoughtful look he adopted while staring at Gojo. 

“And how fares the season, Satoru? Have you made any progress?”

Satoru wanted to groan so bad, but instead, he straightened in his seat, the smile on his face now simply a facade. “I am confident all will proceed as expected, Father,” he replied, though his tone lacked its usual certainty.

Duke Gojo narrowed his eyes slightly, sensing something amiss. “Are you sure about that?” he probed. “You know very well, Satoru, that your inheritance of the title is contingent upon securing a wife and producing an heir. This is not a matter to be taken lightly.”

The weight of his father’s words hung in the air, pressing down on Gojo with the full force of expectation.  Would it be eccentric if I decided to scream to the heavens right now?

Before Gojo could even formulate a response, his mother, ever the one to steer the conversation, interjected with a delighted exclamation. “Oh, it’s all handled, my dear! Did you not hear? The diamond of the season is arriving a week early to our manor in the countryside!”

All thoughts of screaming himself mute vanished as his mother’s words piqued his interest. Now, this was interesting. You? Spending time with him, under his roof, with no escape? The idea alone was enough to spark a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Satoru almost started cackling maniacally at the thought of pestering you until you broke that oh-so-perfect and uptight demeanor of yours, until you were reduced to exactly what you were: an unruly and highly emotional know-it-all.

One could say Satoru was very bitter about the losses he had bore for that horse race.

As a self-assured smirk started to creep up Satoru’s face, Duke Gojo blinked, surprised by the news. “A week early? That’s quite unusual,” he remarked, turning his gaze back to his son.

Satoru offered a sweet smile. “Yes, unusual indeed.” He knew his parents were well aware of the marital implications of such an arrangement, and he could feel their eyes on him, gauging his reaction.

But Duchess Gojo, satisfied with her announcement, continued with a gleeful smile. “I daresay, it’s all coming together perfectly. Even matchmakers could not have planned it better.”

Indeed, Mother! The prospect grew more delightful with each passing second, and the corners of his mouth curled into a sly grin. You were in for quite the week, and he would relish every moment of ruining your composure.

Yuji leaned in closer, his sharp eyes narrowing as he studied your face. “Sister, did you perhaps neglect the chamber pot today?” he asked, his tone teasing but his gaze serious. “Your expression is quite telling.”

 The carriage, though spacious, felt suffocating with the tension hanging in the air. Your mother sat by the window, her eyes sparkling with what could only be described as gleeful scheming regarding your imminent week at the Gojo manor. You, on the other hand, simmered with barely contained fury, with a pinch of nausea, your thoughts consumed with how you would confront Gojo at the ball you were all headed to. Yuji’s scrutiny only added to your irritation, his amused yet concerned face a stark contrast to your stormy mood. Across from you, Choso couldn’t suppress a snicker at Yuji’s comment, clearly enjoying the exchange.

You snapped, unable to contain your frustration any longer. “Yuji, if you do not cease your incessant prying, I shall see to it that you regret ever opening your mouth!”

Yuji flinched, visibly startled by your outburst. His confidence wavered as he stammered, “I⸺I meant no harm, sister.” He quickly extended his elbow to you, his movements almost robotic in their sudden politeness. “Please, allow me to escort you inside.”

You ignored the offer, your focus already elsewhere. The moment the carriage came to a stop, you heaved yourself off, stepping into the entrance. Grand revelry was before you; many suitors and young ladies were present, necks glittering with diamonds and hands adorned with gloves. Roving your gaze around, you saw him.

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze locked onto Gojo, everything else fading into the background. A sleazy and handsome grin on his face, definitely talking about some useless nonsense. 

Like a bull seeing red, you marched forward with determined fury, your sights set solely on him. He stood there, the picture of nonchalance, completely unaware of the storm heading his way. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, your anger propelling you forward with each step. Yuji and Choso exchanged confused glances as they lingered by the entrance, unsure of what had just transpired.

As you closed the distance, Gojo finally noticed you, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. But there was no time for his usual banter; you were ready to confront him head-on, no matter the consequences.

“What have you done?” you roared, striding towards Gojo. His head turned slowly, an amused and condescending smile creeping across his face. “I know this is⸺”

“Miss Itadori,” a voice hissed, dripping with offense. You turned to see Miss Yuki glaring at you. “Lord Gojo and I were in the midst of a very private conversation.”

You blinked, realizing that in your anger, you had entirely overlooked Miss Yuki’s presence. Though inwardly rolling your eyes, you knew it was best to maintain decorum. You curtsied in apology. “My sincerest apologies, Miss Yuki. I shall leave you both to continue your conversation.”

As you stepped back, giving them respectable space, Miss Yuki side-eyed you with a sharp “hmph!” before turning back to Gojo with a flirtatious smile.

“So, my lord,” Yuki began, her tone coy, “what type of woman would be to your liking?”

Gojo scratched his chin, feigning deep thought as he prepared his response. “Well, Miss Yuki, I would imagine she must be intelligent, accomplished, and⸺” He paused dramatically, taking her hand and kissing the back of it with a slow, deliberate drawl, “⸺and beautiful.”

You suppressed a sigh. Does he never tire of that tiresome gesture? It’s grown exceedingly dull.

Yuki’s pleased grin widened. “And what level of intellect do you find satisfactory, my lord?”

“Well,” Gojo mused, “I would prefer a lady well-versed in calculations. I often find myself making errors in my ledgers late at night, and a wife who could assist would be most valuable. Moreover, I would enjoy engaging in debates on scientific matters.”

Is he seeking a wife or an accountant?

The unusual nature of his request clearly left Yuki taken aback. She blinked, her smile tightening. “Indeed, Lord Gojo, these are rather...uncommon expectations for a wife.” Yuki then hesitated, glancing around as though searching for an escape. “Well, my lord, as intriguing as this conversation has been, I fear I must take my leave. My mother has been awaiting my return, and I would not wish to keep her waiting.”

She curtsied with a strained smile, clearly eager to extricate herself from the awkward situation Gojo’s peculiar standards had created. Without waiting for a reply, she swiftly turned and made her exit, leaving you alone to confront Gojo, who now had an amused look on his face, as if he had purposefully answered that way to ward Miss Yuki off.

You pointed your finger at him, wagging it accusingly as you hissed, “Gojo, I know this was one of your ploys.”

He let out an exaggerated groan, and he dropped all flirtatious pretenses he had adopted when conversing with the other lady. “Ah, yes. Please, by all means, heap more blame upon me for things entirely beyond my control. I derive immense pleasure from being the target of your needless and misdirected fury.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

With a strained smile, he sighed. “It seems our mothers have taken it upon themselves to orchestrate this entire charade.”

Your hands flew up in exasperation. “I cannot believe this! I would sooner perish than marry you, and heaven help me if I were ever to bear your children!”

“Spare me the theatrics,” Gojo replied, shaking his head as if amused by your outburst. He inclined his head slightly, gesturing toward something in the distance. “We are being observed.”

You followed his gaze and saw, across the dance floor, both of your mothers trying—albeit poorly—to appear inconspicuous as they exchanged furtive glances and whispered behind their fans.

You huffed in frustration, turning back to Gojo. “This is absurd.”

He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your ear as he leaned in closer. “But would it be so terrible to bear my children?” he murmured, his tone teasing yet somehow serious.

Your pulse quickened at his words, but you refused to let it show. You straightened your posture, meeting his gaze with as much poise as you could muster. “I can’t think of far worse fates, my lord,” you replied, a touch of sarcasm lacing your words.

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly undeterred. His hand brushed lightly against your arm, the touch fleeting but enough to send a shiver down your spine.. You felt a slight tremor of awareness course through you, and despite your best efforts, a hint of warmth crept into your cheeks.

He leaned in even closer, his voice a low murmur. “You seem flustered, Miss Itadori,” he said, his breath warm against your skin. “I must admit, the idea of a future with you is… intriguing.”

Flustered and at a loss of witty remarks, you stammered, struggling to find your voice. “I⸺I hardly think that⸺”

Gojo’s smile widened, clearly enjoying your reaction. He gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His eyes had this sultry expression to them, one that you didn’t need to ponder more than one second to know had no good intentions. 

With that, he released your hand, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding and your cheeks aflame.

Gojo ⸺ 1, You ⸺ 1. 

Choso crossed his arms, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Mother, why are we departing a week earlier than the rest of the ton?”

The carriage rocked gently, the luggage rattling with the motion. You slumped in your seat, weary from the long hours of travel, your thoughts drifting to the comfort of a soft, fluffy bed. Your mother, noticing the beads of sweat forming on your brow, handed you a handkerchief before turning to respond to Choso. “Well, my dear, your sister has caught the eye of Lord Gojo, and his mother has personally invited us to arrive early so that we may become better acquainted.”

Your eldest brother frowned, while Yuji stared vacantly out the carriage window, enraptured by the sheep present on the farm you were passing. “But why should we do so?” Choso pressed, his tone firm. “It is not as though Sister is lacking in suitors. Why should we entertain Lord Gojo’s interest above all others?”

Even in your heat-induced lightheadedness, your attention was drawn to Choso’s defense of you. A flicker of hope ignited in your chest; as the viscount, Choso held considerable authority over your mother, and he could potentially influence the matrimonial decisions made on your behalf.

“Lord Gojo is the most eligible bachelor of the season,” your mother insisted. “We would be foolish not to seize such an opportunity.”

Choso retorted quickly, “And Sister is the most eligible lady of the season. She is the diamond. If Lord Gojo’s eligibility rests on his title, would we not do better to pursue a match with Duke Nanami?”

You silently cheered Choso on, hoping he might sway your mother’s mind away from the ridiculous notion of a match between you and Gojo.

But your mother was not easily deterred. “I am quite set on Lord Gojo, Choso,” she said, her tone brooking no argument. “Your sister seems to have formed a rapport with him, and this is about more than just titles. We must also consider her inclinations.”

Both your mother and Choso turned their expectant gazes upon you, awaiting your response. Flustered and unwilling to directly oppose your mother, you swallowed nervously and nodded. “Whatever you think best, Mother.”

The remainder of the ride was marked by the satisfied smile on Lady Itadori’s face and the glowers⸺yet paired with concerned glances⸺from Choso.

The slowing of the carriage and its turn onto a smooth pathway roused you from the gentle lull of travel. You blinked your eyes open and glanced outside. A magnificent flower bed greeted you, a sea of blues ranging from the palest sky hues to deep indigo. But what truly stole your breath was the manor itself⸺more a castle than a mere country home. Its grandiose structure rivaled Buckingham Palace in regality, with elegant blue spires and stately beige stone walls that seemed to stretch towards the heavens.

The carriage came to a complete halt at the base of a grand staircase, where Duchess Gojo stood waiting, surrounded by footmen and maids all dressed in coordinated baby blue livery. As the carriage door was opened, you, your mother, Choso, and Yuji stepped out into the warm afternoon air.

“Lady Itadori!” Duchess Gojo descended the stairs gracefully, her arms extended in greeting. Your mother met her with an equally warm embrace.

“Your Grace,” your mother replied fondly, her face lighting up with familiarity. The duchess then turned her gaze towards you, her smile gracious and welcoming.

“And this must be our diamond,” Duchess Gojo said warmly, her eyes twinkling.

You offered her a polite smile and curtsied. “Miss Itadori, Your Grace. I am deeply honored by your hospitality.”

She waved off your formality with a flick of her hand. “The pleasure is entirely ours, my dear. We are delighted to have you with us, and I do hope that you and my son will find ample time to get better acquainted before the house party.”

You returned her smile, though unease stirred within you. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Choso and Yuji introduced themselves with the same practiced politeness, and after the formalities were concluded, the duchess clapped her hands together. “Come now, let us take tea. You must be quite fatigued from your journey. I shall have the staff see to your rooms so you may rest after.” She directed the servants to unload the luggage from the carriages and then motioned for you all to follow her into the manor. “To the drawing room!”

As you crossed the threshold into the manor, you were struck by the sheer opulence surrounding you. The high ceilings were adorned with intricate gold and blue detailing, and the walls were lined with endless portraits of the Gojo family. Your gaze was momentarily drawn to a portrait of Lord Gojo himself. The artist had rendered his eyes in a cold, oceanic blue—quite unlike the electric blue intensity they held in person. The painting failed to capture the vitality, and perhaps the insufferable smugness, that characterized his gaze.

You quickly looked away before anyone could notice your lingering stare, hurrying to catch up with your family as you reached a grand set of double doors. Footmen stood at attention as Duchess Gojo led you into a drawing room, elegantly appointed with plush furnishings and laden with trays of sweets.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable,” the duchess urged, gesturing towards the seating. She and your mother settled at a small table near the door, while you and your siblings gravitated toward the couches in the center of the room, where a tempting array of desserts awaited. As you sat down, maids swiftly arranged teacups and began pouring the tea. Yuji and Choso took seats across from you, their expressions reflecting varying degrees of interest—or lack thereof—in the proceedings.

“So, Miss Itadori,” You looked across the room to look at the duchess, who was leaning further to grab at her teacup and take a sip. “How do you find this season?”

“I find the suitors of this season very pleasing and kind, Your Grace,” you sat up fully, placing the scone you were eating down to fully face the duchess. “It has been a very extravagant season; I hope to continue my search to find a suitable match for myself.” Duchess Gojo nodded. “An admirable pursuit, of course. Is a love match what you are searching for?”

Her question hung in the air, and in that instant, you felt the weight of every gaze in the room fall upon you. The most searing of them all, though, was your mother's. You could feel it like a prickling heat against your skin, a silent reminder of the expectations that had been laid out before you long ago.

A love match. The words echoed in your mind, each syllable twisting into a knot of uncertainty. The very idea of love seemed foreign to you—elusive, abstract, something that belonged in novels rather than in the practical world of arranged marriages and alliances. Love was not what you had been taught to seek. No, your upbringing had been grounded in duty, decorum, and the quiet understanding that marriage was a contract, a union of convenience rather than passion.

But how could you say that aloud? How could you tell the duchess—tell anyone—that your dreams did not include the fiery passion of a love match, but rather the comfort of a peaceful arrangement? Your throat tightened, and the words that had once seemed so simple lodged themselves in the back of your mouth, refusing to emerge.

Your mother’s eyes bore into you, filled with unspoken expectations. You knew what she wanted to hear: that you were pursuing love, that you were open to it, that you were the ideal picture of a hopeful young lady seeking her romantic equal. But that wasn’t your truth. Your truth was more complicated, filled with desires for stability, understanding, and a life unburdened by the chaos that love so often seemed to bring.

Your heart pounded in your chest, the beat almost deafening in the sudden silence of the room. What were you supposed to say? How could you balance the delicate line between honesty and propriety?

Your lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, you swallowed hard, the dryness in your throat making it nearly impossible to find your voice. The tension swirled within you, an unrelenting force that made you wish you could simply disappear. What if they could see through you? What if, with one wrong word, they uncovered the truth of what you really wanted—a marriage that was practical, peaceful, and devoid of the complications that came with love?

But that wasn’t something you could admit. Not here. Not now.

You forced a polite smile, hoping it hid the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind.

Before the weight of the room could settle further, the heavy double doors swung open with a soft yet deliberate creak. Every head turned in unison, and the air seemed to shift as your savior, Satoru Gojo made his entrance.

His attire was impeccable—a finely tailored waistcoat of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread that caught the light just so, paired with polished boots that gleamed as if they had never touched the ground. Yet, despite the formal attire, there was an air of disarming casualness about him, a kind of effortless elegance that made the room's grandeur seem almost insignificant by comparison.

His damp hair, still tousled from what must have been a recent bath, added an edge to his otherwise polished appearance. Droplets of water shimmered at the tips of his white locks, catching the light as he ran a hand through them. The scent of his cologne, rich and intoxicating, seemed to announce his arrival to you even before he spoke.

He strolled in with an air of ease. “It seems that our guests are finally here!” He moved with an easy grace, crossing the room in a few long strides, bowing slightly to the duchess and your mother before turning his attention to you. His gaze lingered on you for just a moment longer than necessary, a playful glint in his eyes as if he could sense the internal battle you had been fighting mere seconds ago.

“Miss Itadori,” he greeted you with a smile that could have melted the iciest of hearts, “I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up at the sight of him. “Ah, Satoru! Come, sit with us.” She motioned to the spot next to you with enthusiasm. “Why don’t you and Miss Itadori sit together?”

Choso’s sharp gaze followed him with a hint of suspicion, but he made no objection as Gojo accepted the invitation, seating himself beside you with an infuriatingly confident smile. Yuji and Choso remained on the opposite couch, observing the scene with varying degrees of curiosity and caution.

“Well then,” Gojo began, grabbing an obscene amount of scones to heap on his plate, “I was just at the 

archery range earlier today. Quite the exhilarating sport. I find it sharpens the mind as much as the aim.”

Yuji, ever the admirer of feats of physical skill, leaned forward with interest. “Archery, my lord? That sounds remarkable! I must admit, I’ve always found it to be one of the noblest of pursuits.”

Gojo leaned back into the couch, resting one arm casually behind you on the backrest, his posture the very picture of relaxed confidence. He smiled at Yuji’s enthusiasm and continued, “Archery has long been a favored pastime of mine. It requires precision, patience, and an understanding of balance—qualities I find both necessary and rewarding. I've dedicated many years to perfecting my skill with the bow.”

He paused, allowing a slight, reflective smile to touch his lips. “In fact, just last month, I competed in the annual tournament at Her Majesty’s estate and managed to hit the bullseye in every round. Some of the other competitors remarked that it was almost unnatural, but I assure you, it is merely the result of countless hours spent at the range.”

Yuji’s eyes widened with admiration. “Every round? That’s incredible, Lord Gojo! Your dedication must be unparalleled.”

Gojo shrugged with mock humility, though his eyes glinted with pride. “It’s all in the discipline, really. Once you understand the rhythm of the draw and the release, it becomes second nature. Of course, the challenge is in maintaining that focus while under pressure. But I’ve found that to be the most exhilarating part—especially when the crowd is watching.”

Yuji nodded fervently, clearly enthralled. “I would love to see you in action, my lord! Perhaps you could give me a few pointers one day.”

Gojo chuckled, his gaze shifting to you for a moment before returning to Yuji. “Ah, I’m sure you’d take it quite well, Yuji. Perhaps we could all visit the range together during your stay here.”

 The nonchalant arrogance in his voice, paired with the image of him lording his skill over others, irritated you. You couldn’t resist a small quip, your tone light. “Oh, indeed, Lord Gojo. Your accomplishments are so profound that I fear I might believe you are telling tales. Of course, I wonder with all this focus on archery, do you leave any time for pursuits that require a bit more… finesse?”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as they met yours, his gaze sharp with understanding. Yet, rather than take offense, he allowed a playful smirk to curl on his lips, his voice laced with teasing intent. “Ah, Miss Itadori, archery indeed requires finesse, I assure you. But perhaps you’d care to test that claim yourself? I’d be more than happy to provide a demonstration.”

As he leaned in closer, you found yourself all too aware of his presence. The scent of his cologne, a warm and intoxicating blend of vanilla and tobacco, filled the air between you, making it difficult to maintain your composure. His face hovered just near enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he spoke.

“In fact,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I’d wager that with a little practice, you might find yourself hitting the mark with more than just words.”

His proximity made your heart skip a beat, and you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. Despite your resolve to remain composed, the effect of his closeness and the quiet intensity in his voice left you momentarily at a loss for words.

Choso, sitting across from you, gave Gojo a sharp look. Meanwhile, Yuji was practically beaming at the prospect of an archery lesson from the lord himself.

You inhaled sharply, trying to steady yourself. “Perhaps,” you replied, your voice more controlled than you expected, though there was still a slight quiver in it. “But I’ve found that words can be just as powerful, if not more so.”

Gojo smirked, his gaze lingering on your face as if savoring the moment. The challenge in his eyes was unmistakable, and you could feel the weight of it, pressing against your own resolve. But you wouldn’t allow him to see just how much he affected you—at least, not yet. 

Despite the warmth in your cheeks and the flutter in your chest, you held his gaze, meeting his playful intensity with your own determined calm.

However, your mother’s voice broke through the spell. “Oh, Your Grace, might we have a tour of the manor sometime?”

Duchess Gojo, clearly delighted to show off her home, nodded eagerly. “Of course! There is a pavilion overlooking our garden where we can play pall-mall, and the library is quite extensive.” Your interest piqued at the mention of the library, and you made yourself a mental note to explore where it was.

Then she turned her gaze towards you, her expression growing more conspiratorial. “And as for Miss Itadori, Satoru has promised to give her a personal tour of the grounds tomorrow after she takes rest today.”

You stiffened at the suggestion, and out of the corner of your eye, you saw Gojo lean in slightly, his mischievous grin widening as he whispered, “I’ll be sure to make it… thorough.”

You couldn’t sleep.

Restless thoughts kept you tossing and turning, denying you any hope of finding solace in slumber. The events of the day had left you drained, and after the conversation in the drawing room, you had collapsed into the plush, inviting bed. Sleep had claimed you almost instantly. But now, in the dark silence of the night, you awoke with a start, your mind refusing to quiet. No matter how you tried, you couldn’t escape the whirlwind of thoughts that stirred within you.

The prospect of the coming days loomed over you, a storm of anxiety brewing. Spending time with Gojo, of all people? Your mother’s insistent push for this potential marriage was unbearable. How could you possibly tell her that you despised the man? The mere thought of being bound to him in matrimony was a nightmare⸺marriage itself was daunting enough, but to an arrogant, loquacious, and insufferably self-assured man like him? It would be nothing short of Hell on earth.

With a frustrated sigh, you rose from bed and rubbed your face, trying to dispel the fog of sleeplessness. Perhaps a visit to the manor’s library⸺the one mentioned during tea⸺would offer some distraction. Grabbing a lantern, you slipped out of your room, treading softly down the stairs and into the main hallway. You moved with the caution of a thief; your mother would surely not approve of your nocturnal wanderings. Her voice echoed in your mind, sharp and reprimanding: “Good things never happen in the dead of night!”

As you opened the library’s grand doors, a soothing fragrance enveloped you⸺the scent of aged paper mingled with a hint of vanilla, a fragrance unique to this room. But what truly took your breath away was the sheer size of the library.

Bookshelves lined the walls, rising two stories high, creating a space that could easily have served as a grand ballroom. Cozy nooks beckoned you to sit, while further exploration revealed tables and armchairs tucked away behind towering shelves. It was a bibliophile’s paradise.

Your eyes roved over the multitude of volumes: ancient ledgers, personal family records, scholarly works on politics, astronomy, and the sciences. Though you did not often indulge in scientific pursuits, you found them fascinating whenever the opportunity arose. One book in particular caught your eye:

Observations on the Planet Venus.

Drawn to the back of the library, you found a large window offering a stunning view of the garden and pavilion, bathed in starlight. You couldn’t resist the allure of the table beside it, where you settled in and began to read.

“The planet Venus is an object that has long engaged my particular attention. A series of observations upon it, which I began in April, 1777, has been continued down to the present time…”

Time slipped away as you became engrossed in the text, the lantern’s light flickering softly as you pored over the meticulous observations and calculations. Your hands were soon stained with ink, evidence of the notes you had been feverishly jotting down on scraps of parchment you had found in a supply cabinet. A good hour or two had passed before you finally leaned back, stretching your tired muscles. You rested your head on your arms, intending to close your eyes for just a moment. Soon, you found that your sleepy brain forced you to reflect and muse upon your life, as a mind often does at three.

What a pity it was that you couldn’t bear the thought of marrying Gojo. If only he were different, you might have lived in this manor, with its perfect library, forever. You could imagine it: waking in the mornings in your fluffy bed, sharing the latest discoveries in astronomy and medicine with your handsome husband…

Truly, what a pity. Your sleep-deprived mind began to conjure an image of this imagined husband—tall, nearly Gojo’s height, with kind eyes and lips that would kiss you gently awake each morning (unlike Gojo’s snark). You envisioned banter over breakfast, late-night rendezvous in the library, and tender embraces in bed…

Before you could delve deeper into your fantasy, the sound of footsteps jolted you back to reality. The tread was deliberate, too similar to your mother’s for comfort, and panic flared within you. Your mind, already muddled with exhaustion, conjured the worst possible scenario—your mother finding you here, in the library where you had no business being at this hour.

Memories of her discovering forbidden books in your childhood flashed before your eyes, and your breath quickened in fear. Rising as quietly as you could, you pressed your hands over your mouth to stifle any sound, creeping toward a bookshelf to hide. But the footsteps drew closer, relentless in their pursuit. You felt like prey, cornered and desperate.

Getting out of your chair as quietly as you could, you squeezed your eyes shut and put both of your hands over your mouth so you didn’t start making audible gasps that would let the person know where you were immediately. Softly⸺but panickedly⸺walking towards a bookshelf, you hid as you traced the footsteps getting closer and closer to you. You tried to walk away from the sound, but it seemed like the person was listening intently for your movements. You couldn’t help but think you were like prey, cornered and desperate.

However, it was all for naught; your heart sank as you realized you had ended up in an alley of bookshelves that were up against the wall, essentially creating a dead end for you. The steps got closer and closer, and you drew yourself closer and closer to the wall. Your eyes was still shut, but you could hear the steps around the corner, coming closer and closer. 

The footsteps were merely a few feet away from you, and in a moment of sheer panic, you blurted out, “I am sorry, Mother⸺”

“Excuse me,” came a voice that was decidedly not your mother’s. Your eyes flew open to find none other than Gojo, his blue eyes alight with offense. “Do I resemble your mother in any way?”

You blinked, struggling to process the sight before you. He was holding a quill, ink, and a stack of notebooks that resembled the ledgers you had seen earlier, along with a plate of scones that looked absurdly sugary.

“I—” you stammered, taking a sharp breath to compose yourself and paused, looking at Gojo⸺who was shooting you a petulant frown⸺take a big bite of his scone. “Your tread was uncannily similar.”

He paused, chewing on a scone with a sulky expression, while you averted your gaze in embarrassment.

When he finished chewing, he cleared his throat. “You must possess rather poor hearing to mistake a man of my stature for a lady.”

You shrugged, still flustered. “Perhaps you have an unusually light step.”

An awkward silence settled between you as Gojo took another loud bite of his scone. You hastened to break it. “It is quite late; I must take my leave. Good night, my lord.”

You bowed your head slightly and moved to leave, but before you could slip past him, he blocked your path, suspicion narrowing his gaze. “What business do you have in the Gojo library at this hour?”

“Nothing of import,” you squeaked.

At the not-very-innocuous tone in your voice, his eyes narrowed further. “Your tone suggests otherwise.” He leaned in, his gaze sweeping over you with exaggerated scrutiny. Noticing the ink stains on your hands, he quipped, “Were you tampering with important records?”

Your heart raced, knowing that he wouldn’t be entirely wrong to suspect you⸺what else would a lady be doing in a library at this hour? It was a no-win situation: confess to reading a book and risk your mother’s wrath, or be accused of something far more serious.

It was best to come clean. “I was merely reading a book,” you confessed. “I can show you precisely where I sat and what I was doing.”

Gojo’s expression softened, but he quickly continued his theatrical suspicion and hmmphed. “Of course. I must be certain that no mischief has been afoot.”

You led him back to the table where you had been reading. He sat across from you, depositing his supplies onto the table with a flourish and leaned back, crossing his arms. Ever the investigator, he watched as you retrieved the book. It bore no resemblance to the Gojo ledgers, which had the telltale blue cover and Gojo insignia, which consisted of six eyes. 

Upon seeing this, he nodded in acknowledgment. “You are exonerated.”

At that, you sighed and clutched your chest. For a moment, you contemplated pleading with Gojo to keep your late library visit secret from your mother but you shot the idea down for two reasons. First, you would never lower yourself to plead with Gojo, and second, Gojo⸺ever the insufferable man⸺would definitely make sure to mention it to your mother and further exacerbate the issue. 

As he began arranging his ink bottles and quills, preparing to work on his ledgers, you took a moment to observe him. He was dressed in casual attire, loose-fitting trousers and a white shirt with several buttons undone, revealing a hint of his chest. Slut.

It took you a moment to realize that he was settling in at your table. You frowned. “I beg your pardon, but this is my spot.”

Gojo looked up from his work, a teasing smile playing on his lips. “My dear, this is my library. Thus, it is my spot.”

You opened your mouth to retort, then closed it in frustration. He was right, after all. The entire manor was his. Your silence seemed to amuse him, as he returned to his ledgers with a smug smile.

Now, you didn’t really know what to do⸺should you go back to your room, or should you stay and continue reading the book? In your indecision, you continued to flip through the pages of the book, particularly because you wanted to finish the conclusion section before going to bed. But you soon felt his gaze upon you, the sound of his quill slowing down.

You didn’t look up. “Might I suggest you cease staring at me? It is quite improper.” “What? Why would I do so? To watch you peruse a tedious romance novel?”

“This is a book on the state of the art of astronomy.” 

“Indeed? I confess, I am surprised.”

Your irritation flared and you whipped your head up to glare at Gojo. “Whatever do you mean by that?”

“I was under the impression that young ladies’ interests lie solely in matters of the heart.”

“So, in addition to gossiping, you are also prone to narrow-minded assumptions?”

Gojo scoffed. “Narrow-minded? It is a simple observation. Both men and women often indulge in fanciful notions of love.”

You scoffed. “Ah, so you hold yourself above other men. What are you, God?”

Gojo ignored your remark. “Those who read such frivolities are seldom engaged in serious thought or the appreciation of true art.”

“Romance allows one to experience love and joy. Does the prospect of happiness through art truly horrify you?” You stood, glaring at him. “Unlike you, my lord, ladies such as myself cannot frequent dubious establishments such as brothels to seek out lovers. Our reputations and futures are at stake.” Gojo began to respond, but you cut him off. “To deny women the solace of love is cruel. It is our only refuge in a world that forces us into unwanted marriages!”

When you were done ranting to Gojo, you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath in. Truly, this man could bother you like no other; only your siblings have caused this much heat on your face due to anger. The only sounds in the library was your rushed breathing, from anger.

Gojo scoffed. “You truly think too much.”

You offered a sharp scoff. "And you, far too little. Even Sukuna Jr. possesses more emotional intelligence than you."

"Do not compare me to that wretched creature," Gojo retorted.

You gasped in disbelief. "How dare you speak of Kuna in such a manner!"

"Then perhaps you should keep him from fouling the air around me!" he snapped.

A sly smile crept across your lips. "He merely knows whom to guard me against."

At reference of That Night, Gojo sighs exhaustedly. “Do you find trouble with the judgments I made that night? None of that was meant for you.”

“Are you quite serious?” You were in disbelief. Does he truly feel no remorse? Frustrated, you ran a hand over your face. “Your words may not have been intended for me, but they were no less cutting. I cannot abide such arrogance, my lord.”

Gojo leaned back, crossing his arms with an air of indifference. “Arrogance or simply honesty? I merely spoke the truth as I see it.”

“Your so-called truth is nothing more than disdain wrapped in wit,” you snapped, feeling your temper rise again. “You speak as though your opinions are infallible, as if you alone have the right to pass judgment on others.”

“I only say what others are too afraid to voice,” he retorted, his tone cool. “If that makes me arrogant, then so be it. But I will not apologize for it.”

“Of course not,” you said bitterly. “An apology would require some measure of humility, and that is something you clearly lack.”

Gojo’s eyes narrowed, his voice growing more clipped. “I fail to see why my opinions should trouble you so much. Perhaps you are simply too sensitive.”

Your anger flared at his dismissive tone. “Or perhaps you are too blind to see the harm your words cause. You claim to be honest, but what you truly are is cruel.”

“Cruel?” Gojo’s voice was sharp now, his composure slipping. “For speaking the truth? For refusing to coddle those who cannot handle it?”

“For refusing to consider the feelings of others!” you countered, your voice rising in frustration. “Not everything is a game or a joke, my lord. Your words have consequences, whether you acknowledge them or not.”

A tense silence fell between you, each of you locked in a stubborn glare, neither willing to yield. Finally, you shook your head, the weight of your frustration pressing down on you. “I cannot do this,” you muttered, turning away. “You are utterly impossible.”

You began to walk away, but Gojo’s voice cut through the silence. “Running away so soon?” There was a hint of something in his tone⸺something almost like disappointment⸺but you dismissed it.

You paused, glancing back at him with a hardened expression. “There is no point in continuing this conversation. You refuse to see reason, and I refuse to waste any more of my time on you.”

Without waiting for a reply, you turned on your heel and left the library, your heart pounding with irritation and anger. As the door closed behind you, you couldn’t shake the feeling of heaviness in your chest. 

prev. the aftermath | next. the game

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n gojo the type to hit ur g spot every ti---WHAT WHO SAID THAT?

anyways yes we r getting (sort of) freaky in the next chapter (gojo busts in his pants seeing reader's ankles /j)

gojo when reader thought he was her mama

also tysm for all the asks, and comments, and love you guys have shown me. super motivating that you guys are enjoying the story and propels me to write more <3

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

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[tkwrites]

Worth the Wait - Quinn Hughes x ofc

photos from pinterest

Title: Worth the Wait

Author: Tory / @tkwrites��

Relationship: Pre-established: Quinn x Sarah

Warnings: Swearing, grief, mentions of a dead mother. Mostly, it’s fluff.

Summary: It takes more than a week, but Quinn and Sarah finally go on their second date.  

Word count: 5,500

Comments: This one is a little long, but I felt like all the parts were needed to flesh out the characters the way I wanted. I hope you enjoy! 

Part 2 is being planned as we speak!

Worth the Wait

A Quinn & Sarah Snapshot

Hey Sarah, I just wanted to let you know we’re headed out on the road, so I’ll be out of town for the next week. 

Quinn sent this message before boarding the plane. He’d never done something like this before - tell someone he was interested in that he wouldn’t be home. He didn’t want Sarah to think he was ignoring her, or putting off their next date. 

Can I see you when you get back? 

Definitely, he sent, a giddy, effervescent feeling in his stomach.

The following evening, for the first time in her life, Sarah sat down to watch a hockey game. 

Eunice was in their living room, anxiously awaiting the start of the game. Currently watching people talk about betting odds in her Canucks t-shirt, a stuffed orca on the cushion next to her. 

Sarah had lived with Eunice for a little over a year. They were friends in the way two people coming together for convenience could be friends. She was nice and sweet, and made the best mac & cheese Sarah had ever eaten. She was also dramatic and had a borderline obsessive love for many things, including the Canucks. Sarah had never paid much attention to that particular obsession, as it didn’t cross over into her life, until now. 

“You okay?” Eunice asked when Sarah sat down.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You never watch hockey with me, I thought maybe you were sad or something.” 

“Oh, no, my project is done, so I’m free for the night and thought I’d join.” 

Eunice squealed and threw her arms around Sarah, “I’m so excited to introduce you to the best sport in the world!”

Feeling instantly overwhelmed, Sarah put on a brave face, and watched as the national anthem began to play. The camera scanned over the players, 5 stood separate from the others in a line, and her heart jumped into her throat when Quinn’s face came across the screen. He looked impassively at the camera. He seemed so different than when they had met, determined and competitive, not so quiet and interested. It was strange to reconcile the two as the same person. 

“What does the C mean?” 

“It means he’s the captain. That’s Quinn Hughes. He’s like, the best defenseman in the league.” 

"Isn't he a little small to play defense?" Sarah asked, surprised. 

Eunice looked personally affronted. "Hughes is an amazing skater, which is the most important thing in being a good defenseman. Defense in Hockey is more tactical than super physical." 

When the game finally began, Sarah was instantly overwhelmed. They moved so quickly, and it was damn near impossible for her to keep track of the puck. There were terms being thrown around by the commentators that were so niche, she didn’t even know where to begin figuring them out.

“What’s icing?” she asked when there was a commercial break. 

“So, it’s when a team shoots the puck to the other end of the rink, but no one is there to receive it.” 

She knew that wasn’t quite right. There were plenty of times before the break when that very thing happened, but no icing was called, and couldn’t the goalie receive it and negate that altogether? 

“And there’s no out of bounds?” 

“Nope. Just the rink. You can get penalized for shooting the puck over the glass though.” 

The game continued, and after a scuffle, Quinn skated off to sit by himself. 

“Why is he there?” 

“He got a penalty. High sticking,” Eunice said without any additional explanation. 

The announcers replayed the offense in slower motion, showing how in the midst of a play, Quinn had accidentally hit another player in the jaw with his stick. 

“That doesn’t seem like it should be a penalty when it was an accident,” Sarah said. The other guy wasn’t even bleeding.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s part of the game. Keep control of your stick all the time.” 

The camera moved back to Quinn in the little cell. He removed his helmet and rubbed a towel over his face and hair before replacing it.

Eunice sighed dramatically, “God, he’s so hot.” 

Sarah had to agree. He did look hot - supremely so. Flushed and sweaty, it was difficult to keep her mind off imagining him in her bed like that.

“Wait, why is it 4 against 5?” Sarah asked as the game began again. 

“Cause Hughes got a penalty,” Eunice said, as if this was all the explanation Sarah should need. 

Sarah stopped asking questions. Every time Eunice had tried to explain something in the past, she would get so excited, she would leave out key points, or assume Sarah had background knowledge she didn’t, and Sarah would end up even more confused. She often had to look up whatever they were talking about after their conversation anyway. 

The period ended, and Eunice left the living room. 

Sarah continued reading the article about the basics of hockey she had pulled up on her phone at the last commercial break. She wished she could watch with someone who would patiently explain each rule as it passed in the game. She had learned Football from her dad that way. Maybe Quinn could explain it to her. 

“Okay, so what’s really up?” Eunice asked when she returned, plopping back down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn and a bag of caramels.  

“What do you mean?” 

Holding up one finger, she said, “you’re watching hockey with me,” she held up a second, “you’re trying to understand it,” a third finger went up, “and you’re, like, actually interested in sports?” 

“I’m interested in sports,” Sarah defended. “We’re a football family. My uncle coached.” 

“Whatever,” she waved her hand dismissively, “it’s a dumb American sport anyway.” 

Sarah rolled her eyes, but didn’t take the bait. 

“All I’m saying is that we’ve lived together for over a year, and you have never, not once, expressed any kind of interest in Hockey and I want to know what changed.”

The commercials ended and the camera cut to someone interviewing Quinn, who was in his full kit sans helmet. He answered questions in the same quiet, methodical way he had answered her on their date. Only this time, he said a lot of words without actually saying much of anything. 

Sarah chewed on her lip. 

“Did you finally discover how hot hockey players are?” Eunice teased.

“I don’t -” Sarah cut off, pushing a breath out her nose in frustration. 

She was about to tell Eunice that hot guys were not the only reason she watched sports, only to realize that that’s precisely what she was doing. 

“I met him,” she finally admitted. 

“You met who?” 

“Quinn,” Sarah said, gesturing to the TV. 

“Met? You MET Quinn Hughes?” Eunice asked, turning in slow motion to look at Sarah. “When?!” 

Sarah started, “on Monday.”

“Where? What? How?” Eunice demanded, her voice getting progressively louder with each word. 

“He came into the aquarium, asked some questions after one of my talks, and then asked if I wanted to get lunch.” 

“He asked you to lunch?” Eunice repeated. 

“Yeah, we went to get bao.” 

“Like on a date?” 

“I think so. I mean, he paid, and he got my phone number aft-”

“Quinn Hughes asked you for your phone number,” Eunice thundered, “and you didn’t think to tell me about it?” 

It probably wasn’t the right time for Sarah to point out that she and Eunice really didn’t have that kind of a relationship. In fact, Sarah hadn’t told anyone but Beth, her best friend from back home, who had been thrilled Sarah had finally met a good guy.

“Sorry,” Eunice said, settling on the couch like a proper lady in a period drama, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to flip out.” 

Sarah wasn’t sure how she should react. She hadn’t intended on telling Eunice at all, worried - justly, it turned out - that she would freak.  

“But oh my fucking God,” Eunice yelled, throwing her hands up and breaking her posture to flop dramatically into a slouch. 

“What’s going on?” Jane asked, leaning in the door frame, rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

“Quinn Hughes asked Sarah for her phone number,” Eunice declared, gesturing to Sarah as if she were the reason Jane was up early before her graveyard shift, not her own yelling. 

Jane perked awake, “really?” 

“Yeah,” Eunice said, sounding like a petulant teenager.  

“Oh my God. I didn’t think this was a big deal,” Sarah said, putting her head in her hands. 

“That the most eligible bachelor in the whole city of Vancouver asked you for your number? I’d say that’s a pretty big fuckin deal.” 

“He’s just a guy, Eunice.”

“I’d beg to differ," Jane cut in. “It is a pretty big deal.” 

“So he’s not a guy?”

Both women rolled their eyes at her. 

“Of course he’s a guy,” Eunice said, exasperated. 

“But he’s not ‘just’ a guy,” Jane said, air quotes and all. “He’s a little more than that, I think.” 

“Why? Because he’s a professional athlete?” 

“Yeah. And millions of women across the world want to marry him.”

“He’s handsome and all, but I can’t believe that’s true,” Sarah said. “Do millions of women even watch hockey?” 

At the fierce glares she received from both of her Canadian roommates, Sarah held up her hands in defeat. “Okay, okay. Maybe millions of women watch hockey, and some of them find him attractive. But for my purposes, he’s just a guy. He was just a guy on our date.” 

“It's not about you,” Jane said. 

Sarah raised her eyebrows in a challenge. 

“What we mean is that it’s a big freaking deal that Quinn asked for your number.” 

She reeled back, “Is it so hard to believe that he would be attracted to me?” 

“No!” they both shouted, Eunice exasperated while Jane was horrified. 

“Of course he’s attracted to you. Look at you.”

“I think what Eunice means is that Quinn Hughes has celebrity status in this city, and so him asking for your number means that he saw something really special in you. Women throw themselves at him every day.” 

Sarah wrinkled her nose in disgust. 

“It’s like, a major, major compliment,” Eunice said. 

Biting her tongue, Sarah resisted the urge to tell her that it was a major compliment if anyone asked for her number, celebrity status or not. 

“So, are you going out again?” Eunice asked, sitting back down on the couch. 

“I mean, we said we would, but he’s out of town until next week, so I guess we will when he gets back?” 

“Oh man,” Eunice said, leaning back in her seat. “You are living such a fanfiction right now.” 

Sarah snorted and rolled her eyes. 

Jane yawned. “I’m going back to bed. I have to be at the hospital at 2 in the morning.” 

“I’m sorry we woke you up,” Sarah said. 

Shaking her head, Jane smiled. “I’m glad Quinn saw the same things the rest of us do. If anyone deserves a fanfiction love story, it’s you.”

Heat raced into her cheeks, and Sarah smiled, turning back to the TV as the game began again. 

“I cannot believe this,” Eunice said, picking up the stuffed whale to clutch in her hands. “You’ve got to introduce me to Kuzmenko.” 

“Who?” 

A few nights later, Quinn was slipping into a dinner booth in St. Louis when his phone pinged with a message. 

Hey, I don't know what your schedule is next week, but The Electric is showing the Star Wars movies starting Sunday if you want to catch one together?

His heart jumped into his throat so fast, he made a sort of gasping choking nose that had Elias clapping him on the back. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Quinn said, clearing his throat. 

“Who is that from?” Petey asked quietly. 

Quinn was suddenly overwhelmingly thankful that he wasn’t sitting next to anyone else, who surely would have made a big scene of announcing that he got a text about a date to everyone in the near vicinity. Petey knew he preferred his privacy, and always respected that. 

“Remember that girl I was telling you about last week? The one from the aquarium?” 

His eyebrows shot up, “that’s her?” he asked, nodding at the phone.

Quinn nodded. 

As Elias watched, Quinn pulled up their practice and game schedules. 

Sounds awesome. I’m back in town Wednesday and free on Thursday or Saturday nights. 

Almost immediately, the icon of her typing appeared. His heart began to hammer a little harder, pulsing in his throat in that nervous, I-can’t-wait-to-talk-to-her way he hadn’t felt in a long time. 

Thursday is The Empire Strikes Back, so I’m guessing that’s our choice. Unless you’d rather see the Force Awakens on Saturday?

Thursday is great.

Cool. I’ll get us tickets. Showtime is at 7 and they have a special menu for dinner and drinks at 6. 

Sounds great.

It was as simple as that. Quinn had never had a date planned so smoothly. 

Her text bubble popped up again, before going away. He gulped some of his nervousness down. 

When he clicked off the screen and looked at Elias, he found the other man smiling at him knowingly. 

“What?” 

“I didn’t think she existed.” 

“Sarah? You thought I was making her up?” 

Petey rolled his eyes, “No. I didn’t think the girl you always talk about wanting to date existed. But she’s right there,” he gestured to Quinn’s phone. 

Feeling his cheeks flush, Quinn shrugged to deflect the wave of sincere agreement that washed over him by busing himself with the menu. 

Leaving her last class, Sarah was beyond thankful to leave campus and go home. She was exhausted to the bone. It had been a hard week of studying and midterms. On top of that, nervous, excited energy was buzzing under her skin in anticipation of her date with Quinn that evening. 

When she got home and finally pulled her phone from her bag, she found a missed call from him. Stomach dropping, worry billowed into her thoughts like smoke. He was probably calling to say he couldn’t come. Why else would he call when they’d only texted so far?

 Rapid fire, her thoughts rifled through friends that might want to come to the movie before she snapped back to herself. This was her anxiety talking. It wasn’t the truth.

Taking the time to pull in a few deep breaths, she told herself he could be calling about something other than canceling. It took eight breaths before she felt calm enough to call him back.

The phone rang three times before he answered. “Hey.”

“Hi, sorry I missed you earlier, I was in my last midterm.” 

 “I’m sorry,” he said, wincing. That was one thing he didn’t miss about college. There wasn’t a lot, but the pressure of midterms and finals were something he was happy to live the rest of his life without. 

“Well, it’s done now, so I’m just excited to take a nap.” 

He laughed. 

“So what’s up?” she asked, trying, and failing, to not sound nervous. 

“I wondered where I should pick you up tonight,” he said. 

Relief sighed through her legs and she sunk onto the bed. “I was planning to meet you there.” 

“I can come pick you up,” he offered. There was no need for her to take the train when he could drive them. 

This was always an awkward conversation, but one she’d constructed with her therapist to ease her anxiety. If someone didn’t respect this, it was a sure sign she didn’t want to date them. “Quinn, you seem like a great guy, but I don’t want you to pick me up. I don’t know you very well.” 

A long pause passed over the phone. She wondered if she was going to have to explain this concept to him. 

Honestly, Quinn hadn’t heard that line in a long time. He knew from friends that women often did this to protect themselves, but something about his presence in the media made women trust him implicitly. He hadn’t taken advantage of that - he would never - but it had infiltrated his thoughts before, how easy it would be. 

She stood up for herself, and kept herself safe, and he respected her for that. “That makes sense,” he said.

It was so much easier than she’d been expecting, that Sarah had a hard time coming up with words.

“So I’ll meet you there?” he said when she didn’t say anything. 

“Great.”

“What time?” 

“Dinner starts at 6, so I figured like 6:15?” 

“Great. I’ll meet you out front?” 

“Sounds great.” 

They said some pleasant goodbyes and she flopped back on the bed. Karma was really seeing this one though. Nice, interested, a bit nerdy, and respectful, not to mention handsome, Sarah had hardly allowed herself to dream up a guy like Quinn. And now, here he was, suddenly in her life. A feeling like she’d just drunk champagne began to fizz in her stomach. A smile spread over her face as she hugged her pillow and set an alarm.  

Walking up to the theater, Quinn wiped his hands on his jeans, hoping he wasn’t about to revert back into a teenage boy with sweaty palms. He had to pee again. Nerves always shrunk his bladder. It hadn't happened in a game since he was ten, but other places - getting on a stage, press conferences, dates - always made him nervous. 

The theater was an old fashioned, stand alone cement building. A ticket booth complete with marquee lights sat between two sets of French doors. Sarah was already there, leaning against the wall, looking up at the building across the street. It surprised him she wasn't on her phone.

“Hey,” he said as he got closer. 

“Hi,” she said, meeting his eyes with a smile that made his stomach ache. Her lips were darker, making them stand out a little more. His eyes were drawn to them like a magnet. 

She slipped her arms around his neck for a hug. It felt so natural this time as he pulled her into his chest. 

As she broke away, she asked, “ready?”

He nodded, and she walked over to the ticket window, “I have a reservation for two under Roberts.”

The teenager working looked up from his phone. His gaze drifted past her. “You’re Quinn Hughes,” he said, mouth falling open.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder. 

“Hey, what’s up man?” Quinn said as if someone hadn’t just told him who he was. 

The employee - who couldn’t have been more than sixteen - was still staring at Quinn, even when he didn’t say anything else. 

“You’re coming to the show tonight?” he finally asked. 

Sarah had never felt so looked over in her life. It wasn’t that she was jealous. She would never want that kind of attention, but there was common decency not being met here. 

“We’re trying to,” she said, not unkindly, nudging him back to her reservation. 

The boy started. He blinked a few times before he said, “sorry, what was the name?” 

“Sarah Roberts.”

As they walked into the foyer. The ticket clerk slipped out of the booth, and came up to them, “hey man, I’m sorry to interrupt, but could I get an autograph? My girlfriend is a huge fan.” 

Quinn nodded, and reached for the paper and pen he held out. 

“Thanks so much, enjoy your show!” 

As soon as they turned around, a harried looking woman with flyaway strawberry blonde hair came rushing up to them. “Mr. Hughes, we’re so glad you can be with us tonight.” Apparently, Mr. “you’re Quinn Hughes” had spread the news. 

He gave her a polite smile. 

“I just wanted to let you know, we upgraded your reservations to one of our more private love seats in the back.”

“That’s very nice, but it’s not necessary,” he said, feeling embarrassed. Sarah was never going to go out with him again if their first date was under this much of a microscope. 

“Oh, no,” she said with a strained smile, “I insist.” 

Sarah looked up at him, wondering what was going to happen here. 

“Well, thank you,” he said, knowing that arguing would only draw more attention. So far, the other patrons were ignoring them, and he wanted to keep it that way. 

“Let me show you to your new seats.” She led them to a plush couch tucked into the back of the theater. No neighbors and a perfect view of the screen. No one would even need to walk in front of them to get to the bar or the bathroom. 

“Thanks so much,” Sarah said. 

The woman walked away, and she turned to Quinn with wide eyes, “that was wild.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” he said, his hand going to the back of his neck. 

“Does that happen a lot?”

He shrugged, “sometimes. Most people are pretty cool, though.” 

“I actually thought about reserving this, but it was like triple the price, and I’m on a grad school budget, so…” she trailed off, her cheeks flushing as she clasped her hands together.

“The seats we had before would have been great,” he said, “people make a fuss.” He knew this woman was probably hoping he would share the theater on his social media, but finding a place like this was hard enough. He didn’t want to ruin that by announcing it to the world. 

Desperate to change the subject, he said, “Thanks for finding this. I didn’t know it was even here.” 

“I didn’t either,” Sarah admitted, deciding they may as well enjoy the upgrade and sat down on the sofa. It was plush microfiber - incredibly soft to the touch - and very comfortable. It wasn’t like she was going to demand they go back to the standard seats she’d booked.

“How did you find it, then?” he asked, sitting next to her. 

“I overheard someone talking about it on the train and looked it up. It looked cool, so here we are.” 

He smiled at her, and her heart did a karate kick into her lungs. She sucked in a deep breath. 

They made their way to the bar to order dinner and drinks. Everything was on theme, including Sarah’s cocktail that came out glowing bright blue with smoke billowing off the surface. She laughed, looking truly delighted with it. It made Quinn want to kiss her. Not that he hadn’t been thinking about that since they’d met, but something about the pure joy in her face when the bartender handed it over made the impulse even stronger. 

The problem, she soon discovered, with the couch arrangement was the fact that their food and drinks ended up on the end tables - on opposite sides of the couch, making it nearly impossible to eat and have a conversation the way she wanted to. 

After turning around for her drink for the third time, she let out a frustrated sigh. “Here, will you hold this?” she asked, handing him her glass. 

Quinn accepted it and watched as she put her plate on the table, and moved it in front of the couch. She then tucked herself around it, and sat facing him, with one of her legs bent at the knee between them. 

“At least for now,” she said, taking her drink back and setting it on the relocated table. 

Quinn smiled. He never would have moved that table - too afraid to upset someone. He admired Sarah’s willingness to solve the issue at hand. 

Her drink was still smoking when he set his beer bottle next to it. She'd let out the most adorable giggle with the first sip, scrunching her nose at the feel of the smoke. 

“So, what made you choose Vancouver?” he asked, “I’m sure there are places in the States where you can study Marine Zoology.” 

She was instantly impressed that he remembered her degree. Most people got the marine part right, but assumed she was a biologist.  

“That’s kind of a long, complicated story, but basically, my mom died a year and a half ago and -” 

He cut in, “I’m sorry, Sarah.” 

“Thank you,” she gave him a sad smile. 

“Anyway, there’s a little more to it, but I ended up here because my uncle lives here. I wanted to study the ocean, but I had to be close to family, and the only family I had close to the ocean was here, so that kind of made my decision for me.”

Bracing herself for sympathy, she looked into his eyes, only to find a more open, understanding expression on his handsome face. “That sucks about your mom. My dad lost his mom when I was like two, and he still talks about how hard it was. I know it was really devastating for him. I can't imagine how it felt for you." 

She was so young - too young. She’d been his age. Even considering how long he'd been living away from his parents, it would be awful to lose his mom. She was the person he called for almost everything.

Tears pricked at her lower lashes. She blinked them away, busying herself with her drink to shut down that topic of conversation. 

He laughed when her nose scrunched up again. 

“I promise it’s really good,” she said, giggling, “the smoke just tickles.” 

“Sure,” he teased, then added, "it's actually really cute."

Her gaze caught on the amused set of his mouth, and lingered there for a beat too long. Tearing her eyes away, she asked, “what about you? Why Vancouver?” 

“Well, I was drafted here,” he said after swallowing his bite of salad. 

“So you didn’t have a choice?” 

“Yes and no. I toured and interviewed with a lot of clubs, and I liked it here along with a few other places. They knew how I felt, so they knew it would probably be a good fit. But the draft is always kind of a gamble. My brothers both went to New Jersey, which is pretty unheard of.” 

“Your brothers play hockey too?” 

He nodded. 

“How many of you are there?” 

“Just the three of us,” he said, “and a whole mess of cousins. What about you?” 

“I have an older sister and an older brother. They still live in Nevada, and they both have a bunch of kids. My brother married my sister's best friend, so they’re all really, really close.” 

She said it with a kind of sadness that Quinn knew well: a specific feeling that stemmed from your siblings being together while you were apart. Even though everyone was doing good things, it was still lonely to be the odd man out. 

“I get that,” he said. “My brothers live together in Jersey, and my grandad’s there too, so I feel pretty separate sometimes.”

It was strange to Sarah how much they had in common. Both from families of three siblings, both in Vancouver because of a mix of circumstance and choice, both understood familial loss to at least some extent. She had never met a man like him. 

The bartender announced the movie would start in 5 minutes. 

“I’m going to use the restroom,” she said. “Do you need anything on my way back?”

He shook his head. 

When she came back to their little corner of the theater, she found a refreshed drink on the end table. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

“Of course.” 

The movie started and it was instantly calming to her. Being there with Quinn felt like a special treat, like something out of a daydream.

When she lay her hand, palm up, in the small bit of love seat between them, Quinn was quick to pick it up, entwining their fingers. It felt a bit like he was fourteen again, just excited to hold a girl’s hand. He wanted to touch her all the time, but knew they weren’t there yet. He couldn’t wait to get to the point in the relationship when he could rest his hand on her thigh, or put an arm around her shoulders without it being a big deal. It felt so close, he could almost taste it. 

Leaning progressively closer throughout the movie, Quinn finally put his arm around her. He had to stop himself from celebrating when she rested her head on his shoulder. 

When the movie started winding down, Quinn began to wonder how exactly the end of the night was going to go. He wanted to kiss her so badly, but he didn’t want to do that in the theater or the foyer, where prying eyes and cell phone cameras were in abundance. Maybe he could ask her if they could walk to his car so he could kiss her there? Or maybe he could take her to her building's parking garage? Every way he thought about asking her sounded fucking creepy.

He was still caught in that internal debate when the movie ended and the house lights went up. How was he going to do this? He could just come out and tell her, but it made him sound paranoid and more than a little full of himself. 

“Could you walk me to the train station?” she asked, effectively ending his internal argument. 

He bit back the suggestion that he could just drive her home. “Yeah. Sure, of course,” he said. Maybe there would be a dim corner he could tuck them into and kiss her. 

The night air was cool, and humid when they stepped outside. Heart pounding, Sarah hoped he couldn’t feel it through their clasped hands. 

“You’ll have to lead the way,” he said. “I don’t really take the train.”

“No?” 

“Too many people.” 

While holding his hand was nice, Sarah’s mouth had felt empty with yearning all night. A deep longing to kiss him had been purring in her chest for over a week now, and seeing him made it rumble even louder. From the way she caught him glancing at her mouth throughout the night, it seemed like he felt the same way. 

There was a small, clean alleyway she’d spotted on her walk to the theater. As they passed it, she tugged him off the sidewalk, turned around so she could slide one hand over the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. 

Quinn sucked in a sort of shocked breath at her forwardness. 

She pulled away just as he was registering what was happening and sinking into the kiss. 

Taking her hands back, a blush searing her cheeks, she said, “I’m sorry, that was really presumptuous of me.” Hoping she hadn't just ruined everything, She tried to not feel rejected. Had she been reading the signs wrong? 

“No,” Quinn said, his voice a little too loud. 

It was so strange to him that their physical connection, which had always been the easiest part of his past relationships, seemed to be the only thing they fumbled over. 

He cleared his throat, and slipped his hand up to cup her jaw, "no. I was just a little surprised.” 

Seeing the longing in his face when she looked into his eyes kicked hers back into gear, ready to squeal off the pavement. 

Leaning in closer, his breath caressed her lips as he whispered, “I’ve been thinking about this all week.” 

A shiver raced down her spine at his confession. “Me too." 

Pulling back just slightly, he looked into her face. It felt like he was standing at the edge of the most beautiful view he'd ever seen. He couldn't wait to jump over it. 

She tipped up, and he leaned down, and when their lips met, a gentle sigh passed between them. 

There was no awkwardness, no questioning of who would tip which way, or if it was too soon for tongue. No, Sarah just took advantage between kisses, and swept her tongue into his open mouth. He responded in kind, sliding his tongue along hers. 

Her hands found their way into his hair in an attempt to pull him closer. The soft noise he gasped into her mouth made her fingertips tingle with a heady sense of satisfaction. Molten desire dripped into her veins.

Quinn let all his other thoughts fall away in favor of savoring this moment. He wanted to commit every second of it to memory. She tasted like the tart syrup used in her cocktail, and the smooth sweetness of the rum. Coupled with the vanilla, woodsy scent of her perfume, and her soft, skilled tongue, it was the most intoxicating thing he'd ever experienced. He never wanted to stop. 

The world fell away. 

Then, it came crashing back. 

"Get a room!" someone yelled from the group of teenagers walking by. 

He pulled away, just enough that he could feel her panting breaths rushing over his lips. He didn't want to let the moment slip away. Not when it had been so perfect. 

"Can I make you dinner on Saturday?" he asked, still feeling a little breathless.

She paused, and he realized what he'd just implied. God, he wasn't thinking straight. 

Pulling back, he rushed to explain, "I can bring it with me to a park or something. I just want to see you again." 

A smile broke over her face, "I want to see you again, too." 

Simple, straight to the point. Quinn felt some of his anxiety drop away. 

"I'll think about where, but definitely yes to dinner." 

He beamed. 

Want more Quinn & Sarah? Check out the Snapshots Masterlist

To read all my fics, check out the Fanfiction Masterlist

[hoeforhao]

Most Ardently // Wonwoo Fic //

✧. pairing: professor!wonwoo × student fem!reader (featuring mingyu and dino)

✧. genre: fluff, mild angst? very short smut(as i wanted to keep this as a pure emotional fic) minors dni, lots of pining and comfort at the end.

✧. warnings: nothing heavy, just a very slow burning romance based around my favorite novel, slight mentions of a yandere ex boyfriend,use of swear words, joking use of the word k!ll.

✧. synopsis: what happens when your one night stand becomes your new literature professor, taking both of you down a blissful lane of old school love.

✧. word count: 3.2k (approx)

✧.banner credits: to the sweetest @classicscreations

✧. author's note: as wonwoo fluff+smut won in the 50 followers poll, here it is finally. although it became more of an angsty fluff(i absolutely suck at writing puppy romance). hope y'all will enjoy it and if this gets some love, i'll bring out its prequel. last but not the least, if you enjoyed my writing then...

Likes, comments and reblogs will be heartily appreciated ♡

and on page 157 she fell in love...

"Love"~ a word meaningful only between the withered folds of literature, luring one into the Georgian haze.Realistically tho, finding a love that will entwine both soul and mind, seep through your cracks and reconcile the cores, is as strange as a diffident person like you getting raveled into a one night stand.

Quite literally clawing out your scalp, ensuring the inevitable headache later on, you kept on asking yourself, what made you so wild to sleep with a random ass stranger, that too on the night before fall semester started??!!!! The guilt clouded your mind so much so that the trance had to be broken by mingyu's hard slap on your shoulder.

"Are you dead or what idiot? The new professor's been here for over a minute now and called out your name almost seventeen times" the tall idiot sitting beside you, nearly howled into your ears.

Before the count could hit eighteen, you quickly pried up from your seat, taking a glance at the man standing in the teacher's place.

Why does his face look so familiar? That same hairstyle with heart shaped strands sticking to the forehead, those harry pottery glasses overshadowing the cat eyes, his exact little stubby nose and most importantly the bewitching plump dahlia lips.

No way it's who I think it is!!! It's definitely the hangover towering. How can he be -

"Ms y/n?"a soft hushed voice called out, pulling your train of thoughts to a sudden halt,"Mr Bennett handed over your thesis to me before he left." Only a single nod left your body as you took over the file and made your way back to the place beside the giant sized puppy,body completely washed off by an unknown tingling sensation.

"Morning students!! I'm your new literature professor from now,Jeon Wonwoo. Mr Bennett's knowledge and aura are indeed irreplaceable but still I'll try my best to bring out the beauty of literature to you guys." the man spoke, eyes a bit tensed up yet briming with a certain sort of joy.

Throughout the entire lesson, your beads were fixated onto your teacher ; as a person who would never let their focus sway, specially in literature classes, you now didn't even know what chapter the class was going through.

"Looks like someone is enchanted huh" your annoying ass bestfriend pushes you a little from the back as the entire class gets ready to head out for lunch.

"Y/n?" you hear the same raspy voice seek out your name. "Go go! Your prince is calling you!!" mingyu teases you again with a mocking smile on his face.

"Utter a single word after this, and I'll make sure you walk reverse footed the entire week" you stomp on his feet before turning around to listen to what your teacher had to ask.

"Yes sir?" you coo out softly, trying to make your racing heart less obvious.

"Meet me at my office after lunch. We need to discuss on your thesis."

"But I already submitted it to Mr Bennett once,then why again?"

"He ran short of time,while packing things up and couldn't scrutinize the papers properly, so now I'm in charge." jeon said as politely as possible.

"Okay sir. I'll be there in an hour"

"You can call me wonwoo" a light smile painted the older's face as he made your cheeks flush bright red with the comment.

Swirling around on your heels, you swiftly made your way out the room, not wanting to flash him with your blushing profile.

Stomping your feet in impatience and somewhat a little bit of anxiety, you wait for your beanstalk of a best friend to choose his drink from the vending machine.

"You're not choosing a wife Kim Mingyu. Hurry the fuxk up pls"

"Getting that worked up for a four eyed nerd! What a loser!!" mingyu spat out, while he bended down to collect his can.

"Says the one who has been bitchless since the cracking dawn of civilization. Oh wait you need to have human traits to get a partner, not that of chimpanzees" you spank his butt from absolute annoyance.

With a loud 'ouch' and his characteristic puppy eyes, mingyu rises up from his position and hurriedly drops you off at wonwoo's office door, otherwise who knows what more parts of him you'll break.

Cold sweats dripping down your face, you stand still at his door, an unfamiliar feeling shivering down your spine as you slowly bring up your hands to knock on the knob.

"M-may I come in sir?" why is it that you're shaking so much, is strange to you too. You haven't ever felt like this,not even when you met your bitchass ex for the first time.

"What are you doing to me jeon wonwoo" you whisper under your breath before stepping into the gloomy wooden space,following the green light from him.

Sitting yourself comfortably on the swiveling chair infront of his desk, you wait for wonwoo to speak up, legs shaking uncontrollably beneath the stilted plank.

"Welcome y/n. As far as I'm knowledged, your thesis is on Georgian Era pieces, and you've chosen Pride and Prejudice as your muse right?"

You just hmm in response, words refusing to leave your body, as you feel drugged by his honey voice.

"Let's get you started then" his eyes sparkling like fireworks.

Completely engrossed into your work, you almost became unaware of wonwoo's presence in the same room as you, posture quite stable now; oblivious of how quickly that composure is gonna get washed off of your body.

"Si-" picking up your head from the paper, you tried to call out his name as you needed some help with the summary, only to feel a hot breath fanning on your neck, his soft nose brushing againt your skin, as he stretches out his hand to the book infront of you.

"How many times have i told you to call me wonwoo, huh berrybub" the older's voice wooed into your system,his other hand gently tucking in the lose strands behind your ears.

"W-wonwoo can you r-read out this verse to me pls? I can't make out few parts of it" you were yourself astonished at how stable you sounded, completely ignorant of the shiver running down your spine.

"Anything for you y/n" wonwoo spoke out again,his wet lips lightly grazing against your cheeks, as he pulled the book into his hands and took his place back on the chair.

The rest of the session was as quite as a viva room, with him occasionally stealing glances at you, while you kept your eyes fixed onto the table.

An entire week went by like this, where wonwoo would read out the piece to you as you wrote your papers, with a regular comment of "if you keep staring at me like that y/n, then I fear we would be able to submit your work in time" from him. But that one suspicion refused to leave your mind no matter how much you tried.

Strolling down the hallway like a happy puppy, forgetful of all the worries with this newfound feeling of warmth and butterflies, you made your way towards the restroom, when suddenly a hand pulled you back into a dark corner.

"C-chan! What are you doing!" looking up at who this man was, you started feeling heavy in the head almost instantly, chest heaving up and down at the rate of a storm . It was no other than your yandere ex boyfriend, who cheated on you with your cousin sister!!!!

"Missed me princess?" his hands roaming all over your body as he pinned you down to the wall, a dirty feeling gushing over your entire body.

"It's over between us Chan. You knew that I would forgive anything but cheating. And you did the exact same thing. That too with Angie? Pathetic!!!" tears building up in your eyes as you try to sound as confident as possible. "And moreover, I don't think I have feelings for you anymore. Maybe it was never even love"

"Oh such a naive girl you are! You really think i give a shit about your feelings and all?" a devilish grin flashing on his face as Chan brings his lips closer to yours, hands gripping onto your waist tightly.

Your body was starting to give up, tears continously streaming down your face as you kept on praying for him to stop. But this is the 21st century, and God only helps those who help themselves. Coring up all the strength left in your body, you brought up your legs and karate kicked him on his groin.

A painful whimper left Chan's lips as he held onto his throbbing manhood, while you took this chance to run away from his grasp.

Running down the corridors, that now seemed to be endless, with his voice echoing through the walls "I'll not let you go off that easily bitch. Come back here", you tightly shut your eyes closed, desperately waiting for someone to save you from this nightmare.

And looks like the heavens finally listened to your helpless pleas as you felt a pair of bulky arms wrapping around your body like a warm blanket, pulling you into a bleak rim. Both9f your frames sandwiched against each other, hearts beating in unison, as your trembling body was now being warmed with the heat radiating off of you two.

You slowly look up at the man who saved you from that lunatic ex of yours; not like you already didn't recognize him from the strong scent of his cologne. Yes, you were unconsciously so in love with this boy, that you even remembered his smell.

As soon as your eyes met with wonwoo's, the first thing you noticed was some sort of burning rage in him, a fire powerful enough to burn down an entire forest in just a matter of few seconds.

"Wonw-" he didn't even let you finish your sentence before pulling you into the tightest hug, resting his head on the crook of your neck as he mouthed "I'll make sure to destroy anyone who dares to stain this blissful face of yours with teardrops, to lay even a single finger on your body", with an unreadable tone of anger yet sadness.

You hugged him back as tight not knowing what to say, completely taken aback by this sudden comment. Losing consciousness of what just happened with you just few moments back, you two kept on bear hugging each other as if it was the last day the Earth's gonna revolve 'round the sun, with wonwoo being the first to let go.

"I-i am sorry" that's the last thing you heard from him before he left you standing so empty in the dark, mind clouded with a bunch of unanswered questions.

"How can he leave like nothing happened, after what he did that day?" is the only thing that kept eating you out for the next few days, as you kept attending your college, both of you never crossing paths since the incident. Wonwoo didn't even show up to the classes, which surely was of no help to your intense craving. But you were highly stubborn yourself ; if he could ignore those close moments between you both so easily, you could too.

Another strange thing that bugged you was that Chan was never seen in the college campus after that day, ever again. Even his classmates failed to contact him anymore!!!

Throwing away these negative thoughts outta your head, you were strolling down the gallery, all ready to go back home as you suddenly took a halt before wonwoo's office. It was open and left unattended. You don't know what took over you and you entered the same place that gave you so many warm memories. With a silent sigh and sullen face, you carefully inspected the interiors, running your fingers along the places that were stained with his scent.

"Y/n?" the voice your ears have been longing for all these days, disrupted your probe midway. Turning around, your eyes immediately landed onto the figure standing at the door, the one your heart now beats for; at that moment all you wanted was to run to him, pull him into the warmest embrace and never let go.

But your self respect and self doubt was chaining you down, as you lifted up your feet slowly to leave the room, head hanging down low. "Sorry won- I mean sir. Sorry for intervening into your space. I'll be taking my leave"

"Don't! pls!" a muffled voice echoed around the room"W-we need to finish your project. I don't want you to fail because of me."

"It's okay sir. I can do it by myself. Thanks for all you've done for me till now" you blurt out quite sternly, with a hint of underlying taunt.

"P-pls" a sudden change of tone was evident in wonwoo's voice, as if he was on the verge of crying, which was enough to melt your composure. I mean who would want to see their loved ones cry because of them right?!

He guided you to your seat as he swiveled his own towards yours and sat right in front of you,with just a few inches gap between the two.

With a drooped down head, wonwoo pulled out the book from his drawer and took out a kitten shaped bookmark from the last done page. You lightly chuckled at the older's choice of stationary, while bringing out your thesis file.

"Let's start. Only some part is left" eyes still not daring to look at you , he started reading out the last few chapters of the piece, while keeping his gaze fixed between the folds.

Turning the pages to the one marked 157, wonwoo's voice came to a stall, slowly picking up his head from the book,his feline beads finally landed onto yours, hazed by a soft yet painful daze. Wonwoo soon started to read out again, but this time instead of looking at the book, he was looking at you, with a mixed expression of agony blended with intense pining.

"In vain have I struggled. It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you."

Even though your mind wanted to go by the reason that it was just a line from the novel, your heart exactly knew what he meant. You wanted to let him know how much you loved him too, how much your soul craved for his, how long you've waited for this one moment....but you couldn't! A strange feeling of unjust kept you from running to his arms at that instant; so instead you got up from your chair and twirled around to leave the room as quickly as possible.

"Pls y/n pls don't leave me. Again!" two pair of arms wrapped around your waist tightly, immediately stopping you on your track. "You don't know how happy I was when I got to see you again that morning. I couldn't sleep for nights as i kept on squealing thinking about your smile lit face.You came into my life as the brightest ray when I lost all hope. Pls don't push me into the dark again."

Your heart clenched at the sound of soft sobs coming from your back, as you swiftly turned on your heels, only to be a met with a teary eyed wonwoo.

"I-it was you that night wonwoo?"drops now threatening to slide down your eyes. "They say the heart knows it all. No wonder why it always kept telling me that it was you" you said while wiping off the tears of his pale face.

"I've wanted to have you by my side since the moment you held my hand and pulled me into that hotel" closing the gap between you two as he softly placed his lips on yours ; pulling both being into a soft yet passionate kiss as you reverted back to him with equal thirst.

Grip never leaving your waist, he finally lets go of your lips, as you two gasped for some air, face all stained with fresh hot tears. Not long after, he attacks your face again, but this time painting it with affectionate sloppy kisses all over, as if a lost kitten found their home after days. He couldn't get enough of your body, as his wet lips gradually started going down your jaw and landing onto your shoulder, imprinting his teeth onto them.

Wonwoo gave a small tap on your legs and getting his intentions straight away, you quickly wrapped your legs around his torso, as he carried you towards the couch, unbuttoning your shirt in the mean time.

After he placed you onto the couch gently, sliding a cushion under your head, he carefully positioned himself on top of you.

"Can I?" soon afterward you gave him an assuring nod, wonwoo dived into your body, ripping off the white satin shirt of you, as he started placing wet sloppy kisses onto your chest. Fingers roaming around your clothed nipple, he swiftly freed your breasts off your bra and devoured them into his mouth ; earning soft alluring moans from you that were ringing like music to his ears.

Following a good thirty minutes of ravishing and worshiping your body, wonwoo finally plopped down on the couch, embracing you from behind as he pulled the covers over your bodies [do not ask me how a couch had covers pls]

"If you want you can leave me later, but please let's stay like this for some time" a whimper left his lips as he tightened the grasp around your belly.

Turning around to face him, you cupped his face onto your hands, rubbing your fingers onto his squishy cheeks as you softly assured, "Woo, I was smitten by you the exact day you came into our class. Maybe I couldn't properly recognize your face because of the alcohol, but my heart started longing for you since then. You have no idea on how hard I've tried not to fall, but look at me, I'm now head over heels for you. So don't even think about me leaving you, you dumbo. Neither are you allowed to leave, understood Mr!!" you flooff up your nostrils trying to imitate an angry puppy, earning the biggest flash of sunshine smile from bigger flooff beside you.

my darling,

you would never be unloved by me

you're too well tangled in my soul

finishing off your night with such a beautiful verse, you both drift off to deep slumber, entangled into each other's spirits.

[bats-and-birds-24]

Okay, for the Marked AU, I've come up with a game plan;

Tim Drake acquires 3 siblings

Tim basically infiltrates the league to bring back Jason, but along the way picks up Cass and Damian as well. It also has Bruce and Dick growing closer after Jason's death.

I'm thinking it will have roughly 20 chapters, may add a few more depending on how the plot ends up being.

Gotham Gang War

Follows the batfam directly after Tim's story. Focuses more on the world building of Gotham and Jason's reaction to the growth of the Joker Gang and the underground black market in general.

Barbara get's shot by the Joker and Tim gets kidnapped by the Joker.

Also introduces Harper, Cullen, Duke, and Stephanie to the batfam.

Cullen's decision (One Shot)

Follows Cullen's pov as he stays back at the manor to help Alfred. Ends with Cullen training under Alfred so that he can support the vigilantes alongside him.

Gotham's history

Is an in depth history of the Marked AU's Gotham. We get to know previous bearers of the mark and how they coped with the curse.

We also learn more about the curse itself and how it's spreading.

Family Chaos

A rare day off in the batfamily where everyone's at the manor and don't have cases to complete.

A fluff instalment detailing each of the batfamily members hobbies.

Tim and Jason Casefic

Tim and Jason try to clean up a weapons smuggling ring based on Paris island. Involves brotherly bonding and Jason reconciling with Bruce.

Bruce Wayne's OCD

Bruce becomes so overbearing that the batkids stage an intervention after he has a mental breakdown. Bruce ends up getting therapy from Harley and begins to heal.

Bat Training (One Shot)

A look inside the average batkids training at the manor. Also Cullen's training under Alfred. Happens at the end of the year.

Red Hood's Street Kids

Set 4 years after the Bat Training one shot. Jason's 21 during this fic

Jason discovers that he has been adopted as the official father figure of the street kids of Gotham.

The rest of the batfamily promptly decides that they're the kids various aunts and uncles and shenanigans ensue up until Black Mask makes the very stupid mistake of infringing on Hood's territory, and breaking the bones of the kids who live there.

May create more fics but these are the ones I know for sure that I'll write.

[eomayas]

new thing (pt. 7) • pcy

pairing: chanyeol x f!reader, age gap, established relationship

synopsis: reader and chanyeol reconcile after being broken up for a few months.

genre: angst & fluff. LOTS OF FLUFF. e2l. happy ending

warnings: swearing, drinking, crying. lots of crying. reader is just a girl and chanyeol is just a 30 year old boy :(

a/n: this is the finale!! yay!! thank you to everybody who has been here from the beginning and stuck with me and this story! it has been a lot of fun writing this. once again thank you, and i hope you like it. sorry for the lowkey trash ending lmao! ❤️

series masterlist

seulgi runs across the grass with her arms open wide, gown flowing behind her. you meet her halfway and throw your arms around her, engaging in a moving hug. “we really did it!” she squeals, hugging you tight against her.

your heart beats rapidly from pure joy that you haven’t felt in awhile, and mild case of anxiety at the prospect of your future truly beginning now. you two just walked across the stage to declare yourselves officially done with undergrad. it’s exciting and nauseating at the same time.

“i know, i know,” you say, pulling back and holding her arms. she looks up at you and you get the overwhelming feeling to cry into her arms. “i love you.” you say, pulling her back into a hug so you don’t have to look at her in the face.

“i love you more!” she says. you two stay wrapped up together for a moment longer before she taps your back. “i’m sinking.” seulgi says, making a show of picking up her legs to remove her heels from the grass.

“me too,” you say, letting go of her to pull both of you out of the earth. “our parents should be around here somewhere.” you say, linking arms with her and weaving through throngs of people. a lot of them stop the two of you to give hugs and exclaim how excited they are to be done with college. you're excited too, but there is a pit in the bottom of your stomach that reminds you that you're officially not a kid anymore. there's so much of life that you haven't experienced, and its all going to be laid out in front of you.

finally, you find your parents talking amongst each other, as well and mr and mrs. kim. seulgi is practically family to them at this point, so it makes sense that they showed up to support her. "congratulations!" mrs. kim yells, bouncing over to you two and engulfing you into a hug.

you go around giving hugs and accepting congratulations from everybody before ending up at your mothers side, clinging to her the way a child would. “so, what’s next?” mr. kim asks, and you and seulgi glance at each other before bursting into breathless giggles, no clear idea or answer.

everybody laughs when you two laugh and it puts you at ease for a moment. seulgis parents suggest heading to the restaurant to go eat, and you agree. “i think someone is looking for you,” your mom says, glancing over your shoulder. you assume it’s a fellow classmate, so you turn around with the intention to shout congratulations, but are stunned into silence when you see who it is, going weak at the knees.

he looks nervous, and so endearingly awkward that it makes you want to cry and scream. and in extreme chanyeol fashion, he holds an assorted bouquet of pink flowers between his hands.

your heart leaps into your throat, just as shock and confusion cross over your face. you wonder if he can see the desperation in your face, that your been wanting to see him for months. you’re aware of other people around you, but it just feels like it’s you and him. it’s been so long since you’ve seen him—nearly three months to the day—and you still don’t know how to properly function near him, or without him, for that matter.

“uh, hi,” he says, and your knees feel weak at him being so shy and awkward. somehow, your brain tells you to move, and you take a few short steps towards him, stopping when there’s about two feet of space between you. “hi.” he says again, looking down at you with a soft smile.

“hi,” you say, nervously wringing your hands in front of you. you shift your eyes to glance at the flowers, and his eyes widen like he forget he was holding them.

“oh, these are for you,” he says, a blush forming on his cheeks and going to the tips of his ears in the way that you’re so fond of. it makes your heart clench in your chest.

you thank him as you accept the flowers and hold them between to shaky hands. you wonder how you look to the people around you; if they can read your body language and see that you two have obvious history. or maybe you look as rigid as you feel, nervous and taut? “what are you doing here?” you ask, blinking a few times.

“uh, seulgi invited me,” he says. you whip your head around to glare at her, but are met with an empty path of grass; your mother the only person still standing there. “she said… she said you wouldn’t mind.” and you hate that she was right, because of course you’d want him here. you’d want him anywhere, at any time.

“oh. well… thank you for coming,” you say, ducking your head shyly. chanyeol nearly reaches out to tip your chin up, but stops himself before he gets the courage. you’re not his to touch like that, and the realization burns in his chest.

“always. i’m proud of you, y/n,” he says softly, and you look up at him, lips folded into your mouth. that pit in your stomach only gets deeper and you feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. you can feel yourself melting into the earth as he keeps looking you dead in the eye.

“thank you,” you say, hugging the flowers to your chest as if to ground you, like you’re afraid if you’re not anchored to something you might float up, up, up into the clouds and disappear among the stars. you’re not even sure you’re still breathing properly, not with the way you can smell his cologne despite being outdoors and surrounded by hundreds of people.

chanyeol glances behind you, and you become acutely aware of the fact that your mother is still standing behind you. “oh!” you exclaim, whirling around and motioning for your mom to come over. they’ve never met, and this isn’t necessarily the way you want them to meet, but you’re not going to have them ignore each other just because you’re broken up—especially not when he keeps looking at you like he could eat you. “mom, this is chanyeol; chanyeol, my mom.” you say, gently nudging her, telling her to be nice.

your mom shakes his hand and gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. a few months ago, she did her typical check in via a phone call. you never told her about chanyeol explicitly, just told her that there was a guy you were seeing back when you two first started dating. she asked about him here and there, but it was never anything pressing and you weren’t just going to give up the information. but when she called you after you two broke up, you couldn’t help but vent to her on the phone. for once, she let you cry in peace over a man—you don’t know why, maybe it’s because she could tell you actually liked him? but she let you cry and told you that one day, it would get better. she didn’t chastise you and tell you to simply get over it and to stop crying like you expected. you never asked her, but you figured she might’ve experienced something similar when she was your age or before you were born.

“it’s nice to put a face to a name, now,” your mom says, glancing at you before returning her gaze to chanyeol. he smiles, and the tips of his ears turn pink again. “how nice of you to show up today, too.” she adds and you cut your eyes at her, wanting her to lay off of him.

chanyeol only nods, his eyes never leaving yours as he says, “of course. i’m proud of her.” your whole body burns, the heat starting at your toes and spreading upwards. it’s too much to look at him, so you break first and awkwardly clear your throat.

“we’re about to go celebrate—you’re welcome to join us, if you want,” your mom says, shocking you and chanyeol, and probably even herself. you look at chanyeol with wide eyes, praying that he says no and spares an awkward, tension filled dinner.

“thank you, but i’ll pass for now,” he says politely and you nearly sigh in relief. your mom nods and smiles at him, seemingly happy with his answer, and announces that she’ll be waiting for you in the car.

you and chanyeol are truly left alone, and you don’t know how to determine the rolling of your stomach; anxiety, or excitement? either way, your pulse quickens and you feel shy when he smiles at you. "you look pretty, by the way," he compliments, and you feel like you're floating in the air when he says it. you thank him and he stuffs his hands into his front pockets of his jeans. "can i see you later? after your dinner?" chanyeol asks.

you bite the inside of your cheek. you know you should probably say no, because while you're elated to see him right now, you don't know when reality will set in and shatter whatever idea you have of him. his proposition from a few months ago still lurk in the depths of your memory, reminding you that you were too much and not enough for him at the same time. but on the flip side, you really do want to see him. theres so much you've wanted to say to him since your breakup and that rotten day.

blowing out a breath, you look up at chanyeol who wears a hopeful expression on his face. you’ve never been strong around him, never been able to resist him and those eyes that make you turn into mush around him. “yeah, sure. after dinner,” you say, nodding as if to convince yourself and psych yourself up.

chanyeol smiles, his dimples popping out and making your chest squeeze. “okay, cool. i’ll see you then,” he says. you nod and the two of you look at each other for a second before awkwardly laughing. chanyeol opens one of his arms, inviting you in for a hug. it takes everything in you to not throw yourself at him, and you slip underneath his arm just like you used to. you’re practically made to fit in his side.

the whole uber ride, you wonder if you’re too dressed up to see him. you changed your outfit four times, always feeling like it was too much or not enough, before you finally ended up in a blue, silk midi dress with lace trim, paired with heeled boots and a leather jacket. it might be too much, since it’s not a date. but he said he wanted to buy you a celebratory drink, and would it really hurt if you looked nice?

thanking your driver, you step out of the car and make the short walk into the bar. it’s quiet, save for the soft jazz music playing over the speakers. it’s definitely not somewhere you’d have picked if it was up to you, but it’s very chanyeol.

he sits at a high table near the windows, and gets up from his chair to greet you. it’s awkward again, stuck in the in between of a hug, or if you should just sit down. you both opt for the latter, chanyeol casting you a lingering glance. “what are you drinking?” you ask him, hanging your bag off the back of your chair.

“don’t know yet; i was waiting for you,” he answers, and you hate that you find it sweet. you only hum and start looking over the drink menu, not set on one particular drink.

“i think i’m gonna try this,” you say, pointing and showing chanyeol. he nods before slipping the menu from your fingertips and looking for his own option. you study him while he’s momentarily preoccupied and take in the few changes: the stubble, which you can admit you’re a fan of, thicker forearms like he’s been working out, and slightly longer hair. you slip your eyes to look out the window when he lifts his head and announces to you that he’s going to go order your drinks.

letting out a breath, you fold your hands together and glance around the bar, really wondering what you’re doing here with him. you know you shouldn’t be here after the way he tried to have some of you without having all of you, but you still have feelings for him despite it all. you’ve never really stopped.

chanyeol returns with your drinks and you two cheers before taking a sip, both making a face when you taste the alcohol. "so, how've you been—besides graduating?" chanyeol asks, looking over at you with a small, expectant smile.

with a shrug, you take another sip of your drink and set it down. "i've been fine, i guess. not really much going on," you say. "i have an interview coming up for this job—hopefully its my last one." chanyeols eyebrows raise at the mention of a new job, and eggs you on to tell him about it. you get a moment of deja vu, like you've had this conversation before and are going through the motions of trying to make everything right again.

"thats great, y/n. i'm really proud of you," he says it with so much genuineness that you have to take a deep breath to relax yourself. its just the simple things that make you ache the most. when you got an email back from the job, the first person you wanted to tell was him. he hasn't been an afterthought for you, not even after over 100 days of being apart.

you must get a look on your face, because chanyeol frowns and leans forward and asks if you're alright. "huh? yeah, i'm fine," you say, taking another sip of your drink. chanyeol backs off, but he knows you nearly as good as he knows himself, and the look on your face is one he's seen many of times. it lets him know that there is something on your mind that you aren't saying, but he knows better to press you about it, especially since you are not his anymore. "whats up with you?" you ask, wanting the attention off of you.

chanyeol goes on about how its been pretty much the same for him as well, except he's helping his cousin produce an album and is trying to get his brother in the studio more. you can't help but think about that fateful night at the drug store when you caught him buying condoms. you wonder if you hadn't run into him, if you wouldn't be sitting here with him trying to act normal and like you don't think about him nearly everyday. "y/n, you're doing it again," he notes, snapping you out of your own thoughts.

"doing what?"

he makes a face that says, really?, and shakes his head. "i know you, you know. say whatever's on your mind," you chew on the inside of your cheek and crack your fingers against your leg. "please, y/n."

you look up at him and your eyes start to well with tears, for reasons unknown to you and him. "oh my god," you mumble, covering your face with your hands. you sniff and wait for your eyes to dry up before uncovering your face and blowing out a heavy sigh of a breath. you look away from chanyeol as you talk, not trusting yourself to be able to make it while looking at him. "i am just so... confused, chanyeol. we don't talk for months, and then you show up to my graduation—and that was fine, okay?—but this? i can't just sit here and act normal with you, like we're friends or something, because we're not." your voice is even and slow, but you feel a wave of emotions brewing up again. "and with how we ended things? chanyeol, i need to know why you're trying to come around again because i just can't deal with it."

hes silent as he absorbs your words. chanyeol runs a hand through his hair and presses his lips together into a thin line. "okay, i'm just going to be honest, alright?" chanyeol looks over at you, and his stomach flips when you look up at him with wide, tear filled eyes. "first, i want to apologize—for everything, but especially the last time we saw each other. that was fucked up, and i knew it, and i still said it anyways. i wasn't... that just wasn't fair to you," chanyeols picks at his fingernails and looks down at his lap.

"i broke us up the first time; that wasn't your fault."

"yes, it was, y/n. there were things i didn't say to you, that i should have said. i could've tried harder, i could've just been honest with you," you bite your bottom lip, wishing he would just tell you those simple three words, whether they're still true or not. you need to hear it. "you can say it was all on you—fine—but i know that it wasn't. we both played a part, but it was completely my fault this time around. i don't want you to think that i... that i think less of you, because i don't. it was a stupid and fucked up thing for me to imply." chanyeols says, running his hand through his hair and gently tugging at the roots.

you fold your lips into your mouth and blink back the tears that form in your eyes again. his words mean something to you, so much that you don't think you'll be able to make it the rest of the night without crying. "y/n, can you look at me? please?" his tone is pleading, like its all he needs from you to get through the night. but you know the moment you look like him you'll start crying, and you don't know if you'll be able to stop. "please, y/n." and you wish he'd just call you baby.

with a breath, you finally turn your head to face him, and it hardly takes a second of seeing him before your face crumples and you drop your head into your hands. you're embarrassed for crying so quickly and in public, and you try to keep it silent. chanyeol jumps up from his chair and comes over to wrap you in a comforting embrace. you let him hold you for a moment, missing the feeling of being wrapped up in his strong arms. it doesn't last long before you mumble that you need air, and pull yourself from his grasp, not making eye contact with him as you slip on your jacket and dash outside.

you expect him to follow after you, and are greatly relieved when he does exactly that. "y/n," chanyeol says, a crestfallen expression on his face. the tears don't stop and you lean against the side of the building to support yourself. "i'm sorry." he's not really sure what he's apologizing for exactly, but he feels guilty and helpless watching you cry like this.

shaking your head, you wipe underneath your eyes and sniff, letting out a breath. "i don't know whats wrong with me," you mumble, letting out a weak chuckle. chanyeol gives you a small smile, taking a step closer to you. you take the risk of looking at him again, the urge to throw yourself into his arms tempting you. "why couldn't you just tell me?" you ask him, sniffing again. but you could ask yourself the same thin. why? seems to be the one question neither of you can figure out.

chanyeol lifts his shoulders and drops them before slumping against the building, mirroring your stance. "i don't know. i really don't. i felt—feel—so many things for you, so strongly, that i didn't want to ruin it or complicate it. especially if you didn't feel the same way," he says. the correction to the present tense makes your heart skip a beat, but also just makes you feel more frustrated.

"chanyeol, do you seriously think i just... kind of liked you, or something?" you ask, wiping the last of the tears from your cheeks. he shrugs and hangs his head when you let out a sarcastic cackle. "the way i felt about you scared the shit out of me. and since we're being honest, i still feel the exact same way. i can't even go a minute without thinking about you and wishing i could just go back in time so none of this happened." you're shocked that you found the bravery to tell him, but it feels like a weight has been taken off of your shoulders.

chanyeol blushes, and looks down at his shoes. "its the same thing for me. i really fucked up when i said what i said. i want you in more than that way, and i mean it. you mean more to me than just sex. i don't know why i thought i could even do that with you and not want more," you bite your bottom lip, his words settling in the pit in your stomach. the words are on the tip of your tongue, like they've been for months.

he beats you to the punch, nearly knocking the wind out of you. "i can't imagine trying to go through life without ever getting the chance to tell you that i love you. because i do, and i have for a long time, and i should have told you a long time ago."

"chanyeol," your voice cracks on the last syllable and tears immediately stream down your face again. his arms are around you in seconds, holding you tightly against him. chanyeol rests his chin atop your head and cages his body around you in a way that is just natural for the two of you.

you circle your arms around his torso and rest your cheek against his chest, letting out a deep breath and closing your eyes for a brief moment. this is all you've wanted, to be back in his arms, to be his, if not just for the moment.

"yeol," you mutter, pulling back to look up at him. chanyeols looks down at you and your eyes flick to his lips. thats all it takes for his lips to be on yours, one of his large hands cradling your head and the other around your waist. your palms rest flat on his chest before sliding up to grab onto the back of his neck to press him closer to you.

chanyeol backs you up against the wall of the building and presses your bodies impossibly closer, your hands sliding into his hair. you kiss him like its the last thing you'll do in this lifetime. theres a sense of desperation in the way you press yourself against him, but you don't care, and neither does he because all he does is shove his tongue into your mouth.

a whine leaves chanyeols throat when you pull away, and he chases after your lips. you blush and let him kiss you before you pull away again. you put your hands on his cheeks and look up at him, with what you can only image are heart eyes. "chanyeol," you say, gently stroking the left side of his face with your thumb.

"hmm?" he gently holds onto your wrist.

"i love you," you confess, and the smile that stretches across his lips is enough to make you weak in the knees.

"i love you." kiss. "i love you." kiss. "i love you." kiss.

you two stay like that for a few more minutes, pressed against each other. you feel his love for you in the way he holds you like you're delicate. you feel it in the way he kisses you like he means it, and you wonder why it couldn't have always been this easy and simple.

you've spent so long wondering why?, and you don't know if you'll ever find the answer, and for right now that is okay. because being back in chanyeols arms is enough.

[nahoney22]

Hey!! I really love your writing and I hope you're taking care of yourself! 💕

I'm kinda in the mood for some angsty fluff, how about some headcanons for when the reader and their batcher get into a fight in front of the others. Maybe Omega gets upset because she thinks they're going to breakup? I totally understand if you don't want to write this, though, so no pressure! 💕

Arguments and Reconciliation

All Bad Batch Boys X GN!Reader

After Omega hears you and her brother arguing, she worries that this could be the end for you both. You’re both there to reassure her that in relationships, conflict occurs but to reconcile is a process that can be hard.

warnings: angsty as you and the Batcher are having a small argument, upset Omega, talks of fights and forgiveness. Comfort at the end.

Authors note: thank you for the care and support. Sorry for the wait ❤️

Masterlist

Hunter

“He’s right you know, we should be doing more Hunter.”

Tensions had been rising a lot between you and Hunter unfortunately and a lot of it was just what to do next. More missions that seem to lead nowhere? Make a move on the Empire for once and for all? It was a lot for you both to handle and unfortunately, a little someone had been overhearing these arguments.

There was a lot of to and fro, some words heated than others but when the pair of you heard sniffling from the door way, panic strikes your faces to see Omega standing there with Lula hugged to her chest. “Why do you both keep arguing?”

You fall silent, head looking down in somewhat shame as Hunter tries to take through his mind for something to say. “You shouldn’t be awake.” He finally says, making you roll your eyes and push past him gently to crouch in front of Omega.

“How much have you heard?”

She finds it hard to look either of you in the eye and instead focuses on the floor. “A lot.”

As more tears stream down her cheeks, obvious worry that the two of you were going to go your separate ways, you look back on Hunter and beckon him over. To which, he places a hand to her shoulder and gives her a comforting smile - even after she asked if you two were going to break up.

“Omega, every relationship has arguments. Just because we have done quite a bit recently does not mean we’re going to split.” Hunter tells her. He looks at you, smiling a little. “I still love them.”

You chime in, wrapping your arms around her before saying, “Hunter’s right. It’s important to remember that everyone makes mistakes and that it's okay to apologise and forgive each other.” Her sniffles subsides, a little more relaxed. She wipes away her tears, grateful for both of your reassurance.

Echo

When the others hear you both arguing, they tend to stay out of the way but for Omega, she couldn’t even comprehend what it was the two of you were arguing about. But as she moves towards the cockpit, he sees him bandaging up your leg and tutting relentlessly at you.

“What’s going on?”

The two of you looked to the doorway, eyes wide.

“You goin’ to tell her or am I?” Echo mumbles, sitting back from finishing up his work on your leg. You merely roll your eyes at him which does not go unnoticed by Omega, her anxiety rising with every passing second.

“Echo is telling me off because I got injured in our last mission and I didn’t tell him.” You tell the young girl who looks more panic stricken, bounding over to assess your leg.

“Did you get shot?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Just a bit of a graze and Grumps over here is overreacting.”

Echo snaps to look at you, already seeing you give him a pointed look and he feels a bit bad that okay, yeah, he may have overreacted.

“Are you two going to break up?” Omega asks softly, confusing growing on both of your faces.

“Omega,” You shake your head at her with a soft laugh, “why would you think we’d break up?”

“Doesn’t arguing often leave to break ups and whatnot.” She mutters, looking up at the both of you as you stand in front of her.

“Not always, no.” Echo concludes, wrapping his arm protectively around your waist. “I just worry about them.”

Again, you roll your eyes but this time playfully as you plant a kiss to his cheek. “Too much.”

Wrecker

Arguments with Wrecker were incredibly rare which is probably why Omega sat up, chewing her nails when she heard the hushed argument between the two of you.

The others had been informed briefly about why the two of you had been more tense lately than not and even with their given support, they know it’s nothing they can help with. As for Omega, she wasn’t sure what it was. But it was enough to strike panic in her at the thought of you two breaking up. So, she gets up and rushes to the source of the commotion.

When she gets there, Wrecker has his head in his hands meanwhile you sit on the floor in front of him, soft signs of comfort being shown.

“W-what’s going on?” The two of you look up when Omega speaks, both of you beginning to wipe tears away.

“Nothing kid,” Wrecker sniffs, putting on a smile for his sister, “what’re you doing up?”

“I heard you both arguing.” She mutters causing you to both look at another, your hand coming up to rest over his cheek.

“Not arguing Omega,” you begin with a seemingly sad smile, “just having a small discussion.”

Omega blinks, tilting her head. “What about?”

You sigh softly. “It’s personal, Omega.”

You didn’t want to go into great detail as to what you and Wrecker were talking about, one of you getting a little bit more emotional than the other but it certainly wasn’t what Omega was thinking.

“Are you guys breaking up?”

“No.” He says almost immediately, standing up and bringing you close to his chest. “We’re just havin’ a rough patch, nothing to worry about. I love Cyare too much.”

You nod in agreement, resting your head agaisnt his chest. The two of you were going to be okay and Omega was glad to hear.

Tech

“I do not understand why it is her that is upset when this discussion was mutually about us.”

The pair of you just watched Omega run off crying after being sat in the cockpit and listening to you two bicker about pretty much nothing - both just nitpicking at each other.

You huff, arms folding over your chest as you watch her run to the gunners seat. “She doesn’t like us arguing, that’s why.”

“I do not count this as arguing - merely a disagreement.” Sighing, you had to agree with him on that but still, it didn’t sit right with you.

“She doesn’t see it that way, Tech.”

He looks over at you, seeing you hang your head with conflicted features. For a second his heart races and he’s panicking internally. “Do you count this as an argument?”

“A little. I’m going to see if she’s alright.” You mumble, standing up to walk off but Tech was quick to catch you by the arm. You turn to face him.

“I’m sorry if I have in-fact upset you, it was never my intention.” You hear the guilt in his tone and you feel equally guilty for getting worked up over what you were both arguing about.

“It’s fine my love,” you sigh, leaning forward and resting your head against his, “these things happen. I’m sorry too.”

Crosshair

When you and Crosshair argued, everyone knew. Often the others would give Crosshair the dirty look as he seemed to be the main cause nowadays after returning from the Empire but that doesn’t stop Omega from getting upset.

He had brushed past her, storming off into the distance when she turns to you with a look of defeat. “It’s okay, Omega, it’s best to let him cool off.” You whisper, placing a hand to her shoulder before the first tear fell.

“Why are you two arguing? Are you going to break up?”

You laugh softly and shake your head. “No, and it’s because things are still tough with him and his brothers still and of course then that leans on my shoulders. It’s just a spiral of complications. He just needs time.”

“Do you have time?”

You blink at her words, watching Crosshair lean against a tree and aggressive gnaw on a toothpick - still within hearing distance.

“I’ve got all the time for him.” You say softly, not knowing that your words did manage a small smile on his face. “Relationships are foundations you build upon, and sometimes, arguments are one of the bases. But as long as you reconcile and adore each other, those foundations become a home.”

Crosshair looks over his shoulder, catching your eye as he gives you a small nod of understanding. Love is hard, but it’s worthwhile if it’s with the right person.

Masterlist

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